“Ah, well. At least I don’t have to worry about you freezing to death this time.”
“Yes. But it may happen that I die of boredom, Rand al’Thor, if you do not stop rambling.”
She took him by the arm and gently, but firmly, pulled him back into his tent—the calls of the Maidens growing louder, more insulting and more exuberant all at the same time.
“I suspect the reason is some kind of ter’angreal,” Pevara said. She crouched with Androl in the back room of one of the Black Tower’s general storehouses, and she did not find the position terribly comfortable. The room smelled of dust, grain and wood. Most buildings in the Black Tower were new, and this was no exception, the cedar boards still fresh.
“You know of a ter’angreal that could prevent gateways?” Androl asked. “Not specifically, no,” Pevara replied, shifting to a better position. “But it is generally accepted that what we know of ter’angreal comprises only the smallest portion of what was once known. There must be thousands of different types of ter’angreal, and if Taim is a Darkfriend, he has access to the Forsaken—who could likely explain to him the use and construction of things we can only dream about.”
“So we need to find this ter’angreal,” Androl said. “Block it, or at least figure out how it functions.”
“And escape?” Pevara asked. “Haven’t you already determined that leaving would be a poor choice?”
“Well . . . yes,” Androl admitted.
She concentrated, and could catch glimmers of what he was thinking. She’d heard that the Warder bond allowed an empathic connection. This seemed deeper. He was . . . yes, he really wished he could make gateways. He felt disarmed without them.
“It’s my Talent,” he said begrudgingly. He knew she’d sift out the reason eventually. “I can make gateways. At least, I could.”
“Really? With your level of strength in the One Power?”
“Or lack of it?” he asked. She could sense a little of what he was thinking. Though he accepted his weakness, he worried that it made him unfit to lead. A curious mix of self-confidence and self-consciousness.
“Yes,” he continued. “Traveling requires great strength in the One Power, but I can make large gateways. Before this all went wrong, the largest I ever made was a gateway thirty feet across.”
Pevara blinked. “Surely you’re exaggerating.”
“I’d show you, if I could ” He seemed completely honest. Either he was telling the truth, or his belief was due to his madness. She remained quiet, uncertain how to approach that.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I know that there are . . . things wrong with me. With most of us. You can ask the others about my gateways. There’s a reason Coteren calls me pageboy. It’s because the only thing I’m good at is delivering people from one place to another.”
“That’s a remarkable Talent, Androl. I’m certain the Tower would love to study it. I wonder how many people were born with it, but never knew, because the weaves for Traveling were unknown?”
“I’m not going to the White Tower, Pevara,” he said, putting an emphasis on the White.
She changed the topic. “You long for Traveling, yet you don’t want to leave the Black Tower. So what does this ter’angreal matter?”
“Gateways would be . . . useful,” Androl said.
He thought something, but she couldn’t catch hold of it. A quick flash of images and impressions.
“But if were not going anywhere . . .” she protested.
“You’d be surprised,” he said, raising his head to peer out over the windowsill at the alleyway. It was drizzling outside; the rain had finally let up. The sky was still dark, though. Dawn wouldn’t come for a few hours yet. “I’ve been . . . experimenting. Trying a few things I don’t think anyone else has ever tried.”
“I doubt they are things that haven’t ever been tried,” she said. “The Forsaken had access to the knowledge of Ages.”
“You really think one might be involved here?”
“Why not?” she asked. “If you were preparing for the Last Battle and wanted to make certain your enemies couldn’t resist you, would you let a crop of channelers train together, teach one another and become strong?
Yes,” he said softly. “I would, and then I’d steal them.”
Pevara closed her mouth. That was probably right. Talking of the Forsaken troubled Androl; she could feel his thoughts, clearer than before.
This bond was unnatural. She needed to be rid of it. After that, she wouldn’t mind having him properly bonded to her.
“I will not take responsibility for this situation, Pevara,” Androl said, again looking out. “You bonded me first.”
“After you betrayed the trust I gave you by offering a circle.”
“I didn’t hurt you. What did you expect to happen? Wasn’t the purpose of a circle to allow us to join our powers?”
“This argument is pointless.”
“You only say that because you’re losing.” He said it calmly, and he felt calm as well. She was coming to realize that Androl was a difficult man to rile.
“I say it because it’s true,” she said. “Do you disagree?”
She felt his amusement. He saw how she took control of the conversation. And . . . beside his amusement, he actually seemed impressed. He was thinking that he needed to learn to do what she did.
The inner door to the room creaked open, and Leish peered in. She was a white-haired woman, round and pleasant, an odd match for the surly Asha’man Canler, to whom she was married. She nodded to Pevara, indicating that half an hour had passed, then shut the door. Canler had reportedly bonded the woman, making her some kind of. . . what? Female Warder?
Everything was backward with these men. Pevara supposed she could see the reason for bonding one’s spouse, if only so that each could have the comfort of knowing where the other was, but it felt wrong to use the bond in such a mundane way. This was a thing for Aes Sedai and Warders, not wives and husbands.
