Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time, #13)

by Robert Jordan

“Lews Therin was mad.” “At the end,” Rand said. “And yes, he made mistakes. I made mistakes. I grew arrogant, desperate. But there’s a difference this time. A great one.” “What difference?” He smiled. “This time, I was raised better.” Min found herself smiling as well. “You know me, Min. Well, I promise you, I feel more like myself now than I have in months. I feel more like myself than I ever did as Lews Therin, if that makes any kind of sense. It’s because of Tam, because of the people around me. You, Perrin, Nynaeve, Mat, Aviendha, Elayne, Moiraine. He tried very hard to break me. I think if I’d been the same as I was so long ago, he would have succeeded.”

Min couldn’t sit by any longer. “Rand!” she said, jumping down from her saddle and running to him. She reached his side, steadying him while glaring at the monarchs. “How dare you! He came to you peacefully.” “Peacefully?” Paitar said. “No, young woman, he did not come to this world in peace. He has consumed the land with terror, chaos and destruction.” “As the prophecies said that he would,” Cadsuane said, walking up as Min helped Rand back to his feet. “You lay before him the burdens of an entire Age. You cannot hire a man to rebuild your house, then reproach him when he must knock down a wall to do the job.”

Tellindal

“Birgitte!” Elayne hissed, feeling her face grow red again. “You can’t sit in the Sun Throne!” “I’m your bodyguard,” Birgitte said. “I can taste your food if I want, I can walk through doorways before you, and I can bloody sit in your chair if I think it will protect you.”

Setalle looked thoughtful. “All right. But what does this have to do with being a nobleman?” “Everything,” Mat said. “Don’t you see? If you’re an average fellow, you know exactly when to use your boots. A man can keep track of three pairs of boots. Life is simple when you have three pairs of boots. But noblemen…Talmanes claims he has forty different pairs of boots at home. Forty pairs, can you imagine that?”

Pevara had been ordered by the Highest not to risk gateways unless the situation were dire. This seemed like a dire situation to her. She embraced the Source and wove the proper weave. The weave fell apart the moment she completed it. No gateway formed. Eyes wide, she tried again, but got the same result. She tried other weaves, and they worked, but gateways failed every time. Her chill became frost within her. She was trapped. They all were.

“You’ll have it,” Thom said, taking Perrin’s offered hand. He hesitated, smiling, a faint twinkle in his eyes. “What?” Perrin asked. Thom repositioned his pack. “Is every last farmboy I know going to transform into a nobleman by the time this is through?”

Moiraine. Perrin should send word to Rand. The colors appeared, showing Rand speaking with a group of Borderlanders. But…no. Perrin couldn’t tell Rand until he was certain she lived. To do otherwise would be too cruel, and would be an invitation for Rand to meddle in Mat’s mission.

“Do you think they’ll be enough to stop Rand?” Faile asked. “To help us keep him from breaking the seals?” “Help us?” Perrin asked. “You told Elayne that you’d go to the Field of Merrilor,” Faile said. “Because of what Egwene had asked.” “Oh, I told her I needed to be there,” Perrin said. “But I never said I was going to take Egwene’s side. I trust Rand, Faile, and it seems right to me that he’d need to break the seals. It’s like making a sword. You usually don’t want to forge one out of the pieces of a broken and ruined weapon. You get new good steel to make it. Rather than patch the old seals, he’ll need to make new ones.”

The soldiers were already gathered in lines, preparing to march. Perrin turned to them. “Rand sent us away to search for an enemy,” he bellowed. “We return to him having found allies. Onward, to the Last Battle!”

“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.

Elmiara

When Mat had come originally, they had praised him as wise for thinking to ask for a leave-taking. Though he grumbled, still, about the Eelfinn not answering his questions, he could see that was not what they did. The Aelfinn were for questions; the Eelfinn granted requests. But they twisted those requests, and took whatever price they wanted. Mat had unwittingly asked for his memory filled, for a way to be free of the Aes Sedai, and a way out of the Tower.

Moiraine. Mat felt a surge of emotions. Worry, frustration, concern, awe. She was the one who had started this all. He had hated her at times. He also owed her his life. She was the first one who had meddled, yanking him this way and that. Yet—looking back—he figured that she had been the most honest about it of anyone who had used him. Unapologetic, unyielding. And selfless. She had dedicated everything to protecting three foolish boys, all ignorant of what the world would demand of them. She had determined to take them to safety. Maybe train them a little, whether they wanted it or not. Because they needed it.

