Robert Jordan - A Memory of Light

“Your arguments are not without merit,” Pevara said.

Just like a queen, he thought, unwillingly impressed at her poise.

“But surely we need to send information out,” Pevara continued. “An all-out assault may be unwise, but sitting here until we are all taken, one at a time . . ”

“I do believe it would be wise to send someone,” Emarin said. “We need to warn the Lord Dragon.”

“The Lord Dragon,” Canler said with a snort, taking a seat by the wall. “He’s abandoned us, Emarin. We’re nothing to him. It—”

“The Dragon Reborn carries the world on his shoulders, Canler,” Androl said softly, catching Canler up short. “I don’t know why he’s left us here, but I’d prefer to assume it’s because he thinks we can handle ourselves.” Androl fingered the straps of leather, then stood up. “This is our time of proving, the test of the Black Tower. If we have to run to the Aes Sedai to protect us from our own, we subject ourselves to their authority. If we have to run to the Lord Dragon, then we will be nothing once he is gone.”

“There can be no reconciliation with Taim, now,” Emarin said. “We all know what he is doing.”

Androl didn’t look at Pevara. She had explained what she suspected was happening, and she—despite years of training at keeping her emotions in check—had not been able to quiet the fear in her voice as she spoke of it. Thirteen Myrddraal and thirteen channelers, together in a horrifying rite, could turn any channeler to the Shadow. Against his will. “What he does is pure, undiluted evil,” Pevara said. “This is no longer a division between the men who follow one leader and those who follow another. This is the Dark One’s work, Androl. The Black Tower has fallen under the Shadow. You must accept that.”

“The Black Tower is a dream,” he said, meeting her eyes. “A shelter for men who can channel, a place of our own, where men need not fear, or run, or be hated. I will not surrender that to Taim. I will not .”

The room fell silent save for the sounds of rain on the windows. Emarin began to nod, and Canler stood up, taking Androl by the arm.

“You’re right,” Canler said. “Burn me if you ain’t right, Androl. But what can we do ? We’re weak, outnumbered.”

“Emarin,” Androl said, “did you ever hear about the Knoks Rebellion?”

“Indeed. It caused quite a stir, even outside of Murandy.”

“Bloody Murandians,” Canler spat. “They’ll steal your coat off your back and beat you bloody if you don’t offer your shoes, too.”

Emarin raised an eyebrow.

“Knoks was well outside Lugard, Canler,” Androl said. “I think you’d find the people there not dissimilar to Andorans. The rebellion happened about . . . oh, ten years back, now.”

“A group of farmers overthrew their lord,” Emarin said. “He deserved it, by all accounts—Desartin was a horrid person, particularly to those beneath him. He had a force of soldiers, one of the largest outside of Lugard, and was looking as if he’d set up his own little kingdom. There wasn’t a thing the King could do about it.”

“And Desartin was overthrown?” Canler asked.

“By simple men and women who had had too much of his brutality, Androl said. “In the end, many of the mercenaries who had been his cronies stood with us. Though he’d seemed so strong, his rotten core led to his downfall. It seems bad here, but most of Taim’s men are not loyal to him. Men like him don’t inspire loyalty. They collect cronies, others who hope to share in the power or wealth. We can and will find a way to overthrow him.”

The others nodded, though Pevara simply watched him with pursed lips. Androl couldn’t help feeling a bit of the fool; he didn’t think the others should be looking to him, instead of someone distinguished like Emarin or someone powerful like Nalaam.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the shadows underneath the table lengthen, reaching for him. He set his jaw. They wouldn’t dare take him with so many people around, would they? If the shadows were going to consume him, they’d wait until he was alone, trying to sleep.

Nights terrified him.

They’re coming when I don’t hold to saidin now , he thought. Burn me, the Source was cleansed! I’m not supposed to be losing more of my wits!

He gripped the seat of his stool until the terror retreated, the darkness withdrawing. Canler—looking uncharacteristically cheerful—said he was going to fetch them something to drink. He wandered toward the kitchen, but nobody was to go about alone, so he hesitated.

“I suppose I could use a drink as well,” Pevara said with a sigh, joining him.

Androl sat down to continue his work. As he did, Emarin pulled over a stool, settling down beside him. He did so nonchalantly, as if merely looking for a good place to relax and wanting a view out the window.

Emarin, however, wasn’t the type to do things without several motivations. “You fought in the Knoks Rebellion,” Emarin said softly.

“Did I say that?” Androl resumed his work on the leather.

“You said that when the mercenaries switched sides, they fought with you. You used the word ‘us’ to refer to the rebels.”

Androl hesitated. Burn me. I really need to watch myself. If Emarin had noticed, Pevara would have as well.

“I was just passing through,” Androl said, “and was caught up in something unanticipated.”

“You have a strange and varied past, my friend,” Emarin said. “The more I learn of it, the more curious I become.”

“I wouldn’t say that I’m the only one with an interesting past,” Androl said softly. “Lord Algarin of House Pendaloan.”

Emarin pulled back, eyes widening. “How did you know?”

“Fanshir had a book of Tairen noble lines,” Androl said, mentioning one of the Asha’man soldiers who had been a scholar before coming to the Tower. “It included a curious notation. A house troubled by a history of men with an unmentionable problem, the most recent one having shamed the house not a few dozen years ago.”

“I see. Well, I suppose that it is not too much of a surprise that I am a nobleman.”

“One who has experience with Aes Sedai,” Androl continued, “and who treats them with respect, despite—or because of—what they did for his family. A Tairen nobleman who does this, mind you. One who does not mind serving beneath what you would term farmboys, and who sympathizes with citizen rebels. If I might say, my friend, that is not a prevalent attitude among your countrymen. I wouldn’t hesitate to guess you’ve had an interesting past of your own.”

Emarin smiled. “Point conceded. You would be wonderful at the Game of Houses, Androl.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Androl said with a grimace. “Last time I tried my hand at it, I almost . . .” He stopped.

“What?”

“I’d rather not say,” Androl said, face flushing. He was not going to explain that period of his life. Light, people will think I’m as much a tale-spinner as Nalaam if I continue on like this.

Emarin turned to watch the rain hitting the window. “The Knoks Rebellion succeeded for only a short time, if I remember correctly. Within two years the noble line had reestablished itself and the dissenters were driven out or executed.”

“Yes,” Androl said softly.

“So we do a better job of it here,” Emarin said. “I’m your man, Androl. We all are.”

“No,” Androl said. “We are the Black Tower’s men. I’ll lead you, if I must, but this isn’t about me, or about you, or any of us individually. I am only in charge until Logain returns.”