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New Spring - Robert Jordan.txt

the south, in cairhien and andor, even in tear, almost five hundred leagues distant. two years away from the borderlands, his personal war abandoned for another, and every day the tug grew stronger. he should never have let bukama talk him into waiting, letting the south soften him. the aiel had helped maintain his edge. the blight meant death to most

the privy.” lan winced inwardly at the crudity. there were matters one spoke of and matters one did not. ryne fingered one of his braids, then gave it a hard tug that made its bells jingle. “i say we leave her her silver and go before she comes back.” “go if you wish,” lan said, rising. “bukama pledged to her, and

set on arrow tingled against her skin. “thank you, no,” she told the innkeeper, and hurried outside. the woman in the faded red dress was trying to lead arrow away, tugging at the reins and growing increasingly frustrated at the mare’s tiny mincing steps. “i would abandon that notion if i were you,” moiraine said loudly. “the penalty for horse-theft is

buttons?” siuan turned her around by the shoulders almost roughly and attacked the two rows of small mother-of-pearl buttons that ran down her back. “don’t be a gudgeon,” she grumbled, tugging at the dress much more fiercely than was necessary. “if this works as you say it will, nobody will notice me. you’ll have all sails set, the sweeps out, and

sounds of the palace left behind, on a long stone-railed walk twenty paces wide with a vista across the city roofs far below. a cold wind blew like a storm, tugging at her skirts. merean was there, surrounded by the glow of saidar, and brys and diryk, standing by the rail, twisting futilely against bonds and gags of air. iselle was

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the privy.” lan winced inwardly at the crudity. there were matters one spoke of and matters one did not. ryne fingered one of his braids, then gave it a hard tug that made its bells jingle. “i say we leave her her silver and go before she comes back.” “go if you wish,” lan said, rising. “bukama pledged to her, and

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The Eye of the World - Robert Jordan.txt

around his legs, then streamed it out behind him. he wished his coat were heavier, or that he had worn an extra shirt. half the time when he tried to tug the cloak back around him it caught on the quiver swinging at his hip. trying to hold the cloak one-handed did not do much good anyway; he had his bow

to hold the cloak one-handed did not do much good anyway; he had his bow in the other, an arrow nocked and ready to draw. as a particularly strong blast tugged the cloak out of his hand, he glanced at his father over the back of the shaggy brown mare. he felt a little foolish about wanting to reassure himself that

it was more habit than anything else that kept him walking backward alongside the cart even while he looked. the rider’s cloak covered him to his boot tops, the cowl tugged well forward so no part of him showed. vaguely rand thought there was something odd about the horseman, but it was the shadowed opening of the hood that fascinated him.

who could disappear so suddenly could reappear just as suddenly, maybe even right beside them. “no, father, there’s no need.” when tam stopped in surprise, rand covered his flush by tugging at the hood of his cloak. “you’re probably right. no point looking for what isn’t there, not when we can use the time getting on to the village and out

prizes would be given not only in archery, but for the best with the sling, and the quarterstaff. there would be contests at solving riddles and puzzles, at the rope tug, and lifting and tossing weights, prizes for the best singer, the best dancer and the best fiddle player, for the quickest to shear a sheep, even the best at bowls,

fools. you sitting on the village council, cenn, and now you’re spreading that coplin talk. well, you listen to me. we have enough problems without. . . .” a quick tug at rand’s sleeve and a voice pitched low, for his ear alone, distracted him from the older men’s talk. “come on, rand, while they’re arguing. before they put you to

to buy a good deal of things off his wagon. rand hoped he had not been relegated to a child again in the peddler’s eyes. with a loud harrumph, fain tugged at his heavy cloak. “no, not later,” the peddler declaimed, once more throwing up a hand grandly. “i will be telling you now.” as he spoke he made broad gestures,

i stand on my own shoulders.” perrin laughed. “i’m afraid rand and i are just ordinary folk, master merrilin, not made-up creatures from your stories. i’m perrin aybara.” thom merrilin tugged at one of his mustaches. “well, now. made-up creatures from my stories. is that what they are? you lads are widely traveled, then, it seems.” rand kept his mouth shut,

him a minute to realize they were staring through the glaze of death. he wiped his hands on a tattered rag—it had been one of tam’s shirts only that morning—and tugged the blade free. cleaning the sword, he reluctantly dropped the rag on the floor. there was no time for neatness, he thought with a laugh that he had to clamp

of the inn, out of the village, as if there would be any village at all left without them.” rand had only half listened to the conversation, but this last tugged him to speak. “what did they do?” “why, she called ball lightning out of a clear night sky,” master al’vere replied. “sent it darting straight at the trollocs. you’ve seen

clamminess settled on his skin, and the air around him turned fetid and dank. without looking back he ran, ran from the pursuer whose freezing fingers brushed his back and tugged at his cloak, ran from the light-eating figure with the face that. . . . he could not remember the face, except as terror. he did not want to remember

wooden gates bound with wide straps of black iron. they were closed tight, even if the sun was not down yet. lan rode close to the wall and gave a tug to a frayed rope hanging down beside the gates. a bell clanged on the other side of the wall. abruptly a wizened face under a battered cloth cap peered down

“now we must be off.” “and don’t you worry, mistress,” avin said, with a deep bob of his head, “i ain’t seen nobody.” he darted to the gate and began tugging it closed with quick jerks. “ain’t seen nobody, and ain’t seen nothing.” the gate thudded shut, and he pulled down the locking bar with a rope. “in fact, mistress, this

you about children of the light,” he said with a wry look at rand. thom ignored him. “if only one of you had had this dream. . . .” he tugged at his mustache furiously. “tell me everything you can remember about it. every detail.” he kept up his wary watch while he listened. “. . . he named the men

empty. moiraine’s hands rested on the table, as still as her face. nynaeve’s braid was thrown over her shoulder, the end gripped in one fist; she kept giving it little tugs the way she did when she was being even more stubborn than usual with the village council. perrin was right. despite the fire it seemed freezing cold, and all coming

the room was as still as a carving, then egwene and perrin, and finally mat, made their reluctant way to the table and took seats—toward the middle, with rand. egwene tugged her hood further forward, enough to half hide her face, and they all avoided looking at anyone. “well,” thom snorted, from his place beside the door. “at least that much

this harebrained idiocy from you three, but i thought others had more judgment.” egwene sat back so she was shielded by perrin. “i left a note,” she said faintly. she tugged at the hood of her cloak as if she was afraid her unbound hair showed. “i explained everything.” nynaeve’s face darkened. rand sighed. the wisdom was on the point of

if a trolloc came close. rand tried to turn cloud toward them, but the gray had the bit in his teeth. screaming and kicking, cloud struggled forward however hard rand tugged at the reins. around the three women a space opened as trollocs tried to flee from moiraine’s staff, but as they attempted to avoid her, she sought them out. fires

cloaks like banners, driving thin clouds across the thin sliver of the moon. with a quiet command to stay close, lan led off down the street. the horses danced and tugged at the reins, eager to be away. rand looked up warily at the buildings they passed, looming now in the night with their empty windows like eye sockets. shadows seemed

chosen their intended prey. suddenly he missed moiraine very much. everyone was still staring, wondering which way to go. he turned cloud, and the gray broke into a half trot, tugging against the reins to go faster. as if moving first had made him the leader, everyone followed. with moiraine gone, there was no one to protect them should mordeth appear.

masts of a large trader’s boat, tied up for the night beside a small clearing in the trees. the boat, a good eighty feet long, shifted slightly with the current, tugging against the mooring ropes tied to trees. the rigging hummed and creaked in the wind. the lantern doubled the moonlight on the deck, but no one was in sight. “now

a few people danced like rainbow-hued hummingbirds. children and dogs ran playing among the cookfires. the dogs were mastiffs just like those that had confronted the travelers, but the children tugged at their ears and tails and climbed on their backs, and the massive dogs accepted it all placidly. the three with elyas, tongues hanging out, looked up at the bearded

at the sailor and lowered his voice. “after all, we aren’t really trying to become gleemen. it’s only something to hide behind until we find moiraine and the others.” thom tugged at an end of his mustache and seemed to be studying the smooth, dark brown leather of the flute case on his knees. “what if you don’t find them, boy?

as “toss the feathers.” he could understand wanting to dance to the people’s songs. back in emond’s field no one considered him more than an adequate dancer, but these songs tugged at his feet, and he thought he had never danced so long, or so hard, or so well in his life. hypnotic, they made his blood pound in rhythm to

his head. you might as well stop, the voice snickered. one place is as good as another when you aren’t from anywhere, and the dark one has you marked. mat tugged at his sleeve, but he pulled loose and sared at the houses. he did not want to stop, but he did want to look and remember. so much like home,

put on the shirt master grinwell had loaned him. it was tight across the shoulders and too short, but it was better than nothing. else laughed out loud when he tugged it on. he began to think that this time it would not be mat’s fault when they were chased off. perrin would know how to handle this, he thought. he’d

muttering under his breath. the cook and his helpers ignored rand and mat. mat kept adjusting the scarf around his head, pushing it up, then blinking at the light and tugging it back down again. rand wondered if he could see well enough to do anything more complicated than juggle three balls. as for himself. . . . the queasiness in

off almost immediately. “hot,” he murmured. vaguely he knew that he had been cold only a moment before, but now he felt as if he were in an oven. he tugged at his collar, tossing his head. “hot.” he felt mat’s hand on his forehead. “i’ll be right back,” mat said, and disappeared. he twisted fitfully on the hay, how long

for the fade? a mile outside the village his strength gave out. one minute he was panting along, hanging on mat; the next they were both on the ground. mat tugged him over to the side of the road. “we have to keep going,” mat said. he scrubbed his hand through his hair, then tugged the scarf down above his eyes.

were both on the ground. mat tugged him over to the side of the road. “we have to keep going,” mat said. he scrubbed his hand through his hair, then tugged the scarf down above his eyes. “sooner or later, somebody will let her out, and they’ll be after us again.” “i know,” rand panted. “i know. give me a hand.”

in a field just ahead of them. haystacks, diminished by winter feeding, but still haystacks. he nudged mat with his toe. “we’ll sleep there.” “haystacks again.” mat sighed, but he tugged on his boot and got up. the wind was rising, the night chill growing deeper. they climbed over the smooth poles of the fence and quickly were burrowing into the

end—or how much had been passed to other darkfriends. he looked regretfully at a farm they were passing. a man patrolled the fences with a pair of dogs, growling and tugging at their leashes. the man looked as if he wanted nothing more than an excuse to let them loose. not every farm had the dogs out, but no one was

nodded as if the man had bid him a cheerful farewell, and pulled mat away. mat kept looking back over his shoulder toward the shop, growling to himself, until rand tugged him into an empty alleyway. with their backs to the street no passerby could see what they were doing. rand pulled off the sword belt and set to wrapping the

thought you were all dead.” “not yet.” the warder’s deep whisper was tinged with amusement. hands touched perrin, found his bonds. a knife sliced through the ropes with barely a tug, and he was free. aching muscles protested as he sat up. rubbing his wrists, he peered at the graying mound that marked byar. “did you . . . ? is

almost flat to the ground, with a hasp held by thick bolts and an iron lock bigger than rand’s hand and thick with old rust. loial gave the lock a tug. “i can pull it off, hasp and all, but it will make enough noise to wake the whole neighborhood.” “let us not damage the goodman’s property if we can avoid

much each weighed. a thousand pounds? more? maybe if we all get down and push. maybe we can push one of them over before the wind gets here. a gust tugged at his cloak. he tried not to listen to what the voices cried. as moiraine stepped back, mandarb leaped forward, straight toward the gates, lan crouched in the saddle. at

turmoil, though there was an order to the crowding here. everywhere were armored men and armored horses. at half a dozen smithies around the court, hammers clanged, and big bellows, tugged by two leather-aproned men apiece, made the forge-fires roar. a steady stream of boys ran with new-made horse shoes for the farriers. fletchers sat making arrows, and every time a

the balcony, the melted walls, the polished table, the terrible fireplace with its roaring, heatless flames. some of those faces that made the fireplace, writhing in torment, shrieking in silence, tugged at his memory as if he knew them, but he held the void close, floated within himself in emptiness. he was alone. when he looked at the mirror on the

and plunged to one side, beyond his view. a horn, curled and golden, came hurtling out of the far distance. one piercing note it sounded as it flashed toward him, tugging his soul. at the last instant it flashed into a blinding, golden ring of light that passed through him, chilling him beyond death. a wolf leaped from the shadows of

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empty. moiraine’s hands rested on the table, as still as her face. nynaeve’s braid was thrown over her shoulder, the end gripped in one fist; she kept giving it little tugs the way she did when she was being even more stubborn than usual with the village council. perrin was right. despite the fire it seemed freezing cold, and all coming

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The Great Hunt - Robert Jordan.txt

and plunged to one side, beyond his view. a horn, curled and golden, came hurtling out of the far distance. one piercing note it sounded as it flashed toward him, tugging his soul. at the last instant it flashed into a blinding, golden ring of light that passed through him, chilling him beyond death. a wolf leaped from the shadows of

anything else she wanted. he had no time. “yes. yes, of course. on my honor.” he pushed on the door, forcing her out. alone, he dropped onto his bed to tug off his boots—they were still good, a little worn, the leather cracked here and there, but still wearable and well broken-in to fit his feet—then hastily stripped off, piling everything

you? where were you when i was sixteen? or even thirty?’ and then she laughed, as if it was all a joke. what do you think of that?” perrin finished tugging on a clean shirt and gave him a sidelong look. with his burly shoulders and thick curls, he made rand think of a hurt bear. a bear that did not

was in ordered turmoil when rand finally reached it with his saddlebags and the bundle containing the harp and flute. the sun climbed toward midday. men hurried around the horses, tugging at saddle girths and packharness, voices raised. others darted with last-minute additions to the packsaddles, or water for the men working, or dashed off to fetch something just remembered. but

coat—and turned away. rand sighed. “it will all come right, rand,” loial said quietly. “somehow, it will.” the current took the ferry as it was hauled out from the bank, tugging it against the cable with a sharp creak. the lancers were odd ferrymen, walking the deck in helmets and armor, with swords on their backs, but they took the ferry

peculiar emphasis in ingtar’s last words. the bundle in rand’s arms seemed to weigh ten stone. light, she could be a hundred leagues off, and she still reaches out and tugs the leash. this way, rand. that way. you’re the dragon reborn, rand. “i don’t want the duty, ingtar. i will not take it. light, i’m just a shepherd! why won’t

was cold, as nights in the mountains are always cold. the wind whipped down from the high peaks carrying the iciness of the snowcaps. rand shifted on the hard ground, tugging at his cloak and blanket, and only half asleep. his hand went to his sword, lying beside him. one more day, he thought drowsily. just one more, and then we

you lose yourselves.” after the white-haired aes sedai left, moiraine gathered her cloak and, muttering to herself, went into the garden. there was something in what vandene had said that tugged at her mind, but she could not remember what it was. an answer, or a hint to an answer, for a question she had not asked—but she could not bring

leaving cenn standing uncertainly. there was no uncertainty on malena’s face. she walked slowly, as if there were no hope of escape, a cruel smile growing with every step. marin tugged at nynaeve’s sleeve. “we have to run. we have to hide. nynaeve, come on. cenn will have told her who you are. she hates anyone even to speak of you.”

