Clouds spinning about one another made funnels into the masses of Trollocs, sweeping across the top of the hill, taking up the creatures into the air. Great waterspouts rose behind, made of flesh and fire. The beasts rained down, falling upon the others. Ituralde watched with awe, the hair on his arms and head rising. There was an energy to the very air itself.
A scream came from nearby. Within the building, in one of the nearby rooms. Ituralde did not turn away from the window. He had to watch this beautiful, terrible moment of destruction and Power.
Waves of Trollocs broke, the drums faltering. Entire legions of them turned and fled, stumbling up the hillside and over one another, fleeing back toward the Blight. Some remained firm—too angry, too intimidated by those driving them, or too stupid to flee. The tempest of destruction seemed to come to a peak, flashes of light blasting down in time with howling wind, thrumming waves of burning flame, tinkling shards of ice.
It was a masterwork. A terrible, destructive, wonderful masterwork. Al'Thor lifted his hand toward the sky. The winds grew faster, the lightning
strikes larger, the fires hotter. Trollocs screamed, moaned, howled. Ituralde found himself trembling.
Al'Thor closed his hand into a fist, and it all ended.
The last of the wind-seized Trollocs dropped from the sky like leaves abandoned by a passing breeze. Everything fell silent. The flames died, the black and white clouds cleared and opened to a blue sky.
Al'Thor lowered his hand. The field before him was piled with carcasses atop carcasses. Tens of thousands of dead Trollocs smoldering. Directly before al'Thor, a pile a hundred paces wide formed a ridge five feet tall a mound of dead that had nearly reached him.
How long had it taken? Ituralde found that he could not gauge the time, though looking at the sun, at least an hour had passed. Perhaps more. It had seemed like seconds.
Al'Thor turned to walk away. The Maidens rose on shaky feet, stumbling after him.
"What was that scream?" Naeff asked. "The one nearby, in the building. Did you hear it?"
Ituralde frowned. What had that been? He crossed the room, the others—including several of Bashere's officers—following. Many others stayed in the room, however, staring out at the field that had been cleansed by ice and by fire. It was odd, but Ituralde hadn't been able to spot a single fallen tower atop the hill. It was as if al'Thor's attacks had somehow affected only the Shadowspawn. Could a man really be that precise?
The hallway outside was empty, but Ituralde had a suspicion now of where the scream had come from. He walked to Lord Torkumen's door; Bashere unlocked it, and they went inside.
It seemed empty. Ituralde felt a spike of fear. Had the man escaped? He pulled out his sword.
No. A figure was huddled in the corner beside the bed, fine clothing wrinkled, doublet stained with blood. Ituralde lowered his sword. Lord Torkumen's eyes were gone. He appeared to have put them out with a writing quill; the bloodied implement lay on the ground beside him.
The window was broken. Bashere glanced out it. "Lady Torkumen is down there."
"She jumped," Torkumen whispered, clawing at his eye sockets, fingers covered with blood. He sounded dazed. "That light . . . That terrible light: Ituralde glanced at Bashere. "I cannot watch it," Torkumen muttered. "I cannot! Great Lord, where
is your protection? Where are your armies to rend, your swords to strike? That Light eats at my mind, like rats feasting on a corpse. It burns at my thoughts. It killed me. That light killed me."
"He's gone mad," Bashere said grimly, kneeling down beside the man. "Better than he deserved, judging by those ramblings. Light! My own cousin a Darkfriend. And in control of the city!"
"What is he talking about?" one of Bashere's men said. "A light? Surely he couldn't have seen the battle. None of these windows face the right way."
"I'm not sure he was talking about the battle, Vogeler," Bashere said. "Come on. I suspect the Lord Dragon is going to be tired. I want to see that he's cared for."
This is it, Min thought, tapping the page. She sat on her windowsill in the Stone of Tear, enjoying the breeze. Trying not to think of Rand. He wasn't hurt, but his emotions were so strong. Anger. She'd hoped he wouldn't be so angry ever again.
She shook off the worrying; she had work to do. Was she following the wrong thread? Was she interpreting in the wrong way? She read the line again. Light is held before the maw of the infinite void, and all that he is can be seized.
