Hattori had been quite pleased when her Warder had finally arrived at Dorlan; she’d lost him at Dumai’s Wells, and his story was the sort gleemen and bards sang about. Sleete had lain wounded for hours before deliriously managing to grab his horse’s reins and pull himself into the saddle. It had loyally carried him, near unconscious, for hours before arriving at a nearby village. The villagers there had been tempted to sell Sleete to a local band of bandits—their leader had visited earlier promising them safety as a reward for revealing any refugees from the nearby battle. However, the mayor’s daughter had argued for Sleete’s life, convincing them that the bandits must be Darkfriends if they were seeking wounded Warders. The villagers had chosen to hide Sleete instead, and the girl had nursed him to safety.
Sleete had been forced to sneak away once he was well enough to travel; the girl had apparently taken quite a liking to him. Whispers among the Younglings said that Sleete’s escape had also come because he had begun feeling affection for the girl himself. Most Warders knew better than to let themselves grow attached. Sleete had left in the night, after the girl and her family fell asleep—but in return for the village’s mercy, he’d hunted down the bandits and seen to it that they would never plague the village again.
It was the marrow of stories and legends—at least, among regular, lesser men. For a Warder, Sleete’s story was almost commonplace. Men like him attracted legends as ordinary men attracted fleas. In fact, Sleete hadn’t wanted to share his tale; it had come out only owing to a vigorous campaign of questions from the Younglings. He still acted as if his survival were nothing to brag about. He was a Warder. Surviving against the odds, riding in delirium over miles of rough terrain, cutting down an entire band of thieves with wounds not fully healed—these were just the sorts of things you did when you were a Warder.
Gawyn respected them. Even the ones he had killed. Especially the ones he had killed. It took a unique kind of man to show this kind of dedication, this kind of vigilance. This kind of humility. While Aes Sedai manipulated the world and monsters like al’Thor got the glory, men like Sleete quietly did the work of heroes, each and every day. Without glory or recognition. If they were remembered, it was usually only by association with their Aes Sedai. Or it was by other Warders. You didn’t forget your own.
Sleete attacked, sword lancing forward in a straight thrust delivered for maximum speed. The Viper Flicks Its Tongue, a bold strike, made more effective because Sleete fought in tandem with the narrow, short man rounding toward Gawyn’s left. Marlesh was the only other Warder in Dorlan—and his arrival had been far less dramatic than Sleete’s. Marlesh had been with the original group of eleven Aes Sedai who had escaped Dumai’s Wells, and he had stayed with them the entire time. His own Aes Sedai, a pretty young Domani Green named Vasha, watched idly from the side of the barn.
Gawyn countered The Viper Flicks Its Tongue with Cat Dances on the Wall, knocking aside the strike and going for the legs in one sweep. It wasn’t intended to hit, however; it was a defensive move, meant to enable him to keep an eye on both opponents. Marlesh tried Leopard’s Caress, but Gawyn moved into Folding the Air, carefully knocking aside the blow and waiting for another from Sleete, who was the more dangerous of the two. Sleete repositioned, taking smooth steps, his blade to the side as he set his back to the massive piles of hay at the rear of the stuffy barn.
Gawyn moved into Cat on Hot Sand as Marlesh tried Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose. Hummingbird wasn’t the right form to use in such an attack; it was rarely useful against someone on the defensive, but Marlesh was obviously tired of being parried. He was getting eager. Gawyn could use that. And would.
Sleete was advancing again. Gawyn brought his sword back in to guard as the Warders approached in tandem. Gawyn immediately moved into Apple Blossoms in the Wind. His blade flashed three times, pushing a wide-eyed Marlesh back. Marlesh cursed, throwing himself forward, but Gawyn brought his sword up from the previous form and moved fluidly into Shake Dew from the Branch. He stepped forward into a series of six sharp blows, three at each opponent, knocking Marlesh back and to the ground—the man had stepped back into the fight too quickly—and forcing Sleete’s blade aside twice, then ending with his blade against the man’s neck.