into the breakers.” he shivered, thinking of the flame inside the fountains of water, and his holds full of fireworks. “fortune prick me, we might no live to drown.” he tugged at his beard and rubbed his bare upper lip, reluctant to give the order—the vessel and what it contained were all he had in the world—but finally he made himself

his belt, then he gave one convulsive start as thom’s knife went home. thom let him fall over away from the door and stood a moment before bending tiredly to tug his blades free. the door banged open, and he whirled with a snarl on his face. zera jerked back, a hand to her throat, staring at him. “that fool ella

wafted from the high lord. “yet the question asks itself; how did one like you come by a chest many lesser lords could not afford? are you a thief?” fain tugged at his worn, none-too-clean coat. “it is sometimes necessary for a man to appear less than he is, high lord. my present shabbiness allowed me to bring this to you

news that it is in darkfriend hands, or that it has been found at all.” she looked down the row of elders; each nodded in turn, one of the men tugging his beard doubtfully first. “very well. verin tells me time is urgent. i will show you to the waygate myself.” rand was feeling half relieved and half afraid, when she

berating me because i didn’t make the fire the exact shade of blue she wanted. gawyn will die from envy when he finds out.” elayne grinned and reached over to tug playfully at egwene’s hair. “besides, if you leave rand lying about loose, i might have a chance to pick him up.” “i don’t think either of us is going to

groan. horses reared and whinnied shrilly. and one of the women reached out and fastened something around egwene’s neck. cloak flapping like a sail, egwene braced against the wind and tugged at what felt like a collar of smooth metal. it would not budge; under her frantic fingers, it felt all of one piece, though she knew it had to have

as bad as making things explode like fireworks—but couldn’t you have lied? told her you didn’t know which was which?” “you still do not know what this is like.” egwene tugged at the collar; pulling did no more good than channeling had. “when renna is wearing that bracelet, she knows what i am doing with the power, and what i am

nynaeve sag against the front of the inn as soon as the door closed. “are you ill, nynaeve?” she asked anxiously. nynaeve drew a long breath and stood up straight, tugging at her coat. “with some people,” she said, “you have to be certain. if you show them one glimmer of doubt, they’ll sweep you off in some direction you don’t

never reach egwene. that dress fits you, and it cannot be min. that leaves me.” “i said put your clothes on. we have somebody to be our leashed one.” nynaeve tugged at the leash that held seta, and the sul’dam gasped. “no! no, please! if anyone sees me—” she cut off at nynaeve’s cold stare. “as far as i am concerned,

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The Dragon Reborn - Robert Jordan.txt

over snow and stone. the land seemed to be waiting. waiting for something to burst. sitting his horse just inside a thicket of leatherleaf and pine, perrin aybara shivered and tugged his fur-lined cloak closer, as close as he could with a longbow in one hand and a great, half-moon axe at his belt. it was a good axe of cold

the shaggy brown-and-white mare meandered closer, picking a way along the clear ground between broad snowbanks. once the brightly clad woman stopped to peer at something on the ground, then tugged the cowl of her cloak further over her head and heeled her mount forward in a slow walk. the raven, perrin thought. stop looking at that bird and come on,

of us, all of our lives, affect the lives of others, min. as the wheel of time weaves us into the pattern, the life-thread of each of us pulls and tugs at the life-threads around us. ta’veren are the same, only much, much more so. they tug at the entire pattern—for a time, at least—forcing it to shape around them. the

time weaves us into the pattern, the life-thread of each of us pulls and tugs at the life-threads around us. ta’veren are the same, only much, much more so. they tug at the entire pattern—for a time, at least—forcing it to shape around them. the closer you are to them, the more you are affected personally. it’s said that if you

bloody few of the ones that matter. min tossed her head. “i just wish they didn’t have to be so . . . so bloody ta’veren all the time. ta’veren tugging on one side, and aes sedai meddling on the other. what chance does a woman have?” loial shrugged. “very little, i suppose, as long as she stays close to ta’veren.”

ignored him. “is that what happened to you, loial? is that why you travel with moiraine? i know you ogier almost never leave your stedding. did one of these ta’veren tug you along with him?” loial became engrossed in a study of his pipe. “i just wanted to see the groves the ogier planted,” he muttered. “just to see the groves.”

fire. even with his eyes shut, he could see it, flame billowing across everything, flame blowing through everything. the fiery gale roared through him, too; he could feel it, burning, tugging, trying to consume him and scatter the ashes. he yelled, trying to hang onto himself, knowing it was not enough. and between one heartbeat and the next, the wind was

himself; his knees felt weak. light help me! moiraine put a hand on the lock. “master harod has the key, good mistress. i don’t know if he’ll—” she gave a tug, and the lock sprang open. simion gaped at her. she lifted the lock free of the hasp, and the chinless man turned to perrin. “is that safe, good master? he’s

women were of a height as well as dressed alike, but the difference in their horses put the former wisdom of emond’s field a head taller. nynaeve frowned now, and tugged at the thick braid of dark hair hanging over her shoulder, the way she did when worried or troubled, or sometimes when she was preparing to be particularly stubborn even

quickly as that mat was whisked away. egwene opened her mouth to say he needed help now, but at verin’s stare, quick and furious, she closed it again. nynaeve was tugging her braid nearly hard enough to pull it out of her head. “i suppose,” verin said, “that the whole tower knows we have returned by now?” “those who do not

that she returned the hug with barely a thought that nynaeve was behaving as if she were comforting children—but as they walked on, nynaeve gave her thick braid a sharp tug from time to time, too. very few men came into that part of the tower, and egwene saw only two: warders walking side by side in conversation, one with his

did not mean anything, mother,” egwene said, but she knew nynaeve meant exactly what she had said. she shot a warning glance at nynaeve. nynaeve gave her braid a sharp tug, but she kept her mouth shut. “well, who is to say,” the amyrlin mused. “trust is as slippery as a basket of eels, sometimes. the point is, you two are

about her duties on soft-slippered feet. egwene was grateful for their presence. the halls suddenly seemed like caverns, for all the tapestries and stonework. dangerous caverns. nynaeve strode along purposefully, tugging at her braid fitfully again, and egwene hurried to keep up. she did not want to be left alone. “if the black ajah is still here, nynaeve, and if they

next, egwene’s room. “she isn’t here yet,” she said. “i need to talk to both of you.” egwene caught her shoulders and pulled her to an abrupt halt. “what—?” something tugged at her hair, stung her ear. a black blur streaked in front of her face to clang against the wall, and in the next breath nynaeve was bearing her to

think, nynaeve. considering what you are already facing, if it became known you were involved in this, even on the edge of it. . . . go.” egwene curtsied, and tugged at nynaeve’s sleeve, but nynaeve said, “why did you come up here, sheriam sedai?” for a moment sheriam looked startled, but on the instant she frowned. fists on her hips,

crossbow bolt was gone, nynaeve. it must have been another gray man who took it.” “so that is why you. . . . light!” nynaeve frowned and gave a sharp tug to her braid. after a time egwene said, “what was that she did to cover the . . . the body?” she did not want to think of it as

me i have the potential to be the most powerful aes sedai in a thousand years. perhaps it is time to find out whether they are right.” she gave a tug to her braid. it was plain that however brave nynaeve’s words, she was afraid. but she won’t let mat die even if it means risking death herself. “they keep saying

down in one of the chairs, carefully arranging her skirts. she made no gesture for the rest of them to sit. nynaeve’s face tightened, and she began giving sharp little tugs to her braid. egwene hoped she would keep her temper well enough not to take the other chair without permission. when elaida had settled herself to her own satisfaction, she

of her lips that twisted egwene’s stomach. “tell me about him. the amyrlin has not commanded you to be silent about him also, has she?” nynaeve gave her braid a tug. elayne studied the carpet as if something important were hidden in it, and egwene racked her brain for an answer. she can hear lies, they say. light, if she can

. . in the white tower—” she smiled as if the name amused her—“for another purpose, and i wanted to see all of you.” mat’s face reddened again, and he tugged the blanket around him tighter, but she seemed not to have been teasing him. more graceful than a swan, she glided to the table. “you are hungry. that’s to be

be remembered. “you may have seen me,” she said finally. “somewhere. call me selene.” her head tilted slightly; she appeared to be waiting for him to recognize the name. it tugged at the edges of memory. he thought he must have heard it before, but he could not say when or where. “are you an aes sedai, selene?” “no.” the word

feather, a smooth, striped rock he had liked the colors of, his razor, and his bone-handled pocketknife, and freed his wash-leather purse from some coils of spare bowstring. when he tugged it open, he found his memory had been all too good in this instance. “two silver marks and a handful of copper,” he muttered. “i won’t get far on that.”

she had said to suit him, too many holes she could slip something deadly through. the amyrlin wanted something, and selene wanted something, and he was the rope they were tugging between them. he thought he would rather face trollocs than be caught between those two. there had to be a way out of tar valon, a way out of both

wanted to be aes sedai, and no aes sedai had been a dreamer in nearly five hundred years. “i’ll be very careful.” she slipped the ring into her pouch and tugged the drawstrings tight, then picked up the papers verin had given her. “remember to keep it hidden, child. no novice, or even an accepted, should have a thing like that

boots on stone. people appeared. a dozen aes sedai surrounding three men, two of them burly guards with the white teardrops of the flame of tar valon on their chests, tugging the chains in which the third stumbled as if dazed. egwene jerked forward in her chair. the chained man was rand. eyes half-closed, head sagging, he seemed nearly asleep, moving

have chosen so random a pattern. there are still black ajah in the tower, or elsewhere we don’t know about. it must mean that.” nynaeve gave her braid one ferocious tug. “light! i think you may be right. you did find secrets i couldn’t. light, i was hoping they all went with liandrin.” “we do not even know that she is

not supposed to lie, either, but verin and the mother seem awfully close with what they tell us. there are not supposed to be black ajah.” “i like alanna.” nynaeve tugged her braid, then shrugged. “oh, very well. perha—that is, she did behave oddly.” “thank you,” egwene said, and nynaeve gave her an acknowledging nod as if she had heard no

soup kettle, banged her head on the rim backing out. her blue eyes seemed to take up her entire face. “nothing but grease and sweat, aes sedai,” nynaeve said. the tug she gave her braid left a smear of greasy soap suds on her dark hair, and she grimaced. verin nodded as if that were the answer she had been seeking.

rolling down her stockings. she was almost beginning to dislike white as much as she did gray. nynaeve stood in front of the fireplace with egwene’s pouch in one hand, tugging her braid. elayne sat by the table, making nervous conversation. “green ajah,” the golden-haired woman said for what egwene thought must be the twentieth time since midday. “i might choose

but with the air and confidence of the lord he denied being—“by the stone, i’ll not say you are, if you say you are not.” mallia winked and chuckled and tugged the point of his beard. a young man carrying a paper bearing the amyrlin seat’s seal and bound for andor. there was no secret that queen morgase had visited tar

the smell of food at his end of the hall had been too strong for there not to be. the ogier gave one regretful look at the bed, then started tugging on his high boots. “but why?” “the whitecloaks,” perrin said. “i’ll tell you more later.” he ducked back out before loial could ask any more. he had not unpacked. once

tilted eyes was not uppermost in his thoughts. he put his bow and other belongings on one cramped bed, tossed his cloak over them, and sat on the other to tug off his boots. elyas machera had found a way to live with what he was, a man somehow linked with wolves, and he had not gone mad. thinking back, perrin

they all ran to cluster around the captain. nynaeve appeared at the head of the ladder that led down to the passenger cabins, still straightening her skirts. with a sharp tug at her braid, she frowned at the knot of men in the bow, then strode to egwene and elayne. “he ran us onto something, did he? after all his talk

a healing. it makes making lightning look like mixing oatcake.” a surprised smile appeared on nynaeve’s face. “thank you,” she murmured, and reached over to give egwene’s hair a little tug the way she had when egwene was a little girl. i am not a little girl any longer. the moment passed as quickly as it had come, and they went

eating that way where those people down there can see you, and you may have your brains battered out.” mat only smiled at him. mallia came stumping down the deck, tugging the point of his beard, as the gray gull was warped into her berth. crewmen ran to set a gangplank, and sanor stood guard on it, heavy arms folded across

play. the gleeman’s cloak was nowhere in sight, so mat supposed he had already gotten a room. “you’re done sooner than i expected, boy,” thom said around his pipestem. he tugged one long, white mustache as he considered where to place his next stone on the board’s cross-hatchings. “basel, you remember mat cauthon.” “i remember,” the fat innkeeper said, peering at

to murder your daughter.’ light, man, she’d have cut my head off!” “she might have at that.” thom stared into the elaborate carvings on the bowl of his pipe and tugged one mustache. “her temper was ever as sudden as lightning, and twice as dangerous.” “you know it better than most, thom,” gill said absently. staring at nothing, he scrubbed both

mouth—egwene was sure it was to tell them to saddle their animals—then closed it again, tight-lipped, as if it had cost her an effort. she gave her braid one hard tug. before the sling was well out of the way, nynaeve tossed the blue-striped saddle blanket across the black’s back and hoisted her high-cantled saddle atop it. she did not even

stone, now. so close to callandor. so close to the trap, whatever it is.” “be careful,” elayne said, and nynaeve said, more quietly, “be very careful, egwene. please.” she was tugging her braid in short jerks. as egwene lay down on the low-posted bed, with them on stools to either side, thunder rolled across the sky. sleep came slowly. it was

just closed your eyes,” nynaeve said softly. “this is the first time since the very beginning that you’ve come back without us waking you. something did happen, didn’t it?” she tugged her braid sharply. “are you all right?” how did i get back? egwene wondered. light, i do not even know what i did. she knew she was only trying to

word. he spilled the dice onto the tabletop. they bounced oddly. he felt—something—shifting. it was as if his luck had gone wild. the room seemed to be writhing around him, tugging at the dice with threads. for some reason he wanted to look at the door, but he kept his eyes on the dice. they came to rest. five crowns. comar’s

her business was with this cow-faced brigand, facing her in the doorway of his shop with bloody cuts of meat hanging from hooks behind him. she gave her braid a tug and fixed the fellow with her eye. “very well,” she said sharply, “i will take it, but if this is what you charge for so poor a cut, you’ll not

was as well he had not managed to bring the staff into use after all. it was a soft boot, laced to the knee, that rested on his arm. it tugged at his memory. something about a man met in mountains. he eyed the night-cloaked shape the rest of the way up, trying to make out the cut and colors of

to reach the true source, they surely would have been healed. “i have tried,” nynaeve said despairingly. “i have tried, and tried, and tried.” she gave her braid a sharp tug, anger seeping through despite the hopeless fear in her voice. “one of them is sitting outside. amico, that milk-faced chit, if they have not changed since we were thrown in

you? you have all been talking this aes sedai . . . uh . . . business, and no one has bothered to tell me anything.” “mat?” nynaeve said warningly, tugging her braid, but moiraine said, in a calm only just touched with impatience, “what is it that you wish to know?” “i want to know how all of this can

