"You can't attack, Bryne," Gawyn said. "A siege is one thing. But what will you do if they order you to mount an assault?"
"What I always do," Bryne said. "Obey."
"But—"
"I gave my word, Gawyn."
"And how many deaths is that word worth? Assaulting the White Tower would be a disaster. No matter how slighted these rebel Aes Sedai may feel, there will be no reconciliation if it happens by the sword."
"That's not our decision," Bryne said. He glanced at Gawyn, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"What?" Gawyn asked.
"I'm wondering why it matters to you. I thought you were just here for Egwene."
"I. . . ." Gawyn floundered.
"Who are you, Gawyn Trakand?" Bryne asked, prodding further. "What are you your allegiances, really?"
"You know me better than most, Gareth."
"I know who you were supposed to be," Bryne said. "First Prince of the Sword, trained by Warders but bonded to no woman."
"And that's not what I am?" Gawyn asked testily.
"Peace, son," Bryne said. "This wasn't meant to be an insult. Just an observation. I know you were never as single-minded as your brother. I suppose I should have seen this in you."
Gawyn turned toward the aging general. What was the man talking about?
Bryne sighed. "It's a thing most soldiers never face, Gawyn. Oh, they may consider it, but they don't let it torment them. This question is for someone else, someone higher up."
"What question?" Gawyn asked, perplexed.
"Choosing a side," Bryne said. "And, once you've picked one, deciding if you made the right decision. The foot soldiers don't have to make this choice, but those of us who lead . . . yes, I can see it in you. That skill of yours with the sword is no small gift. Where do you use it?"
"For Elayne," Gawyn said quickly.
"As you do now?" Bryne asked with amusement.
"Well, once I save Egwene."
"And if Egwene won't go?" Bryne asked. "I know that look in your eyes, lad. I also know some small bit about Egwene al'Vere. She won't leave this battlefield until a victor has been chosen."
"I'll take her away," Gawyn said. "Back to Andor."
"And will you force her to go?" Bryne asked. "As you forced your way into my camp? Will you become a bully and a footpad, remarkable only because of your ability to kill or punish those who disagree with you?"
Gawyn didn't answer.
"Whom to serve?" Bryne said, thoughtful. "Our own skill frightens us, sometimes. What is the ability to kill if one has no outlet for it? A wasted talent? The pathway to becoming a murderer? The power to protect and preserve is daunting. So you look for someone to give the skill to, someone who will use it wisely. The need to make a decision chews at you, even after you've made it. I see the question more in younger men. We old hounds, we're just happy to have a place by the hearth. If someone tells us to fight, we don't want to shake things up too much. But the young men . . . they wonder."
"Did you question, once?" Gawyn asked.
"Yes," Bryne said. "More than once. I wasn't Captain-General during the Aiel War, but I was a rank-captain. I wondered then, many times."
"How could you question your side during the Aiel war, of all things?" Gawyn said, frowning. "They came to slaughter."
"They didn't come for us," Bryne said. "They just wanted the Cairhienin. Of course, that wasn't so easy to see at first, but truth be told, some of us wondered. Laman deserved his death. Why should we die to stand in the way of it? Maybe more of us should have asked the question."