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

by Robert Jordan

“The first thing I remember now is waking up to you and Nynaeve,” Birgitte said softly. “I can remember our conversations about being in the World of Dreams, but I cannot remember the place itself. It’s all slipped away from me, like water between my fingers.” “Oh, Birgitte…” The woman shrugged. “I can’t miss what I don’t remember.” The pain in her voice belied the words.

“Sister,” Galad said. “I assume that it would be completely futile to inform you how inappropriate it is for a woman in your condition to be on the battlefield.” “If we lose this war, Galad, my children will be born into captivity to the Dark One, if they are born at all. I think fighting is worth the risk.”

Galad turned the sheet of paper over, apparently noticing something. Written on the back in a hastier scrawl was, p.s. In case you don’t know what “Do what needs to be done” means, it means that I want you to go bloody slaughter as many of those Sharan channelers as you can. I’ll bet you a full Tar Valon mark—it’s only been shaved on the sides a little—that you can’t kill twenty. —MC

“You can do it, then?” Elayne asked. “Kill women?” “Perhaps once I would have hesitated,” Galad said, “but that would have been the wrong choice. Women are as fully capable of being evil as men. Why should one hesitate to kill one, but not the other? The Light does not judge one based on gender, but on the merit of the heart.” “Interesting.” “What is interesting?” Galad asked. “You actually said something that doesn’t make me want to strangle you. Perhaps there is hope for you someday, Galad Damodred.”

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.

“Logain!” Mat said. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re fighting a bloody war here.” “It is not my war.” “This is our war,” Mat snapped. “Every one of us.” “I stood forth to fight,” Logain said. “And what was my reward? Ask the Red Ajah. They will tell you the reward of a man abused of the Pattern.” He barked a laugh. “The Pattern demanded a Dragon! And so I came! Too soon. Just a little too soon.” “Listen here,” Mat said, stepping up to Logain. “You’re angry because you didn’t get to be the Dragon?” “Nothing so petty,” Logain said. “I follow the Lord Dragon. Let him die. I wish no part of that feast. I and mine should be with him, not fighting here. This battle for the little lives of men is nothing compared to the battle happening at Shayol Ghul.” “And yet, you know we need you here,” Mat said. “You would already be gone, otherwise.”

“Glory of men…” Min whispered. “It’s still to come.”

“That,” a woman said nearby, a sound of utter distaste in her tone, “is something I’m not supposed to know how to do, but stopping someone’s heart with the One Power is quiet. It requires very little Power, surprisingly, which is pertinent to me.” “Siuan!” Min said. “You’re not supposed to be here.” “Lucky for you I am,” Siuan said with a snort, inspecting the body, staying low. “Bah. Nasty business that, but if you’re going to eat a fish, you should be willing to gut it yourself. What’s wrong, girl? You’re safe now. No need to look so pale.” “You’re not supposed to be here!” Min said. “I told you. Stay near Gareth Bryne!” “I did stay near him, almost near as his own smallclothes, I’ll have you know. We saved one another’s lives because of it, so I guess the viewing was right. Are they ever wrong?” “No, I’ve told you that,” Min whispered. “Never. Siuan … I saw an aura around Bryne that meant you had to stay together, or the two of you would die. It hangs above you, right now. Whatever you think you did, the viewing has not been accomplished yet. It’s still there.”

Min met him. “Siuan is here, too. She—” Mat pointed. Siuan lay on the floor of the building. Her eyes stared sightlessly, and all the images were gone from above her.

Farewell, Siuan, Min thought, looking back as Guards ushered her away from the fighting below Dashar Knob. May the Creator shelter your soul. She would send word to others to protect Bryne, but she knew—deep down—it would be futile. He would have gone into a vengeful rage the moment Siuan died, and discounting that, there was the viewing. She was never wrong. Sometimes, Min hated her accuracy. But she was never wrong.

Demandred ignored the messengers for the moment. He flew upon the wings of a falcon, inspecting the battle through the bird’s eyes. Ravens were better, but each time he tried using one of those, one Borderlander or another shot it down. Of all the customs to remember through the Ages, why did it have to be that one?

Demandred turned to the side. Before him bowed three women in black with white ribbons. Next to them, Shendla. Shendla. He had thought himself long past caring for a woman again—how could affection thrive beside the burning passion that was his hatred for Lews Therin? And yet, Shendla … Devious, capable, powerful. Almost, it was enough to change his heart.

During the War of Power, the only thing that Demandred had ever done better than his friend was as a battle general. It stung to admit that, but he would no longer hide from that truth. Lews Therin had been stronger in the One Power. Lews Therin had been better at capturing the hearts of men. Lews Therin had taken Ilyena. But Demandred … Demandred had been better at war. Lews Therin had never been able to correctly balance caution and boldness. The man would hold back and deliberate, worrying over his decisions, until boiling forward in a reckless military action.