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women were of a height as well as dressed alike, but the difference in their horses put the former wisdom of emond’s field a head taller. nynaeve frowned now, and tugged at the thick braid of dark hair hanging over her shoulder, the way she did when worried or troubled, or sometimes when she was preparing to be particularly stubborn even

quickly as that mat was whisked away. egwene opened her mouth to say he needed help now, but at verin’s stare, quick and furious, she closed it again. nynaeve was tugging her braid nearly hard enough to pull it out of her head. “i suppose,” verin said, “that the whole tower knows we have returned by now?” “those who do not

that she returned the hug with barely a thought that nynaeve was behaving as if she were comforting children—but as they walked on, nynaeve gave her thick braid a sharp tug from time to time, too. very few men came into that part of the tower, and egwene saw only two: warders walking side by side in conversation, one with his

did not mean anything, mother,” egwene said, but she knew nynaeve meant exactly what she had said. she shot a warning glance at nynaeve. nynaeve gave her braid a sharp tug, but she kept her mouth shut. “well, who is to say,” the amyrlin mused. “trust is as slippery as a basket of eels, sometimes. the point is, you two are

about her duties on soft-slippered feet. egwene was grateful for their presence. the halls suddenly seemed like caverns, for all the tapestries and stonework. dangerous caverns. nynaeve strode along purposefully, tugging at her braid fitfully again, and egwene hurried to keep up. she did not want to be left alone. “if the black ajah is still here, nynaeve, and if they

crossbow bolt was gone, nynaeve. it must have been another gray man who took it.” “so that is why you. . . . light!” nynaeve frowned and gave a sharp tug to her braid. after a time egwene said, “what was that she did to cover the . . . the body?” she did not want to think of it as

me i have the potential to be the most powerful aes sedai in a thousand years. perhaps it is time to find out whether they are right.” she gave a tug to her braid. it was plain that however brave nynaeve’s words, she was afraid. but she won’t let mat die even if it means risking death herself. “they keep saying

down in one of the chairs, carefully arranging her skirts. she made no gesture for the rest of them to sit. nynaeve’s face tightened, and she began giving sharp little tugs to her braid. egwene hoped she would keep her temper well enough not to take the other chair without permission. when elaida had settled herself to her own satisfaction, she

of her lips that twisted egwene’s stomach. “tell me about him. the amyrlin has not commanded you to be silent about him also, has she?” nynaeve gave her braid a tug. elayne studied the carpet as if something important were hidden in it, and egwene racked her brain for an answer. she can hear lies, they say. light, if she can

have chosen so random a pattern. there are still black ajah in the tower, or elsewhere we don’t know about. it must mean that.” nynaeve gave her braid one ferocious tug. “light! i think you may be right. you did find secrets i couldn’t. light, i was hoping they all went with liandrin.” “we do not even know that she is

not supposed to lie, either, but verin and the mother seem awfully close with what they tell us. there are not supposed to be black ajah.” “i like alanna.” nynaeve tugged her braid, then shrugged. “oh, very well. perha—that is, she did behave oddly.” “thank you,” egwene said, and nynaeve gave her an acknowledging nod as if she had heard no

soup kettle, banged her head on the rim backing out. her blue eyes seemed to take up her entire face. “nothing but grease and sweat, aes sedai,” nynaeve said. the tug she gave her braid left a smear of greasy soap suds on her dark hair, and she grimaced. verin nodded as if that were the answer she had been seeking.

rolling down her stockings. she was almost beginning to dislike white as much as she did gray. nynaeve stood in front of the fireplace with egwene’s pouch in one hand, tugging her braid. elayne sat by the table, making nervous conversation. “green ajah,” the golden-haired woman said for what egwene thought must be the twentieth time since midday. “i might choose

they all ran to cluster around the captain. nynaeve appeared at the head of the ladder that led down to the passenger cabins, still straightening her skirts. with a sharp tug at her braid, she frowned at the knot of men in the bow, then strode to egwene and elayne. “he ran us onto something, did he? after all his talk

mouth—egwene was sure it was to tell them to saddle their animals—then closed it again, tight-lipped, as if it had cost her an effort. she gave her braid one hard tug. before the sling was well out of the way, nynaeve tossed the blue-striped saddle blanket across the black’s back and hoisted her high-cantled saddle atop it. she did not even

stone, now. so close to callandor. so close to the trap, whatever it is.” “be careful,” elayne said, and nynaeve said, more quietly, “be very careful, egwene. please.” she was tugging her braid in short jerks. as egwene lay down on the low-posted bed, with them on stools to either side, thunder rolled across the sky. sleep came slowly. it was

just closed your eyes,” nynaeve said softly. “this is the first time since the very beginning that you’ve come back without us waking you. something did happen, didn’t it?” she tugged her braid sharply. “are you all right?” how did i get back? egwene wondered. light, i do not even know what i did. she knew she was only trying to

her business was with this cow-faced brigand, facing her in the doorway of his shop with bloody cuts of meat hanging from hooks behind him. she gave her braid a tug and fixed the fellow with her eye. “very well,” she said sharply, “i will take it, but if this is what you charge for so poor a cut, you’ll not

to reach the true source, they surely would have been healed. “i have tried,” nynaeve said despairingly. “i have tried, and tried, and tried.” she gave her braid a sharp tug, anger seeping through despite the hopeless fear in her voice. “one of them is sitting outside. amico, that milk-faced chit, if they have not changed since we were thrown in

you? you have all been talking this aes sedai . . . uh . . . business, and no one has bothered to tell me anything.” “mat?” nynaeve said warningly, tugging her braid, but moiraine said, in a calm only just touched with impatience, “what is it that you wish to know?” “i want to know how all of this can

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The Shadow Rising - Robert Jordan.txt

if you wish.” she knelt smoothly, like a dance. her expression still said she was being open, confessing everything, but on the other hand, in kneeling she had managed to tug her already precarious gown down until it looked in real danger of falling off. “please, rand?” even sheltered in emptiness as he was, he gaped at her, and it had

women, and every dress that was not green, blue or white had vanished from nynaeve’s wardrobe. “nothing for it.” she did not sound happy. egwene caught herself giving an upward tug to her own dress. they felt odd, these dresses that just clung to the shoulders. on the other hand, she did not believe she could bear to be more covered.

necklace or fiddle with the strand of sapphires in her hair. was her perfume too heavy? no. egwene said he liked the smell of roses. the dress. she wanted to tug it up, but. . . . he turned—the slight limp in his step tightened her lips thoughtfully—saw her sitting in her chair, and gave a start, eyes widening with what

leaf, though, than which there is none finer. fetch an excellent price later in the year. if my lord wishes a cask for his own stock . . .” he tugged one point of his yellow beard and laid a finger alongside his nose. “. . . i am certain i could manage to—” “you’ll wager that, will you?” mat said

time, and you will be killed by those who do not want that fate fulfilled. now, go. you must go! quickly!” the yellow-clad guide was suddenly there at mat’s side, tugging at his sleeve with those too-long hands. mat shook him off. “no! i will not go! you have led me from the questions i wanted to ask and given me

was too busy. too busy with the bloody game of houses. he scrubbed at his face testily. moiraine could play the game with the best. wrenching him around this way, tugging every string he had thought perfectly hidden. owyn, elayne. morgase’s daughter. only fondness remained for morgase, perhaps a little more than that, but it was hard to walk away from

on watching outlanders. i can help you with a good many things.” that familiarity tickled at elayne’s mind again. before she realized what she was doing, she reached up and tugged at one of his long white mustaches. he gave a start, and she clapped both hands to her mouth, flushing crimson. “forgive me. i . . . i seemed to

composing nor the ogier’s book will make much difference in the long run. our stories will not survive, in the long run. when the next age comes—” he grimaced, and tugged one of his mustaches. “come to think of it, that may be no more than a year or two off. how is the end of an age marked? it cannot

strain, though, or jump up on her toes like an anxious child. lan was due a talking-to he would not soon forget when she laid hands on him. with nynaeve tugging at him one way and ta’veren—rand, at least—seemingly pulling another, she sometimes wondered how well their bond still held. at least his time with rand was useful; it gave her

reach a portal stone in this world. the portal stone near rhuidean, for instance. if he knew the symbol for it. now was when he needed luck, needed that ta’veren tugging at chance to favor him. a hand reached over his shoulder, and rhuarc said in a reluctant voice, “these two are used for rhuidean in old writings. long ago, even

gelding’s bridle, mat was staring around wide-eyed. “we made it!” he laughed at her. “we made it, egwene, and without any. . . . burn me, we made it!” he tugged open his shirt laces at the neck. “light, it’s hot. burn me for true!” abruptly she realized rand was on his knees, head down, supporting himself with one hand on

all of you who served the forsaken while pretending to be on our side, and treat the lot of you as we treated that crazy old man.” a woman was tugging at the man’s arm. “come away, toma. come away, and hold your foolish tongue! do you want the ogier to come for you?” suddenly wary, the man let her pull

hair. he is aiel, jom.” feeling his head to see if it was cracked, charn’s fingers brushed through short-cut, reddish-gold hair. he gave the longer tail at his nape a tug in lieu of shaking his head. a bruise, he thought, but no more. “so he is.” the man’s annoyance vanished in consternation. “forgive me, da’shain. i am the one who

was the only way to describe it. cold, and not really human. suddenly his own bow was in his hand, an arrow nocked, and the weight of a filled quiver tugged at his belt. the other man looked up, saw perrin. for a heartbeat he hesitated, then turned and became a streak, slashing away across the hills. perrin leaped down to

folk who believe that kind of thing.” a number of eyes darted to adine, who shifted her feet and hunched her shoulders. “even if all it means is having to tug your forelock to every whitecloak who comes along, do you want to live that way? your children? you’re at the mercy of the trollocs, the mercy of the whitecloaks, and

supposed to be known. even the assembly realized that that news might set off riots. “one of the dragonsworn madmen assuredly,” the owl-looking man said, giving his mustache a fierce tug. “no true taraboner would harm the panarch, yes?” he almost sounded as if he believed it. “of course,” carridin said smoothly. he took another sip of wine. “if i am

beard with no mustache marked him as an illianer, and so did his accent. he seemed vaguely familiar. “master domon?” nynaeve said after a moment, giving her braid a sharp tug. “bayle domon?” he nodded. “aye. i did never think to see you again. i . . . did wait as long as i could in falme, but the time did

you ask. with luck, you’ll forget this by morning. it’s time for you to go to bed, elayne.” he guided her to the door, and she took the opportunity to tug at his mustache again. “like that,” she said with satisfaction. “i used to pull it just like that.” “yes, you did. can you make it downstairs by yourself?” “of course

subject, he said, “from the south? but this is as far south as i’ve gone. i haven’t talked to a farmer more than a mile below the winespring water.” faile tugged at his beard with a laugh. “news spreads, my fine general. i think half of them expect you to form them into an army and chase the trollocs all the

in mounting, but she shook her head. “i will remain with perrin, lord luc.” “a pity,” he murmured, shrugging as if to say there was no accounting for women’s taste. tugging on his wolf-embroidered gauntlets, he swung into the black stallion’s saddle smoothly. “good luck to you, master goldeneyes. i do hope you all have good luck.” with a half-bow to

of wolves, and he did not call hopper. the wolf might or might not come, or even hear, but slayer could well be out there somewhere. a bristling quiver abruptly tugged at his belt opposite the axe, and he had a stout longbow in his hand with a broadhead arrow nocked. a long leather bracer covered his left forearm. nothing moved

said, trying to pull free. they had good holds on his coatsleeves; all he accomplished was swinging them back and forth. “for the love of the light, will you stop tugging at me and let me get my horse? let go of me.” looking at his face, faile sighed and released his arm. “mistress al’vere, will you have his horse saddled

i do know is that perrin is no darkfriend, and you are not arresting anybody.” the situation was growing more dangerous by the minute, perrin realized. byar saw it and tugged at bornhald’s arm, whispering to him, but the whitecloak captain would not, or perhaps could not, back away now that he had perrin in front of his eyes. bran and

at the dark braids hanging over her shoulders and made a disgusted sound; elayne did not know when she would become used to not having that one thick braid to tug. “and feet are for walking. how could we look or ask questions being carried around like pigs to sale? i would feel a complete fool in one of those idiot

nice woman,” elayne said, rubbing her forehead. she had a headache coming on. “did she give her name? i don’t remember.” “nice?” nynaeve’s hand came up and gave a sharp tug to her braids; she stared as if it had moved of its own accord. “i . . . do not think she did.” “what were we talking of when she

of young—young-seeming, at least—women for the amyrlin seat and the keeper of the chronicles. former amyrlin and former keeper, she reminded herself. “only one guard?” siuan said, wincing as she tugged on thick stockings. “strange. they’d guard a cutpurse better than that.” eyeing laras, she pushed her feet into the sturdy shoes. “it is good to see some do not believe

hair still hidden by her shawl. finally the aes sedai reined her white mare back beside egwene’s gray and lan’s black stallion, just ahead of the white-robed gai’shain who were tugging the pack animals along. they were heading the same way as rhuarc and the others, though. rand leaned down to offer a hand to aviendha. when she shook her head,

brought jeade’en up with rhuarc and heirn and amys, a little ahead of the still shouting jindo, he was surprised to see couladin running easily alongside, flame-colored hair bare. aviendha tugged rand’s own shoufa down to his shoulders. “you must enter a hold with your face clear to be seen. i told you that. and make noise. we have been seen

i’d still not do it here. the night has ears.” there were people moving all around in the darkness, but none close enough to hear. “even dreams have ears.” aviendha tugged her shawl forward to shadow her face; even an aiel could feel the cold, apparently. rhuarc stepped into the light, black veil hanging loose. “the trollocs were only a diversion

get away from him, not his way out of the waste. “oh, i am right behind you, rand.” the worst of it was, it felt right saying that. bloody ta’veren tugging at me! how had perrin pulled free? light, i wish i was with him right now. “i guess i am.” shouldering his spear, he strode off up the canyon. there

do not believe she is a darkfriend,” elayne said when nynaeve hesitated. “i certainly am not!” egeanin’s stare was fierce-eyed and offended. folding her arms as if to keep from tugging her braids, nynaeve glared at the woman, then shifted an accusatory frown to domon, as though this entire mess were his fault. “there isn’t anywhere to lock her,” she said

sedai?” he opened his mouth, but nynaeve’s point was telling, and nothing came out. “master domon,” elayne said, “what was one of your men doing at the panarch’s palace?” he tugged at his beard in an embarrassed way, and rubbed his bare upper lip with a wide finger. “you see, the panarch amathera do be known to like ice peppers, the

look a fool. they would, eventually; men did. best to bury it quickly and hope. “thom, have you heard anything that might indicate whether amathera is a darkfriend?” “nothing.” he tugged one long mustache irritably. “apparently she has not seen andric since donning the crown of the tree. maybe the troubles in the streets make travel between the king’s palace and

to nynaeve. she did not talk about men and dresses. not nearly as much as rendra. holding her braids out of the way, nynaeve gave her a frown when she tugged sharply at the other woman’s dress to do up the buttons. the close-spaced triple row up the back was necessary, not simply ornament. nynaeve would let rendra talk her into

should have made her. if he had only thought well enough he could have. one of the runners, a curly-haired boy about chest-high, slipped through the two rivers men to tug at perrin’s sleeve. perrin did not know him; there were many families in from the countryside. “there’s something moving in the westwood, lord perrin. they sent me to tell you.”

she ordered. “everything, do you hear? you cannot sleep properly fully dressed, the way you seem to think.” “i will,” he promised. when he had the door closed, he did tug off his boots before blowing out the candle and lying down. marin would not like dirty boots on her coverlet. thousands, gaul and loial said. yet how much could the

don’t think he even saw them. he was all hunched over in his saddle like he was hurt, and spurring that stallion for all he was worth, lord perrin.” perrin tugged at his beard. luc had certainly not been wounded earlier. luc . . . and slayer? it was impossible. darkhaired slayer looked like lan’s brother or cousin; if luc, with

relief as the last trollocs who had not made it out of bow range fell. not many had, perrin believed, but he was barely able to think. faile. the boy tugged at his breeches’ leg. “lord perrin! master al’thor said to tell you the trollocs are breaking! and they are shouting ‘deven ride’! the men, i mean. i heard them!” perrin

shouted after the departing men. “i’m a blacksmith! do you hear me? a blacksmith!” jer barstere turned to wave at him and nod before hurrying the others on. chortling, faile tugged at his beard. “you are a sweet fool, my lord blacksmith. it is too late to turn back now.” suddenly her smile became truly wicked. “husband, is there any possibility

before asmodean could go too far. . . . even as he thought about stopping, the step halted dead. it halted, but he hurtled forward, flying through the doorway. something tugged his boot, and then he was tumbling head over heels across hard ground, to land finally in a breathless heap. fighting to fill his lungs, he pushed himself to his

steps from fog-shrouded rhuidean. the doorway was gone. he took a step toward the wall of mist and stopped, lifting his left foot. his bootheel was sliced cleanly though. the tug he had felt; the doorway closing. he was dimly aware of shivering in spite of the heat. he had not known it was that dangerous. the forsaken had all the

