He paused for a moment, then laughed, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He slipped out three discs of cuendillar; each split by a sinuous line down the center. He set them on the table.
“How will she know the time?” he asked.
“She will,” Moiraine said.
Egwene smelled skeptical, and Perrin didn’t blame her. Moiraine always had believed in following the weave of the Pattern and bowing to the Wheel's turnings. Perrin didn’t see it that way. He figured you made your own path, and trusted in your own arms to do what needed to be done. The Pattern wasn’t a thing to depend on.
Egwene was Aes Sedai. It seemed that she felt she should see it as Moiraine did. Either that, or she was willing to agree and just take those seals into her hands. “I’ll break them, when I feel it must be done,” she said, taking the seals.
You 11 sign, then.” Rand took the document as the clerks protested the hastiness with which they’d had to work. It now had several additions on the back. One of the clerks cried out, reaching for the sand, but Rand did something with the One Power, drying the ink instantly as he placed the document before Egwene.
I will, she said, holding out a hand for a pen. She read the provisions carefully, the other sisters looking over her shoulders. They nodded one at a time.
Egwene put pen to paper.
“And now the rest,” Rand said, turning to measure reactions.
“Light, he’s grown clever,” Faile whispered beside Perrin. “Do you realize what he did?”
“What?” Perrin said, scratching his beard.
“He brought with him all he knew would support him,” Faile whispered. “The Borderlanders, who would sign practically anything to garner help for their homelands. Arad Doman, which he helped most recently. The Aiel . . . well, all right, who knows what the Aiel will do at a given time? But the idea stands.
“Then he let Egwene gather the others. It’s genius, Perrin. That way, with her bringing this coalition against him, all he really had to do was convince her. Once he swayed her to his side, the others would look foolish to stand apart.”
Indeed, as the rulers began to sign—Berelain going first and most eagerly—those who had supported Egwene started to fidget. Darlin stepped up and took the pen. He hesitated for a moment, then signed.
Gregorin followed. Then the Borderlanders, each in turn, followed by the King of Arad Doman. Even Roedran, who still seemed to find this entire thing a fiasco, signed. Perrin found that curious.
“He blusters a lot,” Perrin said to Faile, “but he knows this is good for his kingdom.”
“Yes,” she said. “He’s been acting a buffoon partially to throw everyone off, make them dismiss him. The document outlines current borders of nations to remain as they are,” Faile said. “That’s a huge boon to someone trying to stabilize his rule. But . . ”
“But?”
“The Seanchan?” Faile said softly. “If Rand persuades them, does that allow them to keep the countries they have now? The women who are damane, are they allowed to slap one of those collars on any woman who passes their border?”
The tent stilled; perhaps Faile had spoken more loudly than she’d intended. Perrin sometimes had trouble remembering what ordinary people could and couldn’t hear.
“I will deal with the Seanchan,” Rand said. He stood over the table, watching as each ruler looked over the document, spoke with the counselors they’d brought, then signed.
“How?” Darlin asked. “They do not wish to make peace with you, Lord Dragon. I do think they’ll make this document meaningless.”
“Once we are done here,” Rand said softly, “I will go to them. They will sign.”
“And if they do not?” Gregorin demanded.
Rand rested his hand on the table, fingers spread. “I may have to destroy them. Or at least their ability to make war in the near future.”
The pavilion grew still.
“Could you do that?” Darlin asked.
I m not certain,” Rand admitted. “If I can, it may leave me weakened in a time when I need all of my strength. Light, it may be my only choice. A terrible choice, when I left them last time . . . We cannot have them striking at our backs while we fight the Shadow.” He shook his head, and Min stepped up to take his arm. “I will find a way to deal with them. Somehow, I'll find a way.”
The signing progressed. Some did it with great flourish, others in more casual fashion. Rand had Perrin, Gawyn, Faile and Gareth Bryne sign as well. He seemed to want anyone here who might rise to a position of leadership to have their names on the document.
Finally, only Elayne remained. Rand held out the quill to her.
