Egwene Quotes

Advice!Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are." "That is probably why you make such a bad job of it.- Perrin and Egwene

I have never known anyone else," Egwene said to him, "who will work so hard to avoid hard work, Matrim Cauthon.

It was easier to be brave when someone needed your protection.

My mother says men are different from us. She says we want to be in love, but only with the one we want; a man needs to be in love, but he will love the first woman to tie a string to his heart. - Egwene, speaking to Elayne

So long as we do not depend on the facts entirely, incomplete knowledge is better than complete ignorance. --Egwene al'Vere

Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain. So many duties. Egwene.

I love words," Mat said. "There are some deliciously pretty words out there. 'Smile.' That's always sounded like a pretty word to me. Don't you think? Or, perhaps, the words 'I promise not to kill Egwene right now for trying to touch me, the Empress, may I live forever, because we really bloody need her for the next couple of weeks or so.'" He eyeed Fortuona pointedly.

And yet many of us do it without families," Nynaeve said. "Without love, without passion beyond our own particular interests. So even while we try to guide the world, we separate ourselves from it.We risk arrogance, Egwene. We always assume we know best, but risk making ourselves unable to fathom the people we claim to serve.

You are as eloquent as ever, Mat," Egwene said dryly. "Do you still have your pet fox?" "I do," Mat said. "He's snuggled up nice and warm.

What did you spend so much time talking about with Ila? If you weren’t dancing with that long-legged fellow, you were talking to her like it was some kind of secret.” “Ila was giving me advice on being a woman,” Egwene replied absently. He began laughing, and she gave him a hooded, dangerous look that he failed to see. “Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.

What does finding the Horn count if I abandon Egwene to this? If I did that, the Horn couldn't save me. The Creator couldn't save me. I would damn myself.

Rage did her no good. You didn't get mad at the weasel who was sneaking into your yard and eating your hens. You simply laid a trap and disposed of the animal. Anger was pointless. - Egwene, pg. 77

He was a soldier. He was a shepherd. He was a beggar, and a king. He was a farmer, gleeman, sailor, carpenter. He was born, lived, and died Aiel. He died mad, he died rotting, he died of sickness, accident, age. He was executed, and multitudes cheered his death. He proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn and flung his banner across the sky; he ran from the Power and hid; he lived and died never knowing. He held off the madness and the sickness for years; he succumbed between two winters. Sometimes Moiraine came and took him away from the Two Rivers, alone or with those of his friends who had survived Winternight; sometimes she did not. Sometimes other Aes Sedai came for him. Sometimes Red Ajah. Egwene married him; Egwene, stern-faced in stole of Amyrlin Seat, led Aes Sedai who gentled him; Egwene, with tears in her eyes, plunged a dagger into his heart, and he thanked her as he died. He loved other women, married other women. Elayne, and Min, and a fair-haired farmer's daughter met on the road to Caemlyn, and women he had never seen before he lived those lives. A hundred lives. More. So many he could not count them. And at the end of every life, as he lay dying, as he drew his final breath, a voice whispered in his ear. I have won again, Lews Therin. Flicker.

I wonder if,” Nynaeve said, “we sometimes put the White Tower —as an institution— before the people we serve. I wonder if we let it become a goal in itself, instead of a means to help us achieve greater goals.” “Devotion is important, Nynaeve. The White Tower protects and guides the world.” “And yet, so many of us do it without families,” Nynaeve said. “Without love, without passion beyond our own particular interests. So even while we try to guide the world, we separate ourselves from it. We risk arrogance, Egwene. We always assume we know best, but risk making ourselves unable to fathom the people we claim to serve.

Rand stared at her for a moment. "Well, you could certainly stop being a spoiled, self-certain, unmitigated brat for once, Egwene.

Egwene didn't notice someone new entering the tent. Rand did, however, and he spun as the flaps parted and let in light. He frowned at the interloper. His frown died as soon as he saw the person who entered. Moiraine.

It is all right to hate them, Egwene. It is. They deserve it. But it isn’t all right to let them make you like they are.

People are people, low or high.

If you boys... you men can do what has to be done when you'd rather do almost anything else, why do you think I will do less? Or Egwene

The old blood is indeed still strong in the Two Rivers.

Light, Egwene thought. I wonder how long it's been since a meeting of this scale occurred.