Well burn me for a fool, Mat thought. Maybe I am a hero after all. Didn’t that beat all? “I’ll pay it,” Mat announced. “Half the light of the world.” To save the world. “Done!” one of the male Eelfinn announced.

“You said foxes, Mat,” Noal said. “The foxes can’t hurt us.” “And they let us pass.” “But what about the others?” Noal asked. “The Aelfinn? If the Eelfinn can’t hurt us, are the Aelfinn required to leave us be as well?”

“Noal!” Thom said, wheezing, standing with his hands on his knees, near Mat’s ashandarei leaning against the wall. “You can’t do this.” “Yes I can,” Noal said. He stepped up to the corridor, beyond which the Aelfinn gathered. “Thom, you’re in no shape to fight. Mat, you’re the one whose luck can find the way out. Neither of you can stay. But I can.”

Mat waved Thom on, but hesitated, looking back. “If you ever meet a Malkieri,” Noal said, “you tell him Jain Farstrider died clean.” “I will, Jain,” Mat said. “May the light hold you.”

“They did give me something else,” Mat whispered, looking down at the ashandarei in his hands as the Aelfinn began to hiss more loudly. Thus is our treaty written; thus is agreement made. It was carved on the weapon. The blade had two ravens, the shaft inscribed with words in the Old Tongue. Thought is the arrow of time; memory never fades. Why had they given it to him? He had never questioned it. But he had not asked for a weapon. What was asked is given. The price is paid. No, I didn’t ask for a weapon. I asked for a way out. And they gave me this.

Mat stepped back and tipped his hat to the creatures. “Looks like the game can be won after all,” he said. “Tell the foxes I’m mighty pleased with this key they gave me. Also, you can all go rot in a flaming pit of fire and ashes, you unwashed lumps on a pig’s backside. Have a grand bloody day.”

The Cairhienin were Elayne’s now, by reports, and were coming through with the Andorans and a large number of men from the Band of the Red Hand. Egwene had sent an offer, and a woman to offer Traveling, to King Roedran of Murandy, but she was uncertain if he would come. Even without him, however, a considerable number of the world’s nations were represented here, particularly since the flags of Ghealdan and Mayene could be seen among Perrin’s armies.

He’s come, then, Egwene thought. And the calm is here. The brief moment of peace before the storm that destroys.

“That’s going to be a little obvious.” “The division is already obvious,” Androl said. “Go do it.” “Sure thing. But what are you going to do?” Androl took a deep breath. “I’m going to find us some allies.”

Mat spun on the tower and pointed upward. “I know you’re watching!” he said, thrilled. He had made it. He had bloody made it out alive! “I beat you, you crusty boot-leavings! I, Matrim Cauthon, survived your traps! Ha!” He raised the ashandarei over his head. “And you gave me the way out! Chew on that bitterness for lunch, you flaming, burning, misbegotten liars!”

Moiraine. He was talking to flaming Moiraine! Though he had gone into the tower with the distinct purpose of rescuing her, it seemed incredible that he was speaking with her. It was like talking to… Well, like talking to Birgitte Silverbow or Jain Farstrider. Mat smiled, shaking his head. What a world this was, and what a strange place he had in it.

“Still afraid of the One Power, I see.” He bristled. “Afraid?” “I should think you have good reason for that wariness.” She looked away from him. “But take care. The most displeasing of events in our lives are sometimes for our good.”

“I must find Rand,” Moiraine said. “He will need my help. I trust he has done well in my absence?” “I don’t know about that,” Mat said. “He’s half mad and the whole bloody world is at one another’s throats.” Colors swirled. Rand eating a meal with Min. Mat dispelled the image. She raised an eyebrow. “But,” Mat acknowledged, “he’s got most everybody pointed toward the Last Battle. And Verin says he managed to clean the taint from saidin.” “Blessed Light,” Moiraine whispered. “How?”

“Mat’s been too busy to keep track,” Thom added. “He’s been spending his time marrying the Empress of the Seanchan.” Moiraine blinked in surprise. “You did what?” “It was an accident,” Mat said lamely, hunching down. “You accidentally married the Seanchan Empress?” “They’ve got some odd customs,” Mat said, pulling his hat down. “Strange folk.” He forced out a chuckle. “Ta’veren,” Moiraine said.