Androl regarded her, obviously trying to figure out what she was thinking—though these thoughts were complex enough to give him trouble. Such an odd man, this Androl Genhald. How did he so fully mix determination and diffidence, like two threads woven together? He did what needed to be done, all the while worrying that he shouldn’t be the one doing it.
“I don’t understand myself either,” he said.
He was also infuriating. How had he grown so good at understanding what she was thinking? She still had to fish to figure out his thoughts.
“Can you think that again?” he asked. “I didn’t catch it.”
“Idiot,” Pevara muttered.
Androl smiled, then peeked over the windowsill again.
“It’s not time,” Pevara said.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” she said. “And if you keep peeking, you might scare him off when he actually comes.”
Androl reluctantly crouched down again.
“Now,” Pevara said. “When he comes, you have to let me take the lead.”
“We should link.”
“No.” She would not put herself in his hands again. Not after what had happened last time. She shivered, and Androl glanced at her.
“There are very good reasons,” she said, “for not linking. I don’t mean to insult you, Androl, but your ability isn’t great enough to make the trade worthwhile. Better that there be two of us. You must accept this. On a battlefield, which would you rather have? One soldier? Or two—with one being only slightly less skilled—that you can send on different tasks and duties?”
He thought about it, then sighed. “All right, fine. You talk sense, this time.”
“I always talk sense,” she said, rising. “It’s time. Be ready.”
The two of them moved to either side of the doorway that led out into the alley. It stood open a crack by intention, the sturdy lock on the outside left hanging as if someone had forgotten to close it.
They waited silently, and Pevara began
to worry that her calculations had been off. Androl would have a good laugh about that, and—
The door pushed open the rest of the way. Dobser poked his head in, lured by Evin’s offhanded comment that he’d nicked a bottle of wine from the back room after finding that Leish had forgotten to lock the door. According to Androl, Dobser was a known drunkard, and Taim had beaten him senseless more than once for getting into the wine.
She could feel Androl’s reaction to the man. Sadness. Deep, crushing sadness. Dobser had the darkness behind his eyes.
Pevara struck quickly, tying Dobser in Air and slamming a shield into place between the unsuspecting man and the Source. Androl hefted a cudgel, but it wasn’t needed. Dobser grew wide-eyed as he was hoisted into the air; Pevara put her hands behind her back, regarding him critically.
“Are you certain about this?” Androl asked softly.
“Too late now, regardless,” Pevara replied, tying off the weaves of Air.
The accounts seem to agree. The more dedicated a person was to the Light before being taken, the more dedicated they 11 be to the Shadow after falling. And so . . ”
And so this man, who had always been rather lukewarm, should be easier to break, bribe or convert than others. That was important, as Taim’s lackeys would likely realize what had happened as soon as—
“Dobser?” a voice asked. Two figures darkened the doorway. “Do you have the wine? No need to watch the front; the woman isn’t—”
Welyn and another of Taim’s favored, Leems, stood in the doorway.
Pevara reacted immediately, throwing weaves at the two men while forming a thread of Spirit. They rebuffed her attempts at shielding them—it was tough to get a shield between the Source and a person holding the One Power—but her gags snapped into place, stopping their yells.
She felt Air wrapping around her, a shield trying to come between her and the Source. She lashed out with Spirit, slicing down the weaves by guessing where they would be.
Leems stumbled back, looking surprised as his weaves vanished. Pevara threw herself forward, weaving another shield and smashing it between him and the Source as she slammed her body into him, throwing him back against the wall. The distraction worked, and her shield cut him off from the One Power.
She flung a second shield at Welyn, but he hit her with his own threads of Air. They hurled her backward across the room. She wove Air as she crashed into the wall, grunting. Her vision swam, but she kept hold of that single thread of Air and by instinct, sweeping it forward, grabbed Welyn’s foot as he tried to run out of the building.
She felt the ground tremble from someone falling. He’d tripped, hadn't he? Dizzy, she couldn’t see straight.
She sat up, aching all over, but clung to the threads of Air she’d woven as gags. Let those go, and Taim’s men would be able to scream. If they did that, she died. They all died. Or worse.
She blinked the tears of pain from her eyes to find Androl standing over the two Asha’man, cudgel in his hand. He’d knocked them both out, it appeared, not trusting in shields he couldn’t see. Good thing, too, as her second shield hadn’t gotten into place. She set it now.
Dobser still hung where she’d put him, his eyes wider now. Androl looked at Pevara. “Light!” he said. “Pevara, that was incredible. You brought down two Asha’man, practically by yourself!”
She smiled in satisfaction and woozily took Androl’s hand, letting him help her to her feet. “What did you think the Red Ajah does with its time, Androl? Sit around and complain about men? We train to fight other channeled.”
She felt Androl’s respect as he busied himself, pulling Welyn into the building and shutting the door, then checking at the windows to make certain they hadn’t been seen. He drew the shades quickly, then channeled to make a light.
Pevara took a breath, then raised a hand and steadied herself against the wall.
Androl looked up sharply. “We need to take you to one of the others for Healing.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Just took a thump to the head and it has the room shaking. It will wear off.”
“Let me see,” Androl said, walking over—his light hovering beside him. Pevara allowed him to putter about for a moment, checking her eyes, feeling her head for lumps. He moved his light closer to her eyes. “Does it hurt to look at this?”
