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