Winter's Heart
Robert Jordan
Praise for
THE WHEEL OF TIME®
“The battle scenes have the breathless urgency of firsthand experience, and the . . . evil laced into the forces of good, the dangers latent in any promised salvation, the sense of the unavoidable onslaught of unpredictable events bear the marks of American national experience during the last three decades.”
—The New York Times
“His writing is distinguished . . . by the richness of its fabric, with all the charm and naiveté of the Brothers Grimm, and the social/moral commentary of Huxley’s Brave New World. With his well-fleshed-out characters, dark imagery, comic relief, vivid landscapes, and a fascinating sense of timelessness, Jordan has created a complex literature with a language and reality all its own.”
—Brewster Milton Robertson, BookPage
“Throughout Jordan’s preeminent high-fantasy saga . . . the characters (minor as well as major), the world, and the source of powers have remained remarkably rich and consistent—no mean feat. . . . Amid all the Sturm and Drang, however, is a finely tuned comic strain that both leavens the story and adds to its development. A major fantasy epic.”
—Booklist
“Truth is not only stranger, it’s richer than fiction, but Jordan’s fictional universe approaches the variety and complexity of the real. . . . Plotlines [are] strummed with resonating long-wave rhythms something like Beethoven’s Eroica.”
—Robert Knox, MPG Newspapers
“Adventure and mystery and dark things that move in the night—a combination of Robin Hood and Stephen King that is hard to resist. Furthermore, Jordan makes the reader put down the book regretting the wait for the next title in the series.”
—Milwaukee Sentinel
“The Wheel of Time [is] rapidly becoming the definitive American fantasy saga. It is a fantasy tale seldom equaled and still less often surpassed in English.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“In the decades since J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy was published, many fantasy writers have tried to capture the spirit of that seminal work. While many have been able to imitate the style, develop a similarly swift and complex plot, and create convincing characters, none had captured the spirit of small men and mighty, struggling against a force of overwhelming evil. Robert Jordan has.”
—Ottawa Citizen
“Magic and pacing and detail and human involvement, with a certain subtlety of presentation and a grand central vision. Robert Jordan . . . is a lot of writer!”
—Piers Anthony
“Jordan has a powerful vision of good and evil—but what strikes me as most pleasureable . . . is all the fascinating people moving through a rich and interesting world.”
—Orson Scott Card
“Jordan can always be counted on to ground his dizzying intrigues in solid chunks of cultural detail, and here he rises to the occasion, with chapters as dense as Spenserian stanzas with symbols and rituals. . . . He manipulates the disorder of his narrative to credibly convey a sense of an embattled world on the verge of self-destruction, and he entertainingly juxtaposes the courtly civility of his villains with the precarious chaos they cause.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Jordan continues to utilize his towering imagination to construct plots of incredible ingenuity and develop themes hidden, sometimes quite deeply, in earlier installments. As ever, Jordan writes intelligently and lyrically—one of the most literary exponents of the genre.”
—SFX magazine
“Jordan’s bestselling high fantasy series carries on . . . colossal, dauntingly complex storytelling. . . . The narrative employs elements of realism rare in high fantasy.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Jordan’s characters [are] fleshed out with the strengths and weaknesses of real men and women. . . . Invokes the end-of-the-world milieu of Stephen King’s The Stand.”
—The Post and Courier (Charleston, SC)
“Jordan writes with the stark vision of light and darkness, and sometimes childlike sense of wonder, that permeates J. R. R. Tolkien’s works. His style is undebatably his own.”
—The Pittsburgh Press
“Jordan’s multivolume epic continues to live up to its high ambitions. Complex plotting, an array of strong characters, lavish detail, and a panoramic scope make this series a feast for fantasy aficionados. . . . Richly detailed and vividly imagined.”
—Library Journal
“Jordan’s writing is clear and his vision is fascinating, as are the philosophies which run his characters. And speaking of characters, a more interesting bunch I would be hard put to name.”
—Science Fiction Review
“The complex philosophy behind The Wheel of Time series is expounded so simply the reader often gives a start of surprise at returning to the real world. Rand’s adventures are not finished and neither is this thinking person’s fantasy series.”
—Brunswick Sentinel (Australia)
“Robert Jordan can write one hell of a story. . . . [He] keeps the suspense acute and the surprises and invention beautifully paced. Compelling. An exhilarating experience.”
—Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine
“[The Wheel of Time is] a work of genuine and often stirring imagination.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“For those who like to keep themselves in a fantasy world, it’s hard to beat the complex, detailed world created here.”
—Locus
“Jordan has not merely put old wine into new bottles: he has clothed old bones with new flesh.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
THE WHEEL OF TIME®
by Robert Jordan
The Eye of the World
The Great Hunt
The Dragon Reborn
The Shadow Rising
The Fires of Heaven
Lord of Chaos
A Crown of Swords
The Path of Daggers
Winter’s Heart
Crossroads of Twilight
Knife of Dreams
by Robert Jordan
and Brandon Sanderson
The Gathering Storm
WINTER’S
HEART
ROBERT JORDAN
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.
Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
WINTER’S HEART
Copyright © 2000 by The Bandersnatch Group, Inc.
The phrases “The Wheel of Time®” and “The Dragon Reborn™,” and the snake-wheel symbol, are trademarks of Robert Jordan.
All rights reserved.
Frontispiece by TK
Maps by Ellisa Mitchell
Interior art by Matthew C. Nielsen and Ellisa Mitchell
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-1-4299-6068-7
First Edition: Novemb
er 2000
First E-book Edition: June 2010
Manufactured in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Always for Harriet.
Always.
CONTENTS
MAPS
PROLOGUE: Snow
1 Leaving the Prophet
2 Taken
3 Customs
4 Offers
5 Flags
6 The Scent of Madness
7 The Streets of Caemlyn
8 Sea Folk and Kin
9 A Cup of Tea
10 A Plan Succeeds
11 Ideas of Importance
12 A Lily in Winter
13 Wonderful News
14 What a Veil Hides
15 In Need of a Bellfounder
16 An Unexpected Encounter
17 Pink Ribbons
18 An Offer
19 Three Women
20 Questions of Treason
21 A Matter of Property
22 Out of Thin Air
23 To Lose the Sun
24 Among the Counsels
25 Bonds
26 Expectation
27 To Surprise Queens and Kings
28 News in a Cloth Sack
29 Another Plan
30 Cold, Fat Raindrops
31 What the Aelfinn Said
32 A Portion of Wisdom
33 Blue Carp Street
34 The Hummingbird’s Secret
35 With the Choedan Kal
GLOSSARY
The seals that hold back night shall weaken,
and in the heart of winter shall winter’s heart be born
amid the wailing of lamentations and the gnashing of teeth,
for winter’s heart shall ride a black horse,
and the name of it is Death.
—from The Karaethon Cycle:
The Prophecies of the Dragon
PROLOGUE
Snow
Three lanterns cast a flickering light, more than enough to illuminate the small room with its stark white walls and ceiling, but Seaine kept her eyes fixed on the heavy wooden door. Illogical, she knew; foolish in a Sitter for the White. The weave of saidar she had pushed around the jamb brought her occasional whispers of distant footsteps in the warren of hallways outside, whispers that faded away almost as soon as heard. A simple thing learned from a friend in her long-ago novice days, but she would have warning long before anyone came near. Few people came down as deep as the second basement, anyway.
Her weave picked up the far-off chittering of rats. Light! How long since there had been rats in Tar Valon, in the Tower itself? Were any of them spies for the Dark One? She wet her lips uneasily. Logic counted for nothing in this. True. If illogical. She wanted to laugh. With an effort she crept back from the brink of hysteria. Think of something besides rats. Something besides . . . A muffled squeal rose in the room behind her, faltered into muted whimpering. She tried to stop up her ears. Concentrate!
In a way, she and her companions had been led to this room because the heads of the Ajahs seemed to be meeting in secret. She herself had glimpsed Ferane Neheran whispering in a secluded nook of the library with Jesse Bilal, who stood very high among the Browns if not at the very top. She thought she was on firmer ground concerning Suana Dragand, of the Yellows. She thought so. But why had Ferane gone walking with Suana in a secluded part of the Tower grounds, both swathed in plain cloaks? Sitters of different Ajahs still talked to one another openly, if coldly. The others had seen similar things; they would not give names from their own Ajahs, of course, but two had mentioned Ferane. A troubling puzzle. The Tower was a seething swamp these days, every Ajah at every other Ajah’s throat, yet the heads met in corners. No one outside an Ajah knew for certain who within it led, but apparently the leaders knew each other. What could they be up to? What? It was unfortunate that she could not simply ask Ferane, but even had Ferane been tolerant of anyone’s questions, she did not dare. Not now.
Concentrate as she would, Seaine could not keep her mind on the question. She knew she was staring at the door and worrying at puzzles she could not solve just to avoid looking over her shoulder. Toward the source of those stifled whimpers and snuffling groans.
As if thinking of the sounds compelled her, she looked back slowly to her companions, her breath growing more uneven as her head moved by inches. Snow was falling heavily on Tar Valon, far overhead, but the room seemed unaccountably hot. She made herself see!
Brown-fringed shawl looped on her elbows, Saerin stood with her feet planted apart, fingering the hilt of the curved Altaran dagger thrust behind her belt. Cold anger darkened her olive complexion enough to make the scar along her jaw stand out in a pale line. Pevara appeared calmer, at first glance, yet one hand gripped her red-embroidered skirts tightly and the other held the smooth white cylinder of the Oath Rod like a foot-long club she was ready to use. She might be ready; Pevara was far tougher than her plump exterior suggested, and determined enough to make Saerin seem a shirker.
