He wasn't certain he had duty, or honor, left to him. Perhaps his guilt about Hammar, his nightmares of war and death at Dumai's Wells, were due to the slow realization that he might have given his allegiance to the wrong side. His loyalty belonged to Elayne and Egwene. What, then, was he still doing fighting a battle he didn't care about, helping a side that—by all accounts—was opposed to the one Elayne and Egwene had chosen?
They're just Accepted, he told himself. Elayne and Egwene didn't choose this side—they are just doing what they've been ordered to do! But the things that Egwene had said to him all those months ago, back in Cairhien, suggested that she had made her decision willingly.
She had chosen a side. Hammar had chosen a side. Gareth Bryne had, apparently, chosen a side. But Gawyn continued to want to be on both sides. The division was ripping him apart.
An hour out of the village, Gawyn gave the order to mount and take to the road. Hopefully, Bryne's scouts wouldn't think to search the land outside the village. If they did, the tracks of fifty horsemen would be hard to miss. There was no avoiding that. The best thing now was to reach firm ground, where the signs of their passing would be hidden by a thousand years of footfalls and traffic. Two pairs of soldiers rode off in front and two pairs hung back to watch. The rest maintained their silence, though their horses now pounded a thunderous gallop. None asked why they were withdrawing, but Gawyn knew that they were wondering, just as Jisao had.
They were good men. Perhaps too good. As they rode, Rajar pulled his mount up beside Gawyn's. Just a few months ago, Rajar had been a youth. But now Gawyn couldn't think of him as anything other than a soldier. A veteran. Some men gained experience through years spent living. Other men gained experience through months spent watching their friends die.
Glancing upward, Gawyn missed the stars. They hid their faces from him behind those clouds. Like Aiel behind black veils. "Where did we go wrong, Rajar?" Gawyn asked as they rode.
"Wrong, Lord Gawyn?" Rajar asked. "I don't know that we did anything wrong. We couldn't have known which villages that patrol would choose to inspect, or that they wouldn't turn along the old Wagonright Road, as you had hoped. Some of the men may be confused, but it was right to withdraw."
"I wasn't talking about the raid,' Gawyn said, shaking his head. "I'm talking about this whole bloody situation. You shouldn't have to go on supply raids or spend your time killing scouts; you should have become a Warder to some freshly minted Aes Sedai by now." And I should be back in Caemlyn, with Elayne.
"The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," the shorter man said.
"Well, it wove us into a hole," Gawyn muttered, glancing at the overcast sky once again. "And Elaida doesn't seem too eager to pull us out of it."
Rajar looked at Gawyn reproachfully. "The White Tower's methods are its own, Lord Gawyn, and so are its motives. It isn't for us to question. What good is a Warder who questions the orders of his Aes Sedai? A good way to get both of you killed, that is."
You're not a Warder, Rajar. That's the problem! Gawyn said nothing. None of the other Younglings seemed to be plagued with these questions. To them, the world was much simpler. One did as the White Tower, and the Amyrlin Seat, commanded. Never mind if those commands seemed designed to get you killed.
Three hundred youths against a force of over fifty thousand hardened soldiers, commanded by Gareth Bryne himself? Will of the Amyrlin or not, that was a deathtrap. The only reason the Younglings had survived as long as they had was because of Gawyn's familiarity with his teacher's ways. He knew where Bryne would send patrols and outriding scouts, and knew how to evade his search patterns.
It was still a futile effort. Gawyn didn't have nearly the troops needed for a true harrying force, particularly with Bryne entrenched in his siege. Beyond that, there was the remarkable matter of the army's complete lack of a supply line. How were they getting food? They purchased supplies from the surrounding villages, but not nearly enough to feed themselves. How could they possibly have carried all they needed while still moving quickly enough to appear, without warning, in the middle of winter?
