The Fires of Heaven (The Wheel of Time, #5)

by Robert Jordan

“I am surprised you haven’t tried to snuggle him into your bed, Lanfear. Or would it be so easy? I seem to remember Lews Therin led you by the nose, not the other way around.

“You were so obsessed with him you’d have stretched out at his feet if he said ‘rug.’

“He may be Lews Therin reborn, but he is not Lews Therin himself.”

“But now he has Asmodean, weak ally as he is. And even before Asmodean, four of the Chosen have died confronting him.”

“How many of us will be alive when the Great Lord is freed at last? Four gone already. Will he come after you next, Sammael? You might like that. You could finally get rid of that scar if you defeated him.

“Ishamael tried to control him and failed, tried to kill him in the end and failed, but Ishamael tried bullying and fear, and bullying does not work with Rand al’Thor.”

“If we can present the Dragon Reborn kneeling to the Great Lord on the Day of Return, why share the honor—and the rewards—further than need be?

The Chosen had plotted among themselves for position up to the day Lews Therin had imprisoned them in sealing up the Great Lord’s prison, and they had begun again the day they were freed. He just had to be sure Lanfear’s plot did not disrupt his own plans.

It might well work. And if not . . . If not, he saw several ways to shape events to his advantage. This might work out very well indeed.

If she could bring Aes Sedai to Rand’s aid, it would be well worth the longer travel time.

But it was better to be the hunter than the hunted, however roughly it went. The Black Ajah had taught her that.

“I thought it was you, Elayne, but the hair put me off at first.” Nynaeve stared at Galad, Elayne’s half-brother.

It was not fair for a man to look like that.

Accomplishments meant nothing to him, perhaps because they came so easily.

“Is Egwene with you?” he went on. “No,” she replied, and he sighed deeply.

Gawyn was nearly unhinged with worry when she disappeared. He cares for her, too. Will you tell me where she is?” Nynaeve took note of that “too.” The man had become a Whitecloak, yet he “cared for” a woman who wanted to be Aes Sedai. Men were so strange they were hardly human sometimes.

She could have smacked him. If only he were not so good-looking.

“Surely you exaggerate, Elayne. He is your brother.” “He is not my brother!” Elayne drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Galad does what is right. Always. He never lies. Did you hear what he said to that Trom fellow? He didn’t say he did not know who we are. Every word he said was the truth. He does what is right, no matter who is hurt by it, even himself. Or me.

Whether the Prophet is really coming to Amadicia, the way rumor says he is, and whether the town fathers might relent and let that traveling menagerie put on a show.

men did show brains sometimes, usually when you least expected

The Power doesn’t make us invincible. All it will take is two arrows.”

Sometimes she thought the Creator had only made men to cause trouble for women.

TELL ME ABOUT IT

“Men always believe they are in control of everything around them,” Aviendha replied. “When they find out they are not, they think they have failed, instead of learning a simple truth women already know.”

Mat was studying, not just staring. Where had that remark about sentries come from? Mat said odd things at times now, since their first visit to Rhuidean.

Rand wondered if Mat knew the Maidens were laying bets on whether Melindhra would give up the spear for him. And on whether she would teach him to sing, too, though they only laughed when Rand asked what that meant.

When a woman says she will obey you, of her own will, it is time to sleep lightly and watch your back.”

am too tired for one of our discussions tonight.” That was what they called Asmodean’s lessons in public, even when no one was around.

I will see you in the morning. With the banner.” There was no one else to carry the bloody thing. Maybe he could find somebody in Cairhien.

“I trust you like a brother. Until the day you betray me.

You have a parole for what you’ve done, in return for your teaching, and a better bargain than you deserve, but the day you turn against me, I will tear it up and bury it with you.”

“That is me talking, Natael. Rand al’Thor. Two Rivers folk don’t like people who try ...

if he began to think that Rand was not in full control of his own mind, perhaps that he was going mad, the Forsaken would abandon him in a heartbeat, and there was too much Rand had to learn yet.

Channeling as he had done every night since leaving Rhuidean, he set wards around the entire encampment, not only what was in the pass but every tent in the hills below as well, and on the slopes of the mountains.

He needed the angreal to set wardings so large, but only just. He had thought that he was strong before, but Asmodean’s teachings were making him stronger. No human or animal crossing the line of that ward would notice anything, but Shadowspawn that touched it would sound a warning that everyone in the tents would hear. Had he done this in Rhuidean, the Darkhounds could never have entered without him knowing.

No need to bring his enemies down on him when they might not know where he was.

Letting go of saidin was an exercise in self-control, despite the foulness of the taint, despite the way the Power tried to scour him away like sand on a riverbed, to burn him, obliterate him.

He floated in the vast emptiness of the Void, yet he could feel the air stirring against each hair on his head, see the weave of the gai’shain’s robes, smell Aviendha’s warm scent.

He wanted more. But he could smell the ashes of Taien, too, smell the dead who had been burned, the corruption of those who had not, even the ones already buried...

For a while after saidin was gone, all he did was take deep breaths of hot, arid air; compared to before, the whiff of death seemed absent,...

He had carried a sword marked like that once. Suddenly he was ready to bet that this blade was like it, like the raven-marked blade on Mat’s spear, metal made with Power that would never break and never need sharpening.

Aviendha sniffed at him in perfect imitation of Egwene. Those two women were definitely spending too much time together.

At times she seemed to take great pleasure in discomfiting him. Had he been trying to pretend that he was Aiel, he would have thought she was trying to prove he was not.

You will not have an Aiel wife. You belong to Elayne.”

Sleep well and wake, Rand al’Thor.” Only an Aiel would wish you a good night by hoping you did not die in your sleep.

A friend. The Reyn came from the north. But she had had the necklace in Rhuidean. Why did he care?

and then he dreamed a confused dream of Min and Elayne helping him throw Aviendha, wearing nothing but that necklace, over his shoulder, while she beat him over the head with a wreath of segade blossoms.

Lying facedown on his blankets with his eyes closed, Mat luxuriated in the feel of Melindhra’s thumbs kneading their way down his spine. There was nothing quite as good as a massage after a long day in the saddle. Well, some things were, but right then, he was willing to settle for her thumbs.

Cute? Light! And short. Only Aiel could call him short.

He could remember being tall. Taller than Rand, when he rode against Artur Hawkwing. And a hand shorter than he was now when he fought beside Maecine against the Aelgari.