A Memory of Light

against us, but we know them better than you do.
    Evin struck at Abors. It came in a burst of the One Power. A second later, Androl’s shield dropped.
    Androl embraced the Source. He was not very strong, but he had enough Power to burn away a few ropes. He rolled free of his bindings, hands bloodied, and took stock of the room. He hadn’t been able to see it before, not entirely.
    The room was bigger than he’d assumed, the size of a small throne room. A wide circular dais dominated the far end, topped by a double ring of Myrddraal and women. He shivered as he saw the Fades. Light, but that eyeless gaze was awful.
    Taim’s exhausted men stood by the far wall, the Asha’man who had failed to Turn Logain. He sat on the dais, slouching and tied to a chair in the center of the double ring. Like a throne. Logain’s head rolled to the side, his eyes closed. He appeared to be whispering something.
    Taim had spun, furious, toward Evin, who fought with Mishraile beside Abors’ smoking corpse. Evin and Mishraile each held the One Power, wrestling on the floor, a knife in Evin’s hands.
    Androl scrambled toward Emarin, then nearly fell on his face as his legs gave out. Light! He was weak, but he did manage to burn away Emarin’s bonds, then Pevara’s. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Emarin nodded in gratitude.
    “Can you weave?” Androl whispered. Taim’s attention was on Evin’s fight.
    Emarin shook his head. “The drink they gave us . . .”
    Androl clung to the One Power. Shadows began to lengthen around him.
    No! he thought. No, not now!
    A gateway. He needed a gateway! Androl sucked in the One Power, forming the weave for Traveling. And yet, as before, he hit some kind of barrier—like a wall, preventing him from opening the gateway. Frustrated, he tried to make one to a closer destination. Perhaps distance mattered. Could he make a gateway to Canler’s store above them?
    He struggled against that wall, fighting with everything he had. He strained, inching closer; he could almost do it . . . He felt as if something was happening.
    “Please,” he whispered. “Please, open. We need to get out of here . . .”
    Evin fell to Taim’s weave.
    “What was that?” Taim bellowed.
    “I don’t know,” Mishraile said. “Evin attacked us! He had been talking to the pageboy, and—”
    Both spun toward Androl. Androl stopped trying to make the gateway, instead flinging a weave of fire in desperation toward Taim.
    Taim smiled. By the time Androl’s tongue of fire reached him, it vanished into a weave of Air and Water that dissipated it.
    “You are a persistent one,” Taim said, slamming Androl against the wall with a weave of Air.
    Androl gasped in pain. Emarin stumbled dizzily to his feet, but a second weave of Air knocked him down. Dazed, Androl felt himself hoisted up and pulled across the room.
    The ugly woman wearing black stepped out of the circle of Aes Sedai and walked up beside Taim. “So, M’Hael,” she said. “You are not nearly as in control of this place as you indicated.”
    “I have inferior tools,” Taim said. “I should have been given more women earlier!”
    “You ran your Asha’man to exhaustion,” the woman replied. “You squandered their strength. I will take charge here.”
    Taim stood on the dais, beside Logain’s slumped form, the women and the Fades. He seemed to consider this woman, perhaps one of the Forsaken, a greater threat than anyone else in the room.
    “You think that will work, do you?” Taim asked.
    “When the Nae’blis hears of how you are bungling—”
    “The Nae’blis? I care not for Moridin. I have already provided a gift to the Great Lord himself. Beware, I am in his favor. I hold the keys in my hands, Hessalam.”
    “You mean . . . you actually did it? You stole them?”
    Taim smiled. He turned back to Androl, who hung in the air, struggling without success. He wasn’t shielded. He flung another weave at Taim, but the man blocked it indifferently.
    Androl wasn’t even worth shielding. Taim dropped him from the weaves of Air. Androl hit the ground hard. He grunted.
    “How long have you trained here, Androl?” Taim asked. “You shame me. That is the best you can do when trying to kill?”
    Androl struggled to his knees. He felt pain and worry from Pevara behind, her mind clouded with forkroot. In front of him, Logain sat on his throne, locked in place, surrounded by the enemy. The man’s eyes were closed; he was barely conscious.
    “We