A Memory of Light (Wheel of Time, #14; A Memory of Light, #3)

by Robert Jordan

By grace and banners fallen, Talmanes thought with a shiver. Enormous clouds of smoke billowed over the city. This was bad. Far worse than when the Aiel had come for Cairhien.

Thunder rumbled. The slopes of that mountain were filled with odd lightning bolts that struck upward toward the ever-present gray clouds. Few humans knew of this Town not so far from the valley of Thakan’dar, with Shayol Ghul itself looming above. Few knew rumors of its existence. Isam would not have minded being among the ignorant.

Isam went very still. The Samma N’Sei, the Eye Blinders, had always been touchy and full of pride. No, touchy was too mild a term. They required no more than whim to take a knife to one of the Talentless. Usually it was one of the servants who

“All men are ignorant, Aes Sedai,” Androl said. “The topics of our ignorance may change, but the nature of the world is that no man may know everything.”

“Being polite to a person is not a sign of respect for them, Pevara Sedai,” Emarin said. “It is merely a sign of a good upbringing and a balanced nature.”

“I once ate a rather sharp cheese, and it has never quite sat right with me.” Aludra cocked her head at him. Maybe if I smiled more when I made jokes, he thought idly, leaning against the side of the barricade. Then they’d understand what I meant. That, of course, raised the question: Did he want people to understand? It was often more amusing the other way. Besides, smiling was so garish. Where was the subtlety? And…

Moghedien stepped onto a platform of stone floating in the middle of an open sea. Glassy and blue, the water rippled in the occasional breeze, but there were no waves. Neither was there land in sight. Moridin stood at the side of the platform, hands clasped behind his back. In front of him, the sea burned. The fire gave off no smoke, but it was hot, and the water near it hissed and boiled. Stone flooring in the middle of an endless sea. Water that burned. Moridin always had enjoyed creating impossibilities within his dreamshards.

Once, the man named Moridin—or Ishamael, or Elan Morin Tedronai—would have delighted in holding a cour’souvra for one of his rivals. He would have invented punishments, thrilled in her agony. There had been some of that at the start; then… he had lost interest. He spent more and more time alone, staring into flames, brooding. The punishments he had administered to her and Cyndane had seemed almost routine. She found him more dangerous this way.

Moghedien had not failed to notice that Moridin still wore Cyndane’s mindtrap. Cyndane. It meant “last chance” in the Old Tongue, but the woman’s true nature was one secret that Moghedien had discovered. Moridin himself had rescued Lanfear from Sindhol, freeing her from the creatures that feasted upon her ability to channel.

“Those walls have stood for hundreds of years. My poor city. My poor, poor city.” “It’s not your city any longer,” Talmanes said, raising his flaming brand high in the air, defiant before a wall thick with Trollocs, a burning city to his back. “It’s theirs.” Talmanes swiped the brand down in the air, leaving a trail of red. His signal ignited a roar of dragonfire that echoed throughout the square. Trollocs—pieces of them, at least—blew into the air. The wall under them exploded like a stack of children’s blocks kicked at a full run. As Talmanes wavered, his vision blackening, he saw the wall crumble outward. When he toppled, slipping into unconsciousness, the ground seemed to tremble from the force of his fall.

“It will be as the Wheel wills,” Rand said, glancing northward. “Peace, Kert, Reed,” Rand said softly. “The Prophecies have nearly all been fulfilled. This day was seen, and our tests are known. We do not walk into them unaware.” He hadn’t promised them they would win or that they would survive, but both men stood up straighter and nodded, smiling. People liked to know that there was a plan. The knowledge that someone was in control might be the strongest comfort that Rand could offer them.

You really think this is Demandred?” “It’s exactly the sort of thing he’d try. Separate your foes, then crush them one at a time. It’s one of the oldest strategies in warfare.” Demandred himself had discovered it in the old writings. They’d known nothing of war when the Bore had first opened. Oh, they’d thought they understood it, but it had been the understanding of the scholar looking back on something ancient, dusty. Of all those to turn to the Shadow, Demandred’s betrayal seemed the most tragic. The man could have been a hero. Should have been a hero.

