Towers of Midnight

by Robert Jordan; Brandon Sanderson

Thorn opened his eyes and smiled, but did not stand up. He shook his head, those drooping mustaches wagging, and looked down at Moiraine.

  Her eyes fluttered open. "Thorn," she whispered, smiling. "I thought I heard your voice."

  Light, but her voice took Mat back. To other times. Ages ago.

  She glanced at him. "And Mat. Dear Matrim. I knew you would come for me. Both of you. I wish you hadn't, but I knew you would. . . ."

  "Rest, Moiraine," Thorn said softly. "We'll be out of here in two strums of a harp."

  Mat looked at her, lying there, helpless. "Burn me. I'm not going to let it end like this!"

  "They're coming, lad," Thorn said. "I can hear them."

  Mat turned to look through the opening. He could see what Thorn had heard. The Aelfinn crept through the corridor, sinuous and deadly. They smiled, and he could see fanglike incisors at the forefront of those smiles. They could have been human, save for those fangs. And those eyes. Those unnatural, slitted eyes. They moved sleekly. Terrible, eager.

  "No," Mat whispered. "There has to be a way." Think, he told himself. Mat, you fool. There has to be a way out. How did you escape the last time? Noal had asked. That was no help.

  Thorn, looking desperate, unhooked his harp from his back. He began

  to play it. Mat recognized the tune, "Sweet Whispers of Tomorrow." A mournful sound, played for the fallen dead. It was beautiful.

  Remarkably, the music did seem to soothe the Aelfinn. They slowed, the ones at the front beginning to sway to the beat of the melody as they walked. They knew. Thorn played for his own funeral.

  "I don't know how I got out last time," Mat whispered. "I was unconscious. I woke up being hanged. Rand cut me down."

  He raised a hand to his scar. His original Aelfinn answers revealed nothing. He knew about the Daughter of the Nine Moons, he knew about giving up half the light of the world. He knew about Rhuidean. It all made sense. No holes. No questions.

  Except. . . .

  What did the Eelfinn give you?

  "If I had my way," Mat whispered, staring at the oncoming Aelfinn, "I would want those holes filled."

  The Aelfinn slithered forward, wearing those cloths of yellow wrapping their bodies. Thorn's music spun in the air, echoing. The creatures approached with steady, slow steps. They knew they had their prey now.

  The two Aelfinn at the front carried swords of gleaming bronze, dripping red. Poor Noal.

  Thom began to sing. "Oh, how long were the days of a man. When he strode upon a broken land."

  Mat listened, memories blossoming in his mind. Thorn's voice carried him to days long ago. Days in his own memories, days of the memories of others. Days when he had died, days when he had lived, days when he had fought and when he had won.

  "I want those holes filled . . ." Mat whispered to himself. "That's what I said. The Eelfinn obliged, giving me memories that were not my own."

  Moiraine's eyes had closed again, but she smiled as she listened to Thorn's music. Mat had thought Thom was playing for the Aelfinn, but now he wondered if he was playing for Moiraine. A last, melancholy song for a failed rescue.

  "He sailed as far as a man could steer," Thom sang, voice sonorous, beautiful. "And he never wished to lose his fear."

  "I want those holes filled," Mat repeated, "so they gave me memories. That was my first boon."

  "For the fear of man is a thing untold. It keeps him safe, and it proves him bold!"

  "I asked something else, not knowing it," Mat said. "I said I wanted to

  be free of Aes Sedai and the Power. They gave me the medallion for that. Another gift."

  "Don't let fear make you cease to strive, for that fear it proves you remain alive!"

  "And . . . and I asked for one more thing. I said I wanted to be away from them and back to Rhuidean. The Eelfinn gave me everything I asked for. The memories to fill my holes. The medallion to keep me free from the Power. . . ."

  And what? They sent him back to Rhuidean to hang. But hanging was a price, not an answer to his demands.

  "I will walk this broken road," Thorn sang, voice growing louder, "and I will carry a heavy load!"

  "They did give me something else," Mat whispered, looking down at the ashandarei in his hands as the Aelfinn began to hiss more loudly.

  Thus is our treaty written; thus is agreement made.

  It was carved on the weapon. The blade had two ravens, the shaft inscribed with words in the Old Tongue.

  Thought is the arrow of time; memory never fades.

  Why had they given to him? He had never questioned it. But he had not asked for a weapon.

  What was asked is given. The price is paid.

  No, I didn't ask for a weapon. I asked for a way out.

  And they gave me this.

  "So come at me with your awful lies," Thorn bellowed the final line of the song. "I'm a man of truth, and I'll meet your eyes!"

  Mat spun the ashandarei and thrust it into the wall. The point sank into the not-stone. Light sprayed out around it, spilling free like blood gushing from a split vein. Mat screamed, ramming it in farther. Powerful waves of light erupted from the wall.

  He drew the ashandarei down at an angle, making a slit. He pulled the weapon up the other side, cutting out a large inverse triangle of light. The light seemed to thrum as it washed across him. The Aelfinn had reached the doorway by Thorn, but they hissed, shying back from the powerful radiance.

  Mat finished by drawing a wavy line down the middle of the triangle. He could barely see, the light was so bright. The section of the wall in front of him fell away, revealing a glowing white passage that seemed to be cut out of steel.

  "Well I'll . . ." Thorn whispered, standing up.

  The Aelfinn screamed with high-pitched anger. They entered the room, arms raised to shield their eyes, wicked swords gripped in opposing hands.

  "Get her out!" Mat bellowed, spinning to face the creatures. He lifted the ashandarei, using the butt end to smash the face of the first Aelfinn. "Go!"

  Thorn grabbed Moiraine, then spared a glance at Mat.

  "Go!" Mat repeated, smashing the arm of another Aelfinn.

  Thom leaped into the doorway and vanished. Mat smiled, spinning among the Aelfinn with his ashandarei, laying into legs, arms, heads. There were a lot of them, but they seemed dazed by the light, frenzied to get to him. As he tripped the first few, the others stumbled. The creatures became a squirming mass of sinuous arms and legs, hissing and spitting in anger, several of those in back trying to crawl over the pile to reach him.

  Mat stepped back and tipped his hat to the creatures. "Looks like the game can be won after all," he said. "Tell the foxes I'm mighty pleased with this key they gave me. Also, you can all go rot in a flaming pit of fire and ashes, you unwashed lumps on a pig's backside. Have a grand bloody day."

  He held his hat and leaped through the opening.

  All flashed white.

  CHAPTER

  56

  Something Wrong

  A soft knock came at the post outside Egwene's tent. "Come," she said, shuffling through the papers on her desk. Gawyn slipped in. He'd given up his fine clothing, choosing trousers of brown and a slightly lighter shirt. A Warders color-shifting cloak hung around his shoulders, making him blend into his surroundings. Egwene herself was wearing a regal dress of green and blue.

  His cloak rustled as he took a seat beside her desk. "Elayne's army is crossing. She sent word that she's on her way to come visit our camp."

  "Excellent," Egwene said. Gawyn nodded, but he was troubled. Such a useful thing, that ball of emotions caused by the bond. If she'd known earlier the depth of his devotion to her, she'd have bonded him weeks ago. "What?" Egwene asked, setting aside her papers.

  "Aybara," he said. "He hasn't agreed to meet with you."

  "Elayne said he might be difficult."

  "I think he's going to take al'Thor's side," Gawyn said. "You can see it in the way he set up camp, apart from everyone else. He sent messengers i
mmediately to the Aiel and to the Tairens. He's got a good army, Egwene. A huge one. With Whitecloaks in it."

  "That doesn't sound likely to make him side with Rand," Egwene said.

  "Doesn't seem like it makes him likely to side with us either," Gawyn said. "Egwene . . . Galad leads the Whitecloaks."

  "Your brother?"

  "Yes." Gawyn shook his head. "This many armies, this many loyalties, all rubbing against one another. Aybara and his force could be a spark that sends us all up like a firework."

  "It will be better when Elayne settles in," Egwene said.

  "Egwene, what if al'Thor isn't coming? What if he did this to distract everyone from whatever else he's doing?"

  "Why would he do that?" Egwene said. "He's already proven that he can avoid being found, if he wants to." She shook her head. "Gawyn, he knows he shouldn't break those seals. A part of him does, at least. Perhaps that's why he told me—so I could gather resistance, so I could talk him out of it."

  Gawyn nodded. No further complaint or argument. It was a wonder how he'd changed. He was as intense as ever, yet less abrasive. Ever since that night with the assassins, he had started doing as she asked. Not as a servant. As a partner dedicated to seeing her will done.

  It was a wonderful thing. It was also important, since the Hall of the Tower seemed determined to overturn their agreement to let her take charge of dealings with Rand. She looked down at her stack of papers, not a few of which were letters of "advice" from Sitters.

  But they came to her, rather than circumventing her. That was good, and she couldn't ignore them. She had to make them continue to believe that working with her was for the best. At the same time, she couldn't let them assume that she'd be blown over by a few good shouts.

  Such a delicate balance. "Well, let's go meet your sister, then."

  Gawyn rose, moving smoothly. The three rings he wore on a chain around his neck rattled as he moved; she'd have to ask him again where he'd gotten those. He had been oddly closemouthed about them. He held open the tent flaps for her, and she stepped out.

  Outside, the late-afternoon sun was hidden by gray clouds. Bryne's soldiers worked busily on a palisade. His army had swelled during the last few weeks, and they dominated the eastern side of the wide, forest-rimmed grassland that had once been known as Merrilor. The ruins of the tower fortress that had stood here were strewn across the northern side of the field, moss-covered, nearly hidden by chokevine.

  Egwene's tent was on a rise, and she could overlook the many armies encamped here. "Is that one new?" she asked, gesturing toward a smaller force that had taken up a position just below the ruins.

  "They came on their own," Gawyn said. "Farmers, mostly. Not really a true army; most don't have swords. Pitchforks, wood axes, quarterstaffs. I assume al'Thor sent them. They started wandering in yesterday."

  "Curious," Egwene said. They seemed a varied bunch, with mismatched tents and little understanding of how to set up an army camp. But there did seem to be some five or ten thousand of them. "Have some scouts keep an eye on them."

  Gawyn nodded.

  Egwene turned and noted a procession moving through several gateways nearby, setting up camp. The Lion of Andor flew high above them and the soldiers marched in orderly rows. A procession in red and white had left them and was marching toward Egwene's camp, the banner of the Queen flying above them.

  Gawyn accompanied Egwene across the yellowed grass to meet Elayne. The Andoran Queen had certainly taken her time. Only one day until the time specified by Rand. Still, she had come, as had others. Aiel had accompanied Darlin from Tear, and her persuasion had been enough to bring a large contingent of Illianers, who camped on the western side of the grass.

  The Cairhienin were Elayne's now, by reports, and were coming through with the Andorans and a large number of men from the Band of the Red Hand. Egwene had sent an offer, and a woman to offer Traveling, to King Roedran of Murandy, but she was uncertain if he would come. Even without him, however, a considerable number of the world's nations were represented here, particularly since the flags of Ghealdan and Mayene could be seen among Perrin's armies. She would have to contact their two rulers and see if she could sway them to her way of thinking. But even if not, surely what she had gathered would be enough to convince Rand to change his plans. Light send it was enough. She didn't want to think of what would happen if he forced her hand.

  She walked down the pathway, nodding back to sisters who nodded and Accepted who curtsied, soldiers who saluted and servants who bowed. Rand would—

  "It can't be," Gawyn said suddenly, freezing in place.

  "Gawyn?" she said, frowning. "Are you—"

  He took off at a run across the weed-strewn hill. Egwene looked after him with dissatisfaction. He still had an impulsive streak. Why was he so upset, suddenly? It wasn't worry; she could feel that. It was confusion. She hastened after him with as much speed as decorum would allow. Elayne's envoy had stopped in the dead grass.

  Gawyn was on his knees there, before someone. An older woman with red-gold hair, standing beside a smiling Elayne, who still sat her horse.

  Ah, Egwene thought. Her spies had delivered word of this rumor just last night, but she'd wanted to confirm it before speaking to Gawyn.

  Morgase Trakand lived.

  Egwene stood back, for now. Once she stepped forward, Elayne would have to kiss her ring and the entire procession would bow; that would spoil Gawyn's moment. As she waited, the clouds above grew thinner.

  Suddenly they split, the dark thunderheads pulling back. The sky became an open field of blue, a deep, pure expanse. Elayne's eyes opened wide, and she turned on her horse, looking at Perrin's section of camp.

  He's come, then, Egwene thought. And the calm is here. The brief moment of peace before the storm that destroys.

  "You give it a try, Emarin," Androl said, standing with a small group inside a stand of trees near the border of the Black Tower grounds.

  The stately nobleman concentrated, holding the One Power. Weaves sprang up around him. He was remarkably skillful, considering his short time practicing, and expertly crafted the weave for a gateway.

  Instead of opening a hole in the air, the weave unraveled and vanished. Emarin turned to the rest of them, sweat streaming down his face. "Forming those weaves seemed harder than before," he said.

  "Why won't they work?" Evin said. The young man's youthful face flushed with anger—as if the problem with gateways was an insult.

  Androl shook his head, arms folded. The trees rustled, leaves shivering, many falling to the ground. Brown, as if it were autumn. That unnerved him. He'd spent some time working the ground during his journeys in life, and had acquired a farmer's sense for right and wrong regarding the land.

  "You try it again, Androl," Evin said. "You're always so good with gateways."

  He glanced at the other three. Canler was the other one there; the aging Andoran farmer wore a deep frown. Of course, Canler often scowled at one thing or another.

  Androl closed his eyes, emptying himself of all passions, embracing the void. Saidin shone in there, life and Power. He seized it, drinking it in. He opened his eyes to a world that was more vibrant. Could dead plants look both sickly and vibrant at the same time? A strange juxtaposition made possible by saidin.

  He focused. Making gateways came so much easier to him than other weaves did; he'd never understood why. Though he couldn't break even a small rock apart by channeling, he could make a gateway large enough for a wagon to drive through. Logain had called it impressive; Taim had called it impossible.

  This time, Androl pushed all of the Power he had into his weave. He understood gateways. They made sense. Maybe it was the innate fondness he had for traveling, for discovering new places and new arts.

  The weaves came together. He didn't notice any of the difficulty that Emarin had mentioned. However, when the familiar slash of light should have come, the weave began to unravel instead. Androl tried to hold to it pulling it together. For
a moment, it looked like that would work. Then the threads slid from his grip, evaporating. The gateway never formed.

  "The other weaves I've tried all work," Evin said, making a globe of light. "Every one of them."

  "Only gateways," Canler said with a grunt.

  "It's like . . ." Emarin said. "It's as if something wants to keep us here. In the Black Tower."

  "Try them in other places inside the perimeter," Androl said. "But try not to let any of Taim's loyalists see what you're doing. Pretend to be surveying, as Taim ordered."

  The men nodded, the three of them hiking toward the east. Androl left the glade. Norley was standing beside the road, looking about for him. The short, thick-waisted Cairhienin man waved and approached. Androl met him halfway. Norley had an open, inviting smile. Nobody ever suspected him of spying on them, something Androl had put to good use.

  "You spoke with Mezar?" Androl asked.

  "Sure did," Norley replied. "Shared a lunch with him." Norley waved at Mishraile as they passed him supervising a group of soldiers practicing their weaves. The golden-haired man turned away dismissively.

  "And?" Androl asked, tense.

  "It's not really Mezar," Norley said. "Oh, it has Mezar's face, right enough. But it's not him. I can see it in his eyes. Trouble is, whatever the thing is, it has Mezar's memories. Talks right like him. But the smile is wrong. All wrong."

  Androl shivered. "It has to be him, Norley."

  "It ain't. I promise you that."

  "But—"

  "It just ain't" the stout man said.

  Androl took a deep breath. When Mezar had returned a few days back—explaining that Logain was well and that all would soon be resolved with Taim—Androl had begun to hope that there was a way out of this mess. But something had seemed off about the man. Beyond that, the M'Hael had made a great show of accepting Mezar as a full Ashaman; the

  Dragon had raised him. And now Mezar—once fiercely loyal to Logain— was spending his time with Coteren and Taim's other lackeys.

  "This is getting bad, Androl," Norley said softly, smiling and waving toward another group of practicing men. "I'd say it's time for us to leave here, whether or not it's against orders."