The flaps rustled, then drew open. The outside light was brilliant to Galad’s eyes, but he did not blink. He did not flinch.
Silhouettes moved against an overcast sky. They hesitated, backlit. He could tell they were surprised to see him standing there.
“Light!” one exclaimed. “Damodred, how is it that you’re awake?” Unexpectedly, the voice was familiar.
“Trom?” Galad asked, his voice ragged.
Men spilled into the room. As his eyes adjusted, Galad made out stocky Trom, along with Bornhald and Byar. Trom fumbled with a set of keys.
“Stop!” Galad said. “I gave orders to you three. Bornhald, there is blood on your cloak! I commanded you not to try to free me!”
“Your men obeyed your orders, Damodred,” a new voice said. Galad looked up to see three men entering the room: Berab Golever, tall and bearded; Alaabar Harnesh, his bald, shadowed head missing its left ear; Brandel Vordarian, a blond hulk of a man from Galad’s native Andor. All three were Lords Captain, all three had stood with Asunawa.
“What is this?” Galad asked them.
Harnesh opened a sack and dumped something bulbous to the ground in front of Galad. A head.
Asunawa’s.
All three men drew swords and knelt before him, the points of their weapons stabbing the canvas. Trom unlocked the manacles at Galad’s feet.
“I see,” Galad said. “You have turned your swords on fellow Children.”
“What would you have had us do?” Brandel asked, looking up from his kneeling position.
Galad shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps you are right; I should not chide you on this choice. It may have been the only one you could have made. But why did you change your minds?”
“We have lost two Lords Captain Commander in under half a year,” Harnesh said in a gruff voice. “The Fortress of the Light has become a playground for the Seanchan. The world is in chaos.”
“And yet,” Golever said, “Asunawa marched us all the way out here to have us battle our fellow Children. It was not right, Damodred. We all saw how you presented yourself, we all saw how you stopped us from killing one another. Faced with that, and with the High Inquisitor naming as Darkfriend a man we all know to be honorable…Well, how could we not turn against him?”
Galad nodded. “You accept me as Lord Captain Commander?”
The three men bowed their heads. “All the Lords Captain are for you,” Golever said. “We were forced to kill a third of those who wore the red shepherd’s crook of the Hand of the Light. Some others united with us; some tried to flee. The Amadicians did not interfere, and many have said they’d rather join with us than return to the Seanchan. We have the other Amadicians—and the Questioners who tried to run—held at swordpoint.”
“Let free those who wish to leave,” Galad said. “They may return to their families and their masters. By the time they reach the Seanchan, we will be beyond their grasp.”
The men nodded.
“I accept your allegiance,” Galad said. “Gather the other Lords Captain and fetch me supply reports. Strike camp. We march for Andor.”
None of them asked whether he needed rest, though Trom did look worried. Galad accepted the white robe a Child brought to him, and then sat in a hastily supplied chair as another—Child Candeiar, a man expert in wounds—entered to inspect his injuries.
Galad didn’t feel wise or strong enough to bear the title he did. But the Children had made their decision.
The Light would protect them for it.
Chapter 3
The Amyrlin’s Anger
Egwene floated in blackness. She was without form, lacking shape or body. The thoughts, imaginings, worries, hopes, and ideas of all the world extended into eternity around her.
This was the place between dreams and the waking world, a blackness pinpricked with thousands upon thousands of distinct lights, each more focused and intense than the stars of the skies. They were dreams, and she could look in on them, but did not. The ones she wanted to see were warded, and most of the others were mysteries to her.
There was one dream she longed to slip into. She restrained herself. Though her feelings for Gawyn were still strong, her opinion of him was muddled recently. Getting lost in his dreams would not help.
She turned about, looking through the expanse. Recently, she’d started coming here to float and think. The dreams of all the people here—some from her world, some from shadows of it—reminded her why she fought. She must never forget that there was an entire world outside the White Tower’s walls. The purpose of Aes Sedai was to serve that world.
Time passed as she lay bathed in the light of dreams. Eventually, she willed herself to move, and located a dream she recognized—though she wasn’t certain how she did it. The dream swept up toward her, filling her vision.
She pressed her will against the dream and sent a thought into it. Nynaeve. It is time to stop avoiding me. There is work to be done, and I have news for you. Meet me in two nights in the Hall of the Tower. If you do not come, I will be forced to take measures. Your dalliance threatens us all.
The dream seemed to shudder, and Egwene pulled back as it vanished. She’d already spoken to Elayne. Those two were loose threads; they needed to be truly raised to the shawl, with the oaths administered.
Beyond that, Egwene needed information from Nynaeve. Hopefully, the threat mixed with a promise of news would bring her. And that news was important. The White Tower finally unified, the Amyrlin Seat secure, Elaida captured by the Seanchan.
Pinprick dreams streaked around Egwene. She considered trying to contact the Wise Ones, but decided against it. How should she deal with them? The first thing was to keep them from thinking they were being “dealt with.” Her plan for them was not yet firm.
She let herself slip back into her body, content to spend the rest of the night with her own dreams. Here, she couldn’t keep thoughts of Gawyn from visiting her, nor did she want to. She stepped into her dream, and into his embrace. They stood in a small stone-walled room shaped like her study in the Tower, yet decorated like the common room of her father’s inn. Gawyn was dressed in sturdy Two Rivers woolens and did not wear his sword. A more simple life. It could not be hers, but she could dream…
Everything shook. The room of past and present seemed to shatter, shredding into swirling smoke. Egwene stepped back, gasping, as Gawyn ripped apart as if made of sand. All was dust around her, and thirteen black towers rose in the distan
