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

by Robert Jordan

“She’s out there,” Siuan said stubbornly. “Egwene will surprise us, Bryne. You watch.” “If I’m watching, it won’t be much of a surprise, will it?” Siuan grunted. “Fool man.” “You’re right,” he said solemnly. “On both counts. I think Egwene will surprise us. I’m also a fool.” “Bryne…”

“A man who thinks all day about the catch he missed because of stormy weather ends up wasting time when the sky is clear.”

‘If you do not learn from your losses, you will be ruled by them.’ I can’t see how I let this happen. I’ve trained better than this, prepared better than this! It’s not just a mistake I can ignore, Siuan. The Pattern itself is at stake.”

“So these are the new inacal,” the man said speculatively. “Do any of you know who I am?” The captives cringed before him. Though the Sharans had risen, the captives were smart enough to remain on the ground. None of them spoke. “I suspected not,” the man said. “Though one can never tell if one’s fame has spread unexpectedly. Tell me, if you know who I am. Speak it, and I will let you free.” No replies. “Well, you will listen and remember,” the man said. “I am Bao, the Wyld. I am your savior. I have crawled through the depths of sorrow and have risen up to accept my glory. I have come seeking what was taken from me. Remember that.” The captives cowered further, obviously uncertain what to do. Gawyn tugged on Egwene’s sleeve, motioning backward, but she did not move. There was something about that man… He looked up suddenly. He focused on the women channelers, then gazed about, peering into the darkness. “Do any of you inacal know the Dragon?” he asked, though he sounded distracted. “Speak up. Tell me.” “I did see him,” said one of the captive soldiers. “Several times.” “Did you speak with him?” Bao asked, strolling away from the captives. “No, great Lord,” the soldier said. “The Aes Sedai, they did speak with him. Not I.” “Yes. I worried you would be of no use,” Bao said. “Servants, we are being watched. You have not searched this camp as well as you claimed. I sense a woman nearby who can channel.”

Bao still had her chin cupped in his hand. “You are a beautiful thing,” he said. “Unfortunately, beauty is meaningless. You are to deliver a message for me, Aes Sedai, to Lews Therin. The one who calls himself the Dragon Reborn. Tell him that I have come to slay him, and in so doing, I will claim this world. I will take what originally should have been mine. Tell him that. Tell him you have seen me, and describe me to him. He will know me.

“Never mind,” she said. “You are skilled here in Tel’aran’rhiod. Much better than Lews Therin ever was. I always thought I would rule at his side, that only a man who could channel would be worthy of me. But the power you display here… I think I may accept it as a substitute.” Perrin grunted. Gaul had moved across the small clearing between the camp tents, spear raised, shoufa covering his face. Perrin waved him off. Not only was Lanfear likely to be much better with the wolf dream than Gaul, but she hadn’t done anything specifically threatening yet. “If you’ve been watching me,” Perrin said, “you’ll know that I’m married, quite happily.” “So I have seen.” “Then stop looking at me like a flank of beef hung up for display in the market,” Perrin growled. “What was Graendal doing here? What does she want?”

“Tell me how to do what Slayer does,” Perrin said, pushing her hand away. “How does he move between worlds?” “I cannot explain it to you,” she said, turning away, “as it is a skill I have never had to learn. I use other methods. Perhaps you can beat it out of him. I would be quick, assuming you wish to stop Graendal.” “Stop her?” Perrin said. “Didn’t you realize?” Lanfear turned back to him. “The dream she was invading was not one of the people from this camp—space and distance matter not to dreams. That dream you saw her invading… it belongs to Davram Bashere. Father of your wife.” With that, Lanfear vanished.

Rand smiled at the spark of humor in Thom’s eyes. They stood at the edge of time itself, and still Thom Merrilin found a smile. Above them, dark clouds spun, the peak of Shayol Ghul their axis. Darkness assaulted the sun until it was nearly gone, entirely covered, in total oblivion.

IT IS TIME. LET THE TASK BE UNDERTAKEN. The voice spoke with the inevitability of an earthquake, the words vibrating through him. More than sound in the air, far more, the words spoke as if from one soul to another. Moiraine gasped, eyes opening wide. Rand was not surprised. He had heard this voice once before, and he realized that he had been expecting it. Hoping for it, at least. “Thank you,” Rand whispered, then stepped forward into the Dark One’s realm, leaving footprints of blood behind.

