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ould not be left for the Forsaken。 Elayne motioned the leather…cheeked woman leading the very first to follow her aside； out of the way of the others。
Untying and tossing back the stiff canvas cover on one of the wide wicker panniers revealed a great heap of what appeared to be rubbish stuffed in every which way； right up to the top； some of it wrapped in cloth that was falling to pieces。 The greater part of it probably was rubbish。 Embracing saidar； Elayne began sorting。 A rusted breastplate quickly went onto the ground； along with a broken table leg； a cracked platter； a badly dented pewter pitcher； and a bolt of rotted； unidentifiable cloth that almost broke apart in her hands。
The storeroom where they found the Bowl of the Winds had been stuffed full； things that should have been on a refuse heap jumbled in with more objects of the Power than just the Bowl； some in beetle…riddled casks or chests； some carelessly stacked。 For hundreds and hundreds of years the Kin had hidden away all things they found that were connected to the Power； fearful of using them and fearful of delivering them to Aes Sedai。 Until that very morning。 This was the first chance Elayne had had to see what was worth keeping。 The Light send that the Darkfriends had not gotten away with anything important； they had taken some； but certainly less than a quarter of what the room had held； rubbish included。 The Light send she found something they could use。 People had died to bring these things out of the Rahad。
She did not channel； just held the Power as she lifted each item。 A chipped clay cup； three broken plates； a child's moth…eaten dress； and an old boot with a hole worn through the side all fell to the ground。 A stone carving a little larger than her hand … it felt like stone； it might have been a carving； though it did not exactly look carved； for some reason … all deep blue curves vaguely like roots。 It seemed to warm faintly at her touch； it held a。。。 resonance。。。 to saidar。 That was the closest word she could think of。 What it was meant to do； she had no idea； but it was a ter'angreal without any doubt。 It went on the other side of her； away from the pile of rubbish。
The heap of refuse continued to grow； but so did the other； if more slowly； things that had nothing in mon except the faint warmth and the sense of echoing the Power。 A small box that felt like ivory； covered in wavering red and green stripes； she set it down carefully without opening the hinged lid。 You could never tell what might trigger a ter'angreal。 A black rod no thicker than her little finger； a pace in length； stiff yet so flexible she thought she could have doubled it into a circle。 A tiny stoppered vial that might have been crystal； with a dark red liquid inside。 The figure of a stout； bearded man with a jolly smile； holding a book； two feet tall； it appeared to be age…darkened bronze and took both of her hands to move。 Other things。 Most was trash； though。 And none was what she truly wanted。 Not yet。
〃Is this the time to be doing that？〃 Nynaeve asked。 She straightened hastily from the small cluster of ter'angreal； grimacing and rubbing her hand on her skirt。 〃That rod feels like。。。 pain；〃 she muttered。 The hard…faced woman holding the packhorse's head blinked at the rod and edged away。
Elayne eyed the rod … Nynaeve's occasional impressions about objects she touched could be useful … but she did not stop sorting。 There had been too much pain lately to need any more； surely。 Not that what Nynaeve sensed was always that straightforward。 The rod might have been present when a great deal of pain was caused without being the cause in itself。 The pannier was almost empty； some of what was on the other side of the horse would have to be shifted to balance the weight。 〃If there's an angreal in this somewhere； Nynaeve； I would like to find it before Moghedien taps one of us on the shoulder。〃
Nynaeve grunted sourly； but she peered into the wicker basket。
Dropping another table leg … that made three； none of which matched … Elayne spared a glance for the clearing。 All of the packhorses were out； and the mounts were ing through the gateway； now； filling the open space between the trees with bustle and confusion。 Merilille and the other Aes Sedai already sat their saddles； barely concealing their impatience to be off； while Pol fussed hurriedly with her mistress's saddlebags； but the Windfinders。。。
Graceful afoot； graceful on their ships； they were unused to horses。 Renaile was trying 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； into her saddle； while a third； holding the gray's head； wore the tight face of someone trying not to laugh。 Rainyn was on the back of a leggy brown gelding； but somehow without either foot in the stirrups or the reins in her hands and having considerable trouble finding any of them。 And those three seemed to be having the easiest time of it。 Horses whinnied and danced and rolled their eyes； and Windfinders shouted curses in voices that could have been heard over a gale。 One of them knocked a serving man flat with her fist； and three more stable folk were trying to catch mounts that had gotten free。
There was also what she had expected to see； if Nynaeve was no longer keeping her private watch。 Lan stood by his black warhorse； Mandarb； dividing his gaze between the treeline； the gateway； and Nynaeve。 Birgitte came striding out of the woods shaking her head； and a moment later； Cieryl； trotted from the trees； but with no sense of urgency。 There was nothing out there to threaten or inconvenience them。
Nynaeve was watching her； eyebrows raised high。
〃I didn't say anything；〃 Elayne said。 Her hand closed on something small； wrapped in rotting cloth that might have been white once。 Or brown。 She knew immediately what was inside。
〃A good thing for you；〃 Nynaeve grumbled； not quite far enough under her breath。 〃I can't abide women who poke their noses into other people's business。〃 Elayne let it pass without so much as a start； she was proud that she did not have to bite her tongue。
Stripping away the decayed cloth revealed a small amber brooch in the shape of a turtle。 It looked like amber； anyway； and it might been amber once； but when she opened herself to the Source through it； saidar rushed into her； a torrent pared to what she could draw safely on her own。 Not a strong angreal； but far better than nothing。 With it； she could handle twice as much of the Power as Nynaeve； and Nynaeve herself would do better still。 Releasing the extra flow of saidar； she slipped the brooch into her belt pouch with a smile of delight and went back to searching。 Where there was one； there might be more。 And now that she had one to study； she might be able to reason out how to make an angreal。 That was something she had wished for。 It was all she could do not to take the brooch out again and begin probing it right there。
Vandene had been eyeing Nynaeve and her for some time； and now she heeled her slab…sided gelding over to them and dismounted。 The groom at the packhorse's head managed a decent if awkward curtsy； more than she had for Elayne or Nynaeve。 〃You're being careful；〃 Vandene said to Elayne； 〃and that's very good。 But it might be better to leave these things alone until they're in the Tower。〃
Elayne's mouth tightened。 In the Tower？ Until they could be examined by someone else； was what she meant。 Someone older and supposedly more experienced。 〃I do know what I'm doing； Vandene。 I have made ter'angreal； after all。 Nobody else living has done that。〃 She had taught the basics to some sisters； but no one had managed the trick of it by the time she left for Ebou Dar。
The older Green nodded； flipping her reins idly against the palm of her riding glove。 〃Martine Janata also knew what she was doing； so I understand；〃 she said casually。 〃She was the last sister to really make a business of studying ter'angreal。 She did it for over forty years； almost from the time she reached the shawl。 She was careful； too； so I was told。 Then one day； Martine's maid found her unconscious on the floor of her sitting room。 Burned out。〃 Even in a conversational tone； those words were a sharp slap。 Vandene's voice did not alter a hair； though。 〃Her Warder was dead from the shock。 Not unusual in cases like that。 When Martine came to； three days later； she couldn't recall what she had been working with。 She couldn't remember the preceding week at all。 That was more than twenty…five years ago； and no one since has had the nerve to touch any of the ter'angreal that were in her rooms。 Her notes mentioned every last one； and everything she had discovered was innocuous； innocent； even frivolous； but。。。 〃 Vandene shrugged。 〃She found something she wasn't expecting。〃
Elayne peeked at Birgitte； and found Birgitte looking back at her。 She did not need to see the worried frown on the o