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

by Robert Jordan

loosing an arrow at a Trolloc before it could kill one of the soldiers. “Ratliff’s nails, Elayne! I thought I’d seen the extent of your foolishness.” Elayne held up her sword. Nearby, men began to cry out. “The Queen lives!” they yelled. “For Light and Andor! Stand with the Queen!” “How would you feel,” Elayne said softly, “if you saw your queen trying to kill a Trolloc with a sword as you ran away?” “I’d feel like I needed to bloody move to another country,” Birgitte snapped, loosing another arrow, “one where the monarchs don’t have pudding for brains.” Elayne sniffed. Birgitte could say what she wished, but the maneuver worked.

He remembered, within those memories that were not his, leading forces far grander. Armies that were not fragmented, half-trained, wounded and exhausted. But Light help him, he had never been so proud. Despite all that had happened, his men took up the shouts of attack and threw themselves into the battle with renewed vigor.

“Lord Cauthon!” Tinna shouted nearby. She leveled a bloody spear from horseback, pointing to the south. Light shone distantly, toward the River Erinin. Mat wiped his brow. Was that … Gateways in the sky. Dozens of them, and through them poured to’raken in flight, carrying lanterns. A fiery flight of arrows launched at the Trollocs in the corridor; the to’raken, carrying archers, flew in formation over the ford and the corridor beyond.

Now the falling hail of arrows was accompanied by glowing lights popping into existence in the air—damane, making more light for their army to see by—a display that would have done the Illuminators proud! Indeed, the ground shook as the massive Seanchan army marched across the Field of Merrilor. Thunder shattered the air off Mat’s right flank on the Heights—a deeper thunder. Talmanes and Aludra had mended the dragons and were firing directly from the cavern through gateways into the Sharan army. The pieces were almost all in place. There was one more bit of business that needed tending to before the final toss of the dice.

He took another deep breath, then began to weave a gateway. He opened it at that village the people had come from yesterday. He didn’t know why he was to do this; the village had been depopulated to make up the group that had fought earlier. He doubted anybody remained. What had Mat called it? Hinderstap? People roared through the gateway, yelling, holding aloft cleavers, pitchforks, rusty swords. With them came more soldiers of the Band, like the hundred who had fought here before. Except … Except by the light of the Dreadlords’ fires, the faces of those soldiers were the same as the ones who had fought here before … fought here and died. Grady gaped as he stood up in the darkness, watching those people attack. They were all the same. The same matrons, the same farriers and blacksmiths, the very same people. He’d watched them die, and now they were back again.

“The other Asha’man can do that,” Androl said. “We don’t have to.” “What?” Canler said, scowling. “You’re going to disobey?” “No,” Androl said. “He said this is for men who didn’t have any other orders. We do. Back at the start of the battle he told us to watch for Taim’s lackeys and to do something about them.” “I’m not sure he remembers that order, Androl,” Emarin said, rubbing his chin. “And I don’t know that if he did remember, he’d want us to follow it now. He seems pretty intent on that scepter.” “He gave us the order nonetheless,” Androl said.

“Close the gateway!” Talmanes shouted, and the portal winked shut. “This was one of Lord Mat’s ideas, wasn’t it?” Daerid yelled, standing beside Talmanes as the dragons were reloaded. They both had wax in their ears. “What do you think?” Talmanes yelled back. If the dragons were vulnerable when firing, what did you do? You fired them from a hidden location. Talmanes smiled as Neald opened the next gateway in front of ten dragons. The fact that many of the dragon carts were too broken to roll well meant nothing when you could open a gateway in front of them, pointing them wherever you wanted.

Those clouds above formed a pattern that looked familiar. Black on white, white on black … It’s the symbol, she realized with a start. The ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. Under this sign … shall he conquer. Aviendha held tightly to the One Power. That thrumming sound was him, somehow. The life growing was him. As the Dark One ripped the land apart, Rand stitched it back together.

Aviendha was staring at the man she’d felled, a man Graendal had made to do her bidding through Compulsion. A man who looked familiar to Aviendha. Horrified, trembling, she reached down and pulled aside the veil. It was Rhuarc.

“That was the bloody Dragon Reborn!” Donalo said. “Alviarin! The bloody Dragon Reborn is on the battlefield!” “What nonsense is this?” Alviarin asked, approaching with the others. “Rand al’Thor was here,” Mishraile said, still stunned. “Blood and bloody ashes, Donalo. You were right! That’s the only way Demandred could have fallen.” “He did keep saying that the Dragon was on this battlefield somewhere,” Kash noted.

