A Memory Of Light: Wheel of Time Book 14

by Robert Jordan

  He now felt just that. Pity for a woman who had never known love, a woman who would not let herself know it. Pity for a woman who could not choose a side other than her own.

  “I…” she said softly.

  Rand raised his hand, and then he opened himself to her. His intentions, his mind, his self appeared as a swirl of color, emotions and power around him.

  Her eyes opened wide as the swirl played before her, like pictures on a wall. He could hold nothing back. She saw his motives, his desires, his wishes for mankind. She saw his intentions. To go to Shayol Ghul, to kill the Dark One. To leave a better world than he had the last time.

  He did not fear revealing these things. He had touched the True Power, and so the Dark One knew his heart. There were no surprises here, at least nothing that should have been a surprise.

  Lanfear was surprised anyway. Her jaw dropped as she saw the truth—the truth that, down deep, it was not Lews Therin who made up Rand’s core. It was the sheepherder, raised by Tam. His lives played out in moments, his memories and feelings exposed.

  Last, he showed her his love for Ilyena—like a glowing crystal, set upon a shelf and admired. Then his love for Min, Aviendha, Elayne. Like a burning bonfire, warming, comforting, passionate.

  There was no love for Lanfear in what he exposed. Not a sliver. He had squelched Lews Therin’s loathing of her as well. And so, to him, she really was nothing.

  She gasped.

  The glow around Rand faded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really did mean it. I am finished with you, Mierin. Keep your head down during the storm to come. If I win this fight, you will no longer have reason to fear for your soul. There will be no one left to torment you.”

  He turned from her again, and walked from the cave, leaving her silent.

  Evening in the Braem Wood was accompanied by the scent of fires smoldering in their pits and the sounds of men groaning softly as they settled into uneasy sleep, swords ready at hand. An unnatural chill to the summer air.

  Perrin walked through the camp, among the men under his command. The fighting had been hard in these woods. His people were hurting the Trollocs, but Light, there always seemed to be more Shadowspawn to replace those that fell.

  After seeing that his people were properly fed, that the watch had been set and the men knew what to do if awakened in the night by an assault of Shadowspawn, he went seeking the Aiel. The Wise Ones in particular. Nearly all of them had gathered to go with Rand when he marched on Shayol Ghul—for now, they waited his order—but a few had remained with Perrin, including Edarra.

  She and the other Wise Ones did not march at his command. And yet, like Gaul, they stayed with him when their fellows went elsewhere. Perrin had not asked them why. He didn’t really care why. Having them with him was useful, and he was grateful.

  The Aiel let him pass their perimeter. He found Edarra sitting beside a fire, well rimmed with stones to prevent the chance of a stray spark escaping. These woods, dry as they were, could go up easier than a barn full of last harvest’s hay.

  She glanced at Perrin as he settled down near her. The Aiel looked young but smelled of patience, inquisitiveness and control. Wisdom. She did not ask why Perrin had come to her. She waited for him to speak.

  “Are you a dreamwalker?” Perrin asked.

  She studied him in the night; he had the distinct impression this was not a question a man—or an outsider—was supposed to ask.

  He was surprised, then, when she answered.

  “No.”

  “Do you know much of it?” Perrin asked.

  “Some.”

  “I need to know of a way to enter the World of Dreams physically. Not just in my dreams, but in my real body. Have you heard of such a thing?”

  She inhaled sharply. “Do not think of that, Perrin Aybara. It is evil.”

  Perrin frowned. Strength in the wolf dream—in Tel’aran’rhiod—was a delicate thing. The more strongly Perrin put himself into the dream—the more solidly there he was— the easier he found it to change things there, manipulate that world.

  That came at a risk, however. Going into the dream too strongly, he risked cutting himself off from his sleeping body in the real world.

  That apparently didn’t bother Slayer. Slayer was strong there, so very strong; the man was in the dream physically. Perrin was increasingly sure of it.

  Our contest will not end, Perrin thought, until you are the prey, Slayer. Hunter of wolves. I will end you.

