A Memory Of Light: Wheel of Time Book 14

by Robert Jordan

  Androl released the void, feeling more relaxed. He looked around the room, trying to judge who in here he could rely upon. He liked many of these men, and many weren’t completely for Taim, yet he still couldn’t trust them. Taim had complete control of the Tower now, and private lessons with him and his chosen were coveted by the newcomers. Only the Two Rivers lads could be counted on to give any sort of support to Androl’s cause—and most of them other than Jonneth were too unpracticed to be of use.

  Evin had joined Nalaam on the other side of the room, and Androl nodded his head to him, sending him out to follow Jonneth into the storm. Nobody was to be alone. That done, Androl listened to Welyn’s boasting, and noticed Lind picking her way through the crowd toward him.

  Lind Taglien was a short, dark-haired woman; her dress was covered in lovely embroidery. She had always seemed to him a model of what the Black Tower could be. Civilized. Educated. Important.

  Men made way for her; they knew not to spill their drinks or start fights in her inn. Lind’s anger was not something a wise man ever wanted to know. It was a good thing she ran the place so tightly. In a city full of male channelers, a simple tavern brawl could potentially go very, very wrong.

  “Does this bother you as much as it does me?” Lind asked softly as she stepped up beside him. “Wasn’t he the one who, just a few weeks back, was talking about how Taim should be tried and executed for some of the things he’d done?”

  Androl didn’t reply. What could he say? That he suspected that the man they’d known as Welyn was dead? That the entire Black Tower would soon be nothing but these monsters with the wrong eyes, the false smiles, the dead souls?

  “I don’t believe him about Logain,” Lind said. “Something’s going on here, Androl. I’m going to have Frask follow him tonight, see where he—”

  “No,” Androl said. “No. Don’t.” Frask was her husband, a man who had been hired to help Henre Haslin teach swordsmanship in the Black Tower. Taim thought that swordfighting was useless for Asha’man, but the Lord Dragon had insisted that the men be taught.

  She eyed him. “You’re not saying you believe—”

  “I’m saying that we’re in great danger right now, Lind, and I don’t want Frask making it worse. Do me a favor. Take note of what else Welyn says tonight. Maybe some of it will be useful for me to know.”

  “All right,” she said, sounding skeptical.

  Androl nodded toward Nalaam and Canler, who rose and headed over. Rain beat against the rooftop and the porch outside. Welyn kept right on talking, and the men were listening. Yes, it was incredible that he’d swapped sides so quickly, and that would make some suspicious. But many people respected him, and the way he was off just slightly wasn’t noticeable unless you knew him.

  “Lind,” Androl said as she started to walk away.

  She glanced back at him.

  “You… lock this place up tightly tonight. Then maybe you and Frask should find your way into the cellar with some supplies, all right? You have a sturdy cellar door?”

  “Yes,” she said. “For all the good it will do.” It wouldn’t matter how thick a door was if someone with the One Power came looking.

  Nalaam and Canler reached them, and Androl turned to go, only to run directly into a man standing in the doorway behind him, someone he hadn’t heard approach. Rain dripped from his Asha’man coat, with the Sword and the Dragon on the high collar. Atal Mishraile had been one of Taim’s from the start. He didn’t have the hollow eyes; his evil was all his own. Tall, with long golden hair, he had a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes.

  Pevara jumped when she saw him, and Nalaam cursed, seizing the One Power.

  “Now, now,” a voice said. “No need for strife.” Mezar stepped in from the rain beside Mishraile. The short Domani man had graying hair and an air of wisdom to him, despite his transformation.

  Androl met Mezar’s eyes, and it was like looking into a deep cavern. A place where light had never shone.

  “Hello, Androl,” Mezar said, putting a hand on Mishraile’s shoulder, as if the two had been friends for a long time. “Why is it that Goodwoman Lind would need to fear, and shut herself in her cellar? Surely the Black Tower is as safe a place as there is?”

  “I don’t trust a dark night full of storms,” Androl said.

  “Perhaps that is wise,” Mezar replied. “Yet you go out into it. Why not stay where it is warm? Nalaam, I should like to hear one of your stories. Perhaps you could tell me of the time your father and you visited Shara?”

  “It’s not that good a story,” Nalaam said. “I don’t know if I remember it that well.”

  Mezar laughed, and Androl heard Welyn stand up behind him. “Ah, there you are! I was telling them you’d talk about defenses in Arafel.”

  “Come listen,” Mezar said. “This will be important for the Last Battle.”

  “Maybe I will return,” Androl said, voice cool. “Once my other work is done.”

  The two stared at one another. To the side, Nalaam still held the One Power. He was as strong as Mezar, but would never be able to face both him and Mishraile—particularly not in a room crammed with people who would probably take the side of the two full Asha’man.

  “Don’t waste your time with the pageboy, Welyn,” Coteren said from behind. Mishraile stepped aside to make room for this third newcomer. The bulky, beady-eyed man pressed a hand against Androl’s chest and shoved him aside as he passed. “Oh, wait. You can’t play pageboy anymore, can you?”

  Androl entered the void and seized the Source.