Her speculation cut off as she saw a light appear from the room across the hall. She dropped her book and leaped down to the floor. Rand was suddenly close. She could feel it through the bond.
Two Maidens guarded the room across the hall, mostly to prevent people from wandering in and getting hurt by gateways. The one that had opened now led to a place that smelled of smoke. Rand stumbled through. Min ran to him. He looked exhausted, eyes red, face wan. He leaned against her with a sigh, letting her help him to a chair.
"What happened?" Min demanded of Evasni, the Maiden who came through next. She was a lanky woman with dark red hair, cut short with a tail in the back like that of most Maidens.
"The Car'a'carn is well," the woman said. "Though he is like a youth who ran one more lap around the camp than everyone else, only to prove that he could."
"He gained much ji today," Ifeyina—the other Maiden—said, almost in argument. Her voice was solemn.
Rand sighed, settling back in the chair. Bashere followed out of the gateway, boots hitting stone. Min heard calls from down below—a group of wounded soldiers being brought through a larger gateway. The Stone's
courtyards were alive with activity, Aes Sedai Healers running to care for the bloodied, sooty men.
After Bashere came a lean Domani man in his middle years. Rodel
Iturralde. He looked much the worse for wear, with dried blood on his filthy
face his clothing ripped, and bearing a clumsy bandage on his arm. Rand
had no visible wounds. His clothing was clean, though he insisted on still
wearing that aged brown cloak. But Light, he looked tired.
"Rand," Min said, kneeling down. "Rand, are you all right?"
"I grew angry," Rand said softly. "I had thought myself beyond that."
She felt a chill.
"It was not a terrible anger, like before," Rand said. "It was not the anger of destruction, though I did destroy. In Maradon, I saw what had been done to men who followed me. I saw Light in them, Min. Defying the Dark One no matter the length of his shadow. We will live, that defiance said. We will love and we will hope.
"And I saw him trying so hard to destroy that. He knows that if he could break them, it would mean something. Something much more than Maradon. Breaking the spirit of men ... he thirsts for that. He struck far harder than he otherwise would have because he wanted to break my spirit." His voice grew softer and he opened his eyes, looking down at her. "And so I stood against him."
"What you did was amazing," Bashere said, standing beside Min with his arms folded. "But did you let him drive you to it?"
Rand shook his head. "I have a right to my anger, Bashere. Don't you see? Before, I tried to hold it all hidden within. That was wrong. I must feel. I must hurt for the pains, the deaths, the losses of these people. I have to cling to these things so I know why I am fighting. There are times when I need the void, but that does not make my anger any less a part of me."
He seemed to be growing more confident with each word, and Min nodded.
"Well, you saved the city," Bashere said.
"Not soon enough," Rand said. Min could feel his sorrow. "And my actions today may still have been a mistake."
Min frowned. "Why?"
It came too close to a confrontation between us," Rand said. "That must happen at Shayol Ghul, and at the right time. I cannot afford to let him provoke me. Bashere is right. Nor can I afford to let the men assume that I will always be able to step in and save them."
Perhaps," Bashere said. "But wha
t you did today . . ."
Rand shook his head. "I am not to fight this war, Bashere. Today's
battle exhausted me beyond what I should have allowed. If my enemies were to come upon me now, I'd be finished. Besides, I can only fight in one place at a time. What is coming will be grander than that, grander and more terrible than any one man could hope to hold back. I will organize you, but I must leave you. The war will be yours."
He fell silent, and Flinn stepped through the gateway, letting it slid closed.
"I must rest now," Rand said softly. "Tomorrow I meet with your niece and the other Borderlanders, Bashere. I know not what they will require of me, but they must return to their posts. If Saldaea was in such a state with one of the great captains leading the defense, I can only guess what the other Borderland nations are suffering."
Min helped him to his feet. "Rand," she said softly. "Cadsuane returned, and she had someone with her."
He hesitated. "Take me to her."
Min winced. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. You should rest."
"I will," he said. "Don't worry."
She could still sense his exhaustion. But she didn't argue. They walked from the room. "Rodel Ituralde," Rand said, pausing by the doorway. "You will wish to accompany me. I cannot repay you for the honor you have shown, but I do have something I can give."
