Old Advice

Gawyn remembered very little of his father—the man had never been much of a father, to him at least—but he did have a strong memory of a day in the Caemlyn palace gardens. Gawyn had been standing beside a small pond, pitching pebbles into it. Taringail had walked past down the Rose March, young Galad at his side.

The scene was still vivid in Gawyn’s mind. The heavy scent of the roses in full bloom. The silver ripples on the pond, the minnows scattering away from the miniature boulder he’d just tossed at them. He could picture his father well. Tall, handsome, hair with a slight wave to it. Galad had been straight-backed and somber even then. A few months later, Galad would rescue Gawyn from drowning in that very pond.

Gawyn could hear his father speak words that he’d never forgotten. Whatever else one thought of Taringail Damodred, this bit of advice rang true. “There are two groups of people you should never trust,” the man had been saying to Galad as they passed. “The first are pretty women. The second are Aes Sedai. Light help you, son, if you ever have to face someone who is both.”

Light help you, son.

“I simply cannot see disobeying the Amyrlin’s express will in this matter,” Lelaine said primly, stirring ink in the small jar on her desk. No man trusted beautiful women, for all their fascination with them. But few realized what Taringail had said—that a pretty girl, like a coal that had cooled just enough to no longer look hot, could be far, far more dangerous.

Lelaine wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty, particularly when she smiled. Slender and graceful, without a speck of gray in her dark hair, an almond face with full lips. She looked up at him with eyes that were far too comely to belong to a woman of her craftiness. And she seemed to know. She understood that she was just attractive enough to draw attention, but not stunning enough to make men wary.

She was a woman of the most dangerous type. One who felt real, who made men think they might be able to hold her attention. She wasn’t pretty like Egwene, who made you want to spend time with her. This woman’s smile made you want to count the knives on your belt and in your boot, just to make sure none of them had found their way into your back while you were distracted.

Gawyn stood beside her writing table, shaded by the straight-topped blue tent. He hadn’t been invited to sit, and he had not asked for the privilege. Talking to an Aes Sedai, particularly an important one, required wits and sobriety. He’d rather stand. Perhaps it would keep him more alert.

“Egwene is trying to protect you,” Gawyn said, controlling his frustration. “That’s why she commanded you to forgo a rescue. She obviously doesn’t want you to risk yourselves. She is self-sacrificing to a fault.” If she weren’t, he added in his mind, she’d never have let you all bully her into pretending to be the Amyrlin Seat.

“She seems very confident of her safety,” Lelaine said, dipping her pen into the ink. She began to write on a piece of parchment; a note to someone. Gawyn politely didn’t read over her shoulder, though he did notice the calculated move on her part. He was unimportant enough that he couldn’t demand her full attention. He chose not to acknowledge the insult. Trying to bully Bryne hadn’t worked; it would be even less effective with this woman.

“She’s trying to put your worries at ease, Lelaine Sedai,” he said instead.

“I am a fair judge of people, young Trakand. I do not think she feels she is in danger.” She shook her head. Her perfume smelled of apple blossoms.

“I do not doubt you,” he replied. “But perhaps if I knew how it is you communicate with her, I could judge better. If I could—”

“You have been warned not to ask about that, child,” Lelaine said in her soft, melodious voice. “Leave things of the Aes Sedai to the Aes Sedai.”

Virtually the same answer each sister gave when he asked how they communicated with Egwene. He clenched his jaw in frustration. What had he expected? It involved using the One Power. After all his time in the White Tower, he still had little idea of what the Power could and couldn’t do.

“Regardless,” Lelaine continued, “the Amyrlin thinks herself quite safe. What we’ve discovered in Shemerin’s story only reinforces and corroborates what Egwene has told us. Elaida is so mad with power that she doesn’t consider the rightful Amyrlin a threat.”

There was more she wasn’t saying. Gawyn could tell it. He could never get a straight answer from them regarding what Egwene’s status was currently. He’d heard rumors that she’d been imprisoned, no longer allowed to roam free as a novice. But getting information from an Aes Sedai was about as easy as churning rocks into butter!

Gawyn took a breath. He couldn’t lose his temper. If he did that, he’d never get Lelaine to listen. And he needed her. Bryne wouldn’t move without Aes Sedai authorization, and as far as Gawyn had been able to tell, his best chances of gaining it came from Lelaine or Romanda. Everyone seemed to listen to one of the two or the other.

Fortunately, Gawyn had found that he could play them off one another. A visit to Romanda almost always prompted an invitation from Lelaine. Of course, the reason they were eager to see him in the first place had very little to do with Egwene. No doubt the conversation would move in that direction very soon.

“Perhaps you are right, Lelaine Sedai,” he said, trying a different tack. “Perhaps Egwene does believe herself to be safe. But isn’t there a possibility that she is wrong? You can’t honestly believe that Elaida will let a woman who claimed to be Amyrlin wander around the White Tower free? This is obviously just a means of showing off a captured rival before executing her.”

“Perhaps,” Lelaine said, continuing to write. She had a flowing, ornate hand. “But must I not uphold the Amyrlin, even if she is misguided?”

Gawyn gave no response. Of course she could disobey the will of the Amyrlin. He knew enough of Aes Sedai politics to understand it was done all the time. But saying that would accomplish nothing.

“Still,” Lelaine said absently. “Perhaps I can bring a motion before the Hall. We might be able to persuade the Amyrlin to listen to a new kind of plea. We shall see if I can formulate a new argument.”

“We shall see” or “Perhaps we can” or “I will consider what to do.” Never a firm commitment; every half-offer came smeared liberally with goose grease for easy escape. Light, but he was growing weary of Aes Sedai answers!

Lelaine looked up at him, favoring him with a smile. “Now, as I have agreed to do something for you, perhaps you will be willing to offer me something. Great deeds are rarely accomplished without the aid of many partners, you may know.”

Gawyn sighed. “Speak your needs, Aes Sedai.”

“Your sister has, by all reports, made a very admirable showing for herself in Andor,” Lelaine said, as if she hadn’t said nearly the exact same thing the last three times she’d met with Gawyn. “She did have to step on a few toes to secure her throne, however. What do you think her policy will be regarding House Traemane’s fruit orchards? Under your mother, the tax assessments on the land were very favorable toward Traemane. Will Elayne revoke this special privilege, or will she try to use it as honey to soothe those who stood against her?”

Gawyn stifled another sigh. It always came back to Elayne. He was convinced that neither Lelaine nor Romanda had any real interest in rescuing Egwene—they were too pleased with their increased power in her absence. No, they met with Gawyn because of the new queen on the Lion Throne.

He had no idea why an Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah would care about apple orchard taxation rates. Lelaine wouldn’t be looking for monetary gain; that wasn’t the Aes Sedai way. But she would want leverage, a means of securing a favorable connection with the Andoran noble houses. Gawyn resisted answering. Why help this woman? What good was it doing?

But yet . . . could he be certain she wouldn’t work for Egwene’s release? If he stopped making these meetings useful to Lelaine, would she discontinue them? Would he find himself shut out of his one source of influence—no matter how small—in the camp?

“Well,” he said, “I think that my sister will be more strict than my mother was. She always has thought that the favorable position of the orchard growers was no longer justified.”

He could see that Lelaine subtly began taking notes on what he said at the bottom of her parchment. Was that the real reason for getting out the ink and quill?

He had no choice but to answer as honestly as he could, though he had to be careful not to let himself get pressed for too much information. His connection to Elayne was the only thing he had with which to bargain, and he had to ration his usefulness to stretch it long. It irked him. Elayne wasn’t a bargaining chip, she was his sister!

But it was all he had.

“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, likely. 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.