A Memory of Light

many people respected him, and the way he was off just slightly wasn’t noticeable unless you knew him.
    “Lind,” Androl said as she started to walk away.
    She glanced back at him.
    “You . . . lock this place up tightly tonight. Then maybe you and Frask should find your way into the cellar with some supplies, all right? You have a sturdy cellar door?”
    “Yes,” she said. “For all the good it will do.” It wouldn’t matter how thick a door was if someone with the One Power came looking.
    Nalaam and Canler reached them, and Androl turned to go, only to run directly into a man standing in the doorway behind him, someone he hadn’t heard approach. Rain dripped from his Asha’man coat, with the Sword and the Dragon on the high collar. Atal Mishraile had been one of Taim’s from the start. Fie didn’t have the hollow eyes; his evil was all his own. Tall, with long golden hair, he had a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes.
    Pevara jumped when she saw him, and Nalaam cursed, seizing the One Power.
    “Now, now,” a voice said. “No need for strife.” Mezar stepped in from the rain beside Mishraile. The short Domani man had graying hair and an air of wisdom to him, despite his transformation.
    Androl met Mezar’s eyes, and it was like looking into a deep cavern. A place where light had never shone.
    “Hello, Androl,” Mezar said, putting a hand on Mishraile’s shoulder, as if the two had been friends for a long time. “Why is it that Goodwoman Lind would need to fear, and shut herself in her cellar? Surely the Black Tower is as safe a place as there is?”
    “I don’t trust a dark night full of storms,” Androl said.
    “Perhaps that is wise,” Mezar replied. “Yet you go out into it. Why not stay where it is warm? Nalaam, I should like to hear one of your stories. Perhaps you could tell me of the time your father and you visited Shara?”
    “It’s not that good a story,” Nalaam said. “I don’t know if I remember it that well.”
    Mezar laughed, and Androl heard Welyn stand up behind him. “Ah, there you are! I was telling them you’d talk about defenses in Arafel.”
    “Come listen,” Mezar said. “This will be important for the Last Battle.”
    “Maybe I will return,” Androl said, voice cool. “Once my other work is done.”
    The two stared at one another. To the side, Nalaam still held the One Power. He was as strong as Mezar, but would never be able to face both him and Mishraile—particularly not in a room crammed with people who would probably take the side of the two full Asha’man.
    “Don’t waste your time with the pageboy, Welyn,” Coteren said from behind. Mishraile stepped aside to make room for this third newcomer. The bulky, beady-eyed man pressed a hand against Androl’s chest and shoved him aside as he passed. “Oh, wait. You can’t play pageboy anymore, can you?”
    Androl entered the void and seized the Source.
    Shadows immediately started moving in the room. Lengthening.
    There weren’t enough lights! Why didn’t they light more lamps? The darkness invited those shadows in, and he could see them. These were real, each one a tendril of blackness, reaching for him. To pull him into them, to destroy him.
    Oh, Light. I'm mad. I'm mad. . .
    The void shattered, and the shadows—thankfully—retreated. He found himself shaking, pulling back against the wall, panting. Pevara watched him with an expressionless face, but he could feel her concern.
    “Oh, by the way,” Coteren said. He was one of Taim’s most influential toadies. “Have you heard?”
    “Heard what?” Androl managed to force out.
    “You’ve been demoted, pageboy,” Coteren said, pointing toward the sword pin. “Taim’s orders. As of today. Back to soldier you go, Androl.”
    “Oh, yes,” Welyn called from the center of the room. “I’m sorry I forgot to mention it. It has been cleared with the Lord Dragon, I’m afraid. You never should have been promoted, Androl. Sorry.”
    Androl reached to his neck, to the pin there. It shouldn’t matter to him; what did it really mean?
    But it did matter. He’d spent his entire life searching. He’d apprenticed to a dozen different professions. He’d fought in revolts, sailed two seas. All the while searching, searching for something he hadn’t been able to define.
    He’d found it when he’d come to the Black Tower.
    He pushed through the fear. Shadows be burned}. He seized saidin again, the Power flooding him. He straightened up,