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"Just keep your head down," Sleete said. "There are hot tempers in the Tower, but there are wise minds as well. They'll do the right thing."

"Which is?"

"End it," Sleete said. "With killing if necessary, other ways if possible. Nothing is worth this division. Nothing."

Gawyn nodded.

Sleete shook his head. "My Aes Sedai, she didn't like the feel of things in the Tower. Wanted to get out. She's wise . . . wise and crafty. But she's also not influential, so the others don't listen to her. Aes Sedai. Sometimes, all they seem to care about is who carries the biggest stick."

Gawyn leaned closer. One rarely heard talk about Aes Sedai ranking and influence. They didn't have ranks, like the military, but they all instinctively knew who among them was in charge. How did it work? Sleete seemed to have some idea, but he didn't talk further on it, so it would have to remain a mystery for now.

"Hattori got out," Sleete continued softly. "Went on this mission to al'Thor, never knowing the depth of what it was about. She just didn't want to be in the Tower. Wise woman." He sighed, standing upright and laying a hand on Gawyn's shoulder. "Hammar was a good man."

"He was," Gawyn said, feeling a twist in his stomach.

"But he would have killed you," Sleete said. "Killed you cleanly and quickly. He was the one on the offensive, not you. He understood why you did what you did. Nobody made any good decisions that day. There weren't any good decisions to be made."

"I . . ." Gawyn just nodded. "Thank you."

Sleete removed his hand and walked toward the entrance. He glanced back, however. "Some say that Hattori should have gone back for me," he said. "Those Younglings of yours, they think she abandoned me at Dumai's Wells. She didn't. She knew I lived. She knew I hurt. But she also trusted me to do my duty while she did hers. She needed to get news to the Greens of what had happened at Dumai's Wells, of what the Amyrlin's true orders with al'Thor had entailed. / needed to survive. We did our duty. But once that message had been sent, if she hadn't felt me approaching on my own, she would have come for me. No matter what. And we both know it."

With that, he left. Gawyn was left thinking on the curious parting words. Sleete was often an odd one to talk to. As fluid as he was as a swordsman, he didn't make conversation smoothly.

Gawyn shook his head, leaving the barn and waving Corbet free of watch duty. There was no possibility of Gawyn agreeing to become Hat-tori's Warder. The offer had been tempting for a heartbeat, but only as a way of escaping his problems. He knew that he would not be happy as her Warder, or anyone's Warder save Egwene's.

He'd promised Egwene anything. Anything, as long as it didn't hurt Andor or Elayne. Light, he'd promised her not to kill al'Thor. At least, not until after Gawyn could prove for certain that the Dragon had killed his mother. Why couldn't Egwene see that the man she'd grown up with had turned into a monster, twisted by the One Power? Al'Thor needed to be put down. For the good of them all.

Gawyn clenched and unclenched his fist, stalking across the village center, wishing he could extend the peace and stillness of sword fighting to the rest of his life. The air was pungent with the scent of cows and dung from the barns; he would be glad to get back to a proper city. Dorian's size and remoteness might make it a good place to hide, but Gawyn strongly wished that Elaida had chosen a less odorous place to house the Younglings. His clothing seemed likely to carry the scent of cattle for the rest of his days—assuming the rebel army didn't discover and slaughter them all in the next few weeks.

Gawyn shook his head as he approached the mayor's house. The two-story building had a peaked roof and sat at the very center of the village. The main body of the Younglings was camped in the small field out behind the building. Once, that patch had grown blackberries, but the too-hot summer followed by the blizzard of a winter had killed the bushes. They were one of many casualties that were going to lead to an even harsher winter this year.

The field wasn't the best place to camp—the men were constantly grumping about picking blackberry thorns out of their skin—but it was close to the center of the village while yet somewhat secluded. A few thorns were worth the convenience.