  “In many ways,” Edarra muttered, looking at him, “you are still a child, for all the honor you have found.” Perrin had grown accustomed to—though not fond of—women who looked not a year or two older than he addressing him so. “None of the dreamwalkers will teach you this thing. It is evil.”

  “Why is it evil?” Perrin said.

  “To enter into the world of dreams in the flesh costs you part of what makes you human. What’s more, if you die while in that place—and you are in the flesh—it can make you die forever. No more rebirth, Perrin Aybara. Your thread in the Pattern could end forever, you yourself destroyed. This is not a thing you should contemplate.”

  “The servants of the Shadow do this, Edarra,” Perrin said. “They take these risks to dominate. We need to take the same risks in order to stop them.”

  Edarra hissed softly, shaking her head. “Do not cut off your foot for fear that a snake will bite it, Perrin Aybara. Do not make a terrible mistake because you fear something that seems worse. This is all I will say on the topic.”

  She stood and left him sitting by the fire.

  CHAPTER

  13

  What Must Be Done

  The army split before Egwene as she rode forward toward the hills in southeastern Kandor where they would shortly engage the advancing enemy. She led over a hundred Aes Sedai, many of them from the Green Ajah. Bryne’s tactical revisions had been quick and efficient. He had something better than archers for breaking a charge, something more destructive than heavy cavalry for causing sheer damage.

  It was time to use it.

  Two other smaller forces of Aes Sedai made their way to the flanks of the army. These hills might once have been lush and green. Now they were yellow and brown, as if burned by sunlight. She tried to see the advantages. At least they would have sure footing, and though the sky broke with periodic lightning, rain seemed unlikely.

  The approaching Trollocs seemed to extend forever in either direction. Though Egwene’s army was enormous, it suddenly felt tiny. Fortunately, Egwene had a single advantage: The Trolloc army was driven by a need to continue moving forward. Trolloc armies fell apart if they were not constantly advancing. They’d start bickering. They’d run out of food.

  Egwene’s army was a barrier in their way. And bait. The Shadowspawn couldn’t afford to leave such a force as theirs at large, and so Egwene would draw them along a course she determined.

  Her Aes Sedai reached the battlefront. Bryne had split his army into large, highly mobile strike units to hit the Trollocs wherever and whenever they showed vulnerability.

  The offensive structure of Bryne’s forces seemed to confuse the Trollocs. At least, that was how Egwene read the shuffling in their ranks, the churning movement, the increase of noise. Trollocs rarely had to worry about being on the defensive. Trollocs attacked, humans defended. Humans worried. Humans were food.

  Egwene reached the top of a low hill, looking out at the plain in Kandor where the Trollocs amassed, her Aes Sedai arraying in a long line to either side of her. Behind them, the men of the army seemed uncertain. They knew Egwene and the others were Aes Sedai, and no man was comfortable around Aes Sedai.

  Egwene reached to her side, and slipped something long, white and slender from the leather case tied to her belt. A fluted rod, Vora’s sa’angreal. It felt comfortable in her hand, familiar. Though she had only used this sa’angreal once, she felt as if it had claimed her and she it. During the fight against the Seanchan, this had been her weapon. For the first time,
she understood why a soldier might feel a bond with his sword.

  The glow of the Power winked on around the women in the line, like a row of lanterns being lit. Egwene embraced the Source and felt the One Power flow into her like a waterfall, filling her and opening her eyes. The world became sweeter, the scents of oil from armor and of beaten grass growing stronger.

  Within the embrace of saidar she could see the signs of color that the Shadow wanted them to ignore. The grass wasn’t all dead; there were tiny hints of green, slivers where the grass clung to life. There were voles beneath it; she could now easily make out the ripples in the earth. They ate at the dying roots and clung to life.

  Smiling widely, she pulled the One Power through the fluted rod. Within that torrent she was atop a sea of strength and energy, riding a lone vessel and embracing the wind. The Trollocs finally surged into motion. They roared, a huge rush of weapons, teeth, stink and eyes that were too human. Perhaps the Myrddraal had seen Aes Sedai up front, and thought to attack and destroy the human channelers.