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beard with no mustache marked him as an illianer, and so did his accent. he seemed vaguely familiar. “master domon?” nynaeve said after a moment, giving her braid a sharp tug. “bayle domon?” he nodded. “aye. i did never think to see you again. i . . . did wait as long as i could in falme, but the time did

at the dark braids hanging over her shoulders and made a disgusted sound; elayne did not know when she would become used to not having that one thick braid to tug. “and feet are for walking. how could we look or ask questions being carried around like pigs to sale? i would feel a complete fool in one of those idiot

at the dark braids hanging over her shoulders and made a disgusted sound; elayne did not know when she would become used to not having that one thick braid to tug. “and feet are for walking. how could we look or ask questions being carried around like pigs to sale? i would feel a complete fool in one of those idiot

nice woman,” elayne said, rubbing her forehead. she had a headache coming on. “did she give her name? i don’t remember.” “nice?” nynaeve’s hand came up and gave a sharp tug to her braids; she stared as if it had moved of its own accord. “i . . . do not think she did.” “what were we talking of when she

do not believe she is a darkfriend,” elayne said when nynaeve hesitated. “i certainly am not!” egeanin’s stare was fierce-eyed and offended. folding her arms as if to keep from tugging her braids, nynaeve glared at the woman, then shifted an accusatory frown to domon, as though this entire mess were his fault. “there isn’t anywhere to lock her,” she said

to nynaeve. she did not talk about men and dresses. not nearly as much as rendra. holding her braids out of the way, nynaeve gave her a frown when she tugged sharply at the other woman’s dress to do up the buttons. the close-spaced triple row up the back was necessary, not simply ornament. nynaeve would let rendra talk her into

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The Fires of Heaven - Robert Jordan.txt

of what you know of rand al’thor, master fain.” fain’s eyes went to the painting of the two men, and as he gazed at it, his back straightened. al’thor’s portrait tugged at him almost as much as the man would, sent rage and hate roiling along his veins. because of that young man, he had suffered pain beyond remembering, pain he

she had developed. not that she couldn’t crack rocks with it before. min was wise enough to keep that particular thought to herself. leane finally finished with her dress and tugged it on over her head, doubling her arms behind her to do up the buttons. min could not see why she had gone to the trouble; she herself hated needlework

here to face you.” she gestured to the cluster of nems. “admer nem, you will give your testimony.” the stout man eased forward in a blend of self-importance and self-consciousness, tugging at his coat where the wooden buttons strained over his middle, running his hands through thinning hair that kept dropping into his face. “like i said, lord gareth, it was

a boy about to do mischief. i like that. and those eyes.” in the failing light her grin was slow and wide. and warm. “i do like your eyes.” mat tugged his hat straight, though it had not been crooked. from pursuer to pursued, in the blink of an eye. it could happen like that, with aiel women. especially maidens. “does

strong words with him. with the veils, it was impossible to tell what the aiel thought. letting out a loud yelp, mat darted back into his room and began hastily tugging on a pair of breeches, his capering impeded by the way he kept trying to haul at the breeches and scratch his arm at the same time. the golden-haired maiden

to settle for elayne’s other side. she was glad she had her hair in one proper braid again, wrist-thick and hanging down to her waist; she could give it a tug instead of thumping elayne’s ear for her. the girl had used to seem reasonably sensible, but something seemed to have addled her wits in tanchico. “they aren’t following us anymore,”

fifteen years changes a man more than it does a boy. elayne, i thought you had forgotten.” “i remembered in tanchico, thom.” with a wavering smile, elayne reached out and tugged one of his long mustaches. thom smiled back almost as unsteadily; he looked as if he was contemplating a leap from the window. juilin was scratching his head, and nynaeve

book, her thoughts coming more clearly than it seemed they had in a very long time. something about the two rivers, some spark she could not quite fan to life, tugged at her. the region was hardly part of andor at all, and had not been for generations. she and the last three queens before her had been hard pressed to

that was a lie, though what the wise ones thought she could find out this way, he could not imagine. she gave little grunts every now and then as she tugged at something, and muttered to herself. to cover the sounds, and stop himself thinking of what they must mean, he said, “melaine’s wedding was impressive. did bael really know nothing

happy to crawl into her tent once the gai’shain had it up. inside the lamps were lit and a small fire burned in the firepit. unlacing her soft boots, she tugged them off and her woolen stockings as well, and sprawled on the bright layered rugs, wriggling her toes. she wished she had a basin of water to soak her feet.

a page that she was looking forward to seeing nynaeve tonight. not because nynaeve was a friend, but because she wanted to see if the effects had lingered. if nynaeve tugged at her braid, she would arch a cool eyebrow at her, and . . . light, i hope it’s held. if she lets out about that jaunt, amys and bair

that the howling wind would sweep his shout away, but she heard. and if anything, ran faster. he forced himself to more speed, staggering and tripping as the deepening snow tugged at his boots. the prints left by her bare feet were filling fast. if he lost sight of her in this. . . . “stop, you fool woman! are you

been after she stopped listening. “i don’t spend much time around fla—, around ladies. i forget you have weak bell—, i mean, uh, delicate stomachs.” if he did not stop tugging at that eyepatch, he was going to find out how delicate her stomach was. the number changed nothing. if two shienarans were good, fifteen were wonderful. her own private army.

settled for a squeak. birgitte was only making a bad joke. she had to be joking. they positioned her with her back against the rough wooden fence, and elayne began tugging at the knot in the shawl as birgitte turned back the way they had come, drawing an arrow from her quiver. “you really did something foolish this time,” elayne muttered.

question he would have expected. “why shouldn’t i?” he muttered, and scrambled upward. not a good answer, but she had caught him off balance. the half-healed wound in his side tugged as he climbed, not quite hurting but seeming about to break open just the same. he paid it no mind; it often felt that way when he exerted himself. rhuarc

mouth, then closed it again. rand had never tried to make him stay, true. he had just done it without trying. but there was not the slightest bit of ta’veren tugging, now, no vague feelings that he was doing the wrong thing. he was firm and clear in his purpose. “where will you go?” “south.” not that there was much choice

nose seemed to quiver in outrage; maraconn, with blue eyes rare in tear, compressed his thin lips until they almost disappeared; and while hearne’s narrow face was all smiles, he tugged unconsciously at one ear-lobe as he did when furious. only blade-slender aracome showed no outward emotion, but then he almost always kept his anger well banked until ready to let

stone. if she isn’t, i will come back, and we won’t use the ring again until the next scheduled meeting.” elayne watched her, with an unblinking stare that made her tug at her stockings in increasing discomfort. the woman did not say a word, but her expressionless gaze implied that nynaeve might be lying. to nynaeve it did. it did not

“it allows freedom of movement,” the other woman said judiciously. elayne nodded. “of course, it’s good that your bottom isn’t too big, as tight as those—” striding on furiously, elayne tugged the coat down with sharp yanks. nynaeve’s tongue had nothing on birgitte’s. she really should have required some oath of obedience, or at least some show of proper respect. she

when she had children. even the others meant to find some future, though. they all had at least a scrap of the hope the men only pretended to. three especially tugged at her. nicola was about her age and height, a slender dark-haired weaver with big eyes who had been intending to marry. until her hyran took it into his head

juilin agreed. uno nodded. “i could do with a little rest if i’m going to be running from warders halfway to cairhien.” nynaeve gave them her flattest stare and deliberately tugged her braid. elayne had her chin as high as it had ever been, her blue eyes haughty enough to chip ice. thom and the others surely knew the signs by

because he was leaving, surely. she had hardly reacted to that. besides, she thought he was chasing off after honor; she had always approved of that. something she had said tugged at him, and then came back, with a chill. the great lord’s own luck. he had heard it differently, many times. the dark one’s own luck. “a darkfriend.” a question,

i will consider whether it’s worth anything,” nynaeve said. what could she do with the woman? “lanfear, graendal, rahvin and sammael are plotting together.” nynaeve gave the leash a short tug, staggering her. “i know that. tell me something new.” the woman was captive here, but the a’dam only existed so long as they were in tel’aran’rhiod. “do you know they

i can find them,” morgase told her stiffly. tallanvor reined up, sitting tall in his saddle. sweat rolled down his face, but he seemed to ignore the heat. master gill tugged at the neck of his disc-covered jerkin as though he wished he could have it off. “the wood gives way to farms just ahead,” tallanvor said, “but it isn’t likely

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to settle for elayne’s other side. she was glad she had her hair in one proper braid again, wrist-thick and hanging down to her waist; she could give it a tug instead of thumping elayne’s ear for her. the girl had used to seem reasonably sensible, but something seemed to have addled her wits in tanchico. “they aren’t following us anymore,”

a page that she was looking forward to seeing nynaeve tonight. not because nynaeve was a friend, but because she wanted to see if the effects had lingered. if nynaeve tugged at her braid, she would arch a cool eyebrow at her, and . . . light, i hope it’s held. if she lets out about that jaunt, amys and bair

juilin agreed. uno nodded. “i could do with a little rest if i’m going to be running from warders halfway to cairhien.” nynaeve gave them her flattest stare and deliberately tugged her braid. elayne had her chin as high as it had ever been, her blue eyes haughty enough to chip ice. thom and the others surely knew the signs by

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Lord of Chaos - Robert Jordan.txt

duty to these people, perrin. however hard it is, however much you want not to, you have to do your duty.” “i know,” he said softly. “i can feel him tugging at me.” his voice was so strange that she reached up to grip his short beard and make him look down at her. his golden eyes, still as strange and

beside the first. “but one thing at a time, right?” “no man should have another man’s voice in his head,” rand muttered, and mat’s hands froze in the act of tugging off a woolen stocking. oddly, he found himself wondering whether the pair had another day’s wear in them. rand knew something of what had happened inside that ter’angreal in rhuidean—knew

under the armbands. edorion had the boy in hand, a gaunt sullen-looking lad of six or so, wriggling bare toes in the dust and now and again giving an experimental tug at edorion’s grip. he was perhaps the ugliest child mat had ever seen, with a squashed nose, a mouth too wide for his face and ears too big that stuck

spoken than she vanished. “she should not be wandering about alone here,” sheriam said in an exasperated voice. “nynaeve, go after her. stay with her.” nynaeve gave her braid a tug. “i don’t think—” “very often you do not,” myrelle cut her off. “for once do as you are told, when you are told, accepted.” exchanging wry glances with elayne, nynaeve

sisters had been healed before she so much as got back from tel’aran’rhiod. much too easily it could have ended much worse—because they thought they knew it all. the irritated tugs she gave her braid delayed redoing it for the day. the a’dam bracelet sometimes caught on her hair, too, but she was not about to take it off. it was

salidar, repelled and horrified, are renouncing being aes sedai. and fourth, they have approached you, seeking mercy and protection. for most people, each will be a confirmation of the others.” tugging on his lapels, balwer gave a narrow self-satisfied smile. “very good, balwer. let it be so.” niall took a deeper drink of wine. the heat was making him feel his

he told the students, and walked toward rand. his hawk-nosed face seemed to have a cruel cast today. as damer sat down in the line, blotchy-faced eben stood up, nervously tugging a big ear as he used air to lift another stone from a pile off to one side. his flows wobbled, and he dropped it once before setting it in

think there is any point to going further here,” elayne said dejectedly. “i don’t know how we could ever get anything out of here.” nynaeve gave her braid a short tug. if there really was something here they could use—there had to be, unless the wise ones had lied—then there had to be a way to reach it in the waking

not losing aplomb, but definitely not hesitating. “by the tree and stillness, i meant no offense, elder haman.” haman harrumphed loudly—which for an ogier meant very loudly—and turned to rand, tugging his coat as if it had been disarrayed. “shadowspawn are using the ways,” rand said before haman could speak. “i have set guards on the few i can reach.” including

ogier, stonework was only something they had picked up during the exile, and what work in stone could compare with the majesty of trees? one of those names more than tugged at rand’s memories, and its location as well, east of baerlon, several days above whitebridge on the arinelle. “there was a grove here?” he said, fingering the mark. “at aridhol?”

“. . . as an elder. . . .” “. . . my loial. . . .” “. . . my loial. . . .” haman came back to rand tugging at his coat as though it had been ripped half off, followed by the women. covril maintained a smoother face than erith, who fought to suppress a smile, but their

but no two were more likely to get a man killed because they would not listen to reason. nynaeve, poking into everything a man did or said or thought and tugging her bloody braid at a fellow all the time, and elayne the bloody daughter-heir, thinking she could get her way by sticking her nose in the air and telling you

have the entire arm.” “it is true,” amys murmured. “rhuarc is the shade of my heart, but it is true.” pulling slim riding gloves from behind her belt, berelain began tugging them on. “he reminds me of my father. too much so, sometimes.” for an instant she grimaced ruefully. “but he gives very good advice. and he knows when to loom,

lews therin panted at him. never again. “are you sure?” “they were,” a maiden said; he could not see who, behind her veil. “those we killed all wore this.” she tugged a cloak free from behind the bloodied man’s bound arms. a worn white cloak, grimy and stained, with a golden sunburst embroidered on the chest. the other three had them

dragon.” “what? forgive me. my mind wandered for a moment—the problems of. . . . i missed the last thing you said.” there had been something in it that had tugged at his ear, though. elenia wore the obsequious, flattering smile that looked so strange on her face. “why, i was just saying that you yourself bear some resemblance to tigraine,

talking, the four crossed the room and disappeared through another door. nynaeve waited until she was back in front of the little tower before giving her braid a firm, deliberate tug. they had met the wise ones last night. guessing why the others had stopped myrelle from speaking was easy enough. if egwene had finally been there in the heart of

whirling her around in a circle like a child despite his slight limp. he was laughing when he set her down again, and so was she. she reached up and tugged at one of his mustaches, and they fell to laughing even harder. he examined her hands, as wrinkled as nynaeve’s, asking what sort of trouble she had dived into without

siuan and leane, to prove herself to the yellows. no. by their faces, they were here to see her fail, not succeed. she made no effort to hide the firm tug she gave her braid. in fact, she did it again, in case anyone had missed the first time. she wanted to smack all their faces. she wanted to dose them

map, there at the end, but something more. what was this place? was it simple chance that drew him here tonight instead of yesterday, or tomorrow? one of his ta’veren tugs on the pattern? no matter. egwene had accepted that summons meekly, and that she would never do if it came from the tower and elaida. this salidar was where her

months. neither woman exactly said that she could guide egwene to what was best for the tower better than sheriam, or that sheriam and her little circle might try to tug in too many directions, or that they might give bad advice, but the strong implications were there. romanda and lelaine also each hinted that the other might have her own

after a moment. “when we’re alone, i want you to tell me a dress makes me look fat, or . . . or whatever you want.” smiling at nynaeve, she tugged the woman’s thick braid gently. nynaeve gave a start. “and i want you to pull that at me, if you feel like it. i need somebody who is egwene’s friend

about to descend on us.” “actually,” he said dryly, “i am in command.” “you . . . !” nynaeve stood there with her mouth open, then gave herself a shake, tugging at her blue dress as if it had been disarrayed. it was cut lower than anything he remembered seeing her wear before, low enough to show cleavage, with yellow scrollwork

wearing a white dress, he tossed his spear up to vanin. “lead on, nynaeve. let’s see this amyrlin of yours.” she gave him a tight frown and led him inside tugging at her braid and muttering only partly to herself. “this is rand’s doing, isn’t it? i know it is. somehow it is. frightening everybody half out of their wits. you

she might not see where egwene was going, yet she knew she was not talking for the sound of her voice. nynaeve, still struggling to keep a severe face and tugging at her braid, only glared at him, but maybe that was even better. though she was beginning to sweat; nynaeve lost concentration when she grew angry. “now, listen, egwene,” mat

face had ever been good-looking. mat blinked. a coach? when had a gleeman ever had a coach? “mat, the woman’s plight wrung my heart. and i won’t deny her face tugged at it, too. as i said, i was young; i thought i was in love, a hero out of the stories. so one day, sitting beneath a flowering apple tree—well

sedai served rand; others that he served them—and he wondered why rand was not flying the dragon banner itself. rand. he could still feel rand pulling at him, greater ta’veren tugging at lesser. it did not tell him where rand was; it was not that kind of pull. he had left the two rivers expecting to ride to tear or maybe

sedai nodded, adeleas all the while hastily dipping a pen in an inkjar in a sort of scabbard at her belt and jotting notes in a small book. nynaeve was tugging her braid and muttering to herself. it only lasted a few moments altogether. then the chill faded, and they returned to their fire talking softly among themselves. now and then

they might find one in ebou dar, and why had they shut up like mussels when she asked? she was afraid she knew the answer to the last, anyway. not tugging her braid required considerable self-control. she thought she was becoming better at that. “at least mat finally knows we’re aes sedai,” she growled. at least she could deal with him

tune. which was how the wise ones walked in on him, amys and bair and sorilea and a dozen or so more. min scrambled up quickly enough blushing at that, tugging her coat straight to such an extent you would have thought they had been wrestling. bair and sorilea were at his side before he could say a word. “look left,”

room, smiling. yes, he had; a wife who would not be pleased at finding him alone and shirtless with any woman wearing that dress. especially not the first of mayene. tugging a shirt over his head, he told berelain that faile was out, that he did not know when she would be back for visitors, and put her out into the

