“Light burn me,” Noal whispered. The corridor disappeared into darkness; the sunlight seemed hesitant to enter the opening, though it was probably just a trick of the light. “And so we begin the game that cannot be won,” Thom said, sliding the knife back into its sheath. “Courage to strengthen,” Noal whispered, stepping forward, holding up a lantern with a flickering flame. “Fire to blind. Music to dazzle. Iron to bind.” “And Matrim Cauthon,” Mat added. “To bloody even the odds.” He stepped through the doorway.