“Do you want to know the thing that twists my brain in knots, Perrin?” Rand said softly. “The thing that gives me shivers, like the cold breath of the Shadow itself? The taint is what made me mad and what gave me memories from my past life. They came as Lews Therin whispering to me. But that very insanity is the thing giving me the clues I need to win. Don’t you see? If I win this, it will be the taint itself that led to the Dark One’s fall.” Perrin whistled softly. Redemption, Rand thought. When I tried this last time, my madness destroyed us. This time, it will save us.

“Mierin hates you now, anyway,” Moridin continued. “I think she blames you for what happened to her. You should call her Cyndane. She has been forbidden to use the name she took upon herself.” “Cyndane…” Rand said, trying out the word. “ ‘Last Chance’? Your master has gained humor, I see.” “It was not meant to be humorous,” Moridin said. “No, I suppose that it was not.” Rand looked at the endless landscape of dead grass and leaves. “It is hard to think that I was so afraid of you during those early days. Did you invade my dreams then, or bring me into one of these dreamshards? I was never able to figure it out.”

“You were mad, during those days,” Rand said softly, looking into Moridin’s eyes. He could almost see the fires burning there. “You’re still mad, aren’t you? You just have it contained. No one could serve him without being at least a little mad.” Moridin stepped forward. “Taunt as you wish, Lews Therin. The ending dawns. All will be given to the great suffocation of the Shadow, to be stretched, ripped, strangled.” Rand took a step forward as well, right up to Moridin. They were the same height. “You hate yourself,” Rand whispered. “I can feel it in you, Elan. Once you served him for power; now you do it because his victory—and an end to all things—is the only release you’ll ever know. You’d rather not exist than continue to be you. You must know that he will not release you. Not ever. Not you.”

“Tell your master!” Rand commanded. “Tell him this fight is not like the others. Tell him I’ve tired of minions, that I’m finished with his petty movement of pawns. Tell him that I’m coming for HIM!” “This is wrong,” Moridin said, visibly shaken. “This isn’t…” He looked at Rand for a moment, standing beneath the blazing sun, then vanished. Rand let out a deep breath. The grass died around him, the clouds sprang back, the sunlight faded. Though Moridin was gone, holding on to that transformation of the landscape had been difficult. Rand sagged, panting, recovering from the exertion. Here, willing something to be true could make it so. If only things were that simple in the real world. He closed his eyes and sent himself away, to sleep for the short time before he had to rise. Rise, and save the world. If he could.

Rand strode across the browning grass of the field, wearing red and gold. A tremendous bundle hovered in the air beside him, held up by weaves she could not see. The grass greened at his feet. It wasn’t a large change. Where he trod, the turf recovered, spreading from him like a soft wave of light through opening shutters. Men stepped back; horses stamped their hooves. Within minutes, the entire ring of troops stood on grass that lived again. How long had it been since she’d seen a simple field of green? Egwene breathed out. Some of the gloom to the day had been lightened. “I’d give good coin to know how he does that,” she murmured under her breath. “A weave?” Gawyn asked. “I’ve seen Aes Sedai make flowers bloom in winter.” “I know of no weave that would be so extensive,” Egwene said. “It feels so natural.

Al Chalidholara Malkier. For my sweet land Malkier. It was the oath a Malkieri soldier took during their first posting to the Border. Lan had never spoken it. He did so now in his heart. “Al Chalidholara Malkier!” Lan screamed. “Lances, set!” Light, but those hoofbeats were loud! Could six thousand make so much noise? He turned to look at those behind him. At least ten thousand rode there. What? He pressed Mandarb forward through his surprise. “Forward the Golden Crane!” Voices, shouts, screams of power and joy. The air ahead to the left split with a sudden vertical slash. A gateway three dozen paces wide—as large as Lan had ever seen—opened as if into the sun itself. From the other side, the brightness spilled out, exploded out. Charging men in full armor burst from the gateway, falling into place at Lan’s flank. They flew the flag of Arafel.