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spoken than she vanished. “she should not be wandering about alone here,” sheriam said in an exasperated voice. “nynaeve, go after her. stay with her.” nynaeve gave her braid a tug. “i don’t think—” “very often you do not,” myrelle cut her off. “for once do as you are told, when you are told, accepted.” exchanging wry glances with elayne, nynaeve

sisters had been healed before she so much as got back from tel’aran’rhiod. much too easily it could have ended much worse—because they thought they knew it all. the irritated tugs she gave her braid delayed redoing it for the day. the a’dam bracelet sometimes caught on her hair, too, but she was not about to take it off. it was

think there is any point to going further here,” elayne said dejectedly. “i don’t know how we could ever get anything out of here.” nynaeve gave her braid a short tug. if there really was something here they could use—there had to be, unless the wise ones had lied—then there had to be a way to reach it in the waking

but no two were more likely to get a man killed because they would not listen to reason. nynaeve, poking into everything a man did or said or thought and tugging her bloody braid at a fellow all the time, and elayne the bloody daughter-heir, thinking she could get her way by sticking her nose in the air and telling you

talking, the four crossed the room and disappeared through another door. nynaeve waited until she was back in front of the little tower before giving her braid a firm, deliberate tug. they had met the wise ones last night. guessing why the others had stopped myrelle from speaking was easy enough. if egwene had finally been there in the heart of

siuan and leane, to prove herself to the yellows. no. by their faces, they were here to see her fail, not succeed. she made no effort to hide the firm tug she gave her braid. in fact, she did it again, in case anyone had missed the first time. she wanted to smack all their faces. she wanted to dose them

after a moment. “when we’re alone, i want you to tell me a dress makes me look fat, or . . . or whatever you want.” smiling at nynaeve, she tugged the woman’s thick braid gently. nynaeve gave a start. “and i want you to pull that at me, if you feel like it. i need somebody who is egwene’s friend

wearing a white dress, he tossed his spear up to vanin. “lead on, nynaeve. let’s see this amyrlin of yours.” she gave him a tight frown and led him inside tugging at her braid and muttering only partly to herself. “this is rand’s doing, isn’t it? i know it is. somehow it is. frightening everybody half out of their wits. you

she might not see where egwene was going, yet she knew she was not talking for the sound of her voice. nynaeve, still struggling to keep a severe face and tugging at her braid, only glared at him, but maybe that was even better. though she was beginning to sweat; nynaeve lost concentration when she grew angry. “now, listen, egwene,” mat

sedai nodded, adeleas all the while hastily dipping a pen in an inkjar in a sort of scabbard at her belt and jotting notes in a small book. nynaeve was tugging her braid and muttering to herself. it only lasted a few moments altogether. then the chill faded, and they returned to their fire talking softly among themselves. now and then

they might find one in ebou dar, and why had they shut up like mussels when she asked? she was afraid she knew the answer to the last, anyway. not tugging her braid required considerable self-control. she thought she was becoming better at that. “at least mat finally knows we’re aes sedai,” she growled. at least she could deal with him

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A Crown of Swords - Robert Jordan.txt

down vultures that did not give way. every time, nandera, who led the maidens, or sulin, her second, argued with him. sometimes wise ones did, too, from the way they tugged at the body’s coat as if demonstrating something. and rand would nod and move on. not without backward glances, though. and only until another body caught his attention. “what is

to think they could deal with rand, one way or another, and with the wise ones, but taim and the asha’man put the fear of the light into them. min tugged at rand’s shirtsleeve—she had been studying everybody at once, and the scent of her was almost as worried as the sisters’. he patted her hand while glaring hard at everyone

booming voice became plaintive. “i am sorry; i know it can’t be enjoyable. but i must know. for the book. for the ages.” laughing, rand got to his feet and tugged at the ogier’s open coat. “for the ages? do writers all talk like that? don’t worry, loial. it will still be fresh when i tell you. i won’t forget.” a

a gruff voice. he sounded like a soldier. “what about you, dashiva?” dashiva gave a start, surprised to be addressed. “i . . . grew up on a farm.” he tugged his sword belt straight, which it did not need. supposedly they trained with the swords as much as with the power, but dashiva did not seem to know one end

great comfort,” bael laughed, “if a man does not tell them too much.” smiling, dorindha ran her fingers into his hair—and gripped for a moment as though she meant to tug his head off. bael grunted, but not for dorindha’s fingers alone. melaine wiped her small belt knife on her heavy skirt and sheathed it. the two women grinned at one

the way, siuan,” she said when he was a dozen strides below. siuan glared after him as though he had been badgering her the whole time. with a snort, she tugged her straw hat straight, wheeled her mare around—well, dragged her around—and heeled the stout animal to a walk. egwene motioned myrelle to follow. like bryne, the woman had no choice.

tiny medallions of polished gold dangling from the chain flashed in the sunlight as she studied them. aviendha pulled her hand down from her own nose—to wear that chain, always tugging!—and barely managed to suppress a laugh. wet-lander customs were odd beyond belief, and surely no one deserved the name better than the sea folk. “i am malin din toral breaking

horses and ostentatiously bounced a fat coin on his palm. several of the bookers’ guards looked at him suspiciously, but the gold crown let him pass. “well?” mat said sourly, tugging his hat low, once the thief-catcher reached him. “no, let me tell you. they slipped out of the palace again. no one saw them go, again. nobody has any bloody

and turned to go. “does the style suit my lord?” mat gave a start. he had forgotten the skinny man and the ring, too. “no, i don’t want—” frowning, he tugged at the ring again. it would not budge! “no need to pull; you might crack the stone.” now that he was no longer a potential customer, mat was no longer

with me, merilille. mat cauthon do be of considerable interest. he should no be running loose.” as if he was not standing there listening! “don’t fight over me,” he said. tugging his coat was not making anyone let go. “there’s enough to go around.” five sets of eyes made him wish he had kept his mouth shut. aes sedai had no

ears . . . lashed was the only word . . . and laid back angrily. “everyone’s afraid to be seen near you. after all you’ve done for rand.” karldin tugged at loial’s sleeve. “we have to go,” he said, glaring at perrin. anyone the dragon reborn shouted at was outside the gates so far as he was concerned. perrin wondered

automatically picked out stayer, on a lead by himself; the woman taking care of him better know what she was doing. a great many high-wheeled supply carts came through, drivers tugging the horses and shouting as if they feared the gateway might close on them—a great many because carts could not carry as much as wagons, and carts because a wagon

falling off, he spread the word among his men. nobody seemed to see the disadvantages. he just wanted to prepare them, but nobody listened. “very good, my lord,” nerim murmured, tugging mat’s boot onto his foot. “my lord will finally have decent rooms. oh, very good.” for a moment, he seemed to lose his mournful expression. for just a moment. “i

grumbled, waving away several choice specimens from his cup. “what is it we’re doing again?” “you are swilling that foul excuse for wine and sweating like a goat,” mat muttered, tugging his hat to shade his eyes better. “i’m being ta’veren.” he glared at the dilapidated house, between the dyer’s and a noisy weaver’s establishment, that he had been told to

them kept eyeing her and smiling. “what was all that twisting around while he was spilling his eyes all over you?” he muttered as they crossed the mol hara. he tugged the ribbon holding the eagle mask tighter. “i did not twist, i moved.” her primness was so blatantly false, he would have laughed some other time. “slightly.” abruptly her grin

solidly. unfortunately, she also screamed, or tried to. a great quantity of water rushing down her throat washed away scream, saidar, and very nearly her final scraps of awareness. something tugged on her braid, then again, and she was being towed . . . somewhere. she was no longer conscious enough to struggle, or even to be very much afraid of

with its levelness. she could not break down in tears now. she would not. now, more than ever before, she had to gather all her strength. “yes,” he said cautiously, tugging on his other boot. he had always seemed something of a half-tame wolf, and his eyes made him seem much less than half tame now. “good.” adjusting her skirts, she

had to think! “so good,” alviarin murmured, and elaida flushed with helpless rage. “tomorrow, you will personally search josaine’s rooms, and adelorna’s.” “why under the light would i—?” the woman tugged her striped stole again, roughly this time, almost as if to yank it off or saw through her neck with it. “it seems that josaine found an angreal some years

there, but if sleep returned, it would only bring another dream. are you there, lews therin? he thought without any hope of answer, and wearily pushed himself to his feet, tugging his wrinkled coat straight. he had not changed his clothes since first shutting himself away. when he staggered into the anteroom, at first he thought he was dreaming again, the

spies, darlin,” she said, turning her horse to face the tairen newcomers. the high lord darlin sisnera! all that was needed now was lord toram riatin. min wished rand’s ta’veren tugging at the pattern could be just a little less complete. “a cousin and his wife,” caraline went on, “come from andor to see me. may i present tomas trakand—from a

columns of the walk, yellowish reedy plants in big red pottery bowls and vines with wide, red-striped leaves dangling from metal baskets on chains formed a thin screen. unconsciously, he tugged his hat lower to obscure his face. his hands ran along his spear—an ashandarei, birgitte called it—unthinkingly fingering the haft as if he might need to defend himself. the dice

grudge, but something else leaped out and clamped a fist on his thoughts. “half a week!” feeling strangled, he put a finger behind the scarf knotted around his neck and tugged to ease it. tylin had used that length of black silk to tie his hands last night before he knew what she was doing. half a week. or more! despite

the bloody nine moons, whoever she was. unless he could find some way to make nynaeve and elayne leave ebou dar before tonight, everybody was going to know. sullenly, he tugged his hat lower. these flaming women really were making him act like a girl. in another minute, he was afraid, he might just start crying. chapter 38 six stories mat

tall windows bulged and snapped at gusts. three hours back in the tarasin palace, the dice still bouncing in his head, and he wanted to kick something. or somebody. he tugged at the scarf tied around his neck; it felt as though the rope that had given him the scar under that scarf was back and tightening slowly. “love of the

belongings,” he said levelly, “because as soon as i grab olver, we’re on our way, even if we happen to leave a moldy harp or a rusty sword-breaker behind.” juilin tugged at the corner of his eye with one finger, whatever that was supposed to mean, but thom actually frowned. insults to thom’s flute or his harp were insults to himself.

walk through a stone wall and make a large hole. birgitte gave elayne a fond look, but it was to mat she spoke. “i will,” she said. “honor’s truth.” mat tugged at his coat uncomfortably. he still was not sure how much he had told her while drunk. light, but the woman could soak it up like dry sand. even so,

little rain was going to melt him? come to think, once they used the bowl of the winds, it would rain again. it seemed years since rain last fell. something tugged at his thoughts, something about the weather, and elayne, which made no sense, but he shrugged it off. one thing at a time, and the one thing right now was

you before i put you back to bed.” by samitsu’s face, and corele’s, they would be happy to assist her. narishma and adley stared at cadsuane in shock, while flinn tugged at his coat as though arguing with himself. dashiva, though, barked a rough laugh. “if you want us to clear the women out. . . .” the plain-faced man began

talked in his sleep during those two days, the aes sedai would have known. amys would have had enaila and somara and fifty more maidens waiting when he woke. he tugged the stocking the rest of the way up. “do you have a viewing?” min sat back on her heels, folded her arms beneath her breasts and gave him a firm

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solidly. unfortunately, she also screamed, or tried to. a great quantity of water rushing down her throat washed away scream, saidar, and very nearly her final scraps of awareness. something tugged on her braid, then again, and she was being towed . . . somewhere. she was no longer conscious enough to struggle, or even to be very much afraid of

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The Path of Daggers - Robert Jordan.txt

sedai had not joined in the shouting except to try quieting it. none shone with the light of saidar. that was not enough to calm nynaeve completely, of course. she tugged fiercely at her hat, plainly still full of anger she wanted to loose. but the kinswomen were staring at the paving stones in red-faced chagrin, and even the windfinders appeared

to mount from the wrong side, and the gentle bay mare chosen for her danced slow circles around the liveried man who was gripping the bridle with one hand while tugging his hair in frustration with the other and vainly trying to correct the windfinder. two of the stablewomen were attempting to hoist dorile, who served the wavemistress of clan somarin,

defend you until she went hoarse. of course, she did not seem ready to decide whether she liked aviendha, but she definitely did not like the older aes sedai. she tugged her hat almost straight, and her frown swept across them, then started over. “whether it was beslan or the dark one, there’s no call to stand here all day. we

our way? or will they just keep us as novices the rest of our lives? some might accept that, but i won’t. what for, reanne? what for?” nynaeve climbed down, tugging her mare forward at the end of her reins, and elayne imitated her, though leading lioness more easily. “to be part of the tower, if that’s what you wish,” nynaeve

indecisively. she could sense birgitte, somewhere out among the groves and only a little less irritated than earlier. nynaeve glanced at the display of ter’angreal and gave her braid a tug. her hat had gone missing somewhere. “that can wait,” she said, sounding disgusted. “it’s time.” chapter 5 the breaking storm t he sun stood little more than halfway down toward

of agony as sharply as if it were her own. desperately, she seized another thread from where she lay half on her back. and realized to her horror after one tug that it was all she could do to hold on. had the thread moved? had it slipped free any at all? if it had, she did not dare let go.