The Seanchan fight the Shadow. -message from Dragon Reborn to Egwene

Egwene remembered her pity for poor Meidani. No sister should be treated in such a way. Imprisonment was one thing. But beating a woman down, toying with her, hinting at the torture to come? It was insufferable. Each of these things was a pain inside of Egwene, a knife to the chest, piercing the heart. As the beating continued, she realized that nothing they could do to her body would ever compare to the pain of soul she felt at seeing the White Tower suffer beneath Elaida's hand. Compared with those internal agonies, the beating was ridiculous. And so she began to laugh.

The one time Egwene had protested that Elyas was the one who wanted to go around hills and he should not blame them, it got her a lecture on how sound carried, delivered in a growl that could have been heard a mile off.

They were coming back to where they had begun. As her foot hit the spot, Egwene said, ‘That's one,’ and ran on through the darkness with no one to see but Aviendha, no one to say whether she went back to her tent right then. Aviendha would not have told, but it never occurred to Egwene to stop short of the fifty.

hope is like a piece of string when you’re drowning; it just isn’t enough to get you out by itself.” Egwene

Egwene strode around a frozen pillar of glass in her dream. It almost looked like a column of light. What did it mean? She could not interpret it.

Egwene struggled visibly, latching onto the smallest part, the most inconsequential, of what Moiraine had said. “How can reading put him in trouble?

The leaf lives its appointed time, and does not struggle against the wind that carries it away. The leaf does no harm, and finally falls to nourish new leaves. So it should be with all men. And women.” Egwene

As the plow breaks the earth shall he break the lives of men, and all that was shall be consumed in the fire of his eyes,’ ” Egwene said. “ ‘The trumpets of war shall sound at his footsteps, the ravens feed at his voice, and he shall wear a crown of swords.

This is it, Egwene,” Mat said. “Take a deep breath, a last pull on the brandy, or burn your final pinch of tabac. Have a good look at the ground before you, as it’s soon going to be covered in blood. In an hour, we’ll be in the thick of it. The Light watch over us all.

He could never get a straight answer from them regarding what Egwene’s status was currently. He’d heard rumors that she’d been imprisoned, no longer allowed to roam free as a novice. But getting information from an Aes Sedai was about as easy as churning rocks into butter!

Are you sure you want to come, Mat?” Rand asked. Mat shrugged and affected a grin, not a very confident one. “Who could pass up a chance to see bloody Rhuidean?” Egwene raised her eyebrows at him. “Oh, pardon my language, Aes Sedai. I’ve heard you say as bad, and for less cause, I’ll wager.

A shepherd with a heron-mark sword," said a low, woman's voice. "That's almost enough to make me believe anything. What trouble are you in, downcountry boy?" Startled, Rand jumped to his feet. It was the crop-haired young woman who had been with Moiraine when he came out of the bath chamber, still dressed in a boy's coat and breeches. She was a little older than he was, he thought, with dark eyes even bigger than Egwene's, and oddly intent. "You are Rand, aren't you?" she went on. "My name is Min.

What does ‘sister-wife’ mean?” she asked hesitantly. “That you have the same husband.” Aviendha frowned at the way Egwene gasped and Nynaeve’s eyes opened as wide as they would go. Elayne had been half-expecting the answer, but she still found herself fussing with skirts that were perfectly straight. “This is not your custom?” the Aiel woman asked. “No,” Egwene said faintly. “No, it is not.” “But you and Elayne care for one another as first-sisters. What would you have done had one of you been unwilling to step aside for Rand al’Thor? Fight over him? Let a man damage the ties between you? Would it not have been better if you both had married him, then?

Are you truly that eager?” Nynaeve asked. “To fight Trollocs?” Ingtar gave her a puzzled look, then glanced at Lan as if the Warder might explain. “That is what I do, Lady,” he said slowly. “That is why I am.” He raised a gauntleted hand to Lan, open palm toward the warder. “Suravye ninto manshima taishite, Dai Shan. Peace favor your sword.” Pulling his horse around, Ingtar rode east with his bannerman and his hundred lances. They went at a walk, but a steady pace, as fast as armored horses could manage with a far distance yet to go. “What a strange thing to say,” Egwene said. “Why do they use it like that? Peace.” “When you have never known a thing except to dream,” Lan replied, heeling Mandarb forward, “it becomes more than a talisman.