“I am supposed to reassure you,” Elayne shouted to the men. “But I cannot! I will not tell you that the land will survive, that the Light will prevail. Doing so would remove responsibility. “This is our duty! Our blood that will be spilled this day. We have come here to fight. If we do not, then the land will die! The Light will fall to the Shadow. This is not a day for empty promises. Our blood! Our blood is the fire within us. Today, our blood must drive us to defeat the Shadow.”

The figure stood and turned, Moridin’s now-familiar face reflecting Callandor’s glow. Beside him on the ground lay a husk. Rand could explain it no other way. It was like the shell some insects leave behind when they grow, only it was in the shape of a man. A man with no eyes. One of the Myrddraal? Moridin looked to the husk, following Rand’s gaze. “A vessel my master needed no longer,” Moridin said. Saa floated in the whites of his eyes, bouncing, shaking, moving with crazed vigor. “It gave birth to what is behind me.” “There is nothing behind you.” Moridin raised his sword before his face in a salute. “Exactly.” Those eyes were nearly completely black.

“You could step aside,” Rand said, raising Callandor, the glow of its light shifting off Moridin’s black steel sword. “If my victory is not assured, neither is your fall. Let me pass. For once, make the choice you know you should.” Moridin laughed. “Now? Now you beg me to return to the Light? I have been promised oblivion. Finally, nothing, a destruction of my entire being. An end. You will not steal that from me, Lews Therin! By my grave, you will not!” Moridin came forward swinging.

“You said that people will see the truth,” Egwene said. “If your way of life is strong, your ideals true, then people will see them for what they are. If they don’t, you shouldn’t force them. Let any who wish to be free go free, and I’ll let your people speak in Tar Valon. Light! I’ll give them room and free board, and I’ll see the same done in every city!”

“We will have many words about this tonight, Knotai,” Fortuona said. “I love words,” Mat said. “There are some deliciously pretty words out there. ‘Smile.’ That’s always sounded like a pretty word to me. Don’t you think? Or, perhaps, the words ‘I promise not to kill Egwene right now for trying to touch me, the Empress, may I live forever, because we really bloody need her for the next couple of weeks or so.’ ” He eyed Fortuona pointedly.

“I don’t know how you fell into this,” Egwene said under her breath to Mat. “I don’t want to know. I’ll do what I can to help free you, once we are done fighting.” “That’s kind of you, Egwene,” Mat said. “But I can handle this on my own.” He rushed off after Fortuona. That was what he always said. She’d find some way to help him. She shook her head, returning to where Gawyn waited for her. Leilwin had declined to come, though Egwene would have expected her to enjoy seeing some of those from her homeland.

“Annah, go beg that Imperial monster of a Seanchan leader if she’d be ever so kind as to lend us some of her bloody cavalry.” “Shall I phrase it exactly that way?” Annah asked, saluting, a smile on her lips. “If you do, girl, I’ll throw you off a cliff and let Yukiri Sedai test a few of her new falling weaves on you. Go!”

“Who is this one, Knotai?” Fortuona asked, curious. “She thinks herself high.” “Oh, well,” Mat said idly, “she’s just the Dragon Reborn’s woman.” Catrona, who at the side of the room had bowed herself to the ground, made a strangled sound. She looked up at Min with bulging eyes. Light, Min thought. She probably thinks she’s offended me or something. “How curious,” Fortuona said. “That would make her your equal, Knotai. Of course, you seem to have forgotten to bow again.” “My father would be mortified,” Mat said. “He always did pride himself on my memory.” “You embarrass me in public again.” “Only as much as I embarrass myself.” He smiled, then hesitated, as if thinking through those words a second time. The Empress smiled as well, though she looked distinctly predatory. She moved into the room, and the people rose, so Min climbed to her feet. Mat immediately began to push her toward the door.

Loial fought on. This song was not a song of victory. It was a song of life. Loial did not intend to die here on this hillside. By the Light, he had a book to finish before he went!

“How did you retain those?” Captain-General Galgan asked. “I was under the impression that your clothing had been burned, Raven Prince.” Galgan looked very silly with that one strip of white hair on his head, but Mat did not mention this. It was the Seanchan way. Folk could be funny, but he didn’t doubt Galgan could handle himself in a battle, however he looked. “These?” Mat said, gesturing to his coat and shirt. “I really have no idea. They were just down there. I’m completely baffled.” He had been very pleased to learn that Seanchan guards—for all their stoic expressions and too-straight backs—responded to bribes like other people.