The two Warders looked at Gawyn, shocked. They had borne similar expressions the last time Gawyn had defeated them, and the time before that. Sleete carried a heron-mark blade and was near-legendary in the White Tower for his prowess. He was said to have bested even Lan Mandragoran twice out of seven bouts, back when Mandragoran had been known to spar with other Warders. Marlesh wasn’t as renowned as his companion, but he was still a fully capable and trained Warder, no easy foe.
But Gawyn had won. Again. Things seemed so simple when he was sparring. The world contracted down—compressed like berries squeezed for their juice—into something smaller and easier to see from up close. All Gawyn had ever wanted was to protect Elayne. He wanted to defend Andor. Maybe learn to be a little more like Galad.
Why couldn’t life be as simple as a sword match? Opponents clear and arranged before you. The prize obvious: survival. When men fought, they connected. You became brothers as you traded blows.
Gawyn removed his blade and stepped away, sheathing it. He offered a hand to Marlesh, who took it, shaking his head as he stood. “You are remarkable, Gawyn Trakand. Like a creature of light, color and shadow when you move. I feel like a babe holding a stick when I face you.”
Sleete said nothing as he sheathed his own sword, but he did nod his head to Gawyn in respect—just as he had the last two times they’d fought. He was a man of few words. Gawyn appreciated that.
In the corner of the barn there was a half-barrel filled with water, and the men walked to it. Corbet, one of the Younglings, hurriedly dipped a ladleful and handed it to Gawyn. Gawyn gave it to Sleete. The older man nodded again and took a drink while Marlesh took a cup off the dusty windowsill and got himself a drink. “I’m saying, Trakand,” the short man continued, “we’ll need to find you a blade with some herons on it. No one should have to face you without knowing what they’re getting into!”
“I’m not a blademaster,” Gawyn said quietly, taking the ladle back from crook-nosed Sleete and having a drink. It was warm, which felt good. Less of a shock, more natural.
“You killed Hammar, didn’t you?” Marlesh asked.
Gawyn hesitated. The simplicity he’d felt before, while fighting, was already crumbling. “Yes.”
“Well, then you’re a blademaster,” Marlesh said. “Should have taken his sword when he fell.”
“It wasn’t respectful,” Gawyn said. “Besides, I didn’t have time to claim prizes.”
Marlesh laughed, as if at a joke, though Gawyn hadn’t intended one. He glanced over at Sleete, who was watching him with curious eyes.
A rustle of skirts announced the approach of Vasha. The Green had long black hair and striking green eyes that at times seemed almost catlike. “Are you done playing, Marlesh?” she asked with a faintly Domani accent.
Marlesh chuckled. “You should be happy to see me play, Vasha. I seem to recall my ‘playing’ saving your neck a couple of times on the battlefield.”
She sniffed and raised an eyebrow. Gawyn had rarely seen an Aes Sedai and Warder with as casual a relationship as these two. “Come,” she said, turning on her heel and walking toward the open barn doors. “I want to see what has been keeping Narenwin and the others so long indoors. It smells of decisions being made.”
Marlesh shrugged and tossed the cup to Corbet. “Whatever they’re deciding, I hope it involves moving. I don’t like sitting around in this village with those soldiers creeping up on us. If it gets any more tense in camp, I’m likely to run off and join the Tinkers.”
Gawyn nodded at that comment. It had been weeks since he’d last dared send the Younglings to raid. Bryne’s search parties were getting closer and closer to the village, and that allowed fewer and fewer rides out across the countryside.
V
asha passed out the doors, but Gawyn could still hear her say, “You can sound like such a child at times.” Marlesh just shrugged, waving farewell to Gawyn and Sleete before stepping out of the barn.
Gawyn shook his head, refilling the ladle and taking another drink. “Those two remind me of nothing so much as a brother and sister at times.”
Sleete smiled.
Gawyn replaced the ladle, nodded to Corbet, then moved to leave. He wanted to check on the Younglings’ evening meal and make certain it was being distributed properly. Some of the youths had taken to sparring and practicing when they should have been eating.
As he left, however, Sleete reached out and took his arm. Gawyn looked back in surprise.
“Hattori only has one Warder,” the man said in his gravelly, soft voice.
Gawyn nodded. “That’s not unheard-of for a Green.”