More gateways. Three, then four, then a dozen. Each broke the field in coordination, charging horsemen bursting forth with lances leveled, flying the flags of Saldaea, Shienar, Kandor. In seconds, his charge of six thousand had become a hundred thousand. Trollocs in the front lines screamed, and some of them stopped running. Some held steady, spears angled to impale oncoming horses. Bunching up behind them—not being able to see clearly what was happening in front—other enraged hordes pushed eagerly forward, waving large swords with scythelike blades and double-bitted battle-axes. Those Trollocs at the front, holding spears, exploded. From somewhere behind Lan, Asha’man began to send weaves to rip the earth, completely destroying the front ranks of Trollocs. As the carcasses collapsed to the ground, the middle ranks found themselves completely exposed, facing a storm of hooves, swords and lances. Lan hit, swinging, crashing Mandarb through the snarling Trollocs. Andere was laughing. “Back, you fool!” Lan yelled to him as he lashed out at the nearby Trollocs. “Direct the Asha’man to our wounded; have them protect the camp!” “I want to see you smile, Lan!” Andere shouted, clinging to his horse’s saddle. “Show more emotion than a stone, for once! Surely this deserves it!” Lan looked at the battle he’d never thought to win, seeing a last stand instead become a promising fight, and couldn’t help himself. He didn’t just smile, he laughed.

“Jophil,” Lan called. “Raise my banner high! Malkier lives on this day!”

“Meet it by listening,” Elayne said, “and offering your opinion. If we’re going to fight on four different fronts at once, we’ll need a lot of coordination.” She looked at the gathered generals. “It occurs to me. We have four battlefronts, and four great captains…” Bashere nodded. “No coincidence, that.” “Well, it might be one.” “There are no coincidences, Highness,” Bashere said. “If I’ve learned one thing traveling with the Lord Dragon, that is it. Four of us, four battlefronts. We each take one, with Queen Elayne coordinating among us and overseeing the war effort as a whole.”

The Shienarans were the finest heavy cavalry in the world, and they had fought—and died—upon these rocks countless times, defending the lush lands to the south. “I will come,” Lan agreed. “The weight of what you have given me feels like three mountains.” “I know,” Easar said. “But we shall follow you, Dai Shan. Until the sky is rent asunder, until the rocks split underfoot, and until the Wheel itself stops turning. Or, Light send its blessing, until every sword is favored with peace.”

Lan hesitated, then spoke in a loud voice. “Why do we mourn?” The soldiers nearby turned toward him. “Is this not what we have trained for?” Lan shouted. “Is this not our purpose, our very lives? This war is not a thing to mourn. Other men may have been lax, but we have not been. We are prepared, and so this is a time of glory. “Let there be laughter! Let there be joy! Let us cheer the fallen and drink to our forefathers, who taught us well. If you die on the morrow, awaiting your rebirth, be proud. The Last Battle is upon us, and we are ready!” Lan wasn’t sure, exactly, what had made him say it. His words inspired a round of “Dai Shan! Dai Shan! Forward the Golden Crane!” He saw that some of the men were writing the speech down, to pass among the other men. “You do have the soul of a leader, Dai Shan,” Easar said as they rode on.

“I have all of this knowledge, yet it doesn’t tell me what to do.” He stood up, pacing. “I should be able to fix it, Elayne. No more should need to die for me. This is my fight. Why must everyone else go through such suffering?” “You deny us the right to fight?” she said, sitting up straight. “No, of course not,” Rand said. “I could deny you nothing. I just wish that somehow… somehow I could make this all stop. Shouldn’t my sacrifice be enough?” She stood, taking his arm. He turned to her. Then she kissed him. “I love you,” she said. “You are a king. But if you would try to deny the good people of Andor the right to defend themselves, the right to stand in the Last Battle…” Her eyes flared, her cheeks flushed. Light! His comments had truly made her angry.