The grizzled Domani nodded, following. Min helped Rand down the corridor, worrying about him. Did he have to push himself this hard?
Unfortunately, he does. Rand al'Thor was the Dragon Reborn. He'd be bled dry, ground down, used up before this was through. It was almost enough to make a woman stop trying.
"Rand . . ." she said, Ituralde and several Maidens trailing them. Fortunately, Cadsuane s room wasn't far.
"I will be all right," he said. "I promise. Have you news of your studies?" He was trying to distract her.
Unfortunately, that question just sent her to another worry. "Have you ever wondered why Cailandor is so often called a 'fearful blade' or 'the blade of ruin' in the prophecies?"
"It's such a powerful sa'angreal," he said. "Maybe it's because of the destruction it can cause?"
"Maybe," she said.
"You think it's something else."
"There's a phrase," Min said, "in the Jendai Prophecy. I wish we knew more of them. Anyway, it says 'and the Blade will bind him by twain.''
"Two women," Rand said. "I need to be in a circle with two women to control it."
She grimaced.
"What?" Rand said. "You might as well be out with it, Min. I need to know.
"There's another phrase, from The Karaethon Cycle. Anyway, I think
hat Callandor might be flawed beyond that. I think it might . . . Rand, I think it might make you weak, open you to attack, if you use it."
"Perhaps that's how I'll be killed, then."
"You aren't going to be killed," Min said.
"I—"
"You'll live through this, sheepherder," she insisted. "I'm going to see that you do."
He smiled at her. He looked so tired. "I almost believe that you'll do it, Min. Perhaps I'm not the one the Pattern bends around, but you." He turned, then knocked on a door in the hallway.
It cracked, Merise peeking out. She looked Rand up and down. "You seem as if you can barely stand on your own feet, al'Thor."
"True indeed," he replied. "Is Cadsuane Sedai here?"
"She has done as you asked," Merise replied. "And, I might say, she's been very accommodating, considering how you—"
"Let him in, Merise," Cadsuane's voice said from inside.
Merise hesitated, then gave Rand a glare as she pulled the door open all the way. Cadsuane sat in a chair, speaking with an older man whose long, gray hair fell loose to his shoulders. He had a large beak of a nose and regal clothing.
Rand stepped to the side. Behind them, someone gasped. Rodel Ituralde stepped up to the doorway, seeming stunned, and the man in the room turned. He had kindly eyes and coppery skin.
My liege," Ituralde cried, hastening forward, then going down on one knee. "You live!"
Min felt an overwhelming sense of happiness from Rand. Ituralde, it appeared, was weeping. Rand stepped back. "Come, let's go to my rooms and rest."
"The King of Arad Doman. Where did she find him?" Min said. "How did you know?"
A friend left me a secret," Rand said. "The White Tower collected Mattin Stepaneos to 'protect' him. Well, it wasn't too much of a leap to wonder if they might have done that with other monarchs. And if they sent sisters to Arad Doman to seize him months ago, before any of them knew of gateways, they could have gotten trapped in the snows on their return trip. He seemed so relieved. "Graendal never had him. I didn't kill him Mm. One innocent I assumed that I'd killed still lives. That's something. A small something. But it helps."
She helped him walk the rest of the way to their rooms, contents-for moment—to share in his warm sense of joy and relief.
CHAPTER
33
Siuan's soup was surprisingly good. She took another sip, raising an eyebrow. It was simple—broth and vegetables, bits of chicken—but when most food tasted stale at best, this seemed a wonder. She tried the biscuit. No weevils? Delightful! Nynaeve had just fallen silent, her own bowl steaming in front of her. Newly raised, she'd taken the oaths earlier in the day. They were in the Amyrlin's study, shutters open and spilling in golden light, new rugs of green and gold on the floor.
Silently, Siuan chided herself for getting distracted by the soup. Nynaeve's report demanded consideration. She'd spoken of her time with Rand al'Thor, and specifically of events such as the cleansing. Of course, Siuan had heard the reports that saidin had been cleansed; an Asha'man had visited the camp during the division. She had remained skeptical, but there was little denying it now.