“It isn’t because she isn’t open to having more,” Sleete said. “Years ago, when she bonded me, she said that she would only take another if I judged him worthy. She asked me to search. She doesn’t think much on these kinds of things. Too busy with other matters.”
All right, Gawyn thought, wondering why he was being told this.
Sleete turned, meeting Gawyn’s eyes. “It’s been over ten years, but I’ve found someone worthy. She will bond you this hour, if you wish it.”
Gawyn blinked in surprise at Sleete. The lanky man was shrouded once more in his color-shifting cloak, wearing nondescript brown and green beneath. Others complained that because of his long hair and sideburns, Sleete looked more scruffy than a Warder should. But “scruffy” was the wrong term for this man. Rough, perhaps, but natural. Like uncut stones or a gnarled—yet sturdy—oak.
“I’m honored, Sleete,” Gawyn said. “But I came to the White Tower to study because of Andoran traditions, not because I was going to be a Warder. My place is beside my sister.” And if anyone is going to bond me, it will be Egwene.
“You came for those reasons,” Sleete said, “but those reasons have passed. You’ve fought in our war, you’ve killed Warders and defended the Tower. You are one of us. You belong with us.”
Gawyn hesitated.
“You search,” Sleete said. “Like a hawk, glancing this way and that, trying to decide whether to perch or to hunt. You’ll tire of flying eventually. Join us, and become one of us. You’ll find that Hattori is a good Aes Sedai. Wiser than most, far less prone to squabbles or foolishness than many in the Tower.”
“I can’t, Sleete,” Gawyn said, shaking his head. “Andor. . . .”
“Hattori is not regarded as influential by the White Tower,” Sleete said. “The others rarely care what she does. To have you, she’d see herself assigned to Andor. You could have both, Gawyn Trakand. Think on it.”
Gawyn hesitated again, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll think on it.”
Sleete released his arm. “As much as a man can ask.”
Gawyn moved to leave, but then stopped, looking back toward Sleete in the dusty barn. Then Gawyn gestured toward Corbet and gestured with a curt sign. Leave and watch, it meant. The Youngling nodded eagerly—he was one of the youngest among them, always looking for something to do to prove himself. He’d watch the doors and give warning if anyone approached.
Sleete watched with curiosity as Corbet positioned himself, hand on his sword. Gawyn then stepped forward and spoke more quietly, too soft for Corbet to hear. “What do you think of what happened in the Tower, Sleete?”
The rough man frowned, then stepped back and leaned against the inside barn wall. With a glance during the casual move, Sleete checked out the window to make certain nobody was listening from that side.
“It’s bad,” Sleet finally said, tone hushed. “Warder shouldn’t fight Warder. Aes Sedai shouldn’t fight Aes Sedai. Should never happen. Not now. Not ever.”
“But it did,” Gawyn said.
Sleete nodded.
“And now we’ve got two different groups of Aes Sedai,” Gawyn continued, “with two different armies, one besieging the other.”
“Just keep your head down,” Sleete said. “There are hot tempers in the Tower, but there are wise minds as well. They’ll do the right thing.”
“Which is?”
“End it,” Sleete said. “With killing if necessary, other ways if possible. Nothing is worth this division. Nothing.”
Gawyn nodded.
Sleete shook his head. “My Aes Sedai, she didn’t like the feel of things in the Tower. Wanted to get out. She’s wise . . . wise and crafty. But she’s also not influential, so the others don’t listen to her. Aes Sedai. Sometimes, all they seem to care about is who carries the biggest stick.”
Gawyn leaned closer. One rarely heard talk about Aes Sedai ranking and influence. They didn’t have ranks, like the military, but they all instinctively knew who among them was in charge. How did it work? Sleete seemed to have some idea, but he didn’t talk further on it, so it would have to remain a mystery for now.
“Hattori got out,” Sleete continued softly. “Went on this mission to al’Thor, never knowing the depth of what it was about. She just didn’t want to be in the Tower. Wise woman.” He sighed, standing upright and laying a hand on Gawyn’s shoulder. “Hammar was a good man.”
“He was,” Gawyn said, feeling a twist in his stomach.
