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Mira sat her horse at the edge of the clearing, watching the others set up camp. Well, the Warder and the broad-shouldered youth were doing most of the work, in truth. The Aes Sedai and the tall girl with the strange eyes were sitting apart from the others, both of them frowning at nothing.
Setting up camp. As if everything was so ordinary. Mira's gaze passed over the girl again, and she shivered before she could stop herself. How could they all be so quiet about it?
"Lady Dragon," she said abruptly. She couldn't quite keep a hint of sarcasm out of her tone.
Gray-green eyes came up to meet hers. "Don't call me that."
"What would you like me to call you? Amera Sune?"
"My name is Kyana Elane." Each word was ice. Mira knew she was going too far, but she pushed on stubbornly.
"Fine, Kyana. And you're Fergas, and Marya, and -" She paused over the younger man's name. There had been introductions back in the inn, but the events following had wiped them out of her mind.
"Rayan Andrel."
"Hello, Rayan. Nice to meet you. Now will someone please explain what happened last night? And what we're doing here? Because I have to tell you, setting up tents is not my highest priority right now."
Fergas remained calm. "Would you be more comfortable on the ground, Lady Miriane?"
"My name is Mira," she snapped, then grimaced. That had been smooth, and to be honest she'd deserved it. "Point made. My apologies, Kyana." She slid off the gelding, not quite able to meet the other girl's eyes, and settled her skirts around her on the grass. "The rest of my question...?"
"We are making camp because there is little else to do at the moment." The Aes Sedai's deep voice was soothing, by nature or, more likely, by design. "All of us need rest. We are well away from the inn and there is nothing to be gained from riding through the night, save the chance of being noticed as out of the ordinary. Therefore - we set up tents."
"That makes sense," Mira admitted. But she still didn't like it. "But why is it us? Why do you want me travelling with you?"
"For a number of reasons. One, I would prefer that information learned last night remain as close as possible. "
"I'm not some child who can't control her -"
"Two, the Pattern has, for whatever purpose, chosen to include you and Rayan in the web it weaves. Until I know more of why, I do not choose to go against it."
"That is the most absurd - "
"And three," Fergas continued without pausing, "if Daimon was not the only Forsaken to witness last night's events, you have no protection on your own should one decide that you know something worth knowing about the Dragon Reborn. Do you still want to leave?"
Mira gasped, then closed her mouth. The Forsaken wouldn't be interested in me. I never saw her before last night -
That didn't stop Daimon, did it?
"Good." Fergas turned to Kyana. "Just how long have you been channeling?"
"Never." Kyana's dreamy tone was a strange contrast to the subject. "I knew for - for about a year - that there was something there. But I was afraid to try and use it until now." She sounded puzzled. "I thought channeling would be hard. But it was easy."
"Easy? Then what you did last night, you could do again?"
"I think so, yes."
"Don't." Fergas said. "Ever."
"Why not?" Rayan said. He had finished the tents and come closer. "It worked."
"It worked too well. That weave is known as balefire. When it touched Daimon, it destroyed him not merely in that moment, but back in time. Everything he had caused to happen in that time, had no longer happened." Fergas looked levelly at Rayan and Mira. "You saw."
"You were dead." Mira's throat felt dry. Back in time?
"I was, at the least, stilled and unconscious. It was not a pleasant experience."
Rayan said, "Then if she hadn't - "
"Imagine a hundred people resurrected that way. Imagine a hundred threads cut and then, somehow, back again doubled upon themselves. The Pattern would collapse on itself. Balefire was forbidden by both sides in the War of the Shadow," Fergas said. "For good reason."
"I - see." Kyana looked thoughtful. "All right."
"You will not use balefire?"
"Will you teach me something else to use?"
Fergas sighed. "I could as easily teach a rock to float. Saidar is not saidin. I could not even see your weaves, and you would have no inkling of mine. All I can do is advise you on how to learn. And child, I will do that, to whatever extent I can - but at this moment we must speak on another subject. What do you intend to do now?"
"Now?" Kyana looked at him blankly. Mira wondered if she had even thought about the future. "I don't know."
"The Tower would shelter you." Rayan's lip curled in derision, but Fergas went on. "Daimon's death is proof of your identity to even the most conservative Red. You would be safe there until the time was right to declare yourself."
The right time by whose decision? Mira thought. She's a fool if she takes that choice. Then she blinked. Why was she siding with the girl? Surely she was better under the Tower's control than on her own.
"I will not go to the White Tower," Kyana said flatly.
"As you wish." He did not sound put out. "Then your best choice is the Stone."
"The Stone..."
"The Stone of Tear," Marya said. Seated just across from them, she watched Kyana intently, her eyes never seeming to blink. "In Tarede."
"Taramir," Mira murmured, remembering the stories. "The Sword that is Not a Sword..."
"Is a sa'angreal," Fergas said softly. "Perhaps the strongest ever made, and destined for the Dragon's wielding. Within the Stone and with that in your hands, even one of the Forsaken would hesitate to move against you."
"But they will move against me eventually." It was not a question.
Fergas spread his hands. "Of course. For this you were born, Kyana. You cannot hide forever. But if you fear to face them alone, the Tower's offer - "
"Is still open?" Mira was surprised to hear irony in Kyana's voice. "Of course I fear them. I am not mad yet..." She shook her head. "But I have no choice, do I? The Stone, then. I will go to the Stone."
"Done." The Aes Sedai sounded satisfied. He and Marya exchanged significant looks.
Mira shivered again. The Pattern was weaving a web. And she felt very much like a fly.
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