Lan leaned against his saddle with apparent casualness, but one hand rested ostentatiously on the long hilt of his sword. There was an air about him of a metal spring, compressed, waiting. Rand hurriedly copied the Warder’s pose—at least insofar as putting his hand on his sword. He did not think he could achieve that deadly-seeming slouch. They’d probably laugh if I tried. Perrin eased his axe in its leather loop and planted his feet deliberately. Mat put a hand to his quiver, though Rand was not sure what condition his bowstring was in after being out in all this damp. Thom Merrilin stepped forward grandly and held up one empty hand, turning it slowly. Suddenly he gestured with a flourish, and a dagger twirled between his fingers. The hilt slapped into his palm, and, abruptly nonchalant, he began trimming his fingernails. A low, delighted laugh floated from Moiraine. Egwene clapped as if watching a performance at Festival, then stopped and looked abashed, though her mouth twitched with a smile just the same.

I feel . . .” Egwene began weakly, and stopped to swallow. Her face was bloodless pale. “I . . . hurt.” A tear leaked from one eye. “Of course you do,” Sorilea said briskly. “That is what happens when you let yourself be caught in a man’s schemes.

Do not worry, Egwene,” Moiraine said, smiling. “He is not going to break the seals.” Rand’s face darkened. Egwene smiled. “You are going to break them,” Moiraine said to Egwene.

So this is Verin’s Tel’aran’rhiod,” she said. “Corianin Nedeal’s World of Dreams. It does not look dangerous to me.” But Verin had said it was. Black Ajah or not, Egwene did not see how any Aes Sedai could tell a lie right out. She could be mistaken. But she did not believe Verin was.

different company. He was not sure how Egwene felt, but he would have been willing to go hungry if he could do it without the wolves. Three days, into the afternoon.

Finally he said, “What did you spend so much time talking about with Ila? If you weren’t dancing with that long-legged fellow, you were talking to her like it was some kind of secret.” “Ila was giving me advice on being a woman,” Egwene replied absently. He began laughing, and she gave him a hooded, dangerous look that he failed to see. “Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.” Up ahead, Elyas cackled loudly. CHAPTER

Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.” Up ahead, Elyas cackled loudly.

It would not be good for them to determine that you would place anything before the White Tower.” “I wonder if,” Nynaeve said, “we sometimes put the White Tower—as an institution—before the people we serve. I wonder if we let it become a goal in itself, instead of a means to help us achieve greater goals.” “Devotion is important, Nynaeve. The White Tower protects and guides the world.” “And yet, so many of us do it without families,” Nynaeve said. “Without love, without passion beyond our own particular interests. So even while we try to guide the world, we separate ourselves from it. We risk arrogance, Egwene. We always assume we know best, but risk making ourselves unable to fathom the people we claim to serve.

I understand, Egwene thought. I didn’t realize what the Aiel did. I assumed that I just had to be harder, and that was what would teach me to laugh at pain. But it’s not hardness at all. It’s not strength that makes me laugh. It’s understanding.

You want stories?” Thom Merrilin declaimed. “I have stories, and I will give them to you. I will make them come alive before your eyes.” A blue ball joined the others from somewhere, then a green one, and a yellow. “Tales of great wars and great heroes, for the men and boys. For the women and girls, the entire Aptarigine Cycle. Tales of Artur Paendrag Tanreall, Artur Hawkwing, Artur the High King, who once ruled all the lands from the Aiel Waste to the Aryth Ocean, and even beyond. Wondrous stories of strange people and strange lands, and of the Green Man, of Warders and Trollocs, of Ogier and Aiel. The Thousand Tales of Anla, the Wise Counselor. ‘Jaem the Giant-Slayer.’ How Susa Tamed Jain Farstrider. ‘Mara and the Three Foolish Kings.’” “Tell us about Lenn,” Egwene called. “How he flew to the moon in the belly of an eagle made of fire. Tell us about his daughter Salya walking among the stars.” Rand looked at her out of the corner of his eye, but she seemed intent on the gleeman. She had never liked stories about adventures and long journeys. Her favorites were always the funny ones, or the stories about women outwitting people who were supposed to be smarter then everyone else.

remember this. We are always more afraid than we wish to be, but we can always be braver than we expect. Hold on to your heart, and the Aes Sedai cannot harm what is really you, your heart. They are not nearly so far above us as we believed. May you always find water and shade, Egwene. And always remember your heart.

