Page 224 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

Bryne eyed the girl. Child, I wish you hadn’t made that connection. He hated the thought of leaving a mere novice tied up in the middle of this mess. But they couldn’t have her running to give warning to the White Tower Aes Sedai.

“I want to go with you,” the novice said fervently. “I’m loyal to the Amyrlin. The real Amyrlin. Most of us are.”

Bryne raised an eyebrow, glancing at Siuan.

“Let her come,” the Aes Sedai said. “It’s the easier option anyway.” She moved over to begin asking the girl a few more questions.

Bryne glanced to the side as one of his captains, a man named Vestas, approached. “My Lord,” Vestas said urgently, his voice a deep whisper. “The wounded are sorted. We lost twelve men. Another fifteen are wounded but can walk and are heading for the boats. Six are wounded too badly to go with them.” Vestas hesitated. “Three men won’t last the hour, my Lord.”

Bryne gritted his teeth. “We move on.”

“I feel that pain, Bryne,” Siuan said, turning around and eyeing him. “What is it?”

“We don’t have time. The Amyrlin—”

“Can wait another moment. What is it?”

“Three men,” he said. “I have to leave three of my men to die.”

“Not if I Heal them,” Siuan said. “Show me.”

Bryne made no further objection, though he did glance at the sky. Several of the raken had landed elsewhere in the Tower grounds, vague black shapes, lit by the fires in flickering orange. The fleeing Seanchan were congregating at them.

Those were the ground assault troops, he thought. They really are pulling out. The raid is ending.

Which meant they were running out of time. As soon as the Seanchan left, the White Tower would start to reorganize. They needed to reach Egwene! Light send that she hadn’t been captured.

Still, if Siuan wanted to Heal the soldiers, then it was her d

ecision. He just hoped that these three lives did not end up costing the life of the Amyrlin.

Vestas had set the three soldiers by themselves at the side of the green, beneath the boughs of a large shade tree. Bryne brought a squad of soldiers, leaving Gawyn to organize the rest of the men, and followed Siuan over to the wounded. She knelt beside the first man. Her skill in Healing was not the best; she’d warned Bryne of this ahead of time. But perhaps she could make these three well enough that they would survive to be discovered and taken by the White Tower.

She worked quickly, and Bryne noticed that she’d done herself an injustice. She seemed to do a creditable job with the Healing. Still, it took time. He scanned the courtyard, feeling his anxiety rise. Though blasts were still being exchanged on the upper floors, the lower floors and grounds were silent. The only sounds nearby were those of the groaning wounded and the crackling of flames.

Light, he thought, surveying the rubble, running his eyes over the Tower’s base. The east wing’s roof and far wall had been leveled, and flames flickered inside the structure. The courtyard was a mess of rubble and gouges. Smoke hung in the air, pungent and thick. Would the Ogier be willing to return and rebuild this magnificent structure? Would it ever be the same again, or had a seemingly eternal monument fallen this evening? Was he proud or grieved to have witnessed it?

A shadow moved in the darkness beside the tree.

Bryne moved without thought. Three things in him mixed: years of training with the sword, a lifetime of practiced battlefield reflexes and a new bond-enhanced awareness. All came together in one motion. His sword was out in a heartbeat, and he performed Blacklance’s Last Strike, slamming his sword straight into the neck of the dark figure.

All was still. Siuan, shocked, looked up from the man she was Healing. Bryne’s sword extended directly over her shoulder and into the neck of a Seanchan soldier in pure black armor. The man silently dropped a wickedly barbed shortsword slathered with a viscous liquid. Twitching, he reached for Bryne’s sword, as if to push it free. His fingers gripped Bryne’s arm for a moment.

Then the man slid backward off of Bryne’s blade and to the ground. He spasmed once, whispering something distinct despite the bubbling of his bleeding throat. “Marath . . . damane . . .”

“Light burn me!” Siuan breathed, raising a hand to her breast. “What was that?”

“He wasn’t dressed like the others,” Bryne said, shaking his head. “The armor is different. Assassin of some sort.”

“Light,” Siuan said. “I didn’t even see him! He almost seemed part of the darkness itself!”

Assassins. They always seemed to look the same, regardless of the culture. Bryne sheathed his sword. That was the first time he’d ever used Blacklance’s Last Strike in combat. It was a simple form, intended for only one thing: speed. Draw the sword and strike into the neck in one fluid motion. If you missed, you usually died.

“You saved my life,” Siuan said, looking up at Bryne. Her face was mostly shadowed. “By the seas at midnight,” she said, “the blasted girl was right.”

“Who?” Bryne asked, warily scanning the darkness for more assassins. He waved curtly, and his men sheepishly opened their lanterns further. The assassin’s attack had come so quickly that they had barely moved. If Bryne hadn’t had the speed of a Warder bond. . . .

“Min,” Siuan said, sounding tired. Those Healings seemed to have taken a lot out of her. “She said I had to stay near you.” She paused. “If you hadn’t come tonight, I would have died.”