for sure, but she made no pretense at comfort. she was no domani, to receive her retainers in her bath. “forgive us for being late, my lady faile,” selande panted, tugging her coat on. the accents of cairhien were sharp in the short woman’s voice. even for a cairhienin, she was not tall. she managed a credible swagger, though, a suitable

they could hear if she raised her voice, strutting and stroking sword hilts and staring about in the dimness as though they expected an attack or hoped for one. perrin tugged at his short beard. she always found plenty of work to fill her hours, and nobody took it out of her hands. nobody would dare. not so much as the

chance to dig at the green-eyed man—but instead, some of the women took up spears and bucklers to rattle them together in approbation. gaul nodded approval. elyas grunted ambiguously and tugged his hat down, yet he smelled pleased. the aiel did not approve of much this side of the dragonwall. “i like to keep moving,” he told perrin, “and i just

of cost to do so. men’s heads jerked up as thunder pealed loud enough for all to hear, then closer, and again closer still. a wind gusted, fell, rose again, tugging perrin’s coat as it slashed this way and that. lightning forked in a cloudless sky. in the mayener camp, horses whinnied and reared at their ties. thunder tolled repeatedly, and

a groom from the royal palace in illian took his bridle, while his stirrup was held by a bulbous-nosed fellow in the black-and-gold livery of the stone of tear. they tugged forelocks to him, and cast only one sharp look at one another. boreane carivin, a stout pale little woman in a dark dress, self-importantly offered him a silver tray of

gone in awe of sheriam, and in no little fear of her displeasure. strange as it seemed, now that she was no longer mistress of novices, no longer trying to tug and push egwene to do as she wished, sheriam actually seemed happier. “i have every confidence in you, sheriam.” the woman positively beamed at the compliment. the sun still did

it is for you to accept it. or face what surely will come from your failure.” as she fell silent, the wind gusted to a brief howl, rattling the canopy, tugging at garments. egwene straightened her hair calmly. some of the watching nobles shivered and twitched their cloaks around them, and she hoped their shivers came from more than the weather.

hands pressed to her middle, looking ready to sick up on the spot. takima grimaced and stared at her hands on her knees. saroiya studied the other two white sitters, tugging at her ear the way she did when deep in thought. but no one else moved to stand. egwene felt bile rising in her own throat. ten. just ten. she

a blend of approval and open amazement. clambering down from her saddle at the front door of the house, nynaeve glared toward alise, gave her dark braid one deliberate, measured tug that the other woman was far too busy to notice, and stalked inside, stripping off her blue riding gloves and muttering to herself. watching her go, lan chuckled softly, then

retreating. “get down there,” rand told flinn and dashiva. “both of you. find gedwyn and tell him i said push! push!” dashiva grimaced at the forest below, then began awkwardly tugging his horse along the ridge. the man was ungainly with horses, riding or leading. he nearly tripped over his sword! flinn looked up at rand worriedly. “you mean to stay

aware of that, but it pulled every eye to him and silenced every tongue. weiramon’s mouth snapped shut sourly; the fellow did love to hear himself talk. gueyam and maraconn, tugging at sharp oiled beards, smiled in anticipation, the fools. semaradrid looked like a man who had eaten an entire bowl of bad plums; gregorin and the three lords of the

have tapped her foot, but she would not have the man thinking she was springing up just because he finally appeared. for a moment he stood smiling at her, and tugging his earlobe for some reason—he seemed to be humming!—then abruptly he swung round to frown at the doors. “the maidens out there didn’t tell me you were in here. they

in the palace. maybe it had been ta’veren work that pulled him out of the apartments, if a ta’veren could work on himself, and maybe just happenstance, but perhaps his tugging at the pattern could bring his attackers within his grasp while they thought him dead or injured. lews therin chuckled at the thought. rand could almost feel the man rubbing

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indecisively. she could sense birgitte, somewhere out among the groves and only a little less irritated than earlier. nynaeve glanced at the display of ter’angreal and gave her braid a tug. her hat had gone missing somewhere. “that can wait,” she said, sounding disgusted. “it’s time.” chapter 5 the breaking storm t he sun stood little more than halfway down toward

a blend of approval and open amazement. clambering down from her saddle at the front door of the house, nynaeve glared toward alise, gave her dark braid one deliberate, measured tug that the other woman was far too busy to notice, and stalked inside, stripping off her blue riding gloves and muttering to herself. watching her go, lan chuckled softly, then

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Winter's Heart - Robert Jordan.txt

pulling her sideways. panic overwhelmed everything else. if she fell again, they would tear her to shreds. a shouting woman in brown wool swung her heavy basket at the dog tugging toveine’s skirt, making it dodge away. a round woman’s bucket caught a brindled cur in the ribs, and it ran yelping. toveine gaped in astonishment, and for her inattention had

another man. i can’t see you crying on lini’s shoulder, so i offer mine. we can call a truce until faile is found.” “a truce?” he said, carefully bending to tug on a boot. carefully so he did not fall over. stout wool stockings and thick leather soles would have his feet warm soon enough. “why do we need a truce?”

belly rumble again, but he would not have stayed to eat if his legs had been broken. flinging his cloak around his shoulders, he stalked out into the soft snowfall, tugging on his gauntlets. heavy clouds shrouded the sun, but dawn was a few hours past, by the light. paths had been beaten through the snow on the ground, yet the

had to conceal a yawn behind his hand. his body wanted sleep, but there was no time. “about three miles south and west,” dannil replied in a sour voice, and tugged irritably at his mustache. so the goose-brains had been right after all. “flocking in like ducks into the waterwood in autumn, and the lot of them look like they’d skin

know half the customs vandene and the others take for granted. but i would rather not disobey you, so don’t, please.” nynaeve glowered at her, giving her braid one firm tug. details of her dress changed, the skirts growing a trifle fuller, the embroidery’s pattern altering, the high neck sinking, then rising again, sprouting lace. she was just not very good

in the darkness of his head. nuli? what kind of name was nuli? mistress harfor gaped after min until she vanished around a corner, then gave her tabard an adjusting tug it did not need. she turned her disapproval on rand. even with the mask of mirrors she saw a man who towered over her, but reene harfor was not a

eyebrows drawn down sharply, “so you watch your step. you’ll watch it very carefully, if you have any brain at all.” holding the scrip’s shoulder strap with one hand, he tugged his forelock with the other. “yes, mistress,” he muttered gruffly. the first maid might recognize his real voice. min had been supposed to do all the talking until they found

maid was accustomed to everyone doing as they were told. striding to catch up, he took only one step at her side before her startled look made him drop back, tugging his forelock and mumbling apologies. he was not used to having to walk behind anyone. it was not calculated to moderate his mood. the tag end of dizziness hung on,

talaan—in strength, at least!—but she was not sure she could channel enough right then to knock over a chair. “i never,” she began. “pardon, mistress,” the lumpy fellow muttered hurriedly, tugging his greasy forelock. “mistress thane said you wanted to see me right away. women’s circle business, she said. something about cenn buie.” nynaeve gave herself a shake, and after a

to use the choedan kal!” “if you had ever read anything besides a history book, you would know they’re almost impossible to destroy!” osan’gar snarled at her. but he was tugging at his collar as if it were too tight, and his eyes seemed ready to fall out of his face. “how can this girl know he has them? how?” graendal’s

quite filthy, and i am afraid mildew has ruined several of my lord’s best coats.” “they were all in a cupboard with prince beslan’s childhood toys, my lord,” lopin laughed, tugging at the lapels of a dark coat like juilin’s. the balding man was the reverse of nerim, stout instead of bony, dark instead of pale, his round belly always shaking

don’t take nerve too far. captain gives the orders, and crew obeys, but i never made anyone crawl on my deck.” mat frowned. deck. a ship’s deck. why did that tug at something in his head? those old memories were a nuisance, sometimes. mistress anan nodded, never taking her dark eyes from the seanchan’s blue. “as you say, my lady. but

will never see the like again under my roof,” the innkeeper replied smoothly. the so’jhin was frowning at mat and the woman on his lap, too, and egeanin had to tug at his coatsleeve before he gave a start and followed her back into the common room. mat grunted contemptuously. the fellow could pretend to be outraged like his mistress all

decisions, stay right where they stood forever. a sharp knock sounded at the door, and she pushed him away. at least he knew enough not to protest that. while he tugged on his coat, she shook out the pleats of her dress and attempted to smooth away the wrinkles from lying on the bed. there seemed to be a good many,

. . timid, now. i can help her overcome that, in time—i know i can—but i don’t think she is up to anything like pretending to be a sul’dam.” thom tugged at his mustaches. “it’s unlikely riselle would leave under any circumstances. it seems she likes banner-general lord yamada’s singing well enough that she has decided to marry him.” he sighed

said dryly, waggling his eyebrows. “i suppose elayne and nynaeve have found some way to let him know, if they think it important.” “why should they?” juilin said, bending to tug off a boot with a grunt. “the thing is at the bottom of the sea.” scowling, he hurled the boot at the bundled dresses in the corner. “are you going

the far wall and a fire crackling in a small fireplace. only the speed of his movement saved him. a flicker of movement caught the corner of his eye, something tugged at the cloak billowing behind him, and he spun awkwardly to fend off slashes of a curved dagger. every movement was an effort of will. the wounds in his side

than half the saidar she had stored in it remained, but it might be enough. it would have to be enough, though she did not know for what exactly, yet. tugging the cowl of her cloak up, she started toward the men in front of the bootmaker’s. none was looking her way. she could . . . hands seized her, dragging

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know half the customs vandene and the others take for granted. but i would rather not disobey you, so don’t, please.” nynaeve glowered at her, giving her braid one firm tug. details of her dress changed, the skirts growing a trifle fuller, the embroidery’s pattern altering, the high neck sinking, then rising again, sprouting lace. she was just not very good

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Crossroads of Twilight - Robert Jordan.txt

out the worst of the night’s chill, if only the worst. voices murmured below; no one sounded excited. he took his hand away from the sword lying beside him and tugged his gauntlets tighter. like all the rest of the younglings, he slept in every stitch he could put on. probably it was just time to wake some of the men

if a couple of hands shorter than bael, today he wore disgruntlement on his face like a second nose. “what troubles you, tumad?” “the aielman was right, my lord.” tumad tugged angrily at his thick black beard with a gauntleted fist. “these andorans spit at our feet. i do not like having to ride away while they thumb an ear at

and his eyes went wide when they lit on samitsu and sashalle. his gaze stayed fixed on them as if trapped, but he fumbled with one hand till he could tug at mistress beldair’s sleeve. the first time, she shook him off without looking around. at a second tug, she turned her head with a scowl that vanished in a blink

as if trapped, but he fumbled with one hand till he could tug at mistress beldair’s sleeve. the first time, she shook him off without looking around. at a second tug, she turned her head with a scowl that vanished in a blink when she, too, saw the aes sedai. “grace favor you, aes sedai,” she said, hastily tucking stray hair

enough for a farmer milking cows. no one he needed to avoid would know him to recognize if they saw him. not unless they were close. just the same, he tugged the cap a bit lower. “you intend to stay out here much longer, mat?” noal’s tattered dark blue coat had seen better days, but then so had he. stooped and

over them. perhaps a seafarer could tell greatship from raker by the tops of masts sticking out of the water, but the task was beyond him. suddenly an old memory tugged at him, of lading ships for an attack from the sea, and how many men could be crowded into how much space for how long. it was not his memory,

not to take risks he could sidestep. “who is joline, toy?” if he had not known better, he would have said tuon sounded jealous. “a bloody aes sedai,” he grumbled, tugging the cap on, and got one small pleasure for the day. tuon’s jaw dropped in shock. he shut the door behind him on the way out before she could find

with those other women, and they don’t get on. there is going to be trouble if we can’t find another wagon.” “is that what this is about?” mat said crossly, tugging his collar tighter. not that it did much good. he was already wet through on the back, and not much better in front. if joline had pulled him here to

was a hammer, now, and if there was any way to accomplish it, any way at all, he intended to hammer these shaido into scrap. tossing the blankets aside, perrin tugged his gauntlets back on, gathered his axe from where it lay beside him, a half-moon blade balanced by a heavy spike, and rolled out into the open, rising to his

he could manage it, spat contemptuously as perrin passed by. ban crawe punched jori’s shoulder for it, hard, but ban did not look at perrin either. dannil lewin stood up, tugging nervously at the thick mustache that looked so ridiculous beneath his beak of a nose. “orders, lord perrin?” the skinny man actually looked relieved when perrin shook his head, and

disgusted sound very like a growl. there were others here besides two rivers folk, yet they were no better. oh, lamgwin dorn, a hulking fellow with scars on his face, tugged his forelock and bobbed his head. lamgwin looked like a shoulderthumper, a tavern tough, but he was perrin’s bodyservant now, when he had need of one, which was not often,

made him uneasy with coincidences. all too often, they were not coincidence at all, not the way other men counted such things. if this was another bit of his ta’veren tugging at the pattern, it was a bit he could have done without. the thing seemed to have more disadvantages than advantages even when it appeared to be working in your

and now? perrin realized that he had moved one hand to rest on his axe, but he left it there. among the mass of masema’s followers, horses moved nervously at tugs from their riders, men shouted and waved weapons, but masema himself studied the oncoming lancers and bowmen with no change of expression, neither more dour nor less. they might have

moving. there had to be a way. his mind darted like a caged rat. elyas dismounted to squat and frown at the sliced stone, paying little heed to his gelding tugging at the reins and trying to back away. beside the stone, the thick trunk of a pine that had stood a good fifty paces tall was propped up at one

she had done it herself, with a curtsy before opening and yet another after. her divided silk skirts whispered furiously against each other as she strode out of the room tugging on her red riding gloves. if elsie had delayed her one more second, she thought she would have screamed. it was the girl who shrieked, however, before elayne had gone

a brainless question! the thought of risking arymilla’s displeasure, the thought that arymilla’s displeasure was something she needed to avoid, made her snarl. “you know as much as i, naean.” tugging at her reins, she was already turning her mount away when naean spoke again, with just a hint of heat. “don’t play the simpleton with me, elenia. and don’t tell

have forgotten her existence for the moment, but he would remember the next time he saw her. “you promised to keep him occupied.” arymilla’s face grew sullen, and she petulantly tugged her riding gloves tighter. she had not gotten what she wanted. that was a great sin, to her. “if you want to be safe from admirers, you ought to stay

up beside arymilla. she followed a little behind, with arymilla’s sycophants crowding on her heels since they had not been invited to ride with arymilla. despite the fitful, icy wind tugging at their cloaks, several of the women and two or three of the men tried unsuccessfully to engage the girl in conversation. she seldom said two words together. still, with

the corpse to the snow against the wall and crouched beside it, wiping his blade on the dead man’s dark coat while sticking his other hand into his armpit to tug off his steel-backed gauntlet. head swiveling, he watched the street both ways as he felt quickly across the man’s face in the darkness. a rasp of stubble under his fingers

no gold, likely not even a piece of silver, but a cut purse and no coins would make whoever found the body think him the prey of strongarms. straightening, he tugged on his gauntlet, and only moments after driving his blade home, he was striding along the slush-covered pavement once more, dagger held close to his side beneath his cloak and

she wore her hair in a long dark braid, though egwene was not sure she had gotten permission from the women’s circle. but then, that world was behind her, now. tugging on her mittens as she hurried from the tent, bode kept her eyes down and never glanced in egwene’s direction. plainly, she still did not understand why a novice could

thought she owed. in any case, whether the woman chased men, or even tripped them up, was beside the point now. “i’m afraid i do have work, halima,” she said, tugging off her gloves. a mountain of work, most days. there was no sign of sheriam’s reports on the table yet, of course, but she would be sending them soon, along

reaching it, but the effort would not stop until every sitter agreed or it was clear as well water that there could be no agreement. a powerful call, one that tugged at every sister. delana rose like a puppet drawn up against her will, looking around uncertainly. “i cannot stand for this,” takima said, against all decorum. “no matter what anyone

anyway. a pity she could not tell where someone was from their dreams; two points of light could be side-by-side here, and the dreamers a thousand miles apart. gawyn’s dreams tugged at her, and she fled. his dreams held their own dangers, not least because part of her wanted very much to sink into them. nynaeve’s dreams gave her pause, and

