"Jordan, Robert- WOT 6- Lord of Chaos (UC)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jordan Robert)

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LORD OF CHAOS

late making up for time lost in the Tower. "Yes, she really is stunned, isn't she? Beginning to control it now, though." For a few moments she sat silently, considering the woman on the stool. Marigan stared back warily. At last, Leane shrugged. "I cannot touch the Source, either. And I tried to make her feel a fleabite on her ankle. If it had worked, she would have had to show something." That was the other trick of the bracelet; you could make the woman wearing the necklace feel physical sensations. Only the sensations—there was no mark whatever you did, no real damage—but the feel of a sound switching or two had sufficed to convince Marigan that cooperation was her best choice. That and the alternative, a quick trial followed by execution.

Despite her failure, Leane watched closely as Nynaeve undid the bracelet and refastened it on her own wrist. It seemed that she, at least, had not given up completely on channeling again one day.

Regaining the Power was wonderful. Not as wonderful as drawing saidar herself, being filled with it, but even touching-the Source through the other woman was like redoubling the life in her veins. To hold saidar inside was to want to laugh and dance with pure joy. She supposed that one day she would become used to it; full Acs Sedai must. Balanced against that, linking with Marigan was a small price. "Now that we know there's a chance," she said, "I think—"

The door banged open, and Nynaeve was on her feet before she knew it. She never thought of using the Power; she would have screamed if her throat had not closed tight. She was not the only one, but she hardly noticed Siuan and Leane leaping up. The tear cascading through the bracelet seemed an echo of her own.

The young woman who shut the splintery wooden door behind her took no notice of the commotion she had caused. Tall and straight in an Accepted's banded white dress, with sun-gold curls nestled on her shoulders, she looked spitting mad. Even with her face tight with anger and dripping sweat she somehow managed to look beautiful, though; it was a knack Elayne had. "Do you know what they're doing? They are sending an embassy to ... to Caemlyn! And they refuse to let me go! Sheriam forbade me to mention it again. Forbade me even to speak of it!"

"Did you never learn to knock, Elayne?" Straightening her

The First Message

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chair, Nynaeve sat down again. Fell, really; relief weakened her knees. "I thought you were Sheriam." Just the thought of discovery cored out her middle.

To her credit, Elayne blushed and apologized immediately. Then spoiled it by adding, "But I don't see why you were so goosey. Birgitte is still outside, and you know she would warn you if anyone else came close. Nynaeve, they must let me go."

"They must do nothing of the kind," Siuan said gruffly. She and Leane were seated again, too. Siuan sat up straight, as always, but Leane sagged back, as flimsy as Nynaeve's knees. Marigan was leaning against the wall, breathing hard, eyes closed and hands pressed hard against the plaster. Relief and stark terror surged through the bracelet in alternating jolts.

"But—"

Siuan did not allow Elayne another word. "Do you think Sheriam, or any of the others, will let the Daughter-Heir of Andor fall into the hands of the Dragon Reborn? With your mother dead—"

"I don't believe that!" Elayne snapped.

"You don't believe Rand killed her," Siuan went on relentlessly, "and that's a different thing. I don't, either. But if Morgase were alive, she would come forward and acknowledge him the Dragon Reborn. Or, if she believed him a false Dragon in spite of the proof, she'd be organizing resistance. None of my eyes-and-ears have heard a whisper of either. Not just in Andor, but not here in Altara and not in Murandy."

"They have," Elayne forced in. "There's rebellion in the west."

"Against Morgase. Against. If it's not a rumor, too." Siuan's voice was flat as a planed board. "Your mother is dead, girl. Best to admit as much and get your weeping done."

Elayne's chin rose, a very annoying habit she had; she was the picture of icy arrogance, though most men seemed to find it attractive for some reason. "You complain continually over how long it is taking to get in touch with all of your agents," she said coolly, "but I will set aside whether you can have heard all there is to hear. Whether my mother is alive or not, my place is in Caemlyn, now. I am Daughter-Heir."

Siuan's loud snort made Nynaeve jump. "You've been Accepted long enough to know better." Elayne had as much poten-

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tial as had been seen in a thousand years. Not as much as Nynaeve, if she ever learned to channel at will, but still enough to make any Acs Sedai's eyes light up. Elayne's nose wrinkled— she knew very well that if she had already been on the Lion Throne, the Acs Sedai still would have gotten her away for training, by asking if possible, by stuffing her into a barrel if necessary—and she opened her mouth, but Siuan did not even slow down. "True, they'd not mind you taking the throne sooner than later; there hasn't been a Queen who was openly Acs Sedai in far too long. But they won't let you go until you're a full sister, and even then, because you are Daughter-Heir and will be Queen soon, they won't let you near the Dragon bloody Reborn until they know how far they can trust him. Especially since this ... amnesty of his." Her mouth twisted sourly around the word, and Leane grimaced.

Nynaeve's tongue curdled, too. She had been brought up to fear any man who could channel, fated to go mad and, before the Shadow-tainted male half of the Source killed him horribly, bring terror to everyone around him. But Rand, whom she had watched grow up, was the Dragon Reborn, born both as a sign that the Last Battle was coming and to fight the Dark One in that battle. The Dragon Reborn; humanity's only hope—and a man who could channel. Worse, reports were that he was trying to gather others like him. Of course, there could not be many. Any Acs Sedai would hunt down one of those—the Red Ajah did little else—but they found few, far fewer than once, according to the records.