“You have the Talent of creating ter’angreal,” Rand said. “Creating angreal requires a different process. It begins with one of these, an object created to draw your Power and instill it into something else. It takes time, and will weaken you for several months, so you should not attempt it while we are at war. But when I found it, forgotten, I thought of you. I had wondered what I could give you.” “Oh, Rand, I have something for you as well.” She hurried over to an ivory jewelry chest that rested on a camp table and took a small object from it. It was a dagger with a short, dull blade and a handle made of deerhorn wrapped in gold wire. Rand glanced at the dagger quizzically. “No offense, but that looks like a poor weapon, Elayne.” “It’s a ter’angreal, something that may be of use when you go to Shayol Ghul. With it, the Shadow cannot see you.” She reached up to touch his face. He placed his hand on hers. They stayed together long into the night.

“I think…” Birgitte said. “Those things are messy. And imprecise. And bloody effective.” “Yes,” Elayne said proudly. Birgitte shook her head. Her horse was returned to her, and she remounted. “I used to think that a man and his bow were the most dangerous combination this land would ever know, Elayne. Now—as if it weren’t bad enough that men channel openly and the Seanchan use channelers in combat—we have those things. I don’t like the way this is going. If any boy with a tube of metal can destroy an entire army…” “Don’t you see?” Elayne said. “There won’t be war any more. We win this, and there will be peace, as Rand intends. Nobody but Trollocs would go into battle, knowing they face weapons like these!” “Perhaps,” Birgitte said. She shook her head. “Maybe I have less faith in the wisdom of people than you do.”

“Pardon, Lord Bryne,” Egwene said. “Your plans are wise, and certainly some of the Aes Sedai should be used that way. However, the White Tower did not prepare and train for thousands of years to sit out the Last Battle as a reserve force.” Bryne nodded, slipping a new set of documents out from underneath his pile. “I did consider other more… dynamic possibilities, but I did not want to overstep my authority.” He handed her the documents. Egwene scanned them, raising an eyebrow. Then she smiled.

But there was more to what he would do here than tricks. Trollocs shouted as the winds whipped up around Rand. This was not the result of channeling, not yet. It was Rand. Being here. Confronting him. Seas grew choppy when different streams of water crashed into one another. Winds grew powerful when hot air and cool mixed. And where Light confronted Shadow… storms grew. Rand shouted, letting his nature stir the tempest. The Dark One pressed upon the land, seeking to smother it. The Pattern needed equalization. It needed balance. It needed the Dragon.

He let go as Lews Therin never had been able to. Even after discovering Ilyena, even after realizing how Lanfear had used him, he had held on to hatred and scorn. You expect me to pity you? Rand had asked her. He now felt just that. Pity for a woman who had never known love, a woman who would not let herself know it. Pity for a woman who could not choose a side other than her own. “I…” she said softly. Rand raised his hand, and then he opened himself to her. His intentions, his mind, his self appeared as a swirl of color, emotions and power around him. Her eyes opened wide as the swirl played before her, like pictures on a wall. He could hold nothing back. She saw his motives, his desires, his wishes for mankind. She saw his intentions. To go to Shayol Ghul, to kill the Dark One. To leave a better world than he had the last time. He did not fear revealing these things. He had touched the True Power, and so the Dark One knew his heart. There were no surprises here, at least nothing that should have been a surprise. Lanfear was surprised anyway. Her jaw dropped as she saw the truth—the truth that, down deep, it was not Lews Therin who made up Rand’s core. It was the sheepherder, raised by Tam. His lives played out in moments, his memories and feelings exposed. Last, he showed her his love for Ilyena—like a glowing crystal, set upon a shelf and admired. Then his love for Min, Aviendha, Elayne. Like a burning bonfire, warming, comforting, passionate. There was no love for Lanf...