—Milady Aiel Egwene Aes Sedai —dijo él—. Te amo y ardo en deseos de que me vincules. —Deshaciéndose de la fingida formalidad, añadió en un susurro—: Te amo, Egwene al’Vere. Dijiste que querías un favor. ¿Qué es? ¿La luna en un collar? Tendré a un orfebre trabajando en ello antes de una hora. ¿Quieres las estrellas para entretejerlas en tu pelo?

-And an Amyrlin should be well armed with knowledge. That, among all things, is the most sacred duty of the Brown—to arm the world with knowledge. I'm still one of them. Please see that they know, although the word Black may brand my name forever, my soul is Brown. Tell them. ..." "I will, Verin," Egwene promised. "But your soul is not Brown. I can see it." Her eyes fluttered open, meeting Egwene's, a frown creasing her forehead. "Your soul is of a pure white, Verin," Egwene said softly. "Like the Light itself.

Sin embargo, enseñar a una Amyrlin a ser una Amyrlin... Estaba ansiosa por ponerse a la tarea, más de lo que lo había estado por ninguna otra cosa desde hacía mucho tiempo. Egwene al’Vere sería una Amyrlin que haría temblar a los tronos.

Egwene al’Vere, Vigilante de los Sellos, Llama de Tar Valon, la Sede Amyrlin, se las ingenió para sentarse en aquel duro sillón de madera sin permitirse precauciones y sin hacer el menor gesto de dolor. Consideró ambas cosas como triunfos de su fuerza de voluntad.

El dolor por la pérdida pasó fugazmente por su rostro, la pérdida de su condición de Amyrlin sin lugar a dudas, y quizá de todo lo dejado atrás para siempre, pero desapareció casi al instante. Egwene creía que no conocía a otra mujer con tanta entereza como Siuan Sanche

You shouldn't let Mat get you mixed up in his foolishness, Rand," Egwene said, as solemn as a Wisdom herself, then abruptly she giggled.

Thank you, Master Gleeman. I would be happy to assist you." "Thom Merrilin," the gleeman said. They stared. "My name is Thom Merrilin, not Master Gleeman." He hitched the multihued cloak up on his shoulders, and abruptly his voice once more seemed to reverberate in a great hall. "Once a Court bard, I am now indeed risen to the exalted rank of Master Gleeman, yet my name is plain Thom Merrilin, and gleeman is the simple title in which I glory." And he swept a bow so elaborate with flourishes of his cloak that Mat clapped and Egwene murmured appreciatively.

Egwene's face was a study, her goggle-eyed amaze at a gleeman in the flesh marred by a desire to defend Nynaeve. "Your pardon, Master Gleeman," Rand said. He knew he was grinning foolishly, himself. "That was our Wisdom, and - " "That pretty little slip of a girl?" the gleeman exclaimed. "A village Wisdom? Why, at her age she should better be flirting with the young men than foretelling the weather and curing the sick.

A Wisdom almost never marries. Nynaeve has been teaching me, you know. She says I have a talent, that I can learn to listen to the wind. Nynaeve says not all Wisdoms can, even if they say they do.

She was getting her adventure, he thought glumly, and long as it lasted he doubted if she would notice little things like fog or damp or cold. There must be a difference in what you saw, it seemed to him, depending on whether you sought adventure or had it forced on you. The stories could no doubt make galloping through a cold fog, with a Draghkar and the Light alone knew what else chasing you, sound thrilling. Egwene might be feeling a thrill; he only felt cold and damp and glad to have a village around him again, even if it was Taren Ferry.

Hay mucho ji en su decisión. Doblegará a sus enemigos a su voluntad, no huirá de ellos. Te deseo lo mejor en tu danza, Egwene al’Vere.

All the stories are real," he muttered. "So it seems, lad," the blacksmith said. "So it seems." Rand only half heard. He was concentrating on following Egwene's slender shape. He had pulled himself together just enough to wish she would hurry, though in truth she was keeping her pace to what the two men could manage with their burden.

Rand managed a weak smile. Of all things he might want to think about right then, the Mayor's daughter was far down the list. He did not need any more confusion. For the past year she had been making him increasingly jittery whenever they were together. Worse, she did not even seem to be aware of it. No, he certainly did not want to add Egwene to his thoughts.

Myrelle intentó articular otra protesta, pero Egwene se limitó a adelantar la mano derecha, donde lucía el anillo, y las rodillas de la otra mujer se doblaron entre sacudidas. Prestó el juramento en tono amargo y después alzó los ojos. —Habéis hecho lo que nunca se había hecho, madre. Eso siempre es peligroso. —Y no será la última vez —le contestó Egwene—.

