"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".
If he ever returns, Androl thought. Gateways into the Black Tower don’t work any longer. Is he trying to return, but finds himself locked out?
"Very well", Emarin said. "What do we do?"
Thunder crashed outside. "Let me think", Androl said, picking up his piece of leather and his tools. "Give me one hour".
"I’m sorry", Jesamyn said softly, kneeling beside Talmanes. "There is nothing I can do. This wound is too far along for my skill".
Talmanes nodded, replacing the bandage. The skin all along his side had turned black as if from terrible frostbite.
The Kinswoman frowned at him. She was a youthful-looking woman with golden hair, though with channelers, ages could be very deceptive. "I’m amazed you can still walk".
"I’m not certain it could be defined as walking", Talmanes said, limping back toward the soldiers. He could still gimp along on his own, mostly, but the dizzy moments came more frequently now.
Guybon was arguing with Dennel, who kept pointing at his map and gesturing. There was such a haze of smoke in the air that many of the men had tied kerchiefs to their faces. They looked like a band of bloody Aiel.
". . . even the Trollocs are pulling out of that quarter", Guybon insisted. "There’s too much fire".
"The Trollocs are pulling back to the walls all through the city", Dennel replied. "They’re going to let the city burn all night. The only sector not burning is the one where the Waygate is. They knocked down all of the buildings there to create a firewall".
"They used the One Power", Jesamyn said from behind Talmanes. "I felt it. Black sisters. I would not suggest going in that direction".
Jesamyn was the only Kinswoman remaining; the other had fallen. Jesamyn wasn’t powerful enough to create a gateway, but neither was she useless. Talmanes had watched her burn six Trollocs that had broken through his line.
He’d spent that skirmish sitting back, overcome by the pain. Fortunately, Jesamyn had given him some herbs to chew. They made his head feel fuzzier, but made the pain manageable. It felt as if his body were in a vise, being smashed slowly, but at least he could stay on his feet.
"We take the quickest route", Talmanes said. "The quarter that isn't burning is too close to the dragons; I wont risk the Shadowspawn discovering Aludra and her weapons". Assuming they haven't already.
Guybon glared at him, but this was the Band’s operation. Guybon was welcome, but he wasn’t part of their command structure.
Talmanes’ force continued through the dark city, wary of ambushes. Though they knew the approximate location of the warehouse, getting there was problematic. Many large streets were blocked by wreckage, fire or the enemy. His force had to crawl through alleyways and lanes so twisted that even Guybon and the others from Caemlyn had difficulty following their intended direction.
Their path skirted portions of the city that burned with a heat so strong, it was probably melting cobblestones. Talmanes stared at these flames until his eyes felt dry, then led his men in further detours.
Inch by inch, they approached Aludra’s warehouse. Twice they encountered Trollocs prowling for refugees to kill. They finished these off, the remaining crossbowmen felling over half of each group before they had time to respond.
Talmanes stood to watch, but did not trust himself to fight any longer. That wound had left him too weak. Light, why had he left his horse behind? Fool move, that. Well, the Trollocs would have chased it off anyway.
My thoughts are starting to go in circles. He pointed with his sword down a crossing alley. The scouts scurried on ahead and looked in both directions before giving the all clear. I can barely think. Not much longer now before the darkness takes me.
He would see the dragons protected first. He had to.
Talmanes stumbled out of the alley onto a familiar street. They were close. On one side of the street, structures burned. The statues there looked like poor souls trapped in the flames. The fires raged around them, and their white marble was slowly being overcome with black.
The other side of the street was silent, nothing there burning. Shadows thrown by the statues danced and played, like revelers watching their enemies burn. The air smelled oppressively of smoke. Those shadows—and the burning statues—seemed to move, to Talmanes’ fuzzy mind. Dancing creatures of shadow. Dying beauties, consumed by a sickness upon the skin, darkening it, feasting upon it, killing the soul . . .
"We’re close now!" Talmanes said. He pushed himself forward into a shambling run. He couldn’t afford to slow them down. If that fire reaches the warehouse. . .
They arrived at a burned-out patch of ground; the fire had been here, and gone, apparently. A large wooden warehouse had stood here once, but it had fallen in. Now the timbers only smoldered, and were heaped with rubble and half-burned Trolloc corpses.
The men gathered around him, silent. The only sound was that of crackling flames. Cold sweat dripped down Talmanes’ face.
"We were too late", Melten whispered. "They took them, didn’t they? The dragons would have made explosions if they’d burned. The Shadow-spawn arrived, took the dragons and burned the place down.
Around Talmanes, exhausted members of the Band sank down to their knees. I’m sorry, Mat, Talmanes thought. We tried. We—