On the other side of the Chair of Remorse, tiny Yukiri had her arms wrapped tightly around herself; the long silvery-gray fringe on her shawl trembled with her shivers. Licking her lips, Yukiri cast a worried glance at the woman standing beside her. Doesine, looking more like a pretty boy than a Yellow sister of considerable repute, displayed no reaction to what they were doing. She was the one actually manipulating the weaves that stretched into the Chair, and she stared at the ter’angreal, focusing so hard on her work that perspiration beaded on her pale forehead. They were all Sitters, including the tall woman writhing on the Chair.
Sweat drenched Talene, matting her golden hair, soaking her linen shift till it clung to her. The rest of her clothes made a jumbled pile in a corner. Her closed eyelids fluttered, and she let out a constant stream of strangled moans and mewling, half-uttered pleas. Seaine felt ill, but could not drag her eyes away. Talene was a friend. Had been a friend.
Despite its name, the ter’angreal looked nothing like a chair, just a large rectangular block of marbled gray. No one knew what it was made of, but the material was hard as steel everywhere except the slanted top. The statuesque Green sank a little into that, and somehow it molded itself to her no matter how she twisted. Doesine’s weavings flowed into the only break anywhere on the Chair, a palm-sized rectangular hole in one side with tiny notches spaced unevenly around it. Criminals caught in Tar Valon were brought down here to experience the Chair of Remorse, to experience carefully selected consequences of their crimes. On release, they invariably fled the island. There was very little crime in Tar Valon. Queasily, Seaine wondered whether this was anything like the use the Chair had been put to in the Age of Legends.
“What is she . . . seeing?” Her question came out a whisper in spite of herself. Talene would be more than seeing; to her, it all would seem real. Thank the Light she had no Warder, almost unheard of for a Green. She had claimed a Sitter had no need for one. Different reasons came to mind, now.
“She is bloody being flogged by bloody Trollocs,” Doesine said hoarsely. Touches of her native Cairhien had appeared in her voice, something that seldom happened except under stress. “When they are done. . . . She can see the Trollocs’ cook kettle boiling over a fire, and a Myrddraal watching her. She must know it will be one or the other next. Burn me, if she doesn’t break this time. . . .” Doesine brushed perspiration from her forehead irritably and drew a ragged breath. “Stop joggling my elbow. It has been a long while since I did this.”
“Three times under,” Yukiri muttered. “The toughest strongarm is broken by his own guilt, if nothing else, after two! What if she’s innocent? Light, this is like stealing sheep with the shepherd watching!” Even shaking, she managed to appear regal, but she always sounded like what she had been, a village woman. She glared around at the rest of them in a sickly fashion. “The law forbids using the Chair on initiates. We’ll all be unchaired! And if being thrown out of the Hall isn’t enough, we’ll probably be exiled. And birche
d before we go, just to drop salt in our tea! Burn me, if we’re wrong, we could all be stilled!”
Seaine shuddered. They would escape that last, if their suspicions proved right. No, not suspicions; certainties. They had to be right! But even if they were, Yukiri was correct about the rest. Tower law seldom allowed for necessity, or any supposed higher good. If they were right, though, the price was worth paying. Please, the Light send they were right!
“Are you blind and deaf?” Pevara snapped, shaking the Oath Rod at Yukiri. “She refused to reswear the Oath against speaking an untrue word, and it had to be more than stupid Green Ajah pride after we’d all done as much already. When I shielded her, she tried to stab me! Does that shout innocence? Does it? For all she knew, we just meant to talk at her until our tongues dried up! What reason would she have to expect more?”
“Thank you both,” Saerin put in dryly, “for stating the obvious. It’s too late to go back, Yukiri, so we might as well go forward. And if I were you, Pevara, I wouldn’t be shouting at one of the four women in the whole Tower I knew I could trust.”
Yukiri flushed and shifted her shawl, and Pevara looked a trifle abashed. A trifle. They might all be Sitters, but Saerin had most definitely taken charge. Seaine was unsure how she felt about that. A few hours ago, she and Pevara had been two old friends alone on a dangerous quest, equals reaching decisions together; now they had allies. She should be grateful for more companions. They were not in the Hall, though, and they could not claim Sitters’ rights on this. Tower hierarchies had taken over, all the subtle and not-so-subtle distinctions as to who stood where with respect to whom. In truth, Saerin had been both novice and Accepted twice as long as most of them, but forty years as a Sitter, longer than anyone else in the Hall, counted for a great deal. Seaine would be lucky if Saerin asked her opinion, much less her advice, before deciding anything at all. Foolish, yet the knowledge pricked like a thorn in her foot.
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