Madre, ¿puedo preguntaros por qué...? —Enmudeció bajo la inflexible mirada de Egwene, y tragó saliva—. Se hará como decís, madre —musitó lentamente—. Qué extraño. Recuerdo el día que vos y Nynaeve llegasteis a la Torre, dos muchachitas que no sabían si brincar de alegría o encogerse de miedo. Cuántas cosas han cambiado desde entonces. Todo. —Nada es inmutable —contestó Egwene, al tiempo que dirigía una mirada significativa a Siuan, la cual rehusó darse por enterada.

—Yo también quiero dejar muy claro algo —replicó fríamente Egwene. Se echó hacia adelante y clavó una severa mirada en la Asentada Azul—. Se exige cierto grado de respeto hacia la Sede Amyrlin, y de ahora en adelante me lo mostrarás, hija. Éste no es momento de que me vea obligada a destituirte como Asentada e imponer un correctivo.

Fui ascendida al chal por Egwene al’Vere, la Amyrlin a la que afirmáis servir. Si negáis que Nynaeve y yo somos Aes Sedai, entonces negáis a la Sede Amyrlin que nos envió a encontrar el Cuenco de los Vientos, cosa que hemos hecho. ¡No lo admitiré! Te lo advierto, Merilille Ceandevin. ¡Acata la voluntad de la Sede Amyrlin o seré yo quien te someta a juicio como una rebelde traidora!

La Rueda gira, Elayne, y todo cambia. He de acostumbrarme a ello. Me acostumbraré. —Al hablar así recordaba mucho a Siuan Sanche. La Siuan Sanche de Tar Valon, antes de que todo cambiase. Con estola o sin ella, Egwene actuaba como la Amyrlin

Send them in, Somara. Let the embassy of the White Tower approach the Dragon Reborn.” His twisted smile made Egwene almost as uncomfortable as the nearness of woven saidin.

gallop could not take him away from his own thoughts. Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain. So many duties. Egwene. The Horn. Fain. Mat and his dagger. Why can’t there just be one at a time? I have to take care of all of them. Oh, Light, Egwene!

Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.

Ila was giving me advice on being a woman,” Egwene replied absently. He began laughing, and she gave him a hooded, dangerous look that he failed to see. “Advice! Nobody tells us how to be men. We just are.” “That,” Egwene said, “is probably why you make such a bad job of it.” Up ahead, Elyas cackled loudly.

three, and while he breathed, he could not abandon Elayne or Egwene.

Podía hablar cuanto quisiera sobre hacerla novicia otra vez; incluso si Elaida lo creía realmente, Egwene al’Vere no. Tampoco se consideraba una prisionera. Había llevado la lucha al mismísimo corazón de la Torre. De haber tenido labios donde se encontraba en esos momentos, habría sonreído.

Tan pronto como Tervail soltó el faldón de la entrada, ella abrazó el Saidar y tejió Energía casi de un modo acariciador. Ese tejido la fascinaba, la recuperación de algo que se creía perdido para siempre y sin lugar a dudas el mayor descubrimiento de Egwene al’Vere. Cada vez que lo tejía experimentaba esa sensación de maravilla, tan familiar de novicia e incluso de Aceptada, que no había vuelto a sentir desde que había alcanzado el chal. Algo nuevo y maravilloso.

Si con ello hubiese podido salvar la Torre, Egwene se habría rendido a Elaida, olvidando si esa mujer había llegado a Sede Amyrlin de forma legal.

¡No! Egwene respiró hondo, enderezó los hombros y se sentó erguida en la silla. Ella era la legítima Amyrlin, pese a lo que la Antecámara hubiera creído que conseguía cuando la habían ascendido, y tenía que mantener viva la rebelión contra Elaida para tener alguna esperanza de cerrar la brecha abierta en la Torre. Si conseguirlo requería una simulación de negociaciones, no sería la primera vez que las Aes Sedai habían fingido apuntar hacia un objetivo cuando su blanco era otro. Haría lo que fuera necesario para mantener viva la rebelión y derrocar a Elaida. Lo que fuera necesario.

Nadie le tiene puesta correa a Egwene al’Vere. Es inteligente, observadora, rápida en aprender y hábil. Es posible que se convierta en una de las grandes Amyrlin. —La hermana de aspecto de pájaro soltó una repentina y corta risa— . ¿Te das cuenta de que será la Amyrlin que dure más tiempo en la Sede de toda la historia? Ninguna otra vivirá lo suficiente para superarla, a menos que Egwene decida renunciar antes.