and she realized something else, as well. that face was afraid. hiding it, but afraid. “she’s been very useful,” mesaana said, not sounding afraid at all, in a voice that tugged the edge of recognition, “and now i will have to kill her.” “you were always . . . overly wasteful,” replied a harsh voice, like rotten bone crumbling underfoot. alviarin

blood even without the bond. “none of that, now,” she said warningly, before he could move the hand resting on her back, and rolled off the bed to her feet, tugging her embroidered coat straight with a reproving look. since bonding him, she was even better at reading his mind, and she had been good enough before. “what are you going

supporting his axe at his side, the one as plain as the other, only pointed up that he was a fool pretending to be more than he was. sometimes he tugged his gauntlets tighter, or glared at his fur-lined cloak, lying across the back of a chair ready for him to put on. twice, he pulled a sheet of paper from

so everyone would look at him and see a bloody lord, look at him and feel confident. and every bit of it reminded him that faile was not out riding. tugging off one of his gauntlets, he felt in his coat pocket and ran his fingers along the rawhide cord tucked in there. thirty-two knots, now. he did not need reminding

he was riding west beneath a gray cloudy sky, along a snowy road with the high-wheeled carts trundling along in a line after him and early-morning shadows stretching ahead. stayer tugged at the reins, wanting to run, but perrin held him to a steady walk, no faster than the carthorses could manage. gallenne’s mayeners had to cross fields beside the road

doubted very much that they were waiting in the street with the horses. what they and their warders were doing was any man’s guess. the man who had jumped up tugged at his coat collar with a finger. the coat had been fine blue wool once, with a row of gilded buttons to his neck, but he appeared to have been

spend hours in the cold.” “i was about to suggest a visit to a warehouse,” berelain put in. rising, she drew her red gloves from behind her belt and began tugging them on. “i would never buy grain without seeing the warehouse.” mistress arnon sagged. the bald-headed man put his head down on the table. no one said anything, though. the

morning to cast everyone in faint shadows on the paving and the stone walls. some of the merchants put hands up to shield their eyes. after a moment, master crossin tugged one of the doors open by an iron ring. the smell inside was the familiar sharp scent of barley, almost strong enough to overcome the stench of the town, and

glared at berelain with burning eyes before deciding to pretend she did not exist. some fools knew no limits. bending, perrin untied the rag around the pegged man’s mouth and tugged the wad from between his teeth. he just managed to snatch his hand back from a snap as vicious as any stayer could have given. immediately, the aielman threw back

of something bitter drifted through the light rain. mat was not sure he would want to eat anything luca’s wife cooked. “you’re certain nobody is chasing us, right, cauthon?” irritably tugging his woolen cap lower, mat stalked away through the brightly colored sprawl of tents and wagons grinding his teeth. not paying enough? for what he had offered, luca should have

in their hoods, were walking slowly along one wall full of cloth, stopping to touch a bolt but neither paying the shopkeeper any heed. “they’re with me,” mat said breathlessly. tugging the purse from his pocket, he tossed it on the nearest clear table. the heavy clink it made landing put a wide smile on the shopkeeper’s narrow face. “give them

when she scrambled down from the saddle in a flurry of skirts and muttered curses, she looked relieved to have escaped with her life. bela whickered at egwene in recognition. tugging her disarrayed cowl back into place, siuan opened her mouth too, but egwene held up a warning hand before the other woman could speak. she could see the word “mother”

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she wore her hair in a long dark braid, though egwene was not sure she had gotten permission from the women’s circle. but then, that world was behind her, now. tugging on her mittens as she hurried from the tent, bode kept her eyes down and never glanced in egwene’s direction. plainly, she still did not understand why a novice could

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Knife of Dreams - Robert Jordan.txt

back in place. the only thing to do was sit bolt upright, one hand clutching the pommel in a deathgrip, the other tighter still on the reins. her flailing cloak tugged uncomfortably against her throat, and she jounced up and down so hard that her teeth clicked if she opened her mouth at the wrong time, but she hung on, and

about?” instead of answering, lelaine resumed her slow walk through the moonlight, carefully adjusting her shawl. burin followed her, a half-invisible lion in the night. siuan hurried to catch up, tugging nightlily after her, fending off the fool mare’s attempts to nuzzle her hand again. “egwene al’vere is the lawful amyrlin seat,” lelaine said finally. “until she dies. or is stilled.

walking in that grove, or sitting on one of the low branches for hours reading, though never in snow. tervail did not recognize it, and darted through, sword in hand, tugging hammer behind him, the warhorse’s hooves kicking up puffs of snow on the other side. she followed a little more slowly and let the weave dissipate almost reluctantly. it truly

really were ta’veren,” mat muttered, which made the other man give him an odd look. he put a finger behind the black silk scarf that hid his hanging scar and tugged at it. for a moment, the thing had felt too tight. he had spent a night of bleak dreams about corpses floating downstream and woken to the dice spinning in

i make it a full month instead of a week.” “yes, standardbearer,” they snapped out as one, then ran back across the road as hard as they could go while tugging off their coats. hard men, yet the standardbearer was harder. she was not finished, however. luca stepped forward, bowing with a grand flourish, but she cut off whatever thanks he

sounded dimly. the buildings, some of three stories, were all heavy timber framing with whitish plaster between and had high-peaked roofs of thatch and tall stone chimneys. something about them tugged at mat’s memory, but he could not say what. there was not a farm to be seen anywhere in the unbroken forest. but villages were always tied to farms, supporting

even know it exists.” that did not seem to help much. olver stared at the red cloth game board dejectedly. “the tower of ghenjei,” noal said, sitting up cross-legged and tugging his coat straight. “not many know that tale anymore. jain always said he’d go looking for it one day. somewhere along the shadow coast, he said.” “that’s still a lot

her face. “not a word from anybody,” she said grimly. “not one!” she added when birgitte opened her mouth anyway. the golden-haired woman snapped her jaws shut and gave a tug at her thick braid, almost the way nynaeve did. she did not bother to keep disapproval from her face, and the bond still carried puzzlement, and worry. enough that elayne

and her strange bracelet-and-rings angreal, shifted in her chair in front of the other fireplace, then went back to watching alivia. every so often she glanced toward the windows and tugged at her thick braid, but for the most part she focused on the yellow-haired seanchan woman. standing beside the doorway like a guard, alivia gave a small, brief smile of

window. “it does seem to be slowing.” “and i think i’ll go find lan,” nynaeve said, gathering her skirts. “the company is better where he is.” that with a sharp tug on her braid and a glare divided between alivia and logain. “the wind tells me a storm is coming, rand. and you know i don’t mean rain.” “the last battle?”

as precipitous as the rest. that was a puzzlement. the sitting room door was carved with a great tree, not ogier work, yet finely detailed and instantly recognizable. he stopped, tugging his coat straight, combing his hair with his fingers, wishing he had time to black his boots. there was an ink stain on his cuff. no time to do anything

and the feel of her nose on his! pure bliss! he cupped the back of her head and barely had the presence of mind not to finger her ear. she tugged the tuft on one of his! after a while, a very long while it seemed, voices intruded. “it is still raining, covril. you cannot seriously be suggesting we set out

any means, but he was nearly as fair complected as a cairhienin. “how may i serve?” his dark eyes kept drifting to the maidens, and every time they did, he tugged at his long blue coat as though it suddenly felt too tight. “we want a room with a good view of the stone,” rand said. “it is worms that make

he ran his eyes over min and the other women, and his lips moved as if he were counting. “if you’re thinking of any impropriety, master saranche,” nynaeve said indignantly, tugging at the braid hanging from the cowl of her cloak, “you had best think twice and again. before i box your ears.” min hissed softly, and one hand drifted toward

good seven feet long wriggling quickly away from the log juilin was seated on. leilwin cursed and leaped to her feet drawing her sword, but no faster than juilin, who tugged his shortsword free of its scabbard and started after the snake so swiftly that his conical red cap fell off. “let it go, juilin,” mat said. “it’s heading away from

an unexpected side of himself in that street brawl. a formidable man, though with a peculiar weakness. for some reason, she found that strangely endearing. “good advice,” he said absently, tugging at the black scarf tied around his neck. she wondered about the scar he took such pains to hide. that he did was understandable. why had he been hanged, and

hours, and send them to somewhere near ebou dar.” for a moment, he thought nynaeve was going to protest again, but she contented herself with giving her braid a strong tug and turning away. “who are you to ask for a meeting with the high lady?” falendre demanded. she emphasized the title for some reason. “my name is rand al’thor. i’m

anyone on either slope. now he just had to wait. tuon and selucia kept him company, and so did teslyn. a gusting breeze had sprung up from the west that tugged at cloaks, but of course, aes sedai could ignore such things, though teslyn held hers shut. selucia let the gusts take her cloak where it would, oddly, but tuon took

that might have caught, trying not to think about the whole pile shifting and trapping an arm, crushing it. only then could they begin pulling, sometimes two of them together, tugging harder and harder until the piece suddenly gave. that work went slowly, with the great pile occasionally groaning, or shifting slightly. everyone darted back, holding their breath, when that happened.

arganda bellowed. “with me!” masema shouted. perrin was supposed to make that slow advance with the others, but he began to walk down the slope faster and faster. the gates tugged at him. his blood was becoming fire. elyas claimed it was a natural feeling when you were in danger of your life, but he could not see it. he had

look at them. “these don’t look too bad,” she said briskly, though all of those emotions still lay tangled in her joy. she reached up to part his hair and tugged until he bent his head so she could examine the slash along his scalp. “you’ll need healing, of course. how many aes sedai did you bring? how did you—? no,

pebbles around the powder inside each cylinder, and those pierced flesh deeply when they hit. shrieking horses fell to thrash on the ground. riders fell to lie still. an arrow tugged at mat’s left sleeve, another pierced his right sleeve, only the fletchings keeping it from going through cleanly, and a third ripped open the right shoulder of his coat. he

the fletchings keeping it from going through cleanly, and a third ripped open the right shoulder of his coat. he put a finger behind the scarf around his neck and tugged. the bloody thing felt awfully tight of a sudden. maybe he should consider wearing armor at times like this. the enemy flanks were beginning to curl in, now, preparing to

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her face. “not a word from anybody,” she said grimly. “not one!” she added when birgitte opened her mouth anyway. the golden-haired woman snapped her jaws shut and gave a tug at her thick braid, almost the way nynaeve did. she did not bother to keep disapproval from her face, and the bond still carried puzzlement, and worry. enough that elayne

and her strange bracelet-and-rings angreal, shifted in her chair in front of the other fireplace, then went back to watching alivia. every so often she glanced toward the windows and tugged at her thick braid, but for the most part she focused on the yellow-haired seanchan woman. standing beside the doorway like a guard, alivia gave a small, brief smile of

window. “it does seem to be slowing.” “and i think i’ll go find lan,” nynaeve said, gathering her skirts. “the company is better where he is.” that with a sharp tug on her braid and a glare divided between alivia and logain. “the wind tells me a storm is coming, rand. and you know i don’t mean rain.” “the last battle?”

he ran his eyes over min and the other women, and his lips moved as if he were counting. “if you’re thinking of any impropriety, master saranche,” nynaeve said indignantly, tugging at the braid hanging from the cowl of her cloak, “you had best think twice and again. before i box your ears.” min hissed softly, and one hand drifted toward

hours, and send them to somewhere near ebou dar.” for a moment, he thought nynaeve was going to protest again, but she contented herself with giving her braid a strong tug and turning away. “who are you to ask for a meeting with the high lady?” falendre demanded. she emphasized the title for some reason. “my name is rand al’thor. i’m

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The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan.txt

and clad with a piece of tin for strength. and then he would have to heat the blade and bang off the toe about halfway, making a hook that could tug a man off his horse and maybe cut him at the same time. he slid the blade into the burning coals to heat it, then began to tie on his

how inferior and backward we are, with the occasional aside that she’s eventually going to kill us all.” nynaeve reached up to her long, single braid—but stopped herself short of tugging on it. she was getting better about that. rand wondered why she bothered, considering how obvious her temper was. “for all the girl’s dramatic talk,” cadsuane said, nodding to nynaeve,

dark eyes were so worried he had to turn away. alivia—who had watched the exchange about semirhage with those penetrating eyes of hers—seemed too knowing. nynaeve finally gave in and tugged on her braid. for once, cadsuane didn’t chastise him for his outburst. instead she just sipped her wine. how could she stand the stuff? the thought was trivial. ridiculous. he

yet harder and harder to ignore. “well,” daigian said, “i’m certain this isn’t the only time in history that it has been cloudy for ten days!” nynaeve shook her head, tugging on her braid. “it’s not normal,” she said. “and those overcast skies aren’t the storm i’m talking about. it’s still distant, but it’s coming. and it is going to be

rich red coat, that noble bearing. perrin was just a blacksmith. he sighed, shaking his head and dispelling the image. he needed to seek out rand. he could feel something tugging at him, pulling him. rand needed him. that had to be his focus now. chapter 10 the last of the tabac rodel ituralde puffed quietly on his pipe, smoke curling

she said, setting her book aside and joining him beside the window. “you have to talk to someone. you can’t keep it all inside.” “i have to be strong.” she tugged on his arm, turning him toward her. “keeping me away means you’re strong?” “i’m not—” “yes you are. there are things going on in there, behind those aiel eyes of

the wise ones, fuming. “aviendha?” bair asked. “have you finished your punishment already?” “no i have not,” aviendha said, stopping in front of them, hands fists at her sides. wind tugged at her shirt, but she let it flap. hurrying camp workers—both aiel and saldaean—gave the group a wide berth. “well?” bair asked. “you are not learning quickly enough,” amys added,

grain on their horses. it was amazing what a little coin could do for motivation. as more riders arrived, a young boy came trotting up the road. “mayor,” he said, tugging on barlden’s purple vest. that vest bore a crisscross of patched rips across the front. “mother says that the outlander women aren’t done bathing. she’s trying to hurry them, but.

aes sedai. don’t think of her as a woman.” “i’m trying, mat,” talmanes said. “but it’s hard.” he hesitated, then added, “burn me.” “be careful or she will,” mat said, tugging his hat down slightly in the front. “in fact, she nearly did that just a moment ago.” talmanes sighed, and the three of them crossed the hallway to the women.