Well," the Amyrlin said, "I am very glad for this longer explanation, Nynaeve. Though saidin being cleansed does make it less unsettling to consider Asha'man and Aes Sedai bonding one another. I wish Rand had been willing to speak to me of that during our meeting." She said it evenly, though Siuan knew she looked on men bonding women with as much pleasure as a captain looked on a fire in his hold.
"I suppose," Nynaeve said, lips turning down. "If it matters, Rand didn't approve the men bonding women."
"It doesn't matter if he did or not," Egwene said. "The Asha'rnan are his responsibility."
"As the Aes Sedai who chained him and beat him are yours, Mother?" Nynaeve asked.
"Inherited from Elaida, perhaps," Egwene said, eyes narrowing just slightly.
She was right to bring Nynaeve back, Siuan thought, taking a sip of soup. She takes his side far too often for comfort.
Nynaeve sighed, taking her spoon to begin her soup. "I didn't mean that as a challenge, Mother. I just want to show how he thinks. Light' I didn't approve of much of what he did, particularly lately. But I can see how he got there."
"He has changed, though," Siuan said thoughtfully. "You said so yourself."
"Yes," Nynaeve said. "The Aiel say he's embraced death."
"I've heard that from them, too," Egwene said. "But I looked into his eyes, and something else has changed, something inexplicable. The man I saw . . ."
"He didn't seem like one to destroy Natrin's Barrow?" Siuan shivered as she thought of that.
"The man I saw wouldn't need to destroy such a place," Egwene said. "Those inside would just follow him. Bend to his wishes. Because he was"
The three fell silent.
Egwene shook her head and took a sip of her soup. She paused, then smiled. "Well, I see the soup is good. Perhaps things aren't as bad as I thought."
"The ingredients came from Caemlyn," Nynaeve noted. "I overheard the serving girls talking."
"Oh."
More silence.
"Mother," Siuan said, speaking carefully. "The women are still worried about the deaths in the Tower."
"I agree. Mother," Nynaeve said. "Sisters stare at one another with distrust. It worries
me."
"You both should have seen it before," Egwene said. "During Elaidas reign."
"If it was worse than this," Nynaeve said, "I'm glad that I didn't." She glanced down at her Great Serpent ring. She did that a lot, recently. As a fisher with a new boat often glanced toward the docks and smiled. For all her complaints that she was Aes Sedai, and for all the fact that she'd been
wearing that ring for a long time now' she was obviously satisfied to have
passsed the testing and taken the oaths. "It was terrible," Egwene said. "And I don't intend to let it go back to that. Siuan, the plan must be put into motion."
Siuan grimaced. "I've been teaching the others. But I don't think this is a good idea, Mother. They're barely trained."
"What's this?" Nynaeve asked.
"Aes Sedai," Egwene said. "Carefully chosen and given dream ter'angreal. Siuan is showing them how Tel'ararirhiod works."
"Mother, that place is dangerous."
Egwene took another sip of soup. "I believe I know that better than most. But it is necessary; we must lure the killers into a confrontation. I'll arrange for a 'secret' meeting among my most loyal Aes Sedai, in the World of Dreams, and perhaps lay clues that other people of importance will be attending. Siuan, you've contacted the Windfinders?"
"Yes," Siuan said. "Though they want to know what you'll give them to agree to meet with you."
"The loan of the dream ter'angreal will be enough," Egwene said dryly. "Not everything has to be a bargain."
"To them, it often does," Nynaeve said. "But that's beside the point. You're bringing Windfinden to this meeting to lure Mesaana?"
"Not exactly," Egwene said. "I'll see the Windfinders at the same time, in a different place. And some Wise Ones as well. Enough to hint to Mesaana—assuming she's got spies watching the other groups of women who can channel—that she really wants to spy on us in Tel'aran'rhiod that day.
"You and Siuan will hold a meeting in the Hall of the Tower, but it will be a decoy to draw Mesaana or her minions out of hiding. With wards—and some sisters watching from hidden places—we'll be able to trap them. Siuan will send for me as soon as the trap is sprung."
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