Mat turned to her. “You realize that if Rand were here, he’d probably ask you to stay.” Min glared at him. “It’s just the truth, Min. The bloody truth. I was there when Rand brought them to his side, and I can tell you, he was worried. The Seanchan and Aes Sedai don’t get along too well, if you hadn’t noticed.” “That’s about as obvious as your pride is, Mat.” “Ouch. Here I’m trying to help. I tell you, Min. How much relief do you think it would bring Rand if he knew that someone he trusted had Tuon’s ear, someone who could nudge her to play nicely with the Aes Sedai by giving the right ‘omens’ at the right time? Of course, you could be back at the camp hauling water and running messages. I’m sure that would be just as helpful as you would be keeping an eye on a foreign monarch and encouraging her to trust and respect the Dragon Reborn, building a bridge of friendship between her and the rest of the nations.” Min stood silently for a moment. “I hate you, bloody Mat Cauthon.” “That’s the spirit,” Mat said, raising a hand to greet Tuon. “Now, let’s see which of my limbs she cuts off for throwing away her fancy clothing.” Too bad about that. Nice embroidery on that robe. A man needed a little embroidery to keep him refined. Still, he was not about to wear that heap of cloth into battle. He would have better luck trying to fight while carrying Pips on his back.

“Greatest One,” Courtani said. She was of the High Blood, and could address Tuon directly. “May you always draw breath. The Raven Prince has determined that he himself must visit the battlefield, as he has judged our messengers and generals to be lacking skill.” Mat hooked his thumbs into his belt, regarding Tuon, as a groom finally arrived with Pips. About bloody time. Had the boy stopped for lunch along the way, perhaps taken in a gleeman performance or two? “Well, why are we waiting?” Tuon asked. “If the Prince of the Ravens wishes to see the battlefield, I would think that loyal servants of the Empire would have tripped over themselves in their haste to carry him there.” Courtani looked as if she had been slapped. Mat grinned at Tuon, and she favored him with a smile. Light, but he liked those smiles. “So, you’re coming along, then?” he asked Tuon. “Of course. You see a reason why I should not?” “Not a one,” Mat said, groaning inside. “Not a single bloody one.”

“He seems to be yelling for the Dragon Reborn,” Galgan said. Demandred’s voice boomed across the battlefield right then, enhanced by the One Power. He was demanding that the Dragon come and face him in a duel. Mat inspected the fellow through the glass. “Demandred, eh? Has he gone a bit dotty, or what?”

Mat cried out, “Los caba’drin!” Words most of those assembled did not understand, and yet instinctively knew to mean “Horsemen forward!”

Spears thrown by lead riders with deadly accuracy plunged into the visors of the Sharans, a surprising number of which went through the slits and into faces.

Little flourishes like this show the true extent of Mat's luck.

Mat shook his hand; he had cracked one of his nails, splitting the fine lacquer. He turned to a Seanchan officer, one of those who had fought alongside him. The man wore an expression of awe, as if he were staring at the Dragon bloody Reborn himself. Mat looked down at the ground, not liking the man’s expression, but he supposed it wasn’t any worse than looking at the blood-soaked muck littered with Sharan corpses. How many had Mat killed? “Highness…” the officer said. “Great Lord, no man in the Empire’s service would ever dare question the Empress, may she live forever. But if a man had wondered about some of her choices, he would do so no longer. Prince of the Ravens!” He raised his sword, prompting a cheer from those behind.

There was also an ache of fatigue inside him, growing stronger. He didn’t know if he could sleep in this place. His body wanted rest, but had forgotten how to find it. It reminded him a little of when Moiraine had dispelled their fatigue while fleeing the Two Rivers all that time ago. Two years now. A very long two years.

“My blood and yours,” Rand said. “I have you to thank for this wound in my side, Elan. You thought you were the Dark One, didn’t you? Has he punished you for that?” “Yes,” Moridin snarled. “He returned me to life.”

“Three thousand years ago the Lord Dragon created Dragonmount to hide his shame. His rage still burns hot. Today… I bring it to you, Your Majesty.”

