“I see,” Lelaine said, “and what of the northern cherry orchards? They haven’t been particularly productive lately, and. . . .”
Shaking his head, Gawyn left the tent. Lelaine had prodded him about Andoran taxation rates for the better part of an hour. And, once again, Gawyn was uncertain if he’d achieved anything useful in his visit. He’d never get Egwene free at this rate!
As always, a novice in white waited outside the tent to escort him from the inner camp. This time the novice was a short, plump woman who looked more than a few years too old to have taken up the white.
Gawyn allowed the woman to lead him through the Aes Sedai camp, trying to pretend that she was just a guide, rather than a guard to see that he left as instructed. Bryne was right; the women did not like unnecessary bodies—soldiers in particular—wandering around their neat little imitation White Tower of a village. He passed bustling groups of white-clad women crossing walkways, watching him with the faint distrust the friendliest of people often gave an outsider. He passed Aes Sedai, universally self-assured whether they wore rich silk or stiff wool. He passed some groups of worker women, far more neat than those out in the soldier camp. They walked with an almost Aes Sedai air themselves, as if they gained a measure of authority by being allowed into the real camp.
All these groups crisscrossed through an open square of trampled weeds that formed the common area. The most confusing thing he had discovered in this camp had to do with Egwene. More and more, he was coming to realize that the people here really did see her as Amyrlin. She wasn’t simply a decoy set up to draw ire, nor was she a calculated insult, meant to rile Elaida. Egwene was Amyrlin to them.
Obviously, she had been chosen because the rebels wanted someone easy to control. But they didn’t treat her as a puppet—both Lelaine and Romanda spoke of her with respect. There was an advantage to Egwene’s absence, since it created a void of power. Therefore, they accepted Egwene as a source of authority. Was he the only one who remembered that she’d been an Accepted just months ago?
She was in over her head. However, she’d also impressed the people in this camp. It was like his mother’s own rise to power in Andor many years before.
But why did she refuse to allow a rescue? Traveling had been rediscovered—from what he’d heard, Egwene herself had rediscovered it! He needed to talk to her. Then he could judge if her unwillingness to escape came from a fear of putting others in danger, or if it was something else.
He unhobbled Challenge from the post at the border between Aes Sedai and army camps, nodded farewell to his novice handler, then swung into the saddle, checking the position of the sun. He turned his mount east along a pathway between army tents, and set out in a quick trot. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Lelaine he had another appointment; he’d promised to meet Bryne. Of course, Gawyn had set up the meeting because he’d known he might need a means of escaping Lelaine. Bryne had taught him that: It didn’t show fear to prepare your retreat ahead of time. It was just plain good strategy.
Well over an hour’s ride later, Gawyn found his old teacher where they’d planned to meet: one of the outlying guard posts. Bryne was conducting an inspection not unlike the one Gawyn had used to mask his escape from the Younglings. The general was just mounting his big-nosed bay gelding as Gawyn trotted up, crossing the scrub grass and wan spring weeds. The guard post sat in a hollow on the side of a gentle incline, with a good view of the approach from the north. The soldiers stood respectfully in their general’s presence, and they veiled their hostility toward Gawyn. It had gotten around that he’d led the force which had raided them so successfully. A strategist like Bryne could respect Gawyn for his skill, no matter that they had been on opposite sides, but these men had seen colleagues killed by Gawyn’s troops.
Bryne turned his horse to the side, nodding to Gawyn. “You’re later than you said you’d be, son.”
“But not later than you expected?” Gawyn said, pulling Challenge up.
“Not at all,” the sturdy man said, smiling. “You were visiting Aes Sedai.”
Gawyn grinned at that, and the two turned their mounts and began to cross the open hills toward the north. Bryne planned to inspect all of the guard posts on the western side of Tar Valon, a duty that would involve a lot of riding, so Gawyn had offered to accompany him. There was blessed little else to do with his time; few of the soldiers would spar with him, and those who would tried just a little too hard to cause an “accident.” The Aes Sedai would only suffer so much of his prodding, and Gawyn didn’t have a mind for the game of stones lately. He was too on edge, worried about Egwene and frustrated at his lack of progress. The truth was, he’d never been very good at the game in the first place—not like his mother. Bryne had insisted that Gawyn practice it anyway as a method of learning battlefield strategy.