“This is a difficult thing you ask of me, Rand,” Elayne said, arms folded, golden hair gleaming in the light of his globes. Why had the sky gone dim outside? Rand didn’t seem worried, but Perrin feared that the clouds had consumed the sky. A dangerous sign, if they now held sway where Rand had once kept them back.
‘I know it is difficult,” Rand said. “Perhaps if I gave you something in return . . .”
“What?”
“The war,” Rand said. He turned to the rulers. “You wanted one of you to lead the Last Battle. Will you accept Andor, and its queen, in this role?
Too young,” Darlin said. “Too new. No offense, Your Majesty.”
Alsalam snorted. “You’re one to talk, Darlin. Half the monarchs present have held their thrones for a year or less!”
What of the Borderlanders?” Alliandre asked. “They’ve fought against the Blight all of their lives.”
“We are overrun,” Paitar said. He shook his head. “One of us cannot coordinate this. Andor is as good a choice as any.”
“Andor is suffering an invasion of its own,” Darlin noted.
“You all are, or soon will be,” Rand said. “Elayne Trakand is a leader to her core; she taught me much of what I know about leadership. She has learned tactics from a great captain, and I’m certain she will rely upon all the great captains for advice. Someone must lead. Will you all accept her in this position?”
The others reluctantly nodded agreement. Rand turned to Elayne.
“All right, Rand,” she said. “I’ll do this, and I will sign, but you had better find a way to deal with the Seanchan. I want to see their ruler’s name on this document. None of us will be safe until it’s there.”
“What of the women held by the Seanchan?” Rhuarc asked. “I will admit, Rand al’Thor, our intention was to declare a blood feud with these invaders the moment more pressing battles were won.”
“If their ruler signs it,” Rand said, “I will ask about trading for goods to retrieve those channelers they have stolen. I will try to persuade them to release the lands they hold and return to their own country.”
“What if they refuse?” Egwene asked, shaking her head. “Will you let them sign it without giving on those points? Thousands are enslaved, Rand.”
“We cannot defeat them,” Aviendha said, speaking softly. Perrin eyed her. She smelled frustrated, but determined. “If we go to war with them, we will fall ”
“Aviendha is right,” Amys said. “The Aiel will not fight the Seanchan.” Rhuarc, startled, looked back and forth between the two.
“They have done horrible things,” Rand said, “but so far, the lands they have taken have benefited from strong leadership. If forced to it, I am content to allow them the lands they have, so long as they do not spread further. As for the women . . . what is done is done. Let us worry about the world itself first, then do what we can for those held captive.”
Elayne held the document for a moment, perhaps for the drama of it, then bent down and added her name to the bottom with a flourish.
“It is done,” Moiraine said as Rand picked up the document. “You will have peace this time, Lord Dragon.”
“We must survive first,” he said, holding the document with reverence. “I will leave you to make your battle preparations. I need to complete some tasks, Seanchan included, befor
e I travel to Shayol Ghul. I do have a request for you, however. There is a dear friend who needs us . . .
Angry lightning blistered the clouded sky. Despite the shade, sweat lined Lan’s neck, matting his hair underneath his helmet. He’d not worn one in years; much of his time with Moiraine had required them to be nondescript, and helmets were anything but.
“How . . . how bad is it?” Andere grimaced, holding his side, and leaning back against a rock.
Lan looked to the battle. The Shadowspawn were amassing again. The monsters almost seemed to blend and shift together, one enormous dark force of howling, miasmic hatred as thick as the air—which seemed to hold in the heat and the humidity, like a merchant hoarding fine rugs.
“It’s bad,” Lan said.
“Knew it would be,” Andere said, breathing in and out quickly, blood seeping between his fingers. “Nazar?”
“Gone,” Lan said. The white-haired man had gone down in the same set-to that had nearly taken Andere. Lan’s rescue had not been quick enough. “I saw him gut a Trolloc as it killed him.”
“May the last embrace of the mother—” Andere spasmed in pain. “May the—”
“May the last embrace of the mother welcome you home,” Lan said softly.