“You will listen to me, M’Hael,” Demandred said softly. “I am not as the other Chosen. I do not care one whit for your political games. I don’t care which of you the Great Lord favors, which of you Moridin pats on the head. I care only for Lews Therin. “This is my fight. You are mine. I brought you to the Shadow, and I can destroy you. If you interfere with what I do here, I will snuff you out like a candle. I realize you think yourself strong, with your stolen Dreadlords and untrained channelers. You are a child, an infant. Take your men, create what chaos you wish, but stay out of my way. And stay away from my prize. The enemy general is mine.”

They moved at a brisk pace along the back lines of the Shadow’s army on the Heights. Trollocs hauled bundles of arrows forward; others left the lines to feast on piles of corpses. Cookpots boiled here. That shocked Pevara. They were stopping to eat? Now? Only some of them, Androl sent. It’s common for human armies too, though these moments don’t make it into the ballads. The fighting has lasted all day, and soldiers need energy while fighting. Usually, you rotate in three batches. Your front lines, your reserves, and your off-duty—troops who will trudge away from the fight and eat as quickly as they can before grabbing a little sleep. Then back to the front lines. She’d once seen war differently. She’d imagined every man committed every moment of the day. A true battle, however, was not a sprint; it was an extended, soul-grinding trudge.

I thought we had decided I was in charge, she thought to him. No, he replied, I thought that we’d decided you would act like you were in charge. She sent back a calculated mix of cold displeasure and an implication that the conversation was not yet finished. Androl sent back amusement. Did you … just glare at me mentally?

Galad stood up. “It is what must be done, Child Golever.” “I wish it had to be done more often! This is what the Children have awaited for centuries. You are the first to deliver it. The Light illumine you, Galad Damodred. The Light illumine you!” “May the Light illumine a day when men need not kill at all,” Galad said tiredly. “It is not fitting to take joy in death.”

Alhanra,

Galad found himself in a very cold place. He had seen men die, he had lost friends. This hurt more. Light, but it did. He had loved his brother, loved him deeply—and Gawyn, unlike Elayne, had returned the sentiment. “I will bring you to safety, Gawyn,” Galad said, picking him up, shocked to find tears in his eyes. “I will not be left without a brother.” Gawyn coughed. “You won’t be. You have another brother, Galad. One you do not know. A son of … Tigraine … who went into the Waste … Son of a Maiden. Born on Dragonmount.…” Oh, Light. “Don’t hate him, Galad,” Gawyn whispered. “I always hated him, but I stopped. I … stopped…” Gawyn’s eyes stopped moving. Galad felt for a pulse, then sat back, looking down at his dead brother.

Gawyn’s thread of life vanished. Egwene lurched to a stop on the battlefield. Something severed within her. It was as if a knife suddenly tore into her and scooped out the piece of Gawyn inside, leaving only emptiness. She screamed, falling to her knees. No. No, it couldn’t be. She could feel him, just ahead! She’d been running for him. She could … She could … He was gone.

Deoan—

Darbinda

WHAT I SHOWED BEFORE IS WHAT MEN EXPECT. IT IS THE EVIL THEY THINK THEY FIGHT. BUT I WILL MAKE A WORLD WHERE THERE IS NOT GOOD OR EVIL. THERE IS ONLY ME. “Do your servants know?” Rand whispered. “The ones you name Chosen? They think they fight to become lords and rulers over a world of their own making. Instead you will give them this. The same world … except one without Light.” THERE IS ONLY ME. No Light. No love of men. The horror of it sank deep within Rand, shaking him. This was one of the possibilities that the Dark One could choose, if he won. It didn’t mean he would, or that it had to happen, but … oh Light, this was terrible. Far more terrible than a world of captives, far more terrible than a dark land with a broken landscape. This was true horror. This was a full corruption of the world, it was taking everything beautiful from it, leaving behind only a husk.

In a short time it was done. Tam had held. Nearby, a black horse trotted up. Its rider, Lan Mandragoran—with standard-bearer and guards behind—looked over the Two Rivers men. “I had long wondered,” Lan said to Tam. “About the man who had given Rand that heron-marked blade. I wondered if he had truly earned it. Now I know.” Lan raised his own sword in salute.

“Pardon, my Lady First, but who are all of these people?” “The refugees from Caemlyn,” Berelain said. “I sent some people to see if they needed Healing. They refused it, and insisted that I bring them to the battle.” Tam scratched at his head. To the battle? Any man—and many women—who could hold a sword had already been drawn into the army. The people he saw coming through the gateways were mostly children and the elderly, and some matrons who had remained back to care for the young. “Pardon,” Tam said, “but this is a killing field.” “So I tried to explain,” Berelain said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. “They claim they can be of use. Better than waiting out the Last Battle huddled together on the road to Whitebridge, so they say.”

