Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13)

Wonderful, Lan thought. Highwaymen, watching the night road for weary travelers. Well, three men shouldn’t prove too dangerous. They rode behind Lan at a trot. They wouldn’t attack until they were farther from the inn. Lan reached to loosen his sword in its sheath.

“My Lord,” Bulen said urgently, looking over his shoulder. “Two of those men are wearing the hadori.”

Lan spun around, cloak whipping behind him. The three men approached and did not stop. They split around him and Bulen.

Lan watched them pass. “Andere?” he called. “What do you think you’re doing?”

One of the three—a lean, dangerous-looking man—glanced over his shoulder, his long hair held back with the hadori. It had been years since Lan had seen Andere. He looked as if he’d given up his Kandori uniform, finally; he was wearing a deep black cloak and hunting leathers underneath.

“Ah, Lan,” Andere said, the three men pulling up to stop. “I didn’t notice you there.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Lan said flatly. “And you, Nazar. You put your hadori away when you were a lad. Now you don one?”

“I may do as I wish,” Nazar said. He was getting old—he must be past his seventieth year—but he carried a sword on his saddle. His hair had gone white.

The third man, Rakim, wasn’t Malkieri. He had the tilted eyes of a Saldaean, and he shrugged at Lan, looking a little embarrassed.

Lan raised his fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes as the three rode ahead. What foolish game were they playing? No matter, Lan thought, opening his eyes.

Bulen started to say something, but Lan quieted him with a glare. He turned southward off the road, cutting down a small, worn trail.

Before long, he heard muffled hoofbeats from behind. Lan spun as he saw the three men riding behind him. Lan pulled Mandarb to a halt, teeth gritted. “I’m not raising the Golden Crane!”

“We didn’t say you were,” Nazar said. The three parted around him again, riding past.

Lan kicked Mandarb forward, riding up to them. “Then stop following me.”

“Last I checked, we were ahead of you,” Andere said.

“You turned this way after me,” Lan accused.

“You don’t own the roads, Lan Mandragoran,” Andere said. He glanced at Lan, face shadowed in the night. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m no longer the boy the Hero of Salmarna berated so long ago. I’ve become a soldier, and soldiers are needed. So I will ride this way if I please.”

“I command you to turn and go back,” Lan said. “Find a different path eastward.”

Rakim laughed, his voice still hoarse after all these years. “You’re not my captain any longer, Lan. Why would I obey your orders?” The others chuckled.

“We’d obey a king, of course,” Nazar said.

“Yes,” Andere said. “If he gave us commands, perhaps we would. But I don’t see a king here. Unless I’m mistaken.”

“There can be no king of a fallen people,” Lan said. “No king without a kingdom.”

“And yet you ride,” Nazar said, flicking his reins. “Ride to your death in a land you claim is no kingdom.”

“It is my destiny.”

The three shrugged, then pulled ahead of him.

“Don’t be fools,” Lan said, voice soft as he pulled Mandarb to a halt. “This path leads to death.”

“Death is lighter than a feather, Lan Mandragoran,” Rakim called over his shoulder. “If we ride only to death, then the trail will be easier than I’d thought!”

Lan gritted his teeth, but what was he to do? Beat all three of them senseless and leave them beside the road? He nudged Mandarb forward.

The two had become five.

Galad continued his morning meal, noting that Child Byar had come to speak with him. The meal was simple fare: porridge with a handful of raisins stirred in. A simple meal for every soldier kept them all from envy. Some Lords Captain Commander had dined far better than their men. That would not do for Galad. Not when so many in the world starved.

Child Byar waited inside the flaps of Galad’s tent, awaiting recognition. The gaunt, sunken-cheeked man wore his white cloak, a tabard over mail underneath.

Galad eventually set aside his spoon and nodded to Byar. The soldier strode up to the table and waited, still at attention. There were no elaborate furnishings to Galad’s tent. His sword—Valda’s sword—lay on the plain table behind his wooden bowl, slightly drawn. The herons on the blade peeked out from beneath the scabbard, and the polished steel reflected Byar’s form.

“Speak,” Galad said.

“I have more news about the army, my Lord Captain Commander,” Byar said. “They are near where the captives said they would be, a few days from us.”

Galad nodded. “They fly the flag of Ghealdan?”

“Alongside the flag of Mayene.” That flame of zeal glinted in Byar’s eyes. “And the wolfhead, though reports say they took that down late yesterday. Goldeneyes is there. Our scouts are sure of it.”

“Did he really kill Bornhald’s father?”

“Yes, my Lord Captain Commander. I have a familiarity with this creature. He and his troops come from a place called the Two Rivers.”

“The Two Rivers?” Galad said. “Curious, how often I seem to hear of that place, these days. Is that not where al’Thor is from?”

“So it is said,” Byar replied.

Galad rubbed his chin. “They grow good tabac there, Child Byar, but I have not heard of them growing armies.”

“It is a dark place, my Lord Captain Commander. Child Bornhald and I spent some time there last year; it is festering with Darkfriends.”

Galad sighed. “You sound like a Questioner.”

“My Lord Captain Commander,” Byar earnestly continued, “my Lord, please believe me. I am not simply speculating. This is different.”

Galad frowned. Then he gestured toward the other stool beside his table. Byar took it.

“Explain yourself,” Galad said. “And tell me everything you know of this Perrin Goldeneyes.”

Perrin could remember a time when simple breakfasts of bread and cheese had satisfied him. That was no longer the case. Perhaps it was due to his relationship with the wolves, or maybe his tastes had changed over time. These days he craved meat, especially in the morning. He couldn’t always have it, and that was fine. But generally he