A Memory of Light

“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 al ow 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, al 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 stil 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 actual y 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?”