A Memory of Light

line of men in black coats waiting at the edge of the village. Lyrelle and the others approached them, and Lyrelle did a quick count. Forty-seven men, including the one standing at the front. What trick were they trying to pull?
    The one at the front came forward. He was a sturdy man in his middle years, and he looked as if he’d recently suffered some kind of ordeal. He had bags under his eyes and wan skin. His step was firm, however, and his gaze steady as he met Lyrelle’s eyes, then bowed to her.
    “Welcome, Aes Sedai,” he said.
    “And you are?”
    “Androl Genhald,” he said. “I’ve been put in charge of your forty-seven until they have been bonded.”
    “My forty-seven? I see that you have forgotten the terms already. We are to be given any soldier or Dedicated we wish, and they cannot refuse us.”
    “Yes, indeed,” Androl said. “That is true. Unfortunately, all of the men in the Black Tower other than these are either full Asha’man, or have been called away on urgent business. The others would, of course, follow the Dragon’s commands if they were here. We made certain to keep forty-seven for you. Actually, forty-six. I’ve already been bonded by Pevara Sedai, you see.”
    “We will wait until the others return,” Lyrelle said coldly.
    “Alas,” Androl said, “I do not think they will return any time soon. If you intend to join the Last Battle, you will have to make your selections quickly.”
    Lyrelle narrowed her eyes at him, then looked at Pevara, who shrugged.
    “This is a trick,” Lyrelle said to Androl. “And a childish one.”
    “I thought it clever myself,” Androl returned, voice cool. “Worthy of an Aes Sedai, one might say. You were promised that any member of the Black Tower, save full Asha’man, would respond to your request. They will. Any of them to whom you can make the request.”
    “Undoubtedly, you chose for me the weakest among your numbers.”
    “Actually,” Androl said, “we took those who volunteered. They are good men, every one of them. They are the ones who wanted to be Warders.”
    “The Dragon Reborn will hear of this.”
    “From what I’ve heard,” Androl said, “he’s heading to Shayol Ghul any time now. Are you going to join him there just to make your complaint?”
    Lyrelle drew her lips into a line.
    “Here’s the thing, Aes Sedai,” Androl said. “The Dragon Reborn sent a message to us, just earlier today. He instructed us to learn one last lesson: that we’re not to think of ourselves as weapons, but as men. Well, men have a choice in their fate, and weapons do not. Here are your men , Aes Sedai. Respect them.”
    Androl bowed again and walked away. Pevara hesitated, then turned her horse, following him. Lyrelle saw something in the woman’s face as she looked at the man.
    So that is it, Lyrelle thought. No better than a Green, that one is. I would have expected more of one her age.
    Lyrelle was tempted to refuse this manipulation, to go to the Amyrlin and protest what had happened. Only . . . news from the Amyrlin’s battle-front was jumbled. Something about an unexpected army appearing; details were not available.
    Certainly the Amyrlin would not be happy to hear complaints at this point. And certainly, Lyrelle admitted to herself, she also wanted to be done with the Black Tower.
    “Each of you pick two,” Lyrelle said to her companions. “A few of us will take only one. Faolain and Theodrin, you are among those. Be quick about it, all of you. I want away from this place as soon as possible.”

    Pevara caught up to Androl as he slipped into one of the huts.
    “Light,” she said. “I’d forgotten how cold some of us can be.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” Androl replied. “I’ve heard that some of you aren’t quite so bad.”
    “Be careful of them, Androl,” she said, looking back out. “Many will see you as only a threat or a tool to be used.”
    “We won you over,” Androl said, walking into a room where Canler, Jonneth and Emarin waited with cups of warm tea. All three were beginning to recover from the fighting, Jonneth most quickly. Emarin bore the worst scars, most of them emotional. He, like Logain, had been subjected to the Turning process. Pevara noticed him staring blankly, sometimes, face etched by fear as if remembering something horrible.
    “You three shouldn’t be here,” Pevara said, hands on hips, facing Emarin and the other two. “I know Logain promised you advancement, but you still wear