The hillsides were scraggly with yellow weeds and larksbrush, with its tiny, faintly blue leaves and gnarled branches. There should have been wildflowers coating the hills in patches, but not a single one bloomed. The landscape felt sickly—yellow in patches, whitish blue in others, with generous helpings of dead brown scrub that hadn’t regrown after the harsh winter.
“And are you going to tell me how the meeting went?” Bryne asked as they rode, a squad of soldiers following behind as an honor guard.
“I’ll bet you have guessed that already as well.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Bryne said. “It is an unusual time, and strange events are common. Perhaps Lelaine decided to forgo scheming for a time and actually listen to your pleas.”
Gawyn grimaced. “I think you’d sooner find a Trolloc who has taken up weaving than an Aes Sedai who has given up scheming.”
“I do believe that you were warned,” Bryne said.
There was no argument that Gawyn could make, so they simply rode in silence for a short time, passing the distant river to the right. Beyond that, the tower and roofs of Tar Valon. A prison.
“We’ll eventually need to discuss that group of soldiers you left behind, Gawyn,” Bryne said suddenly, eyes forward.
“I don’t see what there is to discuss,” Gawyn said, which wasn’t completely truthful. He had suspicions of what Bryne would ask, and he didn’t look forward to the conversation.
Bryne shook his head. “I’ll need information, lad. Locations, troop counts, equipment lists. I know you were staging from one of the villages to the east, but which one? How many are in your force, and what kind of support are Elaida’s Aes Sedai giving them?”
Gawyn kept his eyes forward. “I came to help Egwene. Not to betray those who trusted me.”
“You already betrayed them.”
“No,” Gawyn said firmly. “I abandoned them, but I have not betrayed them. And I do not intend to.”
“And you expect me to let a potential advantage die untaken?” Bryne asked, turning to him. “What you have in that brain of yours could save lives.”
“Or cost lives,” Gawyn said, “if you look at it from the other side.”
“Don’t make this difficult, Gawyn.”
“Or what?” Gawyn asked. “You’ll put me to the question?”
“You’d suffer for them?”
“They are my men,” Gawyn said simply. Or, at least, they were. Either way, he had had enough of being pushed around by circumstances and wars. He would give no loyalty to the White Tower, but neither would he offer it to these rebels. Egwene and Elayne held his heart and his honor. And if he couldn’t give it to them, he would give it to Andor—and the entire world—by hunting down Rand al’Thor and seeing him dead.
Rand al’Thor. Gawyn didn’t believe Bryne’s defense of the man. Oh, he believed that Bryne meant what he said—but he was mistaken. It could happen to the best of people, taken in by the charisma of a creature like al’Thor. He had fooled Elayne herself. The only way to help any of them would be to expose this Dragon and dispose of him.
He looked over at Bryne, who turned away. He was still thinking about the Younglings, li
kely. It was unlikely that Bryne would put Gawyn to the question. Gawyn knew the general, and his sense of honor, too well. It wouldn’t happen. But Bryne might decide to imprison Gawyn. Perhaps it would be wise to offer him something.
“They are youths, Bryne,” Gawyn said.
Bryne frowned.
“Youths,” Gawyn repeated. “Barely past their training. They belong on the sparring field, not on the battlefield. Their hearts are good, and their skills sound, but they are much less a threat to you now that I am gone. I was the one who knew your strategy. Without me, they will have a much harder time of their raids. I suspect that if they continue to strike, they shall have their day with the butcher soon enough. No need for me to hasten them along.”
“Very well,” Bryne replied. “I will wait. But if their raids continue to be effective, you will hear this question from me again.”
