The Great Hunt (The Wheel of Time #2)

“She likes him,” Elayne explained.

“I know.” Min glanced at Egwene, and for an instant Egwene thought she saw sadness — or regret? — in her eyes. “I am here,” Min said carefully, “because I was sent for, and was given the choice between riding and coming tied in a sack.”

“You always exaggerate it,” Elayne said. “Sheriam Sedai saw the letter, and she says it was a request. Min sees things, Egwene. That's why she's here; so the Aes Sedai can study how she does it. It isn't the Power.”

“Request,” Min snorted. “When an Aes Sedai requests your presence, it's like a command from a queen with a hundred soldiers to back it up.”

“Everybody sees things,” Egwene said.

Elayne shook her head. “Not like Min. She sees — auras — around people. And images.”

“Not all the time,” Min put in. “Not around everybody.”

“And she can read things about you from them, though I'm not sure she always tells the truth. She said I'd have to share my husband with two other women, and I'd never put up with that. She just laughs, and says it was never her idea of how to run things, either. But she said I would be a queen before she knew who I was; she said she saw a crown, and it was the Rose Crown of Andor.”

Despite herself, Egwene asked, “What do you see when you look at me?”

Min glanced at her. “A white flame, and ... Oh, all sorts of things. I don't know what it means.”

“She says that a great deal,” Elayne said dryly. “One of the things she said she saw looking at me was a severed hand. Not mine, she says. She claims she does not know what it means, either.”

“Because I don't,” Min said. “I don't know what half of it means.”

The crunch of boots on the walk brought them around to look at two young men with their shirts and coats across their arms, leaving sweaty chests bare, and scabbarded swords in their hands. Egwene found herself staring at the most handsome man she had ever seen. Tall and slim, but hard, he moved with a catlike grace. She suddenly realized he was bowing over her hand — she had not even felt him take it in his — and fumbled in her mind for the name she had heard.

“Galad,” she murmured. His dark eyes stared back into hers. He was older than she. Older than Rand. At the thought of Rand, she gave a start and came to herself.

“And I am Gawyn” — the other young man grinned — “since I don't think you heard the first time.” Min was grinning, too, and only Elayne wore a frown.

Egwene abruptly remembered her hand, still held by Galad, and freed it.

“If your duties allow,” Galad said, “I would like to see you again, Egwene. We could walk, or if you obtain permission to leave the Tower, we could picnic outside the city.”

“That — that would be nice.” She was uncomfortably aware of the others, Min and Gawyn still with their amused grins, Elayne still with her scowl.

She tried to settle herself, to think of Rand. He's so ... beautiful. She gave a jump, half afraid she had spoken aloud.

“Until then.” Finally taking his eyes from hers, Galad bowed to Elayne. “Sister.” Lithe as a blade, he strolled on across the bridge.

“That one,” Min murmured, peering after him, “will always do what is right. No matter who it hurts.”

“Sister?” Egwene said. Elayne's scowl had lessened only slightly. “I thought he was your ... I mean, the way you're frowning ...” She had thought Elayne was jealous, and she still was not sure.

“I am not his sister,” Elayne said firmly. “I refuse to be.”

“Our father was his father,” Gawyn said dryly. “You cannot deny that, unless you want to call Mother a liar, and that, I think, would take more nerve than we have between us.”

For the first time Egwene realized that he had the same reddish gold hair as Elayne, though darkened and curled by sweat.

“Min is right,” Elayne said. “Galad has not the smallest part of humanity in him. He takes right above mercy, or pity, or ... He is no more human than a Trolloc.”

Gawyn's grin came back. “I do not know about that. Not from the way he was looking at Egwene, here.” He caught her look, and his sister's, and held up his hands as if to fend them off with his sheathed sword. “Besides, he has the best hand with a sword I've ever seen. The Warders only need show him something once, and he's learned it. They sweat me nearly to death to learn half what Galad does without trying.”

“And being good with a sword is enough?” Elayne sniffed. “Men! Egwene, as you may have guessed, this disgracefully unclothed lummox is my brother. Gawyn, Egwene knows Rand al'Thor. She is from the same village.”

“Is she? Was he really born in the Two Rivers, Egwene?”

Egwene made herself nod calmly. What does he know? “Of course, he was. I grew up with him.”

“Of course,” Gawyn said slowly. “Such a strange fellow. A shepherd, he said, though he never looked or acted like any shepherd I ever saw. Strange. I have met all sorts of people, and they've met Rand al'Thor. Some do not even know his name, but the description could not be anyone else, and he's shifted every one of their lives. There was an old farmer who came to Caemlyn just to see Logain, when Logain was brought through on his way here; yet the farmer stayed to stand for Mother when the riots started. Because of a young man off to see the world, who made him think there was more to life than his farm. Rand al'Thor. You could almost think he was ta'veren. Elaida is certainly interested in him. I wonder if meeting him will shift our lives in the Pattern?”

Egwene looked at Elayne and Min. She was sure they could not have a clue that Rand really was ta'veren. She had never really thought about that part of it before; he was Rand, and he had been cursed with the ability to channel. But ta'veren did move people, whether they wanted to be moved or not. “I really do like you,” she said abruptly, including both girls in her gesture. “I want to be your friend.”

“And I want to be yours,” Elayne said.

Impulsively, Egwene hugged her, and then Min jumped down, and the three of them stood there on the bridge hugging one another all together.

“We three are tied together,” Min said, “and we cannot let any man get in the way of