  Shadows immediately started moving in the room. Lengthening.

  There weren’t enough lights! Why didn’t they light more lamps? The darkness invited those shadows in, and he could see them. These were real, each one a tendril of blackness, reaching for him. To pull him into them, to destroy him.

  Oh, Light. I’m mad. I’m mad…

  The void shattered, and the shadows—thankfully—retreated. He found himself shaking, pulling back against the wall, panting. Pevara watched him with an expressionless face, but he could feel her concern.

  “Oh, by the way,” Coteren said. He was one of Taim’s most influential toadies. “Have you heard?”

  “Heard what?” Androl managed to force out.

  “You’ve been demoted, pageboy,” Coteren said, pointing toward the sword pin. “Taim’s orders. As of today. Back to soldier you go, Androl.”

  “Oh, yes,” Welyn called from the center of the room. “I’m sorry I forgot to mention it. It has been cleared with the Lord Dragon, I’m afraid. You never should have been promoted, Androl. Sorry.”

  Androl reached to his neck, to the pin there. It shouldn’t matter to him; what did it really mean?

  But it did matter. He’d spent his entire life searching. He’d apprenticed to a dozen different professions. He’d fought in revolts, sailed two seas. All the while searching, searching for something he hadn’t been able to define.

  He’d found it when he’d come to the Black Tower.

  He pushed through the fear. Shadows be burned! He seized saidin again, the Power flooding him. He straightened up, going eye-to-eye with Coteren.

  The larger man smiled and seized the One Power as well. Mezar joined him, and in the middle of the room, Welyn stood. Nalaam was whispering to himself in worry, eyes darting back and forth. Canler seized saidin and looked resigned.

  Everything Androl could hold—all of the One Power he could muster—flooded into him. It was minuscule compared to the others. He was the weakest man in the room; the newest of recruits could manage more than he could.

  “Are you going to make a go of it, then?” Coteren asked softly. “I asked them to leave you, because I knew you’d try it eventually. I wanted the satisfaction, pageboy. Come on. Strike. Let’s see it.”

  Androl reached out, trying to do the one thing he could do, form a gateway. To him, this was something beyond weaves. It was just him and the Power, something intimate, something instinctive
.

  Trying to make a gateway now felt like trying to scramble up a hundred-foot glass wall with only his fingernails to give him purchase. He leaped, scrambled, tried. Nothing happened. He felt so close: if he could just push a little harder, he could…

  The shadows lengthened. The panic rose in him again. Teeth gritted, Androl reached to his collar and ripped the pin free. He dropped it on the floorboards before Coteren with a clink. Nobody in the room spoke.

  Then, burying his shame under a mountain of determination, he released the One Power and pushed past Mezar into the night. Nalaam, Canler and Pevara followed with anxious steps.

  The rain washed over Androl. He felt the loss of that pin as he might have felt the loss of a hand.

  “Androl…” Nalaam said. “I’m sorry.”

  Thunder rumbled. They splashed through muddy puddles on the unpaved street. “It doesn’t matter,” Androl said.

  “Maybe we should have fought,” Nalaam said. “Some of the lads in there would have supported us; they’re not all in his pocket. Once, Father and I, we fought down six Darkhounds—Light upon my grave, we did. If we survived that, we can deal with a few Asha’man dogs.”

  “We’d have been slaughtered,” Androl said.

  “But—”

  “We’d have been slaughtered!” Androl said. “We don’t let them pick the battlefield, Nalaam.”

  “But there will be a battle?” Canler asked, catching up to Androl on the other side.

  “They have Logain,” Androl said. “They wouldn’t make the promises they’re making unless they did. Everything dies—our rebellion, our chances at a unified Black Tower—if we lose him.”

  “So…”

  “So we’re going to rescue him,” Androl said, continuing forward. “Tonight.”

  Rand worked by the soft, steady light of a saidin globe. Before Dragonmount, he’d begun avoiding this kind of common use of the One Power. Seizing it had made him sick, and using it had revolted him more and more.

  That had changed. Saidin was part of him, and he needed to fear it no longer, now that the taint was gone. More importantly, he had to stop thinking of it—and of himself—as merely a weapon.

  He would work by globes of light whenever he could. He intended to go to Flinn to learn Healing. He had little skill in it, but a little skill could save the life of someone wounded. All too often, Rand had used this wonder— this gift—only to destroy or kill. Was it any wonder that people looked upon him with fear? What would Tam say?

  I guess I could ask him, Rand thought idly as he made a notation to himself on a piece of paper. It was still hard to get used to the idea of Tam being there, just one camp over. Rand had dined with him earlier. It had been awkward, but no more so than expected for a king inviting his father from a rural village to “dine.” They had laughed about it, which had made him feel much better.

  Rand had let Tam return to Perrin’s camp rather than seeing him given honors and wealth. Tam didn’t want to be hailed as the Dragon Reborn’s father. He wanted to be what he’d always been—Tam al’Thor, a solid, dependable man by anyone’s measure, but not a lord.

  Rand went back to the document in front of him. Clerks in Tear had advised him on the proper language, but he had done the actual writing; he hadn’t trusted any other hand—or any other eyes—with this document.