Something exploded out of the gateway, as if pushed by an incredible force. A column of lava a hundred feet in diameter, blazing hot. The column broke apart as the lava crashed down, splashing to the battlefield, gushing forward in a river. The Asha’man outside the circle used weaves of Air to keep it from splashing back on the circle and to shepherd it in the right direction. The river of fire washed through the foremost Trolloc ranks, consuming them, destroying hundreds in an eyeblink. The lava was under pressure on the other side; that was the only way she could explain the force with which it sprayed from the enormous gateway, turning Trollocs into cinders, burning a large swath through their army. Androl held the gateway for long minutes as the Shadow’s army pulled back. Asha’man to the sides used gusts of wind to blow the Shadowspawn back into the ever-widening river. By the time Androl finished, he had created a barrier of red-hot death between Elayne’s army and the bulk of the Trollocs, whose backs were against the northern walls of Cairhien. Androl took a breath, closed the gateway, then pivoted and made two others in quick succession, one pointing southeast, the other southwest.

Androl let the gateway close. He slumped, but Pevara caught him. “One miracle, my Lord,” Androl said, voice soft, as if strained. “Delivered as requested. That should hold them back for a few hours. Long enough?”

Burn these headaches, he thought. And burn those Trollocs. Three times, he had nearly given the order to send his armies in with a direct assault, abandoning the square formations. He could imagine them slaughtering, killing. No more delaying. He wanted blood. Each time, he’d stopped himself. They weren’t here for blood, they were here to hold. To give that man the time he needed in the cavern. That was what it was all about… wasn’t it? Why did he have so much trouble remembering that lately?

“This will change the world,” General Galgan said. “Messengers can respond instantly; commanders can watch their battles and plan in the moment.” Mat grunted in agreement. “I’ll bet it still takes all bloody evening to get dinner from the mess tent, though.” Galgan actually smiled. It was like seeing a boulder crack in half.

However, Faile could not help thinking that somewhere, the Creator was grinning at her. She had left home with her head full of arrogant dreams, a child thinking herself on a grand quest to find the Horn. Life had knocked those out from under her, leaving her to haul herself back up. She had grown up, had started paying mind to what was really important. And now… now the Pattern, with almost casual indifference, dropped the Horn of Valere into her lap.

“So,” he said into it. “This is where it will really happen. Moridin would have had me believe that a simple sword fight would decide this all.” HE IS OF ME. BUT HIS EYES ARE SMALL. “Yes,” Rand said. “I have noticed the same.” SMALL TOOLS CAN BE EFFECTIVE. THE THINNEST OF KNIVES CAN STOP A HEART. HE HAS BROUGHT YOU HERE, ADVERSARY. None of this had happened the last time, when Rand had worn the name of Lews Therin. He could only interpret that as a good sign. Now the battle truly began. He looked into the nothingness and felt it welling up. Then, like a sudden storm, the Dark One brought all of his force against Rand.

This is the thread that makes me love the way this series ends.

“Child, I couldn’t light a candle. I was burned out in an accident. I haven’t held the One Power in over twenty-five years.”

Ahead, over a dozen siswai’aman were rushing the position of two red-veils, both channelers. The red-veils cast up the earth beneath the attackers, sending bodies flying. Aviendha understood why the Aiel kept going. These red-veils were an affront, a crime. The Seanchan, who would dare take Wise Ones captive, were not as disgusting as these. Somehow, the Shadow had taken the bravest of the Aiel and made them into these… these things.

“There are accounts in the archives that explain what we saw.” Cadsuane picked up her cup of tea to warm her hands. The Aiel girl, Aviendha, sat on the floor of the tent. What I wouldn’t give to have that one in the Tower, Cadsuane thought. These Wise Ones… they had fight to them. Real bite, like the best of the women in the White Tower. Cadsuane was increasingly convinced that the Shadow for years had been carrying out a complex plan to undermine the White Tower. It went deeper than Siuan Sanche’s unfortunate unseating and Elaida’s reign. It might be decades, centuries, before they understood the extent of the Shadow’s planning. However, the sheer number of Black sisters—hundreds, not the few dozen Cadsuane had guessed—shouted of what had happened. For now, Cadsuane had to work with what she had. That included these Wise Ones, poorly trained in using weaves but never lacking in grit. Useful. Like Sorilea, despite her weakness in the One Power, who sat farther back in the tent, watching. “I have made some inquiries, child,” Cadsuane said to Aviendha. “What this woman does is indeed Traveling. However, the only fragments of documents mentioning it date back to the War of Power.”