Women and children began to pick arrows out from among the fallen. That would be helpful. Very helpful. With surprise, Tam saw hundreds of Tinkers pour out of one gateway. They went searching for the wounded under the direction of several Yellow sisters.

Elayne touched Gareth Bryne’s cheek softly. She closed his eyes, one, then the other, before nodding to the soldiers who had found his body. They carried Bryne away, legs dangling over the edge of his shield, head hanging down on the other side. “He just went riding off, screaming,” Birgitte said. “Right into the enemy lines. There was no stopping him.” “Siuan is dead,” Elayne said, feeling an almost overpowering sense of loss.

Celebrain,

“If Mat has fallen—Light send that isn’t the case—then we’ll need to set up a new command post. There’s a reason Demandred struck at Dashar Knob and then directly at you. He’s trying to destroy our command structure. Your duty is to assume command from someplace safe and secret. Once we’re far enough away that Demandred’s scouts can’t sense you channeling, we’ll make a gateway and you will be back in control. Right now though, Elayne, you need to shut your mouth and let me protect you.”

“Face me, Lews Therin!” The thunder of Demandred’s shout shook the ground from up ahead. He had taken Galad’s brother. Now the monster hunted Galad’s sister. The right thing had always seemed clear to Galad before, but never had it felt as right as this. Those streaks of light were like indicators on a map, arrows pointing his way.

“Demandred!” Galad yelled. “Demandred, you call for the Dragon Reborn! You demand to fight him! He is not here, but his brother is! Will you stand against me?” Dozens of crossbows were raised. Behind Galad, his horse collapsed, expelling a bloody froth from its nostrils. Rand al’Thor. His brother. The shock of Gawyn’s death had numbed Galad to this revelation. He would have to deal with it eventually, if he survived. He still did not know if he would be proud or ashamed.

“They dug into my bloody mind,” Bashere said, scowling. “That they did, man. Deira and I talked it over. I’m not going to lead, but why should that stop me from killing a few Trollocs?”

“Honored One,” Karede said, “I and mine are ordered to—” “To go die on the front lines. I’m bloody working on that, Karede. Keep your sword out of your own gut for the moment, kindly.” The man’s expression darkened, but he held his tongue. “She doesn’t really want you dead, you realize,” Mat said. He could not say more without revealing the plot to bring her back. “If my death serves the Empress, may she live forever, then I give it willingly.” “You’re bloody insane, Karede,” Mat said. “Unfortunately, so am I. You’re in good company.

“I do be able to make one.” A woman in a red dress stood up from the lines of wounded, where she had apparently been Healing. She was thin and bony and had a sour expression on her face, but Mat was so happy to see her, he could have kissed her. Like kissing broken glass, that would have been. He’d have done it anyway. “Teslyn!” he cried. “What are you doing here?” “Fighting in the Last Battle, I do believe,” she said, dusting off her hands. “Don’t we all be?” “But the Dragonsworn?” Mat asked. “I did not find the White Tower to be a comfortable place once I did return,” she said.

“You cannot so easily control a heart, Silviana.” “Warders are a weakness,” Silviana said. “That is all they have ever been, and all they ever will be. That boy … that fool boy…” “That fool boy,” Egwene said, “saved my life from Seanchan assassins. I would not be here to mourn if he had not done so. I would suggest that you remember that, Silviana, when you speak of the dead.”

“Egwene al’Vere can grieve,” Egwene said, standing up. “Egwene al’Vere lost a man she loved, and she felt him die through a bond. The Amyrlin has sympathy for Egwene al’Vere, as she would have sympathy for any Aes Sedai dealing with such loss. And then, in the face of the Last Battle, the Amyrlin would expect that woman to pick herself up and return to the fight.”

Egwene al’Vere was pained from her loss, and Gawyn could never be replaced. But she believed in Warders. The Amyrlin Seat needed someone to watch her back. Beyond that, every person with a Warder bond was a better fighter than those without. To go without a Warder was to deny the Light another soldier. There was a person here who had saved her life. No, a piece of her said, her eyes falling on Leilwin. Not a Seanchan. Another piece of her, the Amyrlin, laughed at that. Stop being such a child. She would have a Warder. “Leilwin Shipless,” Egwene said loudly, “will you take this duty?” The woman knelt, bowing her head. “I … yes.”

“What are you doing?” Androl asked. He didn’t have to fake the tremor in his voice. That pain. “You said you saw Androl?” Taim said. “I’m placing a Mask of Mirrors on you and inverting the weave, making you look like him. I want you to pretend to be the pageboy, find Logain, then kill him. Use a knife or a weave, I don’t care which.” “You’re … making me look like Androl,” Androl said. “Androl is one of Logain’s pets,” Taim said. “He shouldn’t suspect you. This is an exceptionally easy thing I’m asking of you, Nensen. Do you think, for once, you could avoid making a complete mess of it?” “Yes, M’Hael.”

