"Wrong, Lord Gawyn?" Rajar asked. "I don't know that we did anything wrong. We couldn't have known which villages that patrol would choose to inspect, or that they wouldn't turn along the old Wagonright Road, as you had hoped. Some of the men may be confused, but it was right to withdraw."
"I wasn't talking about the raid,' Gawyn said, shaking his head. "I'm talking about this whole bloody situation. You shouldn't have to go on supply raids or spend your time killing scouts; you should have become a Warder to some freshly minted Aes Sedai by now." And I should be back in Caemlyn, with Elayne.
"The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," the shorter man said.
at wasn't it. When Dorindha and Nadere had come for her, they had said she needed to continue her training as an apprentice. Yet in the time since the Aiel had departed for Arad Doman, Aviendha had been given no lessons. She had been assigned to carry water, to mend shawls, and to serve tea. She had been given all manner of punishments with little explanation of what she had done wrong. And when she did something obvious—like going scouting when she shouldn't have—the severity of her punishment was always greater than the infraction should have merited.
It was almost as if the punishment was the thing the Wise Ones wanted her to learn, but that could not be. She was not some wetlander who needed to be taught the ways of honor. What good would constant and unexplained punishment do, other than to warn of some grave mistake she had made?
Amys reached to her side, untying something hanging at her waist. The woolen bag she held up was about the size of a fist. "We have decided," she said, "that we have been too lax in our instruction. Time is precious and we have no room left for delicacy."
Aviendha covered her surprise. Their previous punishments were delicate?
"Therefore," Amys said, handing over the small sack, "you will take this. Inside are seeds. Some are black, others are brown, others are white. This evening, before we sleep, you will separate the colors, then count how many there are of each one. If you are wrong, we will mix them together and you will start again."
Aviendha found herself gaping, and she nearly stumbled to a stop. Hauling water was necessary work. Mending clothing was necessary work. Cooking meals was important work, particularly when no gai'sbain had been brought with the small advance group.
But this . . . this was useless work! It was not only unimportant, it was frivolous. It was the kind of punishment reserved for only the most stubborn, or most shameful, of people. It almost . . . almost felt as though the Wise Ones were calling her da'tsang\
"By Sightblinder's eyes," she whispered as she forced herself to keep running. "What did I do?"
Amys glanced at her, and Aviendha looked away. Both knew that she didn't want an answer to that question. She took the bag silently. It was the most humiliating punishment she had ever been given.
Amys moved off to run with the other Wise Ones. Aviendha shook off her stupor, her determination returning. Her mistake must have been more profound than she had thought. Amys punishment was an indication of that, a hint.
She opened the bag and glanced inside. There were three little empty algode bags inside to help with the separation, and thousands of tiny seeds nearly engulfed them. This punishment was meant to be seen, meant to bring her shame. Whatever she'd done, it was offensive not just to the Wise Ones, but to all around her, even if they—like Aviendha herself— were ignorant of it.
That only meant she had to be more determined.
CHAPTER 4
Nightfall
Gawyn watched the sun burn the clouds to death in the west, the final light fading. That haze of perpetual gloom kept the sun itself shrouded. Just as it hid the stars from his sight at night. Today the clouds were unnaturally high in the air. Often, Dragonmount's tip would be hidden on cloudy days, but this thick, gray haze hovered high enough that most of the time, it barely brushed the mountain's jagged, broken tip.
"Let's engage them," Jisao whispered from where he crouched beside Gawyn on the hilltop.
Gawyn glanced away from the sunset, back toward the small village below. It should have been still, save perhaps for a goodman checking on his livestock one last time before turning in. It should have been dim, unlit save for a few tallow candles burning in windows as people finished evening meals.
But it was not dim. It was not quiet. The village was alight with angry torches carried by a dozen sturdy figures. By that torchlight and the light of the dying sun, Gawyn could make out that each was wearing a nondescript uniform of brown and black. Gawyn couldn't see the three-starred insignia on their uniforms, but he knew it was there.
From his distant vantage, Gawyn watched a few latecomers stumble from their homes, looking frightened and worried as they gathered with the others in the crowded square. These villagers welcomed the armed force with reluctance. Women clutched children, men were careful to keep their eyes downcast. "We don't want trouble," the postures said. They'd undoubtedly heard from other villages that these invaders were orderly. The soldiers paid for goods they took, and no young men were pressed into service—though they weren't turned away either. A very odd invading army indeed. However, Gawyn knew what the people would think. This army was led by Aes Sedai, and who could say what was odd or normal when Aes Sedai were involved?
There were no sisters with this particular patrol, thank the Light. The soldiers polite, but stern, lined up the villagers and looked them over. Then a pair of soldiers entered each house and barn, inspecting it. Nothing was taken and nothing was broken. All very neat and cordial. Gawyn could almost hear the officer offering apologies to the village mayor.
"Gawyn?" Jisao asked. "I count barely a dozen of them. If we send Rodic's squad to come in from the north, we'll cut off both sides and smash them between us. It's getting dark enough that they won't see us coming. We could take them without so much as running up a lather."
"And the villagers?" Gawyn asked. "There are children down there."
"That hasn't stopped us other times."
"Those times were different," Gawyn said, shaking his head. "The last three villages they've searched point a direct line toward Dorian. If this group vanishes, the next one will wonder what it was they nearly uncovered. We'd draw the entire army's eye in this direction."
"But—"
"No," Gawyn said softly. "We have to know when to fall back, Jisao."
"So we came all this way for nothing."