“I don’t see what there is to discuss,” Gawyn said, which wasn’t completely truthful. He had suspicions of what Bryne would ask, and he didn’t look forward to the conversation.
Bryne shook his head. “I’ll need information, lad. Locations, troop counts, equipment lists. I know you were staging from one of the villages to the east, but which one? How many are in your force, and what kind of support are Elaida’s Aes Sedai giving them?”
Gawyn kept his eyes forward. “I came to help Egwene. Not to betray those who trusted me.”
“You already betrayed them.”
“No,” Gawyn said firmly. “I abandoned them, but I have not betrayed them. And I do not intend to.”
“And you expect me to let a potential advantage die untaken?” Bryne asked, turning to him. “What you have in that brain of yours could save lives.”
“Or cost lives,” Gawyn said, “if you look at it from the other side.”
“Don’t make this difficult, Gawyn.”
“Or what?” Gawyn asked. “You’ll put me to the question?”
“You’d suffer for them?”
“They are my men,” Gawyn said simply. Or, at least, they were. Either way, he had had enough of being pushed around by circumstances and wars. He would give no loyalty to the White Tower, but neither would he offer it to these rebels. Egwene and Elayne held his heart and his honor. And if he couldn’t give it to them, he would give it to Andor—and the entire world—by hunting down Rand al’Thor and seeing him dead.
Rand al’Thor. Gawyn didn’t believe Bryne’s defense of the man. Oh, he believed that Bryne meant what he said—but he was mistaken. It could happen to the best of people, taken in by the charisma of a creature like al’Thor. He had fooled Elayne herself. The only way to help any of them would be to expose this Dragon and dispose of him.
He looked over at Bryne, who turned away. He was still thinking about the Younglings, li
kely. It was unlikely that Bryne would put Gawyn to the question. Gawyn knew the general, and his sense of honor, too well. It wouldn’t happen. But Bryne might decide to imprison Gawyn. Perhaps it would be wise to offer him something.
“They are youths, Bryne,” Gawyn said.
Bryne frowned.
“Youths,” Gawyn repeated. “Barely past their training. They belong on the sparring field, not on the battlefield. Their hearts are good, and their skills sound, but they are much less a threat to you now that I am gone. I was the one who knew your strategy. Without me, they will have a much harder time of their raids. I suspect that if they continue to strike, they shall have their day with the butcher soon enough. No need for me to hasten them along.”
“Very well,” Bryne replied. “I will wait. But if their raids continue to be effective, you will hear this question from me again.”
Gawyn nodded. The best thing he could do for the Younglings would be to help end this division between the rebels and the loyalists. But that seemed far beyond the scope of what he could accomplish. Perhaps after he freed Egwene he could think of some way to help. Light! They couldn’t really be intending to go to blows, could they? The skirmish following Siuan Sanche’s fall had been bad enough. What would happen if armies met here, just outside of Tar Valon? Aes Sedai against Aes Sedai, Warder fighting Warder on a battlefield? A disaster.
“It can’t come to that,” he found himself saying.
Bryne looked at Gawyn as their horses continued across the field.
“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.