“Don’t look at me that way, Lan,” Andere said. “We all knew what this was going to be when we . . . when we joined you.”
“That is why I tried to stop you.”
Andere scowled. “I—”
“Peace, Andere,” Lan said, rising. “What I wished was selfish. I came to die for Malkier. I have no right to deny that privilege to others.”
“Lord Mandragoran!” Prince Kaisel rode up, his once-fine armor bloodstained and dented. The Kandori prince still looked too young for this battle, but he’d proven himself to be as coolheaded as any grizzled veteran. “They’re forming up again.”
Lan walked across the rocky ground to where a groom held Mandarb. The black stallion bore cuts on his flanks from Trolloc weapons. Thank the Light, they were superficial. Lan rested a hand on the horse’s neck as Mandarb snorted. Nearby, his standard-bearer, a bald man named Jophil, raised the flag of Malkier, the Golden Crane. This was his fifth standard-bearer since yesterday.
Lan’s forces had seized the Gap with their initial charge, shoving the Shadowspawn back before they were able to emerge into the valley. That was more than Lan had expected. The Gap was a long, narrow piece of rocky ground nestled between craggy rises and peaks.
Holding this position required nothing clever. You stood, you died and you killed—as long as you could.
Lan commanded a cavalry. It wasn’t ideal for this kind of work— cavalries did best where they could spread out and had room to charge—but the passage through Tarwin’s Gap was narrow enough that only a small number of Trollocs could come through at once. That gave Lan a chance. At least it was more difficult for the Trollocs to take advantage of their superior numbers. They would have to pay a butcher’s bill for every yard they gained.
Trolloc carcasses had formed an almost furlike blanket leading through the canyon. Each time the creatures tried to push through the gorge, Lan’s men had resisted them with lances and polearms, swords and arrows, eventually slaughtering thousands and leaving them heaped for their fellows to climb over. But each clash similarly reduced Lan’s numbers.
Each assault forced his men to withdraw a little farther. Toward the mouth of the Gap. They were less than a hundred feet from it now.
Lan felt the fatigue pressing deep into his bones.
“Our forces?” Lan asked Prince Kaisel.
“Maybe six thousand still able to ride, Dai Shan.”
Less than half of what they’d started with a day before. “Tell them to mount up.”
Kaisel looked shocked. “We’re going to retreat?”
Lan turned to the lad.
Kaisel paled. Lan had been told that his gaze could unnerve any man; Moiraine had liked to joke that he could outstare rocks and had the patience of an oak. Well, he didn’t feel as sure of himself as people thought, but this boy should have known better than to ask if they were retreating.
“Of course,” Lan said, “and then were going to attack.”
“Attack?” Kaisel said. “We are on the defensive!”
“They’ll sweep us out,” Lan said, pulling himself into Mandarb’s saddle. “We’re exhausted, worn out and nearly broken. If we stand here and let them come at us again, we’ll fall without a whimper.”
Lan knew an ending when he saw one.
“Pass these orders,” Lan said to Prince Kaisel. “We will slowly pull out of the pass. You have the rest of the troops assemble on the plain, mounted and ready to attack the Shadowspawn as they come out of the Gap. A charge will do great damage; they won’t know what hit them.”
“Wont we be surrounded and overrun if we leave the pass?” Kaisel asked.
“This is the best we can do with the resources we have.”
“And then?”
“And then they eventually break through, slice our force into pieces and overrun us.”
Kaisel sat for a moment, then nodded. Again, Lan was impressed. He’d assumed this boy had come with him to find the glory of battle, to fight at the side of Dai Shan and sweep their enemies away. But no. Kaisel was a Borderlander to the core. He hadn’t come for glory. He’d come because he’d had to. Good lad.
“Give the order now. The men will be glad to get back on their horses again.” Too many of them had been forced to fight on foot because of the lack of maneuverability in the narrow confines.