Egwene había insistido, muy sabiamente, en incluir el rojo a pesar de la fuerte oposición. Allí donde Elaida parecía decidida a separar a los Ajahs entre sí, Egwene mostraba determinación en mantenerlos unidos, incluido el Rojo.

—¿No lo notas? —preguntó Egwene—. ¿No sientes el dolor? ¿El sufrimiento de presenciar cómo se desploma la Torre a tu alrededor? ¿Es que cualquier paliza puede compararse a eso?

El castigo continuó y Egwene abrazó el dolor, lo incorporó a su ser, y lo juzgó insignificante, impaciente porque acabara de una vez. Tenía mucho que hacer.

La Amyrlin permanecía sentada en el taburete con expresión pensativa; Amyrlin de la cabeza a los pies. Imposible pensar en Egwene de otra forma. ¿Cómo había aprendido tan deprisa alguien tan joven? Esa espalda recta, esa actitud serena, ese aplomo. Tener el mando no tenía tanto que ver con el poder que se poseía, sino con el poder que uno dejaba entrever que poseía.

Sí, podría decirse que Lelaine le gustaba, pero no confiaba en ella; sobre todo, no quería verla como Amyrlin. En otra era, Lelaine lo habría hecho bien en ese puesto, pero el mundo necesitaba a Egwene ahora

Egwene asintió despacio con la cabeza. En cualquier cosa relacionada con el Oscuro, todo era posible. Siuan sonrió con satisfacción y orgullo. Esta chica estaba aprendiendo a ser Amyrlin. ¡Luz, era ya Amyrlin!

—¿Silviana? —repitió Meidani, sorprendida—. ¿Pero no te azota a diario? —Varias veces al día —precisó Egwene con aire absorto—. Es cumplidora y consecuente con su deber, además de juiciosa. Si tuviésemos más como ella, la Torre no habría llegado a esta situación, para empezar. Meidani miró a Egwene con una expresión curiosa. —Eres realmente la Amyrlin —dijo por último la Gris.

Desde luego, era evidente que quedaba poco del muchacho con el que había crecido. Claro que tampoco quedaba mucho de la joven Egwene. Atrás quedaban los días en que los dos parecían destinados a contraer matrimonio para vivir en una pequeña granja de Dos Ríos.

Querría no encontrarme aquí, Elaida —dijo suavemente Egwene—. Ojalá que la Torre tuviera en ti una gran Amyrlin. Ojalá pudiera agacharme ante ti y aceptar tu liderazgo. Ojalá lo merecieras. Aceptaría de buen grado la ejecución si con ello dejara atrás una Amyrlin competente. La Torre Blanca es más importante que yo. ¿Puedes decir lo mismo tú?

—No tengo por qué rebatir nada a una simple novicia —barbotó—. La Amyrlin no tiene que dar explicaciones a alguien como tú. —La Amyrlin entiende de credos y de los debates más complejos —se puso a recitar de memoria Egwene—. No obstante, al final es la sierva de todos, incluso de los trabajadores más humildes.

—No has prestado los Tres Juramentos —barbotó Elaida con severidad al tiempo que se volvía hacia ella. —Sí lo he hecho —la contradijo Egwene—. No sostenía la Vara Juratoria, pero no es la Vara la que hace ciertas mis promesas. He pronunciado las palabras de los juramentos con el corazón, y para mí son más preciados porque no hay nada que me obligue a cumplirlos. Y por ese juramento al que estoy obligada, te lo repito de nuevo: soy una Soñadora y he soñado que los seanchan atacarán la Torre Blanca.

¡Se os asciende a la Sede Amyrlin! —declaró, y en ese punto las voces de las otras Asentadas se unieron a la suya—. En la gloria de la Luz, que la Torre Blanca perdure para siempre. ¡Egwene al’Vere, Vigilante de los Sellos, Llama de Tar Valon, la Sede Amyrlin!

¿Estás segura de que quieres cargar con este peso, pequeña? —preguntó Saerin con una voz muy suave. Esa pregunta no formaba parte de la ceremonia. —Ya cargo con él, Saerin. —La respuesta de Egwene fue casi un susurro—. Elaida se lo quitó de encima al intentar hacer y deshacer a su antojo. Yo tomé el relevo y cargo con el peso desde entonces. Cargaré con él hasta mi muerte. Lo haré.

