Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13)
Page 237“This division is troubling, my friend,” Emarin said softly. “How can we fight for the Lord Dragon if we cannot make peace among ourselves?”
Androl shook his head.
Emarin continued. “They say that no man favored of Logain has had the Dragon pin in weeks. There are many, like Nalaam there, who should have had the sword pin long ago—but are denied repeatedly by the M’Hael. A House whose members squabble for authority will never present a threat to other Houses.”
“Wise words,” Androl said. “But what should we do? What can we do? Taim is M’Hael, and Logain hasn’t returned yet.”
“Perhaps we could send someone for him,” Emarin said. “Or maybe you could calm the others. I fear that some of them are near to snapping, and if a fight breaks out, I have little doubt who would see the rough side of Taim’s punishments.”
Androl frowned. “True. But why me? You’re far better with words than I am, Emarin.”
Emarin chuckled. “Yes, but Logain trusts you, Androl. The other men look to you.”
They shouldn’t, Androl thought. “I’ll see what I can think of.” Nalaam was winding up for another story, but before he could begin, Androl gestured to Jonneth, holding up the armguard. “I saw your old one had cracked. Try this.”
Jonneth’s face brightened as he took the armguard. “You’re amazing, Androl! I didn’t think anyone had noticed. It’s a silly thing, I know, but…” His smile broadened and he hurried to a nearby tree, beside which sat some of the men’s equipment, including Jonneth’s bow. These Two Rivers men liked to have them handy.
Jonneth returned, stringing the bow. He put on the armguard. “Fits like a dream!” he said, and Androl felt himself smiling. Small things. They could mean so much.
Canler whistled. “Ain’t ever seen anything like those bows of yours, Jonneth. Never in my life.” They were fellow Andorans, though Canler had come from a town much closer to Caemlyn.
Jonneth looked at his shot critically, then drew again—fletching to cheek—and loosed. The shaft fell true and hit the very same tree. Androl would guess that the shafts were less than two handspans apart.
Canler whistled again.
“My father trained on one of those,” Nalaam noted. “Learned the art from a Two Rivers man whom he rescued from drowning in Illian. Has the bowstring as a memento.”
Canler raised an eyebrow, but he seemed taken with the tale at the same time. Androl just chuckled, shaking his head. “Mind if I have a go, Jonneth? I’m a pretty dead shot with a Tairen bow, and they’re a little longer than most.”
“Surely,” the lanky man said, unstrapping the armguard and handing over the bow.
Androl donned the armguard and lifted the bow. It was of black yew, and there wasn’t as much spring to the string as he was used to. Jonneth handed him an arrow and Androl mimicked the man’s pull, drawing to his cheek.
“Light!” he said at the weight of the pull. “Those arms of yours are deceptively small, Jonneth. How do you manage to aim? I can barely keep it steady!”
Jonneth laughed as Androl’s arms trembled, and he finally loosed, unable to keep the bow drawn for a breath longer. The arrow hit the ground far off target. He handed the bow to Jonneth.
“I’ll stick to shortbows for now,” Androl said. “You’d never be able to shoot a monster like that from horseback.”
“I wouldn’t need to!” Jonneth said.
“What if you were being chased?”
“If there were fewer than five of them,” Jonneth said, “I’d take them all down with this before they got to me. If there were more than five, then what am I doing shooting at them? I should be running like the Dark One himself was after me.”
The other men chuckled, though Androl caught Emarin eyeing him. Probably wondering how Androl knew to shoot a bow from horseback. He was a keen one, that nobleman. Androl would have to watch himself.
“And what is this?” a voice asked. “You do be trying to learn to shoot a bow, pageboy? Is this so you can actually defend yourself?”
Androl gritted his teeth, turning as Coteren sauntered up. He was a bulky man, his black, oily hair kept long and loose. It hung around a blunt face with pudgy cheeks. His eyes were focused, dangerous. He smiled. The smile of a cat that had found a rodent to play with.
Androl quietly undid the armguard, handing it to Jonneth. Coteren was full Asha’man, a personal friend of the M’Hael. He outranked everyone here by a long stride.
“The M’Hael will hear of this,” Coteren said. “You do be ignoring your lessons. You have no need for arrows or bows—not when you can kill with the Power!”
“Quiet, lad,” Androl said. “Mind your tongue.”
Coteren laughed. “Listen to the pageboy, you lot. The M’Hael will hear of your impudence also.” He focused on Androl. “Seize the Source.”
Androl obliged reluctantly. The sweetness of saidin flowed into him, and he glanced nervously to the side. There was no sign of the shadows.
“So pathetic,” Coteren said. “Destroy that stone over there.”
It was far too large for him. But he’d dealt with bullies before, and Coteren was a bully of the most dangerous type—one with power and authority. The best thing to do was to mind. Embarrassment was a small punishment. That was something few bullies seemed to understand.
Androl wove the requisite weave of Fire and Earth, striking at the large stone. The thin weave held almost all of the Power he could manage, but it only flaked a few chips off the large stone.
Coteren laughed heartily, as did the group of Dedicated eating beneath the nearby tree. “Bloody ashes, but you’re useless!” Coteren said. “Forget what I said earlier, pageboy! You need that bow!”
Androl released the One Power. Coteren had had his laugh; he would be satisfied. Unfortunately, Androl felt men seize the Source behind him. Jonneth, Canler and Nalaam stepped up beside Androl, each of them filled with the One Power