“Being in charge isn’t always about telling people what to do. Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to step out of the way of people who know what they’re doing.”

“They’re arrogant, wouldn’t you say?” a feminine voice asked. Perrin jumped, spinning, summoning his hammer to his hands and readying a brick wall around himself for protection. A short young woman with silver hair stood next to him, standing straight as if to try to appear taller than she was. She wore white clothing, tied at the waist with a silver belt. He didn’t recognize the face, but he did know her scent. “Moonhunter,” Perrin said, almost a growl. “Lanfear.” “I’m not allowed to use that name any longer,” she said, tapping one finger on the wall. “He’s so strict with names.” Perrin backed away, glancing from side to side. Was she working with Slayer? Gaul appeared out of the guard post and froze, seeing her. Perrin held out a hand to stop him. Could he jump to Gaul and be away before she attacked? “Moonhunter?” Lanfear asked. “Is that what the wolves call me? That’s not right, not at all. I don’t hunt the moon. The moon is mine already.” She leaned down, resting her arms on the chest-high battlement. “What do you want?” Perrin demanded. “Vengeance,” she whispered. Then she looked at him. “The same as you, Perrin.” “I’m to believe you want Slayer dead too?” “Slayer? That orphan errand boy of Moridin’s? He doesn’t interest me. My vengeance will be against another.” “Who?” “The one who caused my imprisonment,” she said softly, passionately. Suddenly, she looked toward the skies. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she vanished.

She leveled a small crossbow at him, and Mat found himself smiling. “I knew it!” he exclaimed. “You’re a bodyguard. You always were.” Selucia scowled. “What are you doing here, you fool?” “Oh, just going for a stroll,” Mat said, picking himself up and sheathing his knife. “The night air is said to be good for a fellow. The sea breeze. That sort of thing.” “Did you climb up here?” Selucia asked, glancing over the side of the balcony, as if looking for a rope or ladder. “What? You don’t climb up normally? It’s very good for the arms. Improves grip.” She gave him a suffering look, and Mat found himself grinning. If Selucia was on the lookout for assassins, then Tuon was probably all right. He nodded toward the crossbow, which was still leveled toward him. “Are you going to…” She paused, then sighed and lowered it. “Many thanks,” Mat said. “You could put a man’s eye out with that thing, and normally I wouldn’t mind, but I’m running short on eyes these days.” “What did you do?” Selucia asked dryly. “Go dicing with a bear?” “Selucia!” Mat said, walking past her to enter the rooms. “That was quite near to a joke. I should think that, with a little effort, we might be able to grow you a sense of humor. That would be so unexpected, we could put you in a menagerie and charge money to see you. ‘Come see the marvelous laughing so’jhin. Two coppers only, tonight…’ ” “You bet the eye on something, didn’t you?” Mat stumbled, pushing open the door. He chuckled. Light! That was strangely c...

“I don’t care if she has the Creator himself with her,” Mat snapped, walking back toward the balcony. “I’m going to go sit her down and explain some things to her.” Selucia followed and leaned against the doorway, raising a skeptical gaze to him. “Well, maybe I won’t sit her down, really,” Mat said, looking through the open screen at the gardens below. “But I will explain to her—logically—why she can’t just go wandering in the night like this. At least, I’ll mention it to her. Blood and bloody ashes. We really are high up, aren’t we?” “Normal people use stairs.” “Every soldier in the city is looking for me,” Mat said. “I think Galgan is trying to make me vanish.” Selucia pursed her lips. “You didn’t know about this?” Mat asked. She hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s not impossible that Galgan would be on the watch for you. The Prince of the Ravens would be competition, under normal circumstances. He is general of our armies, but that is a task often assigned to the Prince of the Ravens.” Prince of the Ravens. “Don’t bloody remind me,” Mat said. “I thought that was my title when I was married to the Daughter of the Nine Moons. It hasn’t changed at her elevation?” “No,” Selucia said. “Not yet.”