Something was wrong with Rand. Nynaeve clutched the stalagmite deep within the Pit of Doom, holding herself from being pulled by the winds into that nothingness in front of her. Moiraine had called it the Dark One’s essence, but wouldn’t that make it the True Power? Worse, if his essence was in the world, wouldn’t that mean that he had broken free? Whatever it was, its nature was pure evil, and it filled Nynaeve with a terror like none she had ever felt before in her life. It pulled with a powerful force, drawing all that was nearby into it. She feared that if she let go, she would be yanked in. Already, it had stolen her shawl, making it vanish. If that nothingness pulled her in, her life would end. Perhaps her soul as well. Rand! Nynaeve thought. Could she do something to help him? He stood before Moridin, the two of them locked together, sword against sword. Frozen as if in a moment. Sweat trickled down Rand’s face. He did not speak. He didn’t so much as blink. His foot had touched the darkness. At that moment, he had frozen, and so had Moridin. They were like statues. The air howled around them, but did not seem to affect them as it did Nynaeve. They’d been standing like that, frozen, for a good fifteen minutes. All in all, it had been less than an hour since the group of them had entered the pit to face the Dark One.

“Have you found it yet?” he asked softly. “No,” Egwene said, eyes forward. No need to mention what it was. “How could you have lost the thing? After all the work we bloody went through to find it?” “We? From the telling I hear, Rand, Loial and the Borderlanders had far more to do with finding it than you.” “I was there,” Mat said. “I rode across the entire bloody continent, didn’t I? Burn me, first Rand, then you. Is everybody going to chivvy me about those days? Gawyn, you want a turn?” “Yes, please.” He sounded eager. “Shut up,” Mat said. “It seems that nobody can remember straight but me. I hunted down that bloody Horn like a madman. And, I’ll mention, it was me blowing the thing that let you all escape Falme.”

Dawn broke that morning on Polov Heights, but the sun did not shine on the Defenders of the Light. Out of the west and out of the north came the armies of Darkness, to win this one last battle and cast a Shadow across the earth; to usher in an Age where the wails of suffering would go unheard. — from the notebook of Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, the Fourth Age

“Thanks,” Mat said. “I want you away from the command post. I’ll tell you what I’m doing. If something goes wrong, you’ll have to pick another general, all right?” “Mat,” Elayne said, “if you think there’s a spy—” “I know there’s a spy,” Mat said, “and so I’m going to use the fellow. It’s going to work. Trust me.” “Yes, and you’re so confident that you’ve already made a backup plan in case you fail.” He ignored that, nodding to Birgitte. She looked around them idly, watching for anyone who tried to draw too close. “How good are you at cards, Elayne?” Mat asked. “At… Mat, this isn’t the time for gambling.” “It’s the exact time for gambling. Elayne, do you see how badly we’re outnumbered? Do you feel the ground when Demandred attacks? We’re lucky he didn’t decide to Travel directly to the command post here and attack us—I suspect he’s afraid that Rand is hiding here somewhere, and he’ll get ambushed. But blood and bloody ashes, he’s strong. Without a gamble, we’re dead. Finished. Buried.” She grew silent. “Here’s the thing about cards,” Mat said, holding up a finger. “Cards aren’t like dice. In dice, you want to win as many throws as possible. Lots of throws, lots of wins. It’s random, see? But not cards. In cards, you need to make the other fellows start betting. Betting well. You do that by letting them win a little. Or a lot. “That’s not so hard here, since we’re outnumbered and overwhelmed. The only way to win is to bet everything on the right hand. In cards, you can los...

Rand suffered it. The crushing pressure, the noise of destruction. He weathered it on his knees, fingers taut like claws, sweat streaming from his brow. He suffered it and looked up. “That is all you have?” Rand growled. I WILL WIN. “You made me strong,” Rand said, voice ragged. “Each time you or your minions tried to destroy me, your failure was like the blacksmith’s hammer beating against metal. This attempt…” Rand took a deep breath. “This attempt of yours is nothing. I will not break.” YOU MISTAKE. THIS IS NOT AN ATTEMPT TO DESTROY YOU. THIS IS PREPARATION. “For what?” TO SHOW YOU TRUTH.

