“But you suspected. You came here to learn.”
“I was curious,” he said. “It’s something I hadn’t tried before.”
Interesting, Pevara thought. Is that what drives you then, leatherworker? What has set you drifting on the winds, from place to place?
“I suspect,” she said, “you have never tried jumping off a cliff before. The fact that you haven’t done something shouldn’t always be a reason to try it.”
“Actually, I have jumped off a cliff. Several of them.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“The Sea Folk do it,” he explained. “Off into the ocean. The braver you are, the higher the cliff you choose. And you have changed the topic of the conversation again, Pevara Sedai. You are quite skilled at that.”
“Thank you.”
“The reason,” he said, holding up a finger, “that
I suggested we sneak you out is because this isn’t your battle. You shouldn’t have to fall here.”
“It isn’t because you want to hurry an Aes Sedai away, out of meddling in your business?”
“I came to you for help,” Androl said. “I don’t want to be rid of you; I’ll happily use you. However, if you fall here, you do so in a fight that is not your own. That isn’t fair.”
“Let me explain something to you, Asha’man,” Pevara said, leaning in. “This is my fight. If the Shadow takes this tower, it will mean terrible things for the Last Battle. I have accepted responsibility for you and yours; I will not turn away from it so easily.”
“You’ve ‘accepted responsibility’ for us? What does that mean?”
Ah, perhaps I shouldn’t have shared that. Still, if they were going to be allies, perhaps he needed to know.
“The Black Tower needs guidance,” she explained. “So that’s the point of bonding us?” Androl asked. “So we can be… corralled, like stallions to be broken?”
“Don’t be a fool. Surely you admit the value of the White Tower’s experience.”
“I’m not sure I’d say that,” Androl said. “With experience comes a determination to be set in your ways, to avoid new experiences. You Aes Sedai all assume that the way things have been done is the only way to do them. Well, the Black Tower will not be subject to you. We can look after ourselves.”
“And you’ve done a wonderful job of that so far, haven’t you?”
“That was unfair,” he said softly.
“Perhaps it was,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“Your motivations don’t surprise me,” he said. “What you were doing here was obvious to the weakest of soldiers. The question I’ve had is this: Why, of all women, did the White Tower send Red sisters to bond us?”
“Who better? Our entire lives have been dedicated to dealing with men who can channel.”
“Your Ajah is doomed.”
“Is that so?”
“You exist to hunt down men who can channel,” he said. “To gentle them. See them… disposed of. Well, the Source is cleansed—”
“So you all say.”
“It is cleansed, Pevara. All things come and pass, and the Wheel turns. It was once pure, so it must someday be pure again. It has happened.”
And the way you look at shadows, Androl? Is that a sign of purity? The way that Nalaam mutters in unknown languages? Do you think we don’t notice such things?
“You have two choices, as an Ajah,” Androl continued. “You can either continue to hunt us—ignoring the proof that we offer, that the Source is cleansed—or you can give up on being Red Ajah.”