“Yes,” she admitted, glancing away.
“Nausea?”
“Slight.”
He grunted, then took a handkerchief out of his pocket and poured some water on it from his flask. He adopted a look of concentration, and his light winked out. The handkerchief crackled softly, and when he handed it to her, it was frozen. “Hold this to the wound,” he said. “Tell me if you start to feel drowsy. It could grow worse if you fall asleep.”
“Are you worried for me?” she asked, amused, doing as he said.
“Just . . . what was it you told me earlier? Keeping watch over our assets?
I’m sure,” she said, pressing the iced bandanna to her head. “So you know field medicine as well?”
“I apprenticed with a town’s Wise Woman once,” he said absently as he knelt to bind the fallen men. Pevara was glad to release the weaves of Air on them, though she did keep the shields up.
“A Wise Woman took on a male apprentice?”
“Not at first,” Androl said. “It’s ... a long story.”
“Excellent; a long story will keep me from falling asleep until the others come for us.” Emarin and the others had been instructed to go and be seen, establishing an alibi for the group, in case Dobser’s disappearance was noted.
Androl eyed her, replacing his light. Then he shrugged, continuing his work. “It started when I lost a friend to the fevers during a silverpike run out of Mayene. When I came back to the mainland, I started thinking that we could have saved Sayer if any of us had known what to do. So I went looking for someone who could teach me . . ”
CHAPTER 4
Advantages to a Bond
And that was the end of it,” Pevara said, sitting against the wall.
Androl could feel her emotions. They sat in the store
room where they’d fought Taim’s men, waiting for Emarin—who claimed he could make Dobser talk. Androl himself had little skill in interrogation. The scent of grain had changed to a rancid stench. It spoiled suddenly, sometimes.
Pevara had grown quiet, both outside and in, as she’d spoken of the murder of her family by longtime friends.
“I still hate them,” she said. “I can think about my family without pain, but the Darkfriends ... I hate them. At least I have some vengeance, as the Dark One certainly didn’t defend them. They spent all their lives following him, hoping for a place in his new world, only to have the Last Battle come long after their deaths. I suppose the ones living now won’t be any better off. Once we win the Last Battle, he will have their souls. I hope their punishment is lengthy.”
“You’re so certain we will win?” Androl asked.
“Of course we will win. It’s not a question, Androl. We can’t afford to make it one.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Continue.”
“There’s no more to say. Odd, to tell the story after all these years. For a long while, I couldn’t speak of it.”
The room fell silent. Dobser hung in his bonds, facing the wall, his ears plugged by Pevara's weaves. The other two were still unconscious. Androl had hit them hard, and he intended to see that they didn’t awaken anytime soon.
Pevara had shielded them, but she couldn’t possibly maintain three shields at once if the men tried to break free. Aes Sedai usually used more than one sister to hold one man. Three would be impossible for any single channeler, strong or not. She could tie off those shields, but Taim had set the Asha’man at practicing how to escape a tied-off shield.
Yes, best to make certain the other two didn’t wake. Useful though it would be just to cut their throats, he didn’t have the stomach for it. Instead he sent a tiny thread of Spirit and A
ir to touch each of their eyelids. He had to use a single weave, and a weak one, but he managed to touch all of their eyes. If the lids cracked a tiny bit, he’d know. That would have to be enough.
Pevara was still thinking about her family. She had been telling the truth; she did hate the Darkfriends. All of them. It was a measured hate, not out of control, but it was still strong after all of these years.
He would not have suspected that in this woman who seemed so often to smile. He could sense that she hurt. And, oddly, that she felt . . . lonely.
“My father killed himself,” Androl said, without really intending to.
She looked at him.
“My mother pretended it was an accident for years,” Androl continued. “He did it out in the woods, leaped from a cliff. He’d sat down with her the night before and explained what he was going to do.”
“She didn’t try to stop him?” Pevara asked, aghast.
“No,” Androl said. “Only a few years before she found the mother’s last embrace, I was able to pry some answers out of her. She was frightened of him. That was shocking to me; he’d always been so gentle. What had changed, in those last few years, to make her fear him?” Androl turned to Pevara. “She said that he saw things in the shadows. That he’d started to go mad.”
“Ah . . .”
“You asked me why I came to the Black Tower. You wanted to know why I asked to be tested. Well this thing that I am, it answers a question for me. It tells me who my father was, and why he did what he felt he needed to do.
“I can see the signs now. Our business did too well. Father could find quarries of stone and veins of metal when nobody else could. Men hired him to find valuable deposits for them. He was the best. Uncannily good. I could . . . see it in him at the end, Pevara. I was only ten, but I remember.
The fear in his eyes. I know that fear now.” He hesitated. “My father jumped off that cliff to save his family’s lives.”
“I’m sorry,” Pevara said.
“Knowing what I am, what he was, helps.”
It had started raining again, fat drops hitting the window like pebbles. The door into the shop opened, and Emarin, finally, peered in. He saw Dobser, hanging there, and looked relieved. Then he saw the other two and started. “What have you two done?”
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