Gawyn nodded. The best thing he could do for the Younglings would be to help end this division between the rebels and the loyalists. But that seemed far beyond the scope of what he could accomplish. Perhaps after he freed Egwene he could think of some way to help. Light! They couldn’t really be intending to go to blows, could they? The skirmish following Siuan Sanche’s fall had been bad enough. What would happen if armies met here, just outside of Tar Valon? Aes Sedai against Aes Sedai, Warder fighting Warder on a battlefield? A disaster.
“It can’t come to that,” he found himself saying.
Bryne looked at Gawyn as their horses continued across the field.
“You can’t attack, Bryne,” Gawyn said. “A siege is one thing. But what will you do if they order you to mount an assault?”
“What I always do,” Bryne said. “Obey.”
“But—”
“I gave my word, Gawyn.”
“And how many deaths is that word worth? Assaulting the White Tower would be a disaster. No matter how slighted these rebel Aes Sedai may feel, there will be no reconciliation if it happens by the sword.”
“That’s not our decision,” Bryne said. He glanced at Gawyn, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“What?” Gawyn asked.
“I’m wondering why it matters to you. I thought you were just here for Egwene.”
“I. . . .” Gawyn floundered.
“Who are you, Gawyn Trakand?” Bryne asked, prodding further. “What are your allegiances, really?”
“You know me better than most, Gareth.”
“I know who you were supposed to be,” Bryne said. “First Prince of the Sword, trained by Warders but bonded to no woman.”
“And that’s not what I am?” Gawyn asked testily.
“Peace, son,” Bryne said. “This wasn’t meant to be an insult. Just an observation. I know you were never as single-minded as your brother. I suppose I should have seen this in you.”
Gawyn turned toward the aging general. What was the man talking about?
Bryne sighed. “It’s a thing most soldiers never face, Gawyn. Oh, they may consider it, but they don’t let it torment them. This question is for someone else, someone higher up.”
“What question?” Gawyn asked, perplexed.
“Choosing a side,” Bryne said. “And, once you’ve picked one, deciding if you made the right decision. The foot soldiers don’t have to make this choice, but those of us who lead . . . yes, I can see it in you. That skill of yours with the sword is no small gift. Where do you use it?”
“For Elayne,” Gawyn said quickly.
“As you do now?” Bryne asked with amusement.
“Well, once I save Egwene.”
“And if Egwene won’t go?” Bryne asked. “I know that look in your eyes, lad. I also know some small bit about Egwene al’Vere. She won’t leave this battlefield until a victor has been chosen.”
“I’ll take her away,” Gawyn said. “Back to Andor.”
“And will you force her to go?” Bryne asked. “As you forced your way into my camp? Will you become a bully and a footpad, remarkable only because of your ability to kill or punish those who disagree with you?”
Gawyn didn’t answer.
“Whom to serve?” Bryne said, thoughtful. “Our own skill frightens us, sometimes. What is the ability to kill if one has no outlet for it? A wasted talent? The pathway to becoming a murderer? The power to protect and preserve is daunting. So you look for someone to give the skill to, someone who will use it wisely. The need to make a decision chews at you, even after you’ve made it. I see the question more in younger men. We old hounds, we’re just happy to have a place by the hearth. If someone tells us to fight, we don’t want to shake things up too much. But the young men . . . they wonder.”
“Did you question, once?” Gawyn asked.
“Yes,” Bryne said. “More than once. I wasn’t Captain-General during the Aiel War, but I was a rank-captain. I wondered then, many times.”
“How could you question your side during the Aiel war, of all things?” Gawyn said, frowning. “They came to slaughter.”
“They didn’t come for us,” Bryne said. “They just wanted the Cairhienin. Of course, that wasn’t so easy to see at first, but truth be told, some of us wondered. Laman deserved his death. Why should we die to stand in the way of it? Maybe more of us should have asked the question.”
“Then what’s the answer?” Gawyn asked. “Where do you put your trust? Whom do I serve?”
“I don’t know,” Bryne said frankly.
“Then why ask in the first place?” Gawyn snapped, pulling his horse up short.
Bryne reined in his animal, turning back. “I don’t know the answer because there isn’t one. At least, each person’s answer is their own. When I was young, I fought for honor. Eventually, I realized that there was little honor to be found in killing, and I found that I had changed. Then I fought because I served your mother. I trusted her. When she failed me, I began to wonder again. What of all those years of service? What of the men I’d killed in her name? What did any of that mean?”
He turned and flicked his reins, moving again. Gawyn hasted Challenge to catch up.
“You wonder why I’m here, instead of in Andor?” Bryne asked. “It’s because I can’t let go. It’s because the world is changing, and I need to be part of it. It’s because once everything in Andor was taken from me, I needed a new place for my loyalty. The Pattern brought me this opportunity.”
“And you chose it just because it was there?”
“No,” Bryne said. “I picked it because I’m a fool.” He met Gawyn’s eyes. “But I stayed because it was right. That which has been broken must be made whole, and I’ve seen what a terrible leader can do to a kingdom. Elaida can’t be allowed to pull this world down with her.”
Gawyn started.
“Yes,” Bryne said. “I’ve actually come to believe them. Fool women. But by the Light, Gawyn, they’re right. What I’m doing is right. She’s right.”
“Who?”
Bryne shook his head, muttering. “Bloody woman.”
Egwene? Gawyn wondered.
“My motives aren’t important to you, son,” Bryne said. “You’re not one of my soldiers. But you need to make some decisions. In the days coming, you’ll need to have a side and you’ll need to know why you’ve chosen it. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”
He kicked his horse into a faster gait. In the distance, Gawyn could pick out another guard post. He hung back as Bryne and his soldiers approached it.
Pick a side. What if Egwene wouldn’t go with him?
Bryne was right. Something was coming. You could smell it in the air, feel it in the weak sunlight that managed to shoulder its way through the clouds. You could sense it, distantly, in the north, crackling like unseen energy on that dark horizon.
War, battles, conflicts, changes. Gawyn felt as if he didn’t know what the different sides were. Let alone which one to pick for himself.
CHAPTER 31
A Promise to Lews Therin
Cadsuane kept her cloak on, hood up, despite t
he mugginess that strained her ability to “ignore” the heat. She dared not lower the hood or remove the cloak. Al’Thor’s words had been specific; if he saw her face, she would be executed. She wouldn’t risk her life to prevent a few hours of discomfort, even if she thought al’Thor was safely back in his newly appropriated mansion. The boy often appeared where he wasn’t expected or wanted.
She wasn’t about to let him exile her, of course. The more power a man held, the more likely he was to be an idiot with it. Give a man one cow, and he’d care for it with concern, using its milk to feed his family. Give a man ten cows, and he was likely to think himself rich—then let all ten starve for lack of attention.
She clomped down the boardwalk, passing bannered buildings like boxes stacked atop one another. She wasn’t particularly pleased to be in Bandar Eban again. She had nothing against the Domani; she just preferred cities that weren’t so crowded. And with the problems in the countryside, the place was more packed than normal. Refugees continued to trickle in despite the rumors regarding al’Thor’s arrival in the city. She passed a cluster of them in the alley to her left, a family, faces darkened by dirt.
Al’Thor promised food. That brought hungry mouths, none eager to return to their farms, even after they were given food. The countryside was still too chaotic, and the food here too new. The refugees couldn’t be certain the grain wouldn’t just spoil, as so much did recently. No, they stayed, packing the city, crowding it.
Cadsuane shook her head, continuing down the boardwalk, those wretched clogs clattering against the wood. The city was famous for these long, sturdy walkways, which allowed foot traffic to avoid the mud of the streets. Cobbles would have fixed that, but the Domani often prided themselves on being different from the rest of the world. Indigestibly spicy food with dreadful eating utensils. A capital filled with frivolous banners, set on a huge port. Scandalous dresses on the women; long, thin mustaches on the men and an almost Sea Folk–like fondness for earrings.
Hundreds of those banners flapped in the wind as Cadsuane passed, and she gritted her teeth against the temptation to pull off her hood and feel the wind on her face. Light-cursed ocean air. Normally, Bandar Eban was chilly and rainy. Rarely had she felt it this warm. The humidity was dreadful either way. Rational people stayed inland!
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