Robert Jordan - Towers of midnight

Mandarbs hooves beat a familiar rhythm on broken ground as Lan Mandragoran rode toward his death. The dry air made his throat rough and the earth was sprinkled white with crystals of salt that precipitated from below. Distant red rock formations loomed to the north, where sickness stained them. Blight marks, a creeping dark lichen.

He continued riding east, parallel to the Blight. This was still Saldaea, where his wife had deposited him, only narrowly keeping her promise to take him to the Borderlands. It had stretched before him for a long time, this road. Hed turned away from it twenty years ago, agreeing to follow Moiraine, but hed always known he would return. This was what it meant to bear the name of his fathers, the sword on his hip, and the hadori on his head.

This rocky section of northern Saldaea was known as the Proska Flats. It was a grim place to ride; not a plant grew on it. The wind blew from the north, carrying with it a foul stench. Like that of a deep, sweltering mire bloated with corpses. The sky overhead stormed dark, brooding.

That woman, Lan thought, shaking his head. How quickly Nynaeve had learned to talk, and think, like an Aes Sedai. Riding to his death didnt pain him, but knowing she feared for him that did hurt. Very badly.

He hadnt seen another person in days. The Saldaeans had fortifications to the south, but the land here was scarred with broken ravines that made it difficult for Trollocs to assault; they preferred attacking near Maradon.

That was no reason to relax, however. One should never relax, this close to the Blight. He noted a hilltop; that would be a good place for a scouts post. He made certain to watch it for any sign of movement. He rode around a depression in the ground, just in case it held waiting ambushers. He kept his hand on his bow. Once he traveled a little farther eastward, hed cut down into Saldaea and cross Kandor on its good roadways. Then some gravel rolled down a hillside nearby.

Lan carefully slid an arrow from the quiver tied to Mandarbs saddle. Where had the sound come from? To the right, he decided. Southward. The hillside there; someone was approaching from behind it.

Lan did not stop Mandarb. If the hoofbeats changed, it would give warning. He quietly raised the bow, feeling the sweat of his fingers inside his fawn-hide gloves. He nocked the arrow and pulled carefully, raising it to his cheek, breathing in its scent. Goose feathers, resin.

A figure walked around the southern hillside. The man froze, an old, shaggy-maned packhorse walking around beside him and continuing on ahead. It stopped only when the rope at its neck grew taut.

The man wore a laced tan shirt and dusty breeches. He had a sword at his waist, and his arms were thick and strong, but he didnt look threatening. In fact, he seemed faintly familiar.

Lord Mandragoran! the man said, hastening forward, pulling his horse after. Ive found you at last. I assumed youd be traveling the Kremer Road!

Lan lowered his bow and stopped Mandarb. Do I know you?

I brought supplies, my Lord! The man had black hair and tanned skin. Borderlander stock, probably. He continued forward, overeager, yanking on the overloaded packhorses rope with a thick-fingered hand. I figured that you wouldnt have enough food. Tentsfour of them, just in casesome water too. Feed for the horses. And

Who are you? Lan barked. And how do you know who I am?

The man drew up sharply. Im Bulen, my Lord. From Kandor?

From Kandor Lan remembered a gangly young messenger boy. With surprise, he saw the resemblance. Bulen? That was twenty years ago, man!

I know, Lord Mandragoran. But when word spread in the palace that the Golden Crane was raised, I knew what I had to do. Ive learned the sword well, my Lord. Ive come to ride with you and

The word of my travel has spread to Aesdaishar?

Yes, my Lord. ElNynaeve, she came to us, you see. Told us what youd done. Others are gathering, but I left first. Knew youd need supplies.

Burn that woman, Lan thought. And shed made him swear that he would accept those who wished to ride with him! Well, if she could play games with the truth, then so could he. Lan had said hed take anyone who wished to ride with him. This man was not mounted. Therefore, Lan could refuse him. A petty distinction, but twenty years with Aes Sedai had taught him a few things about how to watch ones words.

Go back to Aesdaishar, Lan said. Tell them that my wife was wrong, and I have not raised the Golden Crane.

But

I dont need you, son. Away with you. Lans heels nudged Mandarb into a walk, and he passed the man standing on the road. For a few moments, Lan thought that his order would be obeyed, though the evasion of his oath pricked at his conscience.

My father was Malkieri, Bulen said from behind.

Lan continued on.

He died when I was five, Bulen called. He married a Kandori woman. They both fell to bandits. I dont remember much of them. Only something my father told me: that someday, we would fight for the Golden Crane. All I have of him is this.

Lan couldnt help but look back as Mandarb continued to walk away. Bulen held up a thin strap of leather, the hadori, worn on the head of a Malkieri sworn to fight the Shadow.

I would wear the hadori of my father, Bulen called, voice growing louder. But I have nobody to ask if I may. That is the tradition, is it not? Someone has to give me the right to don it. Well, I would fight the Shadow all my days. He looked down at the hadori, then back up again and yelled, I would stand against the darkness, alLan Mandragoran! Will you tell me I cannot?

Go to the Dragon Reborn, Lan called to him. Or to your queens army. Either of them will take you.

And you? You will ride all the way to the Seven Towers without supplies?

Ill forage.

Pardon me, my Lord, but have you seen the land these days? The Blight creeps farther and farther south. Nothing grows, even in once-fertile lands. Game is scarce.

Lan hesitated. He reined Mandarb in.

All those years ago, Bulen called, walking forward, his packhorse walking behind him. I hardly knew who you were, though I know you lost someone dear to you among us. Ive spent years cursing myself for not serving you better. I swore that I would stand with you someday. He walked up beside Lan. I ask you because I have no father. May I wear the hadori and fight at your side, alLan Mandragoran? My King?

Lan breathed out slowly, stilling his emotions. Nynaeve, when next I see you But he would not see her again. He tried not to dwell upon that.

He had made an oath. Aes Sedai wiggled around their promises, but did that give him the same right? No. A man was his honor. He could not deny Bulen.

We ride anonymously, Lan said. We do not raise the Golden Crane. You tell nobody who I am.