“For not bloody calling me Highness like Musenge and the others,” Mat muttered, entering the passage. He found a lantern hung on the wall, and lit it with his flint and tinder. Behind him, Selucia laughed. “If that bothers you, Cauthon, you have a very irritating life ahead of you. There is only one way to stop being the Prince of the Ravens, and that is to find your neck in a cord.” She closed the door to the wardrobe. What a pleasant woman she is, Mat thought. He almost preferred the days when she would not talk to him. Shaking his head, he started down the passage, realizing she had never told him exactly where it led.

“Thanks a bundle for this,” Mat muttered to Rand. “You’re such a bloody good friend.” “It’s good to see you too,” Rand said, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Here we go,” Mat said with a sigh. “You’ve pulled me into trouble again. You always do this.” “I do?” “Yes. In Rhuidean and the Waste, in the Stone of Tear… back in the Two Rivers. You do realize that I went south, instead of coming to your little party with Egwene in Merrilor, to escape?” “You think you could stay away from me?” Rand asked, smiling. “You really think it would let you?” “I could bloody try. No offense, Rand, but you’re going to go mad and all. I figured I’d give you one less friend nearby to kill. You know, save you some trouble. What did you do to your hand, by the way?”

“What did you do to your eye?” “A little accident with a corkscrew and thirteen angry innkeepers. The hand?” “Lost it capturing one of the Forsaken.” “Capturing?” Mat said. “You’re growing soft.” Rand snorted. “Tell me you’ve done better.” “I killed a gholam,” Mat said. “I freed Illian from Sammael.” “I married the Empress of the Seanchan.” “Mat,” Rand said, “are you really trying to get into a bragging contest with the Dragon Reborn?” He paused for a moment. “Besides, I cleansed saidin. I win.” “Ah, that’s not really worth much,” Mat said. “Not worth much? It’s the single most important event to happen since the Breaking.” “Bah. You and your Asha’man are already crazy,” Mat said, “so what does it matter?” He glanced to the side. “You look nice, by the way. You’ve been taking better care of yourself lately.” “So you do care,” Rand said.

“Tell me something, Empress,” Rand said. “What would you all have done if you’d returned to these shores and found Artur Hawkwing’s armies still ruling? What if we hadn’t forgotten our oaths, what if we had stayed true? What then?” “We would have welcomed you as brothers,” Tuon said. “Oh?” Rand said. “And you would have bowed to the throne here? Hawkwing’s throne? If his empire still stood, it would have been ruled over by his heir. Would you have tried to dominate them? Would you instead have accepted their rule over you?” “That is not the case,” Tuon said, but she seemed to find his words intriguing. “No, it is not,” Rand said.

“And there you are wrong,” Rand said, voice growing soft. “You accept me as the Dragon Reborn?” “You must be,” Tuon said slowly, as if wary of a trap. “Then you accept me for who I am,” Rand said, voice growing loud, crisp. Like a battle horn. “I am Lews Therin Telamon, the Dragon. I ruled these lands, unified, during the Age of Legends. I was leader of all the armies of the Light, I wore the Ring of Tamyrlin. I stood first among the Servants, highest of the Aes Sedai, and I could summon the Nine Rods of Dominion.” Rand stepped forward. “I held the loyalty and fealty of all seventeen Generals of Dawn’s Gate. Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag, my authority supersedes your own!”