Kaisel gave the orders, and those orders burned through Lan’s men like an autumn fire. Lan saw Andere being helped into his saddle by Bulen.
“Andere?” Lan said, heeling Mandarb toward him. “You are in no condition to ride. Go join the wounded at the back camp.”
“So I lie back there and let the Trollocs butcher me after finishing you lot?” Andere leaned forward in the saddle, teetering slightly, and Bulen looked up with concern. Andere waved him off and forced himself upright. “We’ve already moved the mountain, Lan. Let’s budge this feather and be through with it.”
Lan could offer no argument. He called the retreat to the men ahead of him in the pass. His remaining men bunched around him, slowly backing out toward the plain.
The Trollocs hooted and yelled in excitement. They knew that once they were free of the walls that restricted their movement, they would win this fight easily.
Lan and his small force left the narrow confines of the Gap, those on foot running toward their horses tethered near the mouth of the canyon.
The Trollocs—for once—needed no push from the Myrddraal to charge. Their footfalls were a low rumble on the stony ground.
Several hundred yards out of the Gap, Lan slowed Mandarb and turned. Andere brought his horse up beside Lan’s with difficulty, and they were joined by the other riders, who formed long lines of cavalry. Bulen cantered up to the other side of Lan.
The storm of Shadowspawn neared the mouth of the Gap, a charging force of thousands of Trollocs that would soon burst out into the open— and try to consume them.
Lan’s forces were silently lined up around him. Many were old men, the last remnants of their fallen kingdom. This force that had managed to plug the narrow gap now seemed tiny on the much larger plain.
“Bulen,” Lan said.
“Yes, Lord Mandragoran?”
“You claim to have failed me, years ago.”
“Yes, my Lord. It—”
“Any failing on your part is forgotten,” Lan said, eyes forward. “I am proud to have given you your hadoru
Kaisel rode up, nodding to Lan. “We are ready, Dai Shan.”
“This is for the best,” Andere said, grimacing, still holding to his wound, barely able to remain in the saddle.
“It is what must be,” Lan said. Not an argument. Not exactly.
“No,” Andere said. “It is more than that, Lan. Malkier is like a tree that lost its r
oots to whiteworms, the branches withering slowly. I’d rather be burned away in a flash.”
“I’d rather charge,” Bulen said, voice growing firm. “I’d rather charge now than let them overrun us. Let us die on the attack, with swords pointed home.”
Lan nodded, turning and raising his sword high above his head. He gave no speeches. He had given those already. The men knew what this was. One more charge, while they still had some strength, would mean something. Fewer Shadowspawn to flood into civilized lands. Fewer Trollocs to kill those who could not fight back.
The enemy seemed endless. A slavering, rampaging horde without battle line or discipline. Anger, destruction incarnate. Thousands upon thousands of them. They came forward like floodwaters suddenly released, surging out of the canyon.
Lan’s little force was but a pebble before them.
The men silently raised their swords to him, a final salute.
“Now!” Lan yelled. Now as they begin to spread out. It will do the most damage. Lan kicked Mandarb forward, leading the way.
Andere galloped beside Lan, clinging to his pommel with both hands. He didn’t try to raise a weapon; he’d have fallen from his saddle if he had.
Nynaeve was too far away for Lan to feel much of her through the bond, but sometimes very powerful emotions could stand out despite the distance. He tried to project confidence in case it reached her. Pride in his men. Love for her. He wished deeply for those to be the last things she remembered of him.
My arm will be the sword . . .
Hooves clattered on the ground. The Trollocs ahead hooted in delight, realizing that their prey had transformed a retreat into a charge of men rushing right into their grasp.
My breast itself a shield . . .
Lan could hear a voice, his father’s voice, speaking these words. That was foolish, of course. Lan had been a baby when Malkier had fallen.
To defend the Seven Towers . . .
He had never seen the Seven Towers stand against the Blight. He’d only heard stories.
To hold back the darkness . . .
The horses’ hooves were becoming a thunder. So loud, louder than he’d have thought possible. He held himself straight, sword out.
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