“But he would have killed you,” Sleete said. “Killed you cleanly and quickly. He was the one on the offensive, not you. He understood why you did what you did. Nobody made any good decisions that day. There weren’t any good decisions to be made.”
“I . . .” Gawyn just nodded. “Thank you.”
Sleete removed his hand and walked toward the entrance. He glanced back, however. “Some say that Hattori should have gone back for me,” he said. “Those Younglings of yours, they think she abandoned me at Dumai’s Wells. She didn’t. She knew I lived. She knew I hurt. But she also trusted me to do my duty while she did hers. She needed to get news to the Greens of what had happened at Dumai’s Wells, of what the Amyrlin’s true orders with al’Thor had entailed. I needed to survive. We did our duty. But once that message had been sent, if she hadn’t felt me approaching on my own, she would have come for me. No matter what. And we both know it.”
With that, he left. Gawyn was left thinking on the curious parting words. Sleete was often an odd one to talk to. As fluid as he was as a swordsman, he didn’t make conversation smoothly.
Gawyn shook his head, leaving the barn and waving Corbet free of watch duty. There was no possibility of Gawyn agreeing to become Hattori’s Warder. The offer had been tempting for a heartbeat, but only as a way of escaping his problems. He knew that he would not be happy as her Warder, or anyone’s Warder save Egwene’s.
He’d promised Egwene anything. Anything, as long as it didn’t hurt Andor or Elayne. Light, he’d promised her not to kill al’Thor. At least, not until after Gawyn could prove for certain that the Dragon had killed his mother. Why couldn’t Egwene see that the man she’d grown up with had turned into a monster, twisted by the One Power? Al’Thor needed to be put down. For the good of them all.
Gawyn clenched and unclenched his fist, stalking across the village center, wishing he could extend the peace and stillness of sword fighting to the rest of his life. The air was pungent with the scent of cows and dung from the barns; he would be glad to get back to a proper city. Dorlan’s size and remoteness might make it a good place to hide, but Gawyn strongly wished that Elaida had chosen a less odorous place to house the Younglings. His clothing seemed likely to carry the scent of cattle for the rest of his days—assuming the rebel army didn’t discover and slaughter them all in the next few weeks.
Gawyn shook his head as he approached the mayor’s house. The two-story building had a peaked roof and sat at the very center of the village. The main body of the Younglings was camped in the small field out behind the building. Once, that patch had grown blackberries, but the too-hot summer followed by the blizzard of a winter had killed the bushes. T
hey were one of many casualties that were going to lead to an even harsher winter this year.
The field wasn’t the best place to camp—the men were constantly grumping about picking blackberry thorns out of their skin—but it was close to the center of the village while yet somewhat secluded. A few thorns were worth the convenience.
To reach the field, Gawyn had to cut across the unpaved village square and pass by the canal that ran past the front of the mayor’s house. He nodded to a group of women washing clothes there. The Aes Sedai had recruited them to do the wash for the sisters and for Gawyn’s officers. The pay was small for so much work, and Gawyn gave the women what little extra he could afford out of his own pocket, a gesture that had earned him laughter from Narenwin Sedai, but thanks from the village women. Gawyn’s mother had always taught that the workers were the spine of a kingdom; break them, and you’d soon find that you could no longer move. This city’s people might not be his sister’s subjects, but he would not see them taken advantage of by his troops.
He passed the mayor’s home, noting the closed shutters on the windows. Marlesh lounged outside, his petite Aes Sedai standing with hands on her hips and scowling at the door. Apparently, she had been refused entry. Why? Vasha didn’t have a great deal of rank among the Aes Sedai, but she also wasn’t as low as Hattori. If Vasha had been denied entrance . . . well, perhaps there were important words being shared inside the building. That made Gawyn curious.
His men would have ignored it—Rajar would have told him that Aes Sedai business was best left to their conferences, without unwanted ears flapping to make a mess of things. That was one reason that Gawyn wouldn’t make a good Warder. He didn’t trust Aes Sedai. His mother had, and look where that had gotten her. And how the White Tower had treated Elayne and Egwene . . . well, he might support the Aes Sedai, but he certainly didn’t trust them.