“Do you deny my right?” Rand demanded. “Do you deny that my claim to this land precedes your own by thousands of years?” “I…” Tuon took a deep breath and stared at him defiantly. “You broke the land, abandoned it. I can deny your right.” Behind her, blossoms exploded onto the trees like fireworks, white and deep pink. The bursts of color surrounded them. Petals sprayed outward with their growth, breaking from the trees, catching in the wind and swirling through the clearing. “I allowed you to live,” Rand said to Tuon, “when I could have destroyed you in an instant. This is because you have made life better for those under your rule, though you are not without guilt for the way you have treated some. Your rule is as flimsy as paper. You hold this land together only through the strength of steel and damane, but your homeland burns. “I have not come here to destroy you. I come to you now to offer you peace, Empress. I have come without armies, I have come without force. I have come because I believe that you need me, as I need you.” Rand stepped forward and, remarkably, went down on one knee, bowing his head, his hand extended. “I extend my hand to you in alliance. The Last Battle is upon us. Join me, and fight.” The clearing fell still. The wind stopped blowing, the thunder stopped rumbling. Peach blossoms wafted to the now-green grass. Rand remained where he was, hand extended. Tuon stared at that hand as if at a viper. Mat hurried forward. “Nice trick,” he said under his b...

He followed, but stopped beside Rand. “Seems you have a bit of the Dark One’s luck yourself,” he muttered to Rand. “I can’t believe that worked.” “Honestly?” Rand said softly. “I can’t either. Thank you for the good word.” “Sure,” Mat said. “By the way, I saved Moiraine. Chew on that as you try to decide which of the two of us is winning.” Mat followed Tuon, and behind him rose the laughter of the Dragon Reborn.

“Moiraine calls me a fool for these attacks. She says that even a small risk to me is not worth what I accomplish.” “Moiraine is probably right,” Min said. “She often is. But I prefer you as the person who would do this. That is the person who can defeat the Dark One: the man who cannot sit and plan while others die.” Rand put his arm around her waist. Light, what would he have done without her? I’d have fallen, he thought. During the dark months… I’d have fallen for certain.

Lan patted Mandarb’s neck. “We’ll rest soon, my friend,” he said softly. “I promise.” Mandarb snorted in the darkness, and nearby, several of the other horses nickered. “We’ll make a home,” Lan said. “The Shadow defeated, Nynaeve and I will reclaim Malkier. We’ll make the fields bloom again, cleanse the lakes. Green pastures. No more Trollocs to fight. Children to ride on your back, old friend. You can spend your days in peace, eating apples and having your pick of mares.” It had been a very long time since Lan had thought of the future with anything resembling hope. Strange to find it now, in this place, in this war. He was a hard man. At times, he felt he had more in common with the rocks and the sand than he did with the men who laughed together beside the fire. That was what he’d made of himself. It was the person he’d needed to be, a person who could someday journey toward Malkier and uphold the honor of his family. Rand al’Thor had begun to crack that shell, and then Nynaeve’s love had ripped it apart completely. I wonder if Rand ever knew,

“Dai Shan,” he said, “are you worried about Lord Agelmar?” “In what regard?” “I worry that he’s pushing himself too hard,” Baldhere said. “Some of the choices he is making… they confuse me. It’s not that his battle decisions are bad. They simply strike me as too aggressive.” “It is war. I don’t know that one can be too aggressive in defeating one’s enemy.” Baldhere fell quiet for a time. “Of course. But did you notice the loss of Lord Yokata’s two cavalry squadrons?” “That was unfortunate, but mistakes do happen.” “This isn’t one that Lord Agelmar should have made. He’s been in situations like this before, Dai Shan. He should have seen.” It had happened during a recent raid against the Trollocs. The Asha’man had been setting fire to Fal Eisen and the surrounding countryside. At Agelmar’s orders, Yokata had taken his cavalry in a swing around a large hill to attack the right flank of the Trolloc army advancing on the Asha’man. Using a classic pincer movement, Agelmar was to send in more cavalry against the enemy’s left flank, and the Asha’man would turn to meet the Trollocs head-on. But the Shadow’s leaders had seen through the maneuver. Before Agelmar and the Asha’man could act, a large contingent of Trollocs had come over the hill to hit Yokata’s own right flank, while the remainder hit Yokata head-on, enveloping his cavalry. The cavalry had been killed to the last man. Immediately after, the Trollocs went after the Asha’man, who had barely been able to save themselves. “...

The first sign of the trap of the Great Captains.