“What news, Arganda?” Tam asked as he came over. “Cauthon lives,” Arganda said. “And that’s bloody amazing, considering that someone blew up his command post, set fire to his tent, killed a bunch of his damane, and chased off his wife. Cauthon crawled out of it somehow.” “Ha!” Abell Cauthon said. “That’s my boy.”

“We’re doomed,” Arganda said. “If so,” Lan said, “we stand atop the high ground, and we fight until we die, Ghealdanin. You surrender when you’re dead. Many a man has been given less.”

The last window gave him pause. It looked upon a valley in what had once been the Blasted Lands. A stone slab, where a body had been burned long ago, rested here alone. Overgrown with life: vines, grass, flowers. A furry spider the size of a child’s hand scurried across the stones. Rand’s grave. The place where his body had been burned following the Last Battle. He lingered a long while at that window before finally forcing himself to move on, leaving the Gallery and making his way to the Palace gardens.

DID YOU THINK THAT REMOVING ME FROM THEIR LIVES WOULD LEAVE THEM UNALTERED? The words thundered through Rand. Aghast, he stepped away as Elayne rose, obviously concerned for him. Yes, he saw it now, the thing behind her eyes. She was not herself … because Rand had taken from her the ability to be herself. I TURN MEN TO ME, Shai’tan said. IT IS TRUE. THEY CANNOT CHOOSE GOOD ONCE I HAVE MADE THEM MINE IN THAT WAY. HOW IS THIS ANY DIFFERENT, ADVERSARY? IF YOU DO THIS, WE ARE ONE. “No!” Rand screamed, holding his head in his hand, falling to his knees. “No! The world would be perfect without you!” PERFECT. UNCHANGING. RUINED. DO THIS, IF YOU WISH, ADVERSARY. IN KILLING ME, I WOULD WIN.

A spray of light, like liquid fire, flared from the western side of the Heights. Burning drops of molten stone fell through the dark air. At first, Mat thought that Demandred had decided to attack from that direction, but the Forsaken was still intent on destroying the Andorans. Another flash of light. That was where the Aes Sedai fought.

He looked back up the slope behind the camp, and his heart leaped. A body was plummeting down from the top of the slope, still clutching in its hand a banner—a banner that bore a large red hand. The Band of the Red Hand! The man and banner fell among a group of Trollocs eating sizzling pieces of meat around a fire. Sparks flew in all directions, and the enraged beasts yanked the intruder out of the flames, but he was long past caring what they did to him. “Faile!” he whispered. “I see it.” Her bundle concealed the sack with the Horn in it. She added, almost whispering, “Light. How are we going to reach Mat?”

Olver glanced about. Nobody was looking at him. His fingers started trembling. He’d known that Trollocs were big, and that they were ugly. But … these things were nightmares. Nightmares all around. Oh, Light! What would Mat do? “Dovie’andi se tovya sagain,” Olver whispered, unsheathing his knife. With a cry, he threw himself at the woman in white and rammed his knife into her lower back.

Raechin

Egwene al’Vere strode past them up the slope, glowing with the power of a hundred bonfires. That was more than Leane had ever seen a woman hold. The Amyrlin walked forward with her hand thrust out, holding a white rod. Egwene’s eyes seemed to shine.

“Most of the tubes are solid,” Dennel said. “If you think about it, they were built to withstand a little fire and an explosion now and then…” He chuckled, then fell silent, looking at Talmanes. “Do not let my expression dampen your good humor,” Talmanes said, tucking his pipe away. “Nor let it bother you that we are fighting at the end of the world, that our armies are grossly outnumbered, and that if we lose, our very souls will be destroyed by the Dark Lord of all evil.” “Sorry, my Lord.” “That was a joke.”

Talmanes held up his lantern, turning to go, but noticed something. The soldiers working on the dragons cast a twisted shadow on the wall, like a man with a wide cloak and hat that obscured his face. Dennel followed the glance. “Light. It looks like we’re being watched over by old Jak himself, doesn’t it?” “That it does,” Talmanes said. Then, in a louder voice, he shouted, “It’s too quiet in here by far! Let’s have some singing, men.” Some of the men paused. Aludra stood up, placing hands on her hips, and gave him a displeased glance. So Talmanes started it himself. “We’ll drink the wine till the cup is dry, And kiss the girls so they’ll not cry, And toss the dice until we fly, To dance with Jak o’ the Shadows!”

The shaggy mare galloped after Aravine, and Faile leaned low on her back. “Run, Bela,” Faile said. “If you’ve kept any strength back, now is the time to use it. Please. Run, girl. Run.”