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

by Robert Jordan

Wherever he looked there was fighting, Aiel against Aiel, a thousand here, five thousand there, swarming over the treeless hills and too closely meshed for him to do anything.

If the Shaido got inside Cairhien, he would never drive them north. He would have to dig them out street by street; the cost in lives would dwarf the number of those already dead, and the city itself would end a ruin like Eianrod, if not Taien. Cairhienin and Shaido were mingled like ants in a bowl, but he had to do something.

How many of my own did I kill? The cold truth was that it did not matter. It had had to be done, and it was done.

He could feel that bolt in another way, feel the weaving of saidin that had made it. So Asmodean was tempted even back in the tents.

“I need you. Not for myself, you will understand. For Elayne. What is between her and me now is between her and me, but I will hand you to her. I will. If you die, I will carry your corpse to her! If you die—!”

“I’ve no intention of dying,” he told her, though in truth he was not sure of that at all.

Just thinking of seizing the Source again made him groan. Without the Void for buffer, he felt every ache, every bruise and scrape, to the fullest.

Jolien. One of those who first crossed the Dragonwall to search for He Who Comes With the Dawn. She had gone to the Stone of Tear for him. And now she was dead. For him.

He could still feel the lightning, or rather the residue of its making. Almost like the after-image burned into his eyes earlier, he could trace the weave, though it was fading. To his surprise, it led west, not back toward the tents. Not Asmodean, then. “Sammael.”

His lips peeled back in a snarl, and his voice was a harsh whisper. “Sammael!” He did not realize he had taken a step until Aviendha seized his arm.

“Whoever did this, why do you think he waited so long, until you must be tired? Because if he missed killing you, and you went after him, you would be easy meat. You can barely stand on your own!”

“You are needed here, Rand al’Thor. Here, Car’a’carn. Does your honor lie with killing this man, or here with those you have brought to this land?”

“I am not going after Sammael.” Not yet.

Did he ever think of anyone now except as to how useful they were? He should be able to keep them as safe as they had been atop the tower. Not that the tower had been very safe, as it turned out, but this time he would manage things better.

“If you cannot mount a horse any better than that, Rand al’Thor, maybe you should forget about riding at all for a while.”

“I noticed you mounting, too,” he said quietly. “Maybe you ought to stay here and help Sorilea until you feel better.” That shut her up, even if it did tighten her mouth sourly.

At least the Void shielded him from his own pain. Somewhat, anyway. And if Sammael tried to play games with him again . . .

Whatever Sammael did, he still had his own job to do.

He did not know for sure what time of day it was. Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, he thought, but the dark clouds had not thinned along with the rain, and they hid the sun where he was.

All that effort to find that the battle was shifting with him. He could not seem to get out of the center of the thing.

was a pea-brained fool for staying. Just because he had managed to keep the others alive this long did not mean he could keep it up.

The log tower should have been visible, poking above the trees, but he had not been able to find it in some time.

The lightning had to be Rand’s work, and all the rest of it as well. If I can get far enough that way . . .

Even if it was not the pull of ta’veren drawing him back, he would have a hard time leaving again once Moiraine found out.

Had Rand finally tipped over the edge of madness? Or maybe Aviendha had finally had enough of being forced to stay around him. Never upset a woman who could channel; that was a rule Mat seldom managed to follow, but he did try.

If Rand had not finally gone mad, and Aviendha or Egwene or one of the Wise Ones had not decided to be rid of him, then someone else was taking a hand in the day’s business.

He could add two twos without getting five. Sammael. So much for trying that way out; it was no way out of anything. Blood and bloody ashes! What has happened to my—?

“They will be on top of us before they see us.” “Wonderful.” Mat breathed. “That is just bloody wonderful.”

He knew what had to be done—it was catch or be caught again—but he did not have to like it.

Couladin, and heading east. If there was any way to step aside, the fellow would run headlong into Rand.

Mat realized that he was smoldering, and it had nothing to do with Couladin wanting to kill Rand.

wondering whether any minute it was going to turn into a personal fight between Rand and Sammael, the kind of fight that might kill everything within two or three miles.

None of it would be so without Couladin. A pity no one had killed the man years ago. He certainly gave excuses enough.

“Grace favor your sword, Mat. Or perhaps I should say your spear.” Then he was gone, too.

Talmanes gives praises when there are two moons, yet I heard him say aloud that he would follow wherever you led.

But you are young—under the Light, I mean no disrespect—and young men have hot blood.” “This rain will keep it cool if nothing else does.”

He wondered what they would say if they found out he was only a gambler following bits of memory from men ...

want a cry raised as soon as you stop the retreat. ‘Protect the Lord Dragon.’ ” This time Daerid laughed aloud.

If Couladin really was leading, if he thought Rand was with the pikes, if the pikes could hold until the horse arrived . . . A lot of ifs.

Mat could hear those dice rolling in his head again. This was the biggest gamble he had ever taken in his life.

Was it twice Sammael had attempted his life today, or three times? More? It seemed that he should be able to remember how often someone had tried to kill him.

Are you still so jealous of me, Tel Janin? When did I ever slight you, or give you one finger less than your due?

Not even for Ilyena? I would burn the world and use my soul for tinder to hear her laugh again.

Now, vagrant winds still brought distant shouts and screams. Because of Couladin, true, but at the heart of it, because of himself.

For a moment he could not remember his name. “Rand al’Thor,” he said aloud, and shivered, though his coat was damp with sweat.

“I am Rand al’Thor, and I need to . . . I...

it seemed that saidin was the only strength left in him. Saidin was there, filing at the edges of him, trying to erode or corrode his mind, but ready to be used.

With a jerky nod, he channeled, and something burned high in the sky. Something. A ball of bubbling blue flame that banished shadows in harsh light.

A faint sound came to him on a gust of wind. Cheering perhaps, or singing. Or maybe he was imagining things; it was so tiny, he could well have been, and it died with the wind.

“Have to find my people. They’re still out there, Sulin.” Why was the stallion not moving? “Can you hear them? Out there, in the night. Still fighting. I need to help them.”