Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13)

Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13) Page 283

He focused. Making gateways came so much easier to him than other weaves did; he’d never understood why. Though he couldn’t break even a small rock apart by channeling, he could make a gateway large enough for a wagon to drive through. Logain had called it impressive; Taim had called it impossible.

This time, Androl pushed all of the Power he had into his weave. He understood gateways. They made sense. Maybe it was the innate fondness he had for traveling, for discovering new places and new arts.

The weaves came together. He didn’t notice any of the difficulty that Emarin had mentioned. However, when the familiar slash of light should have come, the weave began to unravel instead. Androl tried to hold to it, pulling it together. For a moment, it looked like that would work. Then the threads slid from his grip, evaporating. The gateway never formed.

“The other weaves I’ve tried all work,” Evin said, making a globe of light. “Every one of them.”

“Only gateways,” Canler said with a grunt.

“It’s like…” Emarin said. “It’s as if something wants to keep us here. In the Black Tower.”

“Try them in other places inside the perimeter,” Androl said. “But try not to let any of Taim’s loyalists see what you’re doing. Pretend to be surveying, as Taim ordered.”

The men nodded, the three of them hiking toward the east. Androl left the glade. Norley was standing beside the road, looking about for him. The short, thick-waisted Cairhienin man waved and approached. Androl met him halfway. Norley had an open, inviting smile. Nobody ever suspected him of spying on them, something Androl had put to good use.

“You spoke with Mezar?” Androl asked.

“Sure did,” Norley replied. “Shared a lunch with him.” Norley waved at Mishraile as they passed him supervising a group of soldiers practicing their weaves. The golden-haired man turned away dismissively.

“And?” Androl asked, tense.

“It’s not really Mezar,” Norley said. “Oh, it has Mezar’s face, right enough. But it’s not him. I can see it in his eyes. Trouble is, whatever the thing is, it has Mezar’s memories. Talks right like him. But the smile is wrong. All wrong.”

Androl shivered. “It has to be him, Norley.”

“It ain’t. I promise you that.”

“But—”

“It just ain’t,” the stout man said.

Androl took a deep breath. When Mezar had returned a few days back—explaining that Logain was well and that all would soon be resolved with Taim—Androl had begun to hope that there was a way out of this mess. But something had seemed off about the man. Beyond that, the M’Hael had made a great show of accepting Mezar as a full Asha’man; the Dragon had raised him. And now Mezar—once fiercely loyal to Logain—was spending his time with Coteren and Taim’s other lackeys.

“This is getting bad, Androl,” Norley said softly, smiling and waving toward another group of practicing men. “I’d say it’s time for us to leave here, whether or not it’s against orders.”

“We’d never get past those guard posts,” Androl said. “Taim won’t even let those Aes Sedai leave; you heard the fit that plump one threw at the gates the other day. Taim doubles the guard at night, and gateways don’t work.”

“Well, we have to do something, don’t we? I mean…what if they’ve got Logain? What then?”

“I…” I don’t know. “Go talk to the others who are loyal to Logain. I’m going to move us to a shared barrack. Them and their families. We’ll tell the M’Hael that we want to give more space for his new recruits. Then we’ll post a guard at nights.”

“That’s going to be a little obvious.”

“The division is already obvious,” Androl said. “Go do it.”

“Sure thing. But what are you going to do?”

Androl took a deep breath. “I’m going to find us some allies.”

Norley moved off to the left, but Androl continued down the path, through the village. It seemed that fewer and fewer people were showing him respect these days. Either they were afraid to do so, or they’d thrown their lot in with Taim.

Packs of black-coated men stood, with arms folded, watching him. Androl tried not to feel a chill. As he walked, he noted Mezar—hair graying at the sides, skin a Domani copper—standing with a group of lackeys. The man smiled at him. Mezar hadn’t ever been one who smiled easily. Androl nodded to him, meeting his eyes.

And he saw what Norley had seen. Something was deeply wrong, something not-quite-alive inside those eyes. This didn’t seem to be a man, but a parody of one. A shadow stuffed inside human skin.

Light help us all, Androl thought, hurrying by. He made his way to the southern side of the village, to a group of small huts with bleached white wood walls and thatched roofs that needed to be replaced.

Androl hesitated outside. What was he doing? This was where the women of the Red Ajah were staying. They said they’d come to bond the Asha’man, but they hadn’t done it so far. That was obviously some kind of ruse. Perhaps they’d come here to try to find a way to gentle the entire lot.

But if that were the case, then at least he could count on them not siding with Taim. When you stared down the gullet of a lionfish, a pirate’s brig didn’t seem so bad. Androl had heard the saying once while working a fisher’s boat in the south.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked. The plump Red answered the door. She had the ageless face of an Aes Sedai—not young, really, but also not old. She eyed him.

“I hear you want to leave the Black Tower,” Androl said, hoping he was doing the right thing.

“Has your M’Hael changed his mind?” she asked, sounding hopeful. She actually smiled. A rare action for an Aes Sedai.

“No,” Androl said, “so far as I know, he still forbids you to leave.”

She frowned. “Then—”

Androl lowered his voice. “You’re not the only one who would like to leave this place, Aes Sedai.”

She looked at him, her face becoming perfectly calm. She doesn’t trust me, he thought. Odd, how the mere lack of emotion could itself convey meaning.

Desperate, he took a step forward, laying a hand on the frame of the door. “Something’s wrong in this place. Something worse than you understand. Once, long ago, men and women who worked the Power strove together. They were stronger for it. Pl