Nynaeve laughed. “Ridiculous. A tale for children. The Great Lord has always ruled.” Rand could see it. His connection to the Pattern, the glimmering of half-truths and shadowed ways. This possibility… it could happen. It was one path the world could take. The Dark One, here, had won the Last Battle and broken the Wheel of Time. That had allowed him to remake it, to spin the pattern in a new way. Everyone alive had forgotten the past, and now knew only what the Dark One had inserted in their minds. Rand could read the truth, the history of this place, in the threads of the Pattern he had touched earlier. Nynaeve, Egwene, Logain and Cadsuane were now members of the Forsaken, Turned to the Shadow against their will. Moiraine had been executed for being too weak. Elayne, Min, Aviendha… they had been given over to torture, endlessly, at Shayol Ghul. The world was a living nightmare. Each member of the Forsaken ruled as a despot over their own little section of the world. An endless autumn played out as they threw armies, Dreadlords, and factions against one another. An eternal battle. The Blight had extended to every ocean. Seanchan was no more, ruined and scorched until not even rats and crows could survive there. Anyone who could channel was discovered as a youth and Turned. The Dark One did not like the risk that someone would bring hope back to the world. And nobody ever would. Rand screamed as the thirteen began to channel.

Oh, Light! she thought. Gawyn… What are you doing?

Something hit him. He gasped, falling to his knees. He looked up, and someone beautiful stepped through the storm to inspect him. She had wonderful eyes, though the two were offset from one another. He’d never before realized how horribly balanced everyone else’s eyes were. Thinking of it nauseated him. And all other women had too much hair on their heads. This creature, with thinning hair, was far more marvelous. She neared, wonderful, amazing. Incredible. She touched his chin as he knelt on the ground, and her fingertips were as soft as clouds. “Yes, you’ll do,” she said. “Come, my pet. Join the others.” She gestured toward a group following her. Several Wise Ones, a pair of Aes Sedai, a man with a spear. Rhuarc growled. Would this man try to take the affection of his beloved? He would kill the man for that. He would— His mistress chuckled. “And Moridin thinks this face a punishment. Well, you don’t care what face I wear, do you, my pet?” Her voice grew softer, and at the same time harsher. “When I’m through, nobody will. Moridin himself will praise my beauty, for he will see through eyes that I grant him. Just like you, pet. Just like you.” She patted Rhuarc. He joined her and the others and moved through the valley, leaving behind the men he had called brothers.

An elite group of Two Rivers men, armed with the new firing sticks men were calling rifles, served with the Aiel in their peacekeeping campaigns in Shara. It was the only place war was known in the world. Oh, there were disputes here and there. The flare up between Murandy and Tear five years back had nearly given the land its first real war in the century since the Last Battle.

The “flare-up” in Murandy had been dynamic by Fourth Age standards, but in truth it had been nothing. A single disgruntled nobleman had fired on an Aiel patrol. Three wounded, none dead, and this was the worst “fighting” in years, outside of the Sharan campaigns.

YOUR PARADISE IS FLAWED, ADVERSARY. Darkness hung in a mirror to Rand’s right. It reflected not the hallway, but instead HIS presence. YOU THINK YOU CAN ELIMINATE SUFFERING? EVEN IF YOU WIN, YOU WILL NOT. ON THOSE PERFECT STREETS, MEN ARE STILL MURDERED AT NIGHT. CHILDREN GO HUNGRY DESPITE THE EFFORTS OF YOUR MINIONS. THE WEALTHY EXPLOIT AND CORRUPT; THEY MERELY DO SO QUIETLY. “It is better,” Rand whispered. “It is good.” IT IS NOT ENOUGH, AND WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH. YOUR DREAM IS FLAWED. YOUR DREAM IS A LIE. I AM THE ONLY HONESTY YOUR WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN.

“You’re not asking me to guess the mind of Matrim Cauthon, are you?” Elayne asked. “I’m convinced that Mat only acts simple so that people will let him get away with more.”

Demandred knew how to gamble. Mat could sense it through the movements of troops. Mat was playing against one of the best who had ever lived, and the stake this time was not wealth. They diced for the lives of men, and the final prize was the world itself. Blood and bloody ashes, but that excited him. He did feel guilty about that, but it was exciting.