Bueno, una vez que haya salvado a Egwene, sí. —¿Y si Egwene no quiere irse? Conozco esa mirada que hay en tus ojos, muchacho, y también sé unas cuantas cosas sobre Egwene al’Vere. No abandonará el campo de batalla hasta que no haya un vencedor.

¡Oh, Luz! ¿De verdad estaba pasando aquello? No volvería a vivir lo mismo. No permitiría que la atasen a la correa otra vez. ¡Tenía que escabullirse! Tenía que ocultarse, huir, escapar… ¡No! Se puso erguida. No, no huiría. Era la Amyrlin. Nicola, acurrucada en el suelo contra la pared, lloriqueaba. —Vienen por nosotras —susurró—. ¡Oh, Luz, vienen por nosotras! —¡Que vengan! —bramó Egwene mientras se abría a la Fuente.

—Lo haré, Verin —prometió Egwene—, pero tu alma no es Marrón. La veo. —La mujer mayor abrió los párpados con esfuerzo y, fruncido el entrecejo, miró a Egwene a los ojos—. Tu alma es de un blanco puro, Verin —añadió Egwene en voz queda—. Como la propia Luz.

La mujer se erguía como la encarnación de la venganza, el poder del Saidar semejante a una tormenta a su alrededor. El propio aire parecía encendido, y el cabello castaño se agitaba con el aire que entraba por la grieta abierta en la pared. Egwene al’Vere.

—Podríais haber huido —dijo luego—. Podríais haber escapado en cualquier momento con el Viaje. Egwene se volvió hacia ella y la miró a través del portal. —¿Huir? —repitió—. Si me hubiese marchado no habría sido escapar de vosotras y de la Torre, Adelorna, habría sido abandonaros a vuestra suerte. Soy la Sede Amyrlin y mi sitio está aquí. No me cabe duda de que has oído que Soñé este ataque.

—La devoción es importante, Nynaeve. La Torre Blanca protege y guía al mundo. —Y, sin embargo, muchas de nosotras lo hacemos sin familias —comentó Nynaeve—. Sin amor, sin pasión más allá de nuestros intereses particulares. Así que, aun cuando intentamos guiar al mundo, nos apartamos de él. Nos exponemos a caer en la arrogancia, Egwene. Siempre damos por sentado que sabemos más que nadie, pero corremos el riesgo de acabar siendo incapaces de llegar a comprender a la gente que decimos servir.

—Mi impresión —dijo— es que no quieres en absoluto un Guardián. Porque te diré una cosa, Egwene. Si no soportas que alguien se ocupe de ti, entonces ningún hombre será válido a tus ojos. —A lo mejor tienes razón —repuso ella con sequedad.

—Ve —ordenó—. Habla con las otras. No quiero que haya ningún error estúpido. —Sí, madre —rezongó Siuan, que empezó a alejarse. —Siuan —llamó Egwene. La antigua Amyrlin se paró. —Ve con cuidado esta noche. No quiero perderte —dijo Egwene. A menudo, Siuan reaccionaba con brusquedad a ese tipo de consideración, pero en esta ocasión sonrió.

Todavía albergaba la esperanza de que dejarías a esas necias de la Torre Blanca y regresarías con nosotras. —Por favor, mira bien lo que dices —respondió Egwene al tiempo que hacía aparecer una taza de té—. No sólo soy una de esas necias, amiga mía, sino que soy su cabecilla. La reina de las necias, podrías decir.

—Y mañana un día aún más largo —respondió Egwene—. Venga, coliguémonos. Te prestaré mi fuerza. —Madre... —Nynaeve parecía consternada. —Eres mejor Curadora que yo. —Egwene sonrió—. Seré la Amyrlin, Nynaeve, pero sigo siendo Aes Sedai. Sirviente de todos. Mi fuerza te será útil.

Realicé un buen trabajo como Amyrlin, pero no habría sido capaz de llevar a cabo lo que ella ha logrado. Dirigir por inspirar respeto, en lugar de por la fuerza. Unir en lugar de dividir. Y por ello me alegro de que sea Egwene quien lo recibe.

Egwene se proponía que la Torre Blanca saliera de esta reunión designada como la mano que lideraría a las fuerzas agrupadas contra la Sombra, y no renunciaría a su responsabilidad respecto a los sellos.