The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “I’m going to go look at the battlefield,” Mat said again. He set aside his hat, then reached up over his head and grabbed the back of his rich, bulky Seanchan robes. He pulled the clothing, awkward shoulder pieces and all, over his head with a rustle of silk and lace, then tossed it aside.

  That left him clad in only his neck scarf, his medallion and the strange breeches the Seanchan had given him, black and somewhat stiff. Min raised an eyebrow at his bare chest, which made him blush. But what did it matter? She was with Rand, so that made her practically his sister. There was Courtani, too, but Mat was not convinced that she was female. He was not convinced she was human, either.

  Mat dug under the table for a moment, and pulled out a bundle he had stashed there earlier, then straightened up. Min folded her arms. Her new clothing looked very nice on her, a dress nearly as rich as the ones worn by Tuon. Min’s was a dark green shiny silk with black embroidery and wide, open sleeves that were at least long enough to stick your head into. They had done up her hair, too, sticking bits of metal into it, silver with inset firedrops. There were hundreds of them. If this whole Doomseer title did not work out for her, perhaps she could find work as a chandelier.

  She was quite fetching in the outfit, actually. Odd. Mat had always considered Min on the boyish side, but now he found her appealing. Not that he looked.

  The Seanchan in the room seemed stunned that Mat had suddenly stripped to the waist. He did not see why. They had servants that wore much less. Light, but they did.

  “I’m tempted to do the same as you,” Min muttered, grabbing the front of her dress.

  Mat froze, then sputtered. He must have swallowed a fly or something. “Burn me,” he said, throwing on the shirt he dug out of the bundle. “I’ll give you a hundred Tar Valon marks if you do it, just so I can tell the story.”

  That earned him a glare, though he did not know why. She was the one talking about striding about like a bloody Aiel Maiden on her way to the sweat tent.

  Min did not do it, and he was almost sad. Almost. He had to be careful around Min. He was certain that a smile in the wrong place would earn him a knifing not only from her, but from Tuon, and Mