A Memory of Light

Lyrelle drew her lips into a line.

“Here’s the thing, Aes Sedai,” Androl said. “The Dragon Reborn sent a message to us, just earlier today. He instructed us to learn one last lesson: that we’re not to think of ourselves as weapons, but as men. Wel , men have a choice in their fate, and weapons do not. Here are your men, Aes Sedai. Respect them.”

Androl bowed again and walked away. Pevara hesitated, then turned her horse, following him. Lyrelle saw something in the woman’s face as she looked at the man.

So that is it, Lyrelle thought. No better than a Green, that one is. I would have expected more of one her age.

Lyrelle was tempted to refuse this manipulation, to go to the Amyrlin and protest what had happened. Only . . . news from the Amyrlin’s battlefront was jumbled. Something about an unexpected army appearing; details were not available.

Certainly the Amyrlin would not be happy to hear complaints at this point. And certainly, Lyrelle admitted to herself, she also wanted to be done with the Black Tower.

“Each of you pick two,” Lyrelle said to her companions. “A few of us will take only one.

Faolain and Theodrin, you are among those. Be quick about it, al of you. I want away from this place as soon as possible.”

Pevara caught up to Androl as he slipped into one of the huts.

“Light,” she said. “I’d forgotten how cold some of us can be.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Androl replied. “I’ve heard that some of you aren’t quite so bad.”

“Be careful of them, Androl,” she said, looking back out. “Many will see you as only a threat or a tool to be used.”

“We won you over,” Androl said, walking into a room where Canler, Jonneth and Emarin waited with cups of warm tea. Al three were beginning to recover from the fighting, Jonneth most quickly. Emarin bore the worst scars, most of them emotional. He, like Logain, had been subjected to the Turning process. Pevara noticed him staring blankly, sometimes, face etched by fear as if remembering something horrible.

“You three shouldn’t be here,” Pevara said, hands on hips, facing Emarin and the other two.

“I know Logain promised you advancement, but you still wear only the sword on your collars.

If any of those women saw you, they could take you as Warders.”

“They won’t see us,” Jonneth said with a laugh. “Androl would have us through a gateway before we had time to curse!”

“So what do we do now?” Canler asked.

“Whatever Logain wishes of us,” Androl said.

Logain had . . . changed since the ordeal. Androl whispered to her that he was darker now.

He spoke less. He did stil seem determined to get to the Last Battle, but for now, he gathered the men in and pored over things they’d found in Taim’s rooms. Pevara worried that the Turning had broken him inside.

“He thinks there might be something in those battle maps he found in Taim’s chambers,”

Emarin said.

“We’ll go where Logain decides we can be of most use,” Androl replied. A straightforward answer, but one that didn’t actually say much.

“And what of the Lord Dragon?” Pevara asked carefully.

She felt Androl’s uncertainty. The Asha’man Naeff had come to them, bearing news and instructions—and with them, some implications. The Dragon Reborn had known all was not well at the Black Tower.

“He left us alone on purpose,” Androl said.

“He would have come if he could have!” Jonneth said. “I promise you.

“He left us to escape on our own,” Emarin said, “or to fall on our own. He has become a harsh man. Perhaps callous.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Androl said. “The Black Tower has learned to survive without him. Light!

It always survived without him. He barely had anything to do with us. It was Logain who gave us hope. It is Logain who will have my allegiance.”

The others nodded. Pevara felt something important happening here. They couldn’t have leaned upon him forever anyway, she thought. The Dragon Reborn wil die at the Last Battle.

By intention or not, he had given them the chance to become their own men.

“I will take his last order to heart, however,” Androl said. “I will not be merely a weapon.

The taint is cleansed. We fight not to die, but to live. We have a reason to live. Spread the word among the other men, and let us take oaths to uphold Logain as our leader. And then, to the Last Battle. Not as minions of the Dragon Reborn, not as pawns of the Amyrlin Seat, but as the Black Tower. Our own men.”

“Our own men,” the other three whispered, nodding.





CHAPTER





22



The Wyld

Egwene was shocked awake as Gawyn clamped his hand over her mouth. She tensed, memories returning like the light of a sunrise. They were still hiding beneath the broken cart; the air still smelled of burned wood. The land nearby was dark as coal. Night had fallen.