and yet you refuse to tell me when the dragons will be needed.” “can’t tell you things i don’t know myself, aludra,” mat said, glancing northward. he felt a strange tugging, as if someone had hooked a fisherman’s line about his insides and was softly—but insistently—pulling on it. rand, is that you, burn you? colors swirled. “soon, aludra,” he found himself

steaming cup of mint tea. she took it gratefully, and the soldier retreated. “yanked you?” mat said. “you were looking for me.” “only after i determined that the pattern was tugging me somewhere.” verin blew on her tea. “that meant you or perrin. it couldn’t have been rand’s fault, since i’d been able to leave that one easily.” “rand?” mat asked,

of thing rand was supposed to do to people. not mat. “by your account, you should still be in tear.” “yes,” she said, “but i soon started to feel a tugging on me. something pulling me, yanking me. as if. . . .” mat shifted again. “as if someone’s got a bloody fishhook inside of you? and is standing far away,

most wouldn’t have noticed it, i suspect, but i have made a study of the nature of ta’veren. the caravan hadn’t moved far toward murandy—only one day—but mixed with the tugging, it was enough. i spoke with tomas, and we determined to avoid going where we were being pulled. skimming is an inferior substitute for traveling, but does not have the

matrim? i accidentally end up here, in your path, right when you have great need of someone to create a gateway for your army?” “still could be coincidence.” “and the tugging?” he didn’t know what to say to that. “coincidence is how being ta’veren works,” verin said. “you find a discarded object that is of great use to you, or happen

seemed to be ignoring min. “can you?” nynaeve’s eyes were still wide with anger. light, min thought. nynaeve? obey cadsuane and the others? she’s going to explode at them! nynaeve tugged on her braid with a white-knuckled grip. “yes, cadsuane sedai,” she said through clenched teeth. “i can.” the wise ones seemed surprised to hear her speak the words, but cadsuane

egwene struck down seemed to be renna in her mind’s eye. egwene stood at an open hole in the side of the white tower, wind pulling at her white dress, tugging at her hair, howling as if in accompaniment to her rage. her anger was not out of control. it was cold and distilled. the tower was burning. she had foretold

eyes that expected attack. that wariness would serve them well when the trollocs reached them—assuming the seanchan hadn’t conquered them and pressed them into their armies by that point. nynaeve tugged her braid again. her mind turned back to lan. she had to do something! but rand wasn’t seeing sense. that left only cadsuane’s mysterious plan. fool woman, refusing to explain

i know not the ways of lords and ladies.” he hesitated. “besides, i’m not a borderlander anymore.” the implication was clear. he would protect rand, no matter what other allegiances tugged at him. a very warder-like way of thought. nynaeve nodded slowly. “do you have any idea what we’re riding into?” “they’ll keep their word,” narishma said. “a borderlander would sooner

the aes sedai sworn to rand, only beldeine was there at the moment. cadsuane sat near min, perusing her own book. nynaeve walked back and forth, up and down, occasionally tugging on her braid. nobody spoke of the tension in the room. what were rand and tam discussing? would rand’s father be able to turn him? the chamber was cramped. with

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how inferior and backward we are, with the occasional aside that she’s eventually going to kill us all.” nynaeve reached up to her long, single braid—but stopped herself short of tugging on it. she was getting better about that. rand wondered why she bothered, considering how obvious her temper was. “for all the girl’s dramatic talk,” cadsuane said, nodding to nynaeve,

dark eyes were so worried he had to turn away. alivia—who had watched the exchange about semirhage with those penetrating eyes of hers—seemed too knowing. nynaeve finally gave in and tugged on her braid. for once, cadsuane didn’t chastise him for his outburst. instead she just sipped her wine. how could she stand the stuff? the thought was trivial. ridiculous. he

yet harder and harder to ignore. “well,” daigian said, “i’m certain this isn’t the only time in history that it has been cloudy for ten days!” nynaeve shook her head, tugging on her braid. “it’s not normal,” she said. “and those overcast skies aren’t the storm i’m talking about. it’s still distant, but it’s coming. and it is going to be

seemed to be ignoring min. “can you?” nynaeve’s eyes were still wide with anger. light, min thought. nynaeve? obey cadsuane and the others? she’s going to explode at them! nynaeve tugged on her braid with a white-knuckled grip. “yes, cadsuane sedai,” she said through clenched teeth. “i can.” the wise ones seemed surprised to hear her speak the words, but cadsuane

eyes that expected attack. that wariness would serve them well when the trollocs reached them—assuming the seanchan hadn’t conquered them and pressed them into their armies by that point. nynaeve tugged her braid again. her mind turned back to lan. she had to do something! but rand wasn’t seeing sense. that left only cadsuane’s mysterious plan. fool woman, refusing to explain

the aes sedai sworn to rand, only beldeine was there at the moment. cadsuane sat near min, perusing her own book. nynaeve walked back and forth, up and down, occasionally tugging on her braid. nobody spoke of the tension in the room. what were rand and tam discussing? would rand’s father be able to turn him? the chamber was cramped. with

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Towers of Midnight - Robert Jordan.txt

ground. it was strange to find beauty in this place. could he find the light in his own situation as well? he feared it would not be so easy. he tugged stout forward. he could hear worried conversations from behind, punctuated by the occasional curse. this place, with its stench and biting insects, would try the best of men. those who

what was to come. there was no helping that for him. he leaned down on the fence, feeling the rough grooves of the unsanded planks under his arms. that wind tugged at the tails of his shirt again; adrinne had always forced him to tuck it in, but now that she was gone, he…well, he never had liked wearing it that

and as he did, he noticed for the first time that the grass around him seemed greener, healthier. he looked eastward. almen felt a pull inside of him. something was tugging him softly in the direction the stranger had gone. apples first, he thought. then…well, then he’d see. chapter 2 questions of leadership thunder rumbled above, soft and menacing like the

this. besides, a large number of commoners had been caught in this bubble as well. she and naeff made their way out of the building, nynaeve’s frustration mounting as she tugged on her braid. she hated feeling helpless. like with the poor guard who had started the fire back at the manor house in arad doman, or the people who were

paused, winecup halfway to her lips. then she smiled, and drank. “we shall see, then,” she said, lowering the cup, “what comes of this.” chapter 19 talk of dragons mat tugged on a sturdy brown coat. the buttons were brass, but other than that, it was free of ornamentation. made of a thick wool, it had a few holes from arrows

the other half wasn’t my bloody fault.” guybon laughed. “what of the story of you hanging from a tree for nine days?” “didn’t happen,” mat said, resisting the urge to tug at the scarf around his neck. nine days? where did that come from? he had not even hung for nine bloody minutes! nine seconds had been too long. “they also

your spear never misses its target.” “wish those second two were true. burn me, but i wish they were.” “but you do always win at dice?” “near enough,” mat said, tugging down the brim of his hat. “but don’t spread that one, or i’ll never find a game.” “they say you slew one of the forsaken,” guybon noted. “not true,” mat

doing here?” she was an olive-skinned beauty, with long black hair and rounded curves. nynaeve had to stop herself from reaching for her braid. it was too short now to tug. that was going to take a lot of getting used to. “you have something that belongs to me,” nynaeve said. “hmm…that depends on opinion, child.” myrelle frowned. “i was raised

by swordmaster after swordmaster never to let his surprise overwhelm him, but at that moment, their careful training was for naught. that was his stepmother. that red-gold hair he had tugged as a child. that face, so beautiful and strong. those eyes. those were her eyes. a ghost? he had heard the stories. manifestations of the dark one’s evil returning the

beat quickly as she glanced at takima. the woman seemed very disturbed, as if trying to sort through egwene’s plan. the same went for saroiya. the calculating white studied egwene, tugging her ear. suddenly, her eyes went wide, and she opened her mouth to speak. at that moment, doesine and yukiri arrived, striding into the room. saerin stood immediately. slim doesine

from the bushes to kill and capture, and she felt a moment of sheer panic. but the screams were coming from inside camp. she cursed, turning about, but felt something tug at her belt. she looked down with a start to see her belt knife pull itself from its sheath and flip into the air. “a bubble of evil!” berelain said,

water, the waves turning back into ground. but then he cried out as something brushed his leg. lightning crashed, breaking the air. a woman beside him slipped beneath the waves, tugged by unseen jaws. panicked, perrin was suddenly back in the water, there in a heartbeat, floating in a completely different place, one arm slung over a piece of wreckage. this

came low. it did, cutting deeply into his side. he took it with a grunt, but immediately lashed out with all he had. his sword hissed, and with a brief tug it sliced true. a thump followed; a decapitated head bouncing off the wall, followed by the noise of a corpse hitting the ground. gawyn slumped against the bed, blood gushing

glared at him. he frowned. “what?” “you haven’t asked.” he smiled, then held her close. “morgase trakand, will you be my wife?” “yes,” she replied. “now let’s find perrin.” perrin tugged on the oak branch. it broke off, powdery wood dust puffing out. as he held the branch up, sawdust streamed out of the end onto the brown grass. “happened last

it. she turned and—taking a deep breath—walked up to the pillars. then took a step. she was norlesh. she held her youngest child close to her bosom. a dry wind tugged at her shawl. her baby, garlvan, started to whimper, but she quieted him as her husband spoke with the outlanders. an outlander village stood in the near distance, built of

they worked, but gateways failed every time. her chill became frost within her. she was trapped. they all were. perrin clasped hands with mat. “good luck, my friend.” mat grinned, tugging down the broad brim of his dark hat. “luck? i hope this all comes down to luck. i’m good with luck.” mat carried a bulging pack over one shoulder, as

answers, isn’t it?” thom asked. mat nodded. “you think i could get some of those myself?” thom asked. “three questions. any answers you like….” “you don’t want them,” mat said, tugging down the brim of his hat. “trust me, you don’t. they aren’t answers. they’re threats. promises. we—” thom stopped beside him. in thom’s arms, moiraine was beginning to stir. she

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this. besides, a large number of commoners had been caught in this bubble as well. she and naeff made their way out of the building, nynaeve’s frustration mounting as she tugged on her braid. she hated feeling helpless. like with the poor guard who had started the fire back at the manor house in arad doman, or the people who were

doing here?” she was an olive-skinned beauty, with long black hair and rounded curves. nynaeve had to stop herself from reaching for her braid. it was too short now to tug. that was going to take a lot of getting used to. “you have something that belongs to me,” nynaeve said. “hmm…that depends on opinion, child.” myrelle frowned. “i was raised

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A Memory of Light - Robert Jordan.txt

this andor. bayrd gathered the others and they left for the north. behind them in the night, their lord whimpered, alone, as the ghosts began to move through camp. talmanes tugged on selfar’s reins, making the horse dance and shake his head. the roan seemed eager. perhaps selfar sensed his master’s anxious mood. the night air was thick with smoke. smoke

hand, stopping his procession. she reined in her horse and waited for him to approach her, as would be customary. he didn’t. gawyn muttered a curse. egwene let a smile tug at the edges of her lips. warders could be useful, if only to express what she should not. finally, she nudged her horse forward. “so.” roedran looked her over. “you’re

rand. the colors swam. rand, speaking with moiraine on a bleak rocky ridge he did not recognize. they were almost ready for the invasion of shayol ghul. perrin felt a tug from rand, growing stronger. soon, rand would need him. “perrin?” tam asked. “what’s this nonsense about command?” “you have our forces, tam,” perrin said. “the men are working together now;

two so far. pity. i assumed you were the third.” she eyed him, as if considering that he might— against all logic—somehow be that assassin. “you’re bloody insane,” mat said, tugging on his hat and fetching his ashandarei. “i’m going to tuon.” “that is no longer her name, may she live forever. she is known as fortuona; you should not address

like walking up to an archer’s nest and daring anyone inside to hit him. instead, he set his bundle down on the table. tam regarded the long, cloth-wrapped bundle, then tugged at its covering. the cloth came off, revealing a majestic sword with a black-lacquered sheath painted with entwined dragons of red and gold. tam looked up with a question in

this was the thanks he was given. sure, mat had been a little sidetracked after that. he had still done it, had he not? “all right,” mat said very softly, tugging at the bonds of air holding him. “i’ll get us out of this, rand. i’m married to her. let me do the talking, and—” “daughter of artur hawkwing,” rand said

sorrow and have risen up to accept my glory. i have come seeking what was taken from me. remember that.” the captives cowered further, obviously uncertain what to do. gawyn tugged on egwene’s sleeve, motioning backward, but she did not move. there was something about that man . . . he looked up suddenly. he focused on the women channelers, then

to dreams. that dream you saw her invading ... it belongs to davram bashere. father of your wife.” with that, lanfear vanished. chapter 23 at the edge of time gawyn tugged urgently on egwene’s shoulder. why wouldn’t she move? whoever that man was in the armor made of silver discs, he could sense female channelers. he d picked leane out of

mountain, and the fiery pit that was the closest thing this world knew to the dark ones dwelling. shadows from a returned sun dimmed the cavern mouth around him. wind tugged at him, his foot warm with his own blood. i will not walk out of this pit alive, he thought. he no longer cared. survival was not his goal. it

he’d focused so much on the attack that he hadn’t been ready when slayer changed their footing. perrin passed through the rumbling cloud, breaking out into the sky below, wind tugging at his clothing. he prepared himself, waiting for the hail of arrows to follow him down out of the cloud. slayer could be so predictable . . . no arrows

to cross between arafel and shienar. mat could use these features to his advantage. he could use them all. would that be enough? he could feel something pulling on him, tugging him northward. rand would need him soon. he turned, ready to bolt, as someone approached across the top of the knob, but it was not the deathwatch guards. it was

and he stopped short. mat turned northward again. a cool, somehow familiar wind blew across him, rippling his long coat, brushing at his hat. he narrowed his eye. rand was tugging on him. the dice still tumbled in his head. “they’re here,” mat said. “what did you say?” egwene asked. “they’re here.” “the scouts—” “the scouts are wrong” mat said. he

power-intensive weaves she knew, but she’d done it as easily as waving her hand. while in a circle someone else was leading. theodrin stumbled through first. the lithe domani woman tugged a stumbling jonneth after her through the gateway. emarin followed, limping, one arm hanging uselessly at his side. androl regarded the gateway, stunned. “i thought you aren’t supposed to be

of the scouts said. “that would be lady tinna.” “go fetch her,” mat said. those dice kept rattling in his head. he also felt a pull from the north, a tugging, as if some threads around his chest were yanking on him. not now, rand, he thought. i’m bloody busy. no colors formed, only blackness. dark as a myrddraal’s heart. the

as if some threads around his chest were yanking on him. not now, rand, he thought. i’m bloody busy. no colors formed, only blackness. dark as a myrddraal’s heart. the tugging grew stronger. mat dismissed the vision. not. now. he had work to do here. he had a plan. light, let it work. tinna turned out to be a pretty girl,

the force of it. they exchanged three blows, quick as cracks of lightning, lan still in motion until the last blow caught demandred on the cheek. lan felt a slight tug, and a blood sprayed into the air. demandred felt at the wound in his cheek, and his eyes opened wider. “who are you!” demandred asked. “i am the man who

a stone the size of a man’s head passed directly in front of him. lan flowed forward, arm moving into his next form as another stone flew under his arm, tugging wind with it. lan raised his sword and flowed around the path of a third stone, which missed him by a thumb’s width, rippling his clothing. demandred blocked lan’s attack,

go looking for her, though. he had a feeling that she would expect him to perform his princely duties, whatever they might be. only ... he did feel that strange tugging inside. getting stronger and stronger. blood and bloody ashes, rand, mat thought. i've done my part. you do yours. amaresu’s words returned to him. each breath you take is at

luhhan said. “i came through, carrying some of our wounded. i should be getting back to tam and abell soon, but i wanted to check on you.” perrin nodded. that tugging inside of him ... if anything, it was stronger now than it ever would be. rand needed him. the war wasn’t finished yet. not by far. “master luhhan,” perrin said

grady said with annoyance. “pick somewhere else.” “how close can you send me?” grady shrugged. “one of the scouting camps a day’s hike out, probably.” a day’s hike out. the tugging pulled at mat. “mat?” olver said. “i think i need to go with you, don’t i? to the blight? won’t the heroes be needed to fight there?” that was a

olver said. “i think i need to go with you, don’t i? to the blight? won’t the heroes be needed to fight there?” that was a piece of it. the tugging was insufferable. bloody ashes, rand. leave me alone, you— mat stopped himself, a thought occurring to him. scout camps. “one of those seanchan patrol camps, you mean?” “yes,” grady said.

a ring of defenders at the center of camp guarding a large tent. what of rand? no colors swirled in his vision. no image of rand. perrin felt no more tugging, pulling him in any direction. those seemed like very bad signs. he pushed through the guards, numb, and entered the tent. where had they found a tent this large on

die.” “sit,” nynaeve commanded, pointing to a stool. “dogs obey that command, nynaeve,” perrin said, “not wolves.” he knelt down, resting a hand on rand’s shoulder. i couldn’t feel your tugging, or see the visions, perrin thought. you’re no longer ta’veren. i suspect neither am i. “have you sent for the three?” perrin asked. “min, elayne, aviendha. they need to visit

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