The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time #8)

“And took it again,” Pevara muttered impatiently. Snatching up the slim rod, she channeled a little Spirit into one end while maintaining Zerah’s shield. “Under the Light, I vow to speak no word that is not true. Under the Light, I vow to make no weapon for one man to kill another. Under the Light, I vow not to use the One Power as a weapon except against Shadowspawn, or in the last defense of my life, the life of my Warder, or that of another sister.” She did not grimace over the part about Warders; new sisters bound for the Red often did. “I am not a Darkfriend. I hope that satisfies you.” She showed Zerah her teeth, but whether in smile or snarl was hard to say.

Seaine retook the Oaths in turn, each producing a slight momentary pressure everywhere from her scalp to the soles of her feet. In truth, the pressure was difficult to detect at all, with her skin still feeling too tight from retaking the Oath against speaking a lie. Claiming that Pevara had a beard or that the streets of Tar Valon were paved with cheese had been strangely exhilarating for a time — even Pevara had giggled — but hardly worth the discomfort now. Testing had not really seemed necessary, to her. Logically, it must be so. Saying that she was not of the Black twisted her tongue — a vile thing to be forced to deny — but she handed Zerah the Oath Rod with a decisive nod.

Shifting on her bench, the slender woman turned the smooth white rod in her fingers, swallowing convulsively. The pale lantern light made her appear ill. She looked from one of them to the other, wideeyed, then her hands tightened on the Rod, and she nodded.

“Exactly as I said,” Pevara growled, channeling Spirit to the Rod again, “or you’ll be swearing until you have it right.”

“I vow to obey the two of you absolutely,” Zerah said in a tight voice, then shuddered as the oath took hold. It was always tighter at the first. “Ask me about the Black Ajah,” she demanded. Her hands shook holding the Rod. “Ask me about the Black Ajah!” Her intensity told Seaine the answer even before Pevara released the flow of Spirit and asked the question, commanding utter truth. “No!” Zerah practically shouted. “No, I am not Black Ajah! Now take this oath from me! Free me!”

Seaine slumped dejectedly, resting her elbows on the table. She certainly had not wanted Zerah to answer yes, but she had been sure they had found the other woman out in a lie. One lie found, or so it had seemed, after weeks of searching. How many more weeks of searching lay ahead? And of looking over her shoulder from waking to sleeping? When she managed to sleep.

Pevara stabbed an accusing finger at the woman. “You told people that you came from the north.”

Zerah’s eyes went wide again. “I did,” she said slowly. “I rode down the bank of the Erinin to Jualdhe. Now free me of this oath!” She licked her lips.

Seaine frowned at her. “Goldenthorn seeds and a red cockleburr were found on your saddlecloth, Zerah. Goldenthorn and red cockleburr can’t be found for a hundred miles south of Tar Valon.”

Zerah leaped to her feet, and Pevara snapped, “Sit down!”

The woman dropped onto the bench with a loud smack, but she did not even wince. She was trembling. No, shaking. Her mouth was clamped shut, otherwise Seaine was sure her teeth would have been chattering. Light, the question of north or south frightened her more than an accusation of being a Darkfriend.

“From where did you start out,” Seaine asked slowly, “and why —?” She meant to ask why the woman had gone roundabout — which plainly she had — just to hide which direction she came from, but answers burst from Zerah’s mouth.

“From Salidar,” she squealed. There was no other word for it. Still clutching the Oath Rod, she writhed on her bench. Tears spilled from her eyes, eyes as wide as they would go and fixed on Pevara. Words poured out, though her teeth truly did chatter now. “I ccame to mmake sure all the sisters here know about the RReds and Logain, so they’ll ddepose Elaida and the TTower can be whole again.” With a wail she collapsed into openmouthed bawling as she stared at the Red Sitter.

“Well,” Pevara said. Then again, more grimly, “Well!” Her face was all composure, but the glitter in her dark eyes was far from the mischief Seaine remembered as novice and Accepted. “So you are the source of that... rumor. You are going to stand before the Hall and reveal it for the lie it is! Admit the lie, girl!”

If Zerah’s eyes had been wide before, they bulged now. The Rod dropped from her hands to roll across the tabletop, and she clutched her throat. A choking sound came from her suddenly gaping mouth. Pevara stared at her in shock, but suddenly Seaine understood.

“Light’s mercy,” she breathed. “You do not have to lie, Zerah.” Zerah’s legs thrashed beneath the table as if she were trying to rise and could not get her feet under her. “Tell her, Pevara. She believes it’s true! You’ve commanded her to speak the truth and to lie. Don’t look at me that way! She believes!” A bluish tinge appeared on Zerah’s lips. Her eyelids fluttered. Seaine gathered calm with both hands. “Pevara, you gave the order so apparently you must release her, or she will suffocate right in front of us.”

“She’s a rebel.” Pevara’s mutter invested that word with all the scorn it could hold. But then she sighed. “She hasn’t been tried, yet. You don’t have to... lie... girl.” Zerah toppled forward and lay with her cheek pressed against the tabletop, gulping air between whimpers.

Seaine shook her head in wonder. They had not considered the possibility of conflicting oaths. What if the Black Ajah did not merely remove the Oath against lying, but replaced it with one of their own? What if they replaced all Three with their own oaths? She and Pevara would need to go very carefully if they did find a Black sister, or they might have her fall dead before they knew what the conflict was. Perhaps first a renunciation of all oaths — no way to go about it more carefully without knowing what Black sisters swore — followed by retaking the Three? Light, the pain of being loosed from everything at once would be little short of being put to the question. Maybe not short of it at all. But certainly a Darkfriend deserved that and more. If they ever found one.

Pevara glared down at the gasping woman without the slightest touch of pity on her face. “When she stands trial for rebellion, I intend to sit on her court.”

“When she is tried, Pevara,” Seaine said thoughtfully. “A pity to lose the assistance of one we know isn’t a Darkfriend. And since she is a rebel, we need not be overly concerned about using her.” There had been a number of discussions, none to a conclusion, about the second reason for leaving the new oath in place. A sister sworn to obey could be compelled — Seaine shifted uneasily; that sounded entirely too close to the forbidden vileness of Compulsion — she could be induced to help in the hunt, so long as you did not mind forcing her to accept the danger, whether she wished to or not. “I cannot think they would send only one,” she went on. “Zerah, how many of you came t