Gawyn's attacks were next to meaningless. It was enough to make a man think that the Amyrlin just wanted him, and the other Younglings, out of the way. Before Dumai's Wells, Gawyn had suspected that was the case. Now he was growing certain. And yet you continue to follow her orders, he thought to himself.
He shook his head. Bryne's scouts were getting dangerously close to his base of operations, and Gawyn couldn't risk killing any more of them without giving himself away. It was time to head back to Dorian. Perhaps the Aes Sedai there would have a suggestion on how to proceed.
He hunkered down on his horse and continued riding into the night. Light, I wish I could see the stars, he thought.
CHAPTER 5
A Tale of Blood
Rand crossed the trampled manor green, banners flapping before him, tents surrounding him, horses whinnying in their pickets on the far west side. In the air hung the scents of an efficient war camp: smoke and savor from the stewpots were much stronger than the occasional whiff of horse dung or an unwashed body.
Bashere's men maintained a tidy camp, busying themselves with the hundreds of little tasks that allowed the army to function: sharpening swords, oiling leathers, mending saddles, fetching water from the stream. Some practiced charges to the left, on the far side of the green, in the space between tent lines and the scraggly trees growing alongside the stream. The men held gleaming lances at the level as their horses trampled the muddy ground in a long swath. The maneuvers not only kept their skills sharp, but exercised the horses as well.
As always, Rand was trailed by a flock of attendants. Maidens were his guards, and the Aiel watched the Saldaean soldiers with wariness. Beside him were several Aes Sedai. They were always about him, now. The Pattern had no place for his onetime insistence that all Aes Sedai be kept at arm's length. It wove as it willed, and experience had shown that Rand needed these Aes Sedai. What he wanted no longer mattered. He understood that now.
It was little comfort that many of these Aes Sedai in his camp had sworn allegiance to him. Everyone knew that Aes Sedai followed their oaths in their own ways, and they would decide what their "fealty" to him would require.
Elza Penfell—who accompanied him this day—was one of those who had sworn to him. Of the Green Ajah, she had a face that might be considered pretty, if one didn't recognize the ageless quality that marked her as Aes Sedai. She was pleasant, for an Aes Sedai, despite the fact that she had helped kidnap Rand and lock him in a box for days, to be pulled out only for the occasional beating.
In the back of his mind, Lews Therin growled.
That was past. Elza had sworn. That was enough to allow Rand to use her. The other woman attending him today was less predictable; she was a member of Cadsuane's retinue. Corele Hovian—a slim Yellow with blue eyes, wild dark hair, and a perpetual smile—had sworn no oaths to do as he said. Despite that, he felt a temptation to trust her, since she had once tried to save his life. It was only because of her, Samitsu and Damer Flinn that Rand had survived. One of two wounds in Rand's side that would not heal—a gift from Padan Fain's cursed dagger—still lingered as a reminder of that day. The constant pain of that festering evil overlaid the equal pain of an older wound beneath, the one Rand had taken while fighting Ishamael so long ago.
Soon, one of those wounds—or perhaps both—would spill Rand's blood onto the rocks of Shayol Ghul. He wasn't certain if they would be what killed him or not; with the number and variety of the different factors competing to take Rand's life, even Mat wouldn't have known which one was the best bet.
As soon as Rand thought of Mat, the colors swirled in his vision, forming into the image of a wiry, brown-eyed man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and tossing dice before a small crowd of watching soldiers. Mat wore a grin and seemed to be showing off, which was not unusual, though there didn't seem to be any coin changing hands for his throws.
The visions came whenever he thought of Mat or Perrin, and Rand had stopped dismissing them. He did not know what caused the images to appear; probably his ta'veren nature interacting with the other two ta'veren from his home village. Whatever it was, he used it. Just another tool. It appeared that Mat was still with the Band, but was no longer camped in a forested land. It was hard to tell from the angle, but he looked to be outside a city somewhere. At least, that was a large road in the near distance.
Rand had not seen the small, dark-skinned woman with Mat for some time. Who was she? Where had she gone?