“Dearest Thom,” she said. “I would have you for a husband, if you’ll have me for a wife.”

“I assume you’ll want me as a Warder, too.” She smiled. “My previous Gaidin has been appropriated by another by now, I hope.” “I’ll take the job,” Thom said, “though you’ll have to explain to Elayne why her court-bard is someone’s Warder.”

Yes, he might not be able to judge distance, and he might not be able to see as well. But luck worked better when you were not looking anyway.

And suddenly, Perrin knew. Boundless was always found in Ghealdan in the wolf dream. Noam, he sent to the wolf, now distant.

A gift, Boundless sent. “By the Light,” Perrin whispered. “This was a choice, wasn’t it? You picked the wolf intentionally.” Boundless closed his eyes. “I always thought it would take me, if I weren’t careful,” Perrin said. The wolf is peace, Boundless sent.

Mat did not want Olver to know that he had gone to the Tower of Ghenjei, leaving Olver behind. Well, Olver was not a fool, and he knew what was going on. He was not mad, not really. Noal was a good one to take, and if Mat could only take three, well…Noal could fight better than Olver. So it made sense for him to go. But next time, Olver would do the choosing. And then Mat had better be nice, or he would be left behind.

He threw his dice. Another full run. Olver smiled, moving his piece back toward the center of the board, half lost in thought and dreaming of the day when he would finally get his revenge, like was proper. He moved his piece across one more line, then froze. His piece was on the center spot. “I won!” he exclaimed.

He unfolded the letter and removed a small, stiff piece of paper inside. He frowned, trying to make out the words. He was getting pretty good with reading, mostly because of Setalle, but some words gave him trouble. He scratched his head. “Talmanes,” he said. “You should probably read this.”

There is a Waygate in Caemlyn. It is guarded, barricaded, and thought secure. It is not. An enormous force of Shadowspawn moves through the Ways toward Caemlyn. I do not know when they left exactly, but there should be time to stop them.

“Light preserve us,” Talmanes whispered. “It’s burning. The city is burning.” He shook his head, as if clearing it, then raised a call. “To arms! Trollocs in Caemlyn! The city is at war! To arms, men! Burn me, we have to get into the city and salvage those dragons! If those fall into the Shadow’s hands, we’re all dead men!”

One of the Aiel stepped up to Barriga. Why was the man’s veil red? That was unusual. The Aiel’s dark eyes were glassy and hard. The Aiel man undid his veil, and revealed a smiling face. The man’s teeth had been filed to points. His smile broadened, and he slipped a knife from his belt. Barriga stuttered, looking at that horrific maw and the glee in this man’s eyes as he reached in for the kill. These weren’t Aiel. They were something else. Something terrible.

On the morrow, they’d hear his demands. Not what he would demand to keep him from breaking the seals—he was going to do that, regardless of what Egwene said. No, these would be the demands he made on the monarchs of the world in exchange for going to Shayol Ghul to face the Dark One. He wasn’t certain what he’d do if they refused him. They’d find it very difficult to do so. Sometimes, it could be useful to have a reputation for being irrational.

Rand froze, staring into that pit. He sought calmness, but he could not find it. Instead, he felt hatred, concern, and—like a seething viper within him—desire. That had been Mierin Eronaile, a woman he had once called the Lady Selene. A woman most people knew by the name she’d taken upon herself. Lanfear.

“It is fitting,” Kaisel said. “What?” Lan asked. “That we should strike here.” “Yes,” Lan said. “It is bold,” Kaisel said. “It shows the Shadow that we will not be beaten down, that we will not cower. This is your land, Lord Mandragoran.” My land, he thought. Yes, it was. He nudged Mandarb forward. “I am al’Lan Mandragoran,” Lan bellowed. “Lord of the Seven Towers, Defender of the Wall of First Fires, Bearer of the Sword of the Thousand Lakes! I was once named Aan’allein, but I reject that title, for I am alone no more. Fear me, Shadow! Fear me and know. I have returned for what is mine. I may be a king without a land. But I am still a king!”

They were twelve thousand strong. And they charged a force of at least one hundred and fifty thousand. This day will be remembered in honor, Lan thought, galloping forward. The Last Charge of the Golden Crane. The fall of the Malkieri. The end had come. They would meet it with swords raised.