  Was he being too careful? What his enemies could not anticipate, they could not work against. He had grown too distrustful after Semirhage had nearly captured him. He recognized this. However, he’d been holding secrets close to him for so long, it was difficult to let them out.

  He started at the top of the document, rereading. Once, Tam had sent Rand to examine a fence for weak spots. Rand had done so, but when he’d returned, Tam had sent him on the same duty again.

  It hadn’t been until the third pass that Rand had found the loose post that needed replacing. He still didn’t know if Tam had known about the post, or if his father had just been being his careful self.

  This document was far more important than a fence. Rand would look it over a dozen more times this night, searching for problems he had not foreseen.

  Unfortunately, it was hard to concentrate. The women were up to something. He could feel them through the balls of emotion in the back of his mind. There were four of those—Alanna was still there, somewhere to the north. The other three had been near to one another all night; now they’d made their way almost to his tent. What were they up to? It—

  Wait. One of them had split off from the others. She was nearly here. Aviendha?

  Rand stood up, walking to the front of his tent and throwing back the flaps.

  She froze in place just outside, as if she’d been intending to sneak into his tent. She raised her chin, meeting his eyes.

  Suddenly, shouts rose in the night. For the first time, he noticed that his guards were not in attendance. However, the Maidens made camp near his tent, and they appeared to be shouting at him. Not with joy, as he’d expected. Insults. Terrible ones. Several were screaming about what they’d do to certain parts of his body when they caught him.

  “What is this?” he murmured.

  “They don’t mean it,” Aviendha said. “It is a symbol to them of you taking me away from their ranks—but I have already left their ranks to join the Wise Ones. It is a… thing of the Maidens. It is actually a sign of respect. If they did not like you, they would not act this way.”

  Aiel. “Wait,” he said. “How have I taken you from them?”

  Aviendha looked him in the eyes, but color rose in her cheeks. Aviendha? Blushing? That was unexpected.

  “You should understand already,” she said. “If you’d paid attention to what I told you about us…”

  “Unfortunately, you had a complete woolhead of a student.”

  “It is fortunate for him that I have decided to extend my training.” She took a step closer. “There are many things I still need to teach.” Her blush deepened.

  Light. She was beautiful. But so was Elayne… and so was Min… and…

  He was a fool. A Light-blinded fool.

  “Aviendha,” he said. “I love you, I truly do. But that’s a problem, burn it! I love all three of you. I don’t think I could accept this and choose—”

  Suddenly, she was laughing. “You are a fool, aren’t you, Rand al’Thor?”

  “Often. But what—”

  “We are first-sisters, Rand al’Thor, Elayne and I. When we get to know her better, Min will join us. We three will share in all things.”

  First-sisters? He should have suspected, following that odd bonding. He raised a hand to his head. We will share you, they had said to him.

  Leaving four bonded women to their pains was bad enough, but three bonded women who loved him? Light, he did not want to bring them pain!

  “They say you have changed,” Aviendha said. “So many have spoken of it in the short time since my return that almost, I grow weary of hearing about you. Well, your face may be calm, but your emotions are not. Is this so terrible a thing to consider, being with the three of us?”

  “I want it, Aviendha. I should hide myself because I do. But the pain…”

  “You have embraced it, have you not?”

  “It is not my pain I fear. It is yours.”

  “Are we so weak, then, that we cannot bear what you can?”

  That look in her eyes was unnerving.

  “Of course not,” Rand said. “But how can I hope for pain in those I love?”

  “The pain is ours to accept,” she said, raising her chin. “Rand al’Thor, your decision is simple, though you strive to make it difficult. Choose yes or no. Be warned; it is all three of us, or none of us. We will not let you come between us.”

  He hesitated, then—feeling a complete lecher—he kissed her. Behind him, Maidens he hadn’t realized were watching began to yell louder insults, though he could now hear an incongruous joy to them. He pulled back from the kiss, then reached out, cupping the side of Aviendha�
�s face with his hand. “You’re bloody fools. All three of you.”

  “Then it is well. We are your equals. You should know that I am a Wise One now.”

  “Then perhaps we are not equals,” Rand said, “for I’ve only just begun to understand how little wisdom I possess.”

  Aviendha sniffed. “Enough talk. You will bed me now.”

  “Light!” he said. “A little forward, aren’t you? Is that the Aiel way of doing things?”

  “No,” she said, blushing again. “I just… I am not very skilled with this.”

  “You three decided this, didn’t you? Which of you came to me?”

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  “I’m never going to get to choose, am I?”

  She shook her head.

  He laughed and pulled her close. She was stiff, initially, but then melted against him. “So, do I go fight them first?” He nodded toward the Maidens.

  “That is only for the wedding, if we decide you are worth marriage, fool man. And it would be our families, not members of our society. You really did ignore your lessons, didn’t you?”

  He looked down at her. “Well, I’m glad there’s no fighting to do. I’m not sure how much time we have, and I was hoping to get some sleep tonight. Still…” He trailed off at the look in her eyes. “I’m… not getting any sleep, am I?”

  She shook her head.

  “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.