  The other women waited for Egwene’s sign. They were not in a circle—a circle was best for one focused, precise stream of the One Power. That wasn’t the goal today. The goal today was simply to destroy.

  Once the Trollocs were halfway to the hills, Egwene began her offensive. She had always been unusually strong in Earth, so she led with the most simple and destructive of weaves. She sent threads of Earth into the ground beneath the Trollocs in a long line, then heaved it up. With the aid of Vora’s sa’angreal, it felt as easy as tossing a handful of pebbles into the air.

  At this sign, the entire line of women formed weaves. The air rippled with glowing threads. Pure streams of fire, of earth to heave, of gusts of wind to blow the Trollocs into one another and make them trip and tumble.

  The Trollocs that Egwene had thrown into the air toppled back to the ground, many of them missing legs or feet. Bones broke and Trollocs screamed in agony as their fellows fell upon them. Egwene let the second rank stumble across the fallen, then struck again. This time, she didn’t focus on the earth, but on metal.

  Metal in armor, in weapons and on wrists. She shattered axes and swords, mail and the occasional breastplate. This released fragments of metal with deadly speed. The air grew red with spraying blood. The next ranks tried to stop to avoid the shrapnel, but the Trollocs behind them had too much momentum. They shoved their fellows forward into the zone of death and trampled them.

  Egwene also killed the next wave with exploding metal. It was harder than casting up the earth, but it also didn’t give as much sign to the back ranks, so she was able to continue killing without them realizing what they were doing by shoving their fellows forward.

  Then Egwene returned to rupturing the earth. There was something energizing about using raw power, sending weaves in their most basic forms. In that moment—maiming, destroying, bringing death upon the enemy—she felt as if she were one with the land itself. That she was doing the work it had longed for someone to do for so long. The Blight, and the Shadowspawn it grew, were a disease. An infection. Egwene—afire with the One Power, a blazing beacon of death and judgment—was the cauterizing flame that would bring healing to the land.

  The Trollocs tried hard to push through the Aes Sedai weaves, but that only put more and more of them into the White Tower’s reach. The Greens lived up to their Ajah’s reputation—releasing wave after wave of destruction at the Trollocs—but the other Ajahs did well, also.

  The ground trembled, and the air clogged with the howls of the dying. Bodies ripped. Flesh burned. Not a few of the soldiers in the front lines emptied their stomachs at the sight. And still, the Aes Sedai pounded the Trolloc lines. Specific sisters sought out Myrddraal, as they had been ordered. Egwene struck one herself, ripping its eyeless head from its neck with a weave of Fire and Air. Each Fade they killed dropped fists of Trollocs linked to them.

  Egwene doubled her attack. She hit a rank with a wave of exploding earth, then slammed a wave of air into the bodies as they fell, pushing them back so they dropped onto the ranks behind. She ripped holes in the earth and made the stones in the ground explode. She butchered Trollocs for what seemed like hours. Finally, the Shadowspawn broke, the Trollocs pulling back despite the whips of the Myrddraal. Egwene took a deep breath—she was starting to feel limp—and struck down more Fades. Finally, they too broke and fled back away from the hills.

  Egwene sagged in her saddle, lowering her sa’angreal. She wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed. The soldiers nearby stared, wide eyed. Their blood had not been required this day.

  “That was impressive,” Gawyn said, pulling his horse up beside hers. “It was as if they were assaulting city walls, trying to run ladders to a siege… only without the walls or the ladders.”

  “They’ll return,” Egwene said tiredly. “We killed just a small percentage of them.”

  On the morrow, or the day after at the latest, they would try again. New tactics, perhaps— they might spread out waves of attackers to make it more difficult for the Aes Sedai to kill large batches of them at once.

  “We surprised them,” Egwene said. “They will come stronger next time. For now, for this night, we’ve held.”

  “You didn’t just hold, Egwene,” Gawyn said with a smile. “You sent them running. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen an army so thoroughly trounced.”