“I saw it just as she did,” Bair was saying. “Though it was my own descendants who lent me their eyes. I think we will all see it now, if we return the third time. It should be required.” “Three visits?” Melaine said. “That brings change indeed. We still do not know if the second visit will show this, or the previous vision.”

“Egwene,” he said. “This does not fool me.” “What doesn’t?” He looked at her. “This is a fake. Please, it is all right. Tell me the truth. You made a copy and gave it to me.” “I did nothing of the sort,” she said. “Oh… Oh, Light.” Rand raised the seal again. “It’s a fake.” “What!” Egwene snatched it from his hand, feeling it. She sensed nothing wrong. “How can you be sure?” “I made them,” Rand said. “I know my handiwork. That is not one of the seals. It is… Light, someone took them.” “I’ve had these with me each moment since you gave them to me!” Egwene said. “Then it happened before,” Rand whispered. “I didn’t look them over carefully after I fetched them. He knew, somehow, where I’d put them.” Taking the other one from her, he shook his head. “It’s not real either.” He took the third. “Nor this one.” He looked at her. “He has them, Egwene. He’s stolen them back, somehow. The Dark One holds the keys to his own prison.”

“Black for his new station,” the woman said, clapping her hands once. “Green for his heritage. A deep forest, in moderation. Someone bring me a variety of eyepatches, and someone else burn that hat.” “What?” Mat exclaimed. Servants swarmed around him, picking at his clothing. “Wait, now. What is this?” “Your new regalia, Honored One,” the woman said. “I am Nata, and I will be your personal tailor.” “You aren’t burning my hat,” Mat said. “Try, and we’ll bloody well see if you can fly from four stories up. Do you understand me?” The woman hesitated. “Yes, Honored One. Do not burn his clothing. Keep it safe, should it be needed.” She seemed doubtful it ever would be.

“Burn me,” Mat said, lowering his arms to his side as the lacquering finished. “I’m a bloody nobleman.” He sighed, plucking his hat from the hands of a startled servant—who was walking past with his old clothing—and set it on his head. “Honored One,” Nata said. “Please forgive my forwardness, but it is my place to advise on fashion, if you please. That hat looks… particularly out of place with that uniform.” “Who cares?” Mat said, marching out of the room. He almost had to go out the door sideways! “If I’m going to look ridiculous, I might as well do it with style. Someone point me toward where our flaming generals are meeting. I need to figure out how many troops we have.”

“He will fight,” Amys said. “Enter the mountain, duel with Sightblinder. It will take as long as a fight needs to take. A few hours, perhaps? I have not seen a duel last much longer than that, even between two men of great skill.” “Let us assume,” Ituralde said with a smile, “that there is going to be more to it than a duel.” “I am not a fool, Rodel Ituralde,” Amys said coolly. “I doubt that the Car’a’carn’s fight will be one of spears and shields. However, when he cleansed the Source, did that not happen in the space of a single day? Perhaps this will be similar.” “Perhaps,” Ituralde said. “Perhaps not.” He lowered the glass and looked to the Aiel. “Which possibility would you rather plan for?” “The worst one,” Aviendha said. “So we plan to hold out as long as the Dragon needs,” Ituralde said. “Days, weeks, months… years? As long as it takes.”

Men or women could not know themselves, not truly, until they were strained to their absolute limit.

“Well, the greatest victory would be to take your enemy gai’shain.” “I doubt he would submit to that,” Rand said. “Don’t make jest,” she said, elbowing him in the side, earning a grunt. “This must be considered, Rand al’Thor. Which is the better way of ji’e’toh? Is imprisoning the Dark One like taking him gai’shain? If so, that would be the proper path.” “I’m not certain I care what is ‘proper’ this time, Aviendha.” “A warrior must always consider ji’e’toh,” she said sternly. “Have I taught you nothing? Do not speak like that, or you will shame me again before the other Wise Ones.” “I had hoped that—considering how our relationship has progressed—we would be through with the lectures, Aviendha.”