“We will care for the captives, Master Androl,” Lindsar said. “Execution?” Pevara asked. “By the eldest trees, no!” The Ogier looked offended. “Not in this place, no, no killing here. We will hold them, and not let them escape.” “These are very dangerous people, good Ogier,” Androl said. “Do not underestimate how devious they can be.” The Ogier chuckled, limping toward the stedding’s still beautiful trees. “Men assume that because we are calm, we cannot be devious ourselves,” she said. “Let them see how crafty a mind can become with centuries worth of aging upon it. Do not worry, Master Androl. We will be careful. It will be well for these poor souls to live in the peace of the stedding. Perhaps a few decades of peace will change their outlook on the world.”

Strength, Aviendha. Rand’s determination filled her, radiating from the bond at the back of her mind. She looked up and felt all fatigue leave her, all distractions vanish.

Aviendha met the Shadowsouled’s eyes during that brief moment when she hung in the air, and she saw true terror therein. The air began to warp. Aviendha’s spear, point first, sank into Graendal’s side.

“I guess they probably won’t need you,” Gabrelle said to him as his scouts retreated. “So you were right.” The bond sent dissatisfaction and even disappointment. “I need to look to the future of the Black Tower,” Logain said. “You aren’t looking to its future,” she said, soft, almost threatening. “You’re looking to make certain you are a power in these lands, Logain. You cannot hide your emotions from me.”

Desautel

Logain held his weave, feeling the One Power pulse within him. Power. Fear. “Please,” Androl whispered, so soft. “Children, Logain. They’re slaughtering the children…” Logain closed his eyes.

He would have to thank Tuon for returning. He did not go looking for her, though. He had a feeling that she would expect him to perform his princely duties, whatever they might be. Only … he did feel that strange tugging inside. Getting stronger and stronger. Blood and bloody ashes, Rand, Mat thought. I’ve done my part. You do yours.

He turned northward. “I need to go to Rand. Hawkwing, would you do me a favor?” “Ask it, Hornblower.” “Do you know the Seanchan?” “I am … familiar with them.” “I think their Empress would like very much to make your acquaintance,” Mat said, galloping away. “If you could go to speak with her, I’d appreciate it. And if you do, kindly tell her I sent you.”

Rand strode forward, speaking louder. DEATH CANNOT KEEP ME AT BAY, AND IT CANNOT RULE ME. IT COMES DOWN TO THIS, FATHER OF LIES. WHEN HAVE YOU INSPIRED A PERSON TO GIVE THEIR LIFE FOR YOU? NOT FOR THE PROMISES YOU GIVE, NOT FOR THE RICHES THEY SEEK OR THE POSITIONS THEY WOULD HOLD, BUT FOR YOU. HAS IT EVER HAPPENED? The darkness grew still. BRING MY DEATH, SHAI’TAN, Rand growled, throwing himself into the blackness. FOR I BRING YOURS!

“I should not be here,” she whispered. “I push my honor to the very edge of what should be allowed.” “It’s the Last Battle, Chiad,” Perrin said. “You are allowed to push some boundaries … assuming we haven’t won yet.”

“Rand should have just released you all from your vows.” “He does not have that power,” she said hotly. “What good is honor if the Dark One wins the Last Battle?”

“My family wasn’t killed by Trollocs,” Perrin said softly. “It was Padan Fain.” “What? Are you certain?” “One of the Whitecloaks told me,” Perrin said. “He wasn’t lying.” “Well, then,” Luhhan said. “Fain … he’s still out there, isn’t he?” “Yes,” Perrin said. “He hates Rand. And there’s another man. Lord Luc. You remember him? He’s been ordered to kill Rand. I think … I think they’re both going to try for him, before this is over.”

This was what the end should be like. The sky ripping apart as factions fought for control of the elements themselves, people from varied nations standing with their last strength. If the Light won, it would do so by the narrowest of margins.

Thom shook his head. The walk had been all wrong. Didn’t any of them realize that a person’s walk was as distinctive as the nose on their face? Each woman who tried to slip past him assumed that changing her face and dress—maybe her voice—would be enough to fool him. He climbed off his perch and grabbed the corpse under the arms, then stuffed it a hollow nearby—there were five bodies in there now, so it was getting crowded. He drew on his pipe and took his cloak off, placing it here so that it covered up the dead hand of the Black sister, which was peeking out.

Noal. One of the heroes of the Horn. It bloody made sense. Jain Farstrider himself. Well, you wouldn’t find Mat trading places with him. Noal might enjoy it, but Mat wouldn’t dance at another man’s command. Not for immortality itself, no he wouldn’t.

Shaisam

Right now, Shaisam was frail. This mortal form that walked at the center of his mind … he was bound to it. Fain, it had been. Padan Fain.

Morat’to’raken were bloody insane. Every one of them! They did this every day! What was wrong with them? Tied into the saddle in front of Mat, Olver laughed with glee.

“Mat,” Olver said, “next time I think you should let me fly it. I don’t think you did a very good job.” “If there is a next time,” Mat said, “I’ll eat a whole bag of Tar Valon gold.” He yanked free the ties holding his ashandarei and Olver’s Horn, then handed the instrument to the boy. He reached for the pack with Rand’s banner, which he’d carried tied at his waist, but it was gone. Panicked, Mat looked about. “The banner! I dropped the bloody banner!” Olver smiled, looking up at the sign made by the swirling clouds. “It will be fine—we’re beneath his banner already,” he said, then lifted the Horn and blew a beautiful note.

“Rand! I need the One Power!” Nynaeve cried. “It’s … all right…” Alanna whispered. Nynaeve looked at the woman’s eyes. She was lucid. The andilay, Nynaeve realized, remembering the herb she’d used to give the woman strength. It brought her out of her stupor. It awakened her. “I can…” Alanna said. “I can release him…” The light faded from her eyes. Nynaeve looked at Moridin and Rand. Rand glanced at the dead woman with pity and sorrow, but Nynaeve saw no rage in his eyes. Alanna had released the bond before Rand could feel the effects of her death.

Young Bull! Wolves. The Shadowbrothers are here! We fight! Darkhounds. Wolves hated all Shadowspawn; an entire pack would die pulling down a Myrddraal. But Darkhounds they feared. Perrin looked around to spot the creatures. Ordinary men could not fight Darkhounds, whose mere saliva was death. Nearby, the human forces broke before a tide of black wolves the size of horses. The Wild Hunt.

“I know that sound,” Perrin said. “Sound?” the Aiel Maiden said. “What sound? The calls of the wolves?” “No,” Perrin said as the Darkhounds began to lope up the path. “The Horn of Valere.” The heroes would come. But upon which battlefield would they fight? Perrin could expect no relief here. Except … Lead us, Young Bull. Why must the heroes all be human? A howl rose in the same pitch as that of the sounded Horn. He looked upon a field suddenly filled with a multitude of glowing wolves. They were great pale beasts, the size of Darkhounds. The spirits of those wolves who had died, then gathered here, waiting for the sign, waiting for the chance to fight. The Horn had called them. Perrin let loose a yell of his own, a howl of pleasure, then charged forward to meet the Darkhounds. The Last Hunt had finally, truly arrived.

Perrin turned, then stared. “Mat!” he called. “What are you doing here?” “Coming to help!” Mat said. “Against my bloody better judgment!” “You can’t fight Darkhounds, Mat,” Perrin said as Mat rode up beside him. “I can, and so can the Last Hunt.” He cocked his head, then looked toward the sound of the Horn. “No,” Mat said, “I didn’t sound it. That bloody burden has passed to someone who actually seems to enjoy it.”

Aviendha picked faster, pulling two, three, half a dozen threads free of the gateway. Almost, almost … “What are you doing?” Graendal demanded. Aviendha picked faster, and in her haste, picked at the wrong thread. She froze, watching the flow writhe, setting off the others near it. Graendal hissed, and began to set the Compulsion on Aviendha. The gateway exploded in a flash of light and heat.

He came upon a corpse, one that his mists had killed. Shaisam frowned, bending down. That body looked familiar … The corpse’s hand reached up and grabbed Shaisam by the throat. He gasped, thrashing, as the corpse opened its eye. “There’s an odd thing about diseases I once heard, Fain,” Matrim Cauthon whispered. “Once you catch a disease and survive, you can’t get it again.”

“I’ve come to give you your gift back, Mordeth,” Cauthon whispered. “I consider our debt paid in full.” Cauthon rammed the dagger right between the ribs, into Shaisam’s heart.

Rand was alone, unguarded in the wolf dream. Burn it, that doesn’t matter! Perrin thought. If I lose Faile … If Rand died, he would lose Faile. And everything else. There were still Forsaken out there. Perrin wavered. He had to go look for her, didn’t he? Wasn’t that his duty, as her husband? Couldn’t someone else look after Rand? But … if not him, then who?

This was the most dangerous part of the plan. Min had figured it out. Callandor had such flaws, such incredible flaws. Created so that a man using it needed women to control him, created so that if Rand used it, others could take control of him … Why was Rand to need a weapon with such flaws? Why did the prophecies mention it so? A sa’angreal for the True Power. Why would he ever need such a thing? The answer was so simple. “Now!” Rand yelled. Nynaeve and Moiraine channeled together, exploiting the flaw in Callandor as Moridin tried to bring it to bear against Rand. Wind whipped in the tunnel. The ground quivered, and Moridin yelled, eyes going wide. They took control of him. Callandor was flawed. Any man using it could be forced to link with women, to be placed in their control. A trap … and one he used on Moridin. “Link!” Rand commanded. They fed it to him. Power. Saidar from the women. The True Power from Moridin. Saidin from Rand.

So it was that Rand used the Dark One’s own essence, channeled in its full strength. He held the Dark One tightly, like a dove in the grip of a hawk. And light exploded from him.

Light. She sat up straight, feeling the swelling of power in Rand. Her attention flew away from the Heights, instead focused on him. The feeling of supreme strength, the beauty of control and domination. A light shot into the sky far to the north, so bright that she gasped. The end had come.

Aviendha blinked at the light, and knew it was Rand. It drew her back from the brink of darkness, flooding her with warmth. He was winning. He was winning. He was so strong. She saw the true warrior in him now.

Logain watched with wonder as the people flocked around his Asha’man, weeping for their salvation. Elderly men took Asha’man by the hands, overcome, praising them. Nearby a youth looked at Logain with admiration. A dozen youths. Light, a hundred. Not a hint of fear in their eyes. “Thank you,” the young mother said again. “Thank you.” “The Black Tower protects,” Logain heard himself say. “Always.” “I will send him to you to be tested when he is of age,” the woman promised, holding her son. “I would have him join you, if he has the talent.” The talent. Not the curse. The talent.

“Do it,” Gabrelle said. “Do it, Sealbreaker.” Logain snapped the once unbreakable seals, one by one, and dropped the pieces to the ground.

She would kill him, Perrin knew. She would force him to bow, and then she would kill him. All along, her goal had been to put herself into a position where the Dark One himself would be helpless and she could step in to bring him salvation.

He loved Faile. The Compulsion vanished like smoke in the wind, thrown off like clothing changed in the blink of an eye. Before Lanfear could strike, Perrin reached out and took her by the neck. He twisted once. Her neck popped in his fingers. Lanfear crumpled, and Perrin caught her body.

Someone had needed to do it. This was one test, at least, that Rand would not need to face. It was one burden that Perrin could carry for his friend. He looked up toward Rand. “Go,” Perrin whispered. “Do what you must do. As always, I will watch your back.”

Rand was dying. His lifeblood flowed from him, and beyond that, the amount of the Powers he held would soon burn him away. He held the Dark One in his hand. He began to squeeze, then stopped. He knew all secrets. He could see what the Dark One had done. And Light, Rand understood. Much of what the Dark One had shown him was lies. But the vision Rand himself had created—the one without the Dark One—was truth. If he did as he wished, he would leave men no better than the Dark One himself.

With this new form of the Power, Rand pulled together the rent that had been made here long ago by foolish men. He understood, finally, that the Dark One was not the enemy. It never had been.

He could … see, just faintly. A figure kneeling down beside him. “Yes,” a woman whispered. He did not recognize the voice. “Yes, that’s good. That is what you need to do.” He blinked, his vision fuzzy. Was that Aiel clothing? An old woman, with gray hair? Her form retreated, and Rand reached toward her, not wanting to be alone. Wanting to explain himself. “I see the answer now,” he whispered. “I asked the Aelfinn the wrong question. To choose is our fate. If you have no choice, then you aren’t a man at all. You’re a puppet…” Shouting. Rand felt heavy. He plunged into unconsciousness.

Three steps away, he found his hat. He grinned, snatched it up and set it on his head, then began whistling as he rested the ashandarei on his shoulder and strolled away. The dice had stopped rolling in Mat’s head.