  The rest of the army seemed to agree with Gawyn’s assessment, for they began to cheer, raising weapons. Egwene forced back her fatigue and tucked away the fluted rod. Nearby, other Aes Sedai lowered small statues, bracelets, brooches, rings and rods. They had emptied the White Tower’s storehouse of every angreal and sa’angreal—the few of those they had—and distributed them among the sisters on the battlefront. At the end of each day, they would be collected and delivered to the women providing Healing.

  The Aes Sedai turned and rode back through the cheering army. The time for sorrows would, unfortunately, come. The Aes Sedai could not fight each battle. For now, however, Egwene was content to let the soldiers enjoy their victory, for it was the very best kind. The kind that left no holes in their ranks.

  * * *

  “The Lord Dragon and his scouts have begun to reconnoiter Shayol Ghul.” Bashere pointed to one of the shaded maps. “Our resistance in Kandor and Shienar is forcing the Shadow to commit more and more troops to those fights. Soon, the Blasted Lands will be mostly empty, save for a skeleton force of defenders. He will be able to strike more easily then.”

  Elayne nodded. She could feel Rand somewhere in the back of her mind. He was worried about something, though he was too distant for her to feel more than that. He occasionally visited her, at her camp in the Braem Wood, but for now he was on one of the other battlefronts.

  Bashere continued. “The Amyrlin should be able to hold in Kandor, considering the number of channelers she has. I’m not worried about her.”

  “But you are about the Borderlanders,” Elayne said.

  “Yes. They’ve been pushed out of Tarwin’s Gap.”

  “I wish they had been able to hold where they were, but they’ve been overwhelmed. There is nothing to be done for it save siphon to them what aid we can.”

  Bashere nodded. “Perhaps Lord Mandragoran could reverse his retreat if he had more Aes Sedai or Asha’man.”

  Of which there were none to spare. She had sent him some Aes Sedai from Egwene’s army to help him with his initial retreat, and that had helped. But if Rand himself couldn’t fight off the Dreadlords there…

  “Lord Agelmar will know what to do,” Elayne said. “The Light willing, he’ll be able to pull the Trollocs away from more populated areas.”

  Bashere grunted. “A retreat like this—almost a rout—usually affords no chance for directing the course of battle.” Bashere pointed toward the map of Shienar.

  Elayne studied it. The path of the Trollocs would not avoid inhabited land. Fal Dara, Mos Shirare, Fal Moran… And with Dreadlords, city walls would be usele
ss.

  “Send word to Lan and the lords of Shienar,” she said quietly. “Order Fal Dara and Ankor Dail burned, along with Fal Moran and villages like Medo. They’re already burning what farmland they can—emptying the cities as well. Evacuate the civilians to Tar Valon.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bashere said softly. “It is what must be done, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Bashere said.

  Light, what a mess. Well, what did you expect? Neatness and simplicity?

  Footsteps on the leaves announced Talmanes approaching with one of his commanders. The Cairhienin looked tired. Everyone did. A week of battle was only the beginning, but the thrill of the fight was dying. Now came the real work of the war. Days fighting or waiting to fight, nights spent sleeping with sword in hand.

  Elayne’s current location in the Wood—she’d begun the morning a thousand paces further south, but their constant retreat through the forest kept her moving—was ideal. Three small streams with easy access, room for plenty of troops to camp, trees atop the hill that worked as well as watchtowers. A pity they’d have to leave this site behind in the morning.

  “The Trollocs control the entire southern section of the forest,” Bashere said, knuckling his mustaches. “They are avoiding the clearings. That means our cavalry won’t be able to operate effectively.”

  “The dragons are practically useless in here, Your Majesty,” Talmanes said, entering the tent. “Now that the Trollocs are keeping off the roadways, we have trouble doing any damage. It’s nearly impossible to maneuver the dragon carts in the forest, and when we do get a shot, we kill more trees than we do Shadowspawn.”

  “What of that… whatever it was that Aludra was talking about?”

  “Her dragon teeth?” Talmanes said. “It’s better—the dragon shoots out a bunch of bits of metal, rather than one ball. It has a big spread to it, and works reasonably well inside the forest, but I maintain that the dragons are doing less damage than it is worth risking them to achieve.”