The Gathering Storm полностью

Portions of the Tower's wings below were alight with flames, and to her horror, Egwene saw several gaping holes directly in the sides of the Tower. To'raken clutched the side of the Tower, climbing up like bats clinging to a wall, unloading soldiers and damane into the building. As Egwene watched, a to'raken leapt free of the side of the Tower, the height allowing it to forgo its normal running start. The creature wasn't as graceful as one of the smaller raken, but its handler did a masterful job of directing it back into the air. The creature flew right by Egwene's window, the wind of its passing blowing back her hair. Egwene faintly heard screaming as the to'raken swept past. Terrified screaming.

It wasn't a full-scale attack—it was a raid! A raid to capture marath'damane\ Egwene pulled to the side as a blast of fire shot by the window and hit the wall a short distance away. She could hear rock crumble, and the Tower shook violently. Dust and smoke exploded down a side passage off the hallway.

Soldiers would soon follow. Soldiers and sul'dam. With those leashes. Egwene shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. The cool, seamless metal. The nausea, the degradation, the panic, despair, and— shamefully—guilt at not serving her mistress to the best of her abilities. She remembered the haunted look of an Aes Sedai as she was broken. Most of all, she remembered her own terror.

The terror of realizing that she would be like the others, eventually. Just another slave, happy to serve.

The Tower shook. Fire flashed in the distant hallways accompanied by shouts and wails of despair. She could smell smoke. Oh, Light! Could this really be? She wouldn't go back. She wouldn't let them leash her again. She had to run! She had to hide, flee, escape . . .

No!

She pushed herself upright.

No, she would not flee. She was Amyrlin.

Nicola huddled beside the wall, whimpering. "They're coming for us," the girl whispered. "Oh Light, they're coming!"

"Let them come!" Egwene roared, opening herself to the Source. Blessedly, enough time had passed to dull the forkroot slightly, and she was able to grab a faint trickle of the Power. It was tiny, perhaps the least amount of the Power she'd ever channeled. She wouldn't be able to weave a tongue of Air to shift a piece of paper. But it would be enough. It had to be. "We will fight!"

Nicola just sniffed, looking up at her. "You can barely channel, Mother!" she wailed. "I can see it. We can't fight them!"

"We can and will," Egwene said firmly. "Stand, Nicola! You're an initiate of the Tower, not a frightened milkmaid."

The girl looked up.

"I will protect you," Egwene said. "I promise."

The girl seemed to take heart, rising. Egwene glanced toward the distant hallway where the blast had hit. It was dark, the wall lamps unlit, but she thought she spotted shadows. They'd be coming, and they'd be leashing any women they found.

Egwene turned in the other direction. She could still faintly hear screams that way. They were the ones she'd heard just after she'd awakened. She didn't know where the guard at her door had gone, and didn't really care.

"Come," she said, striding forward, holding to her tiny bit of the Power like a drowning woman clinging to a rescue rope. Nicola followed, still sniffling, but she followed. Several moments later, Egwene discovered what she'd hoped to find. The hallway was filled with girls, some in their white dresses, others wearing their shifts. The novices clumped together, many of them screaming at each blast that shook the Tower. Likely, they wished that they were down below, where the novices' quarters had once been.

"The Amyrlin!" several exclaimed as Egwene entered the hallway. They were a sorry bunch, lit by candles in terrified hands. Their questions sprouted like rotwood mushrooms in the spring.

"What's happening?"

"Are we under attack?"

"Is it the Dark One?"

Egwene raised her hands, and the girls fell mercifully silent. "The Tower is under attack from the Seanchan," she said in a calm voice. "They have come to capture women who can channel; they have ways of forcing those women to serve them. It is not the Last Battle, but we are in grave danger. I don't intend to let them take a single one of you. You are mine."

The hallway grew still. Girls glanced at her, hopeful, nervous. There were a good fifty of them, perhaps more. They would have to do.

"Nicola, Jasmen, Yeteri, Inala," Egwene said, naming off some of the more powerful of the novices. "Come forward. The rest of you pay close attention. I'm going to teach you something."

"What, Mother?" one of the girls asked.

This had better work, Egwene thought. "I'm going to teach you how to link."

There were gasps. This wasn't a thing taught to novices, but Egwene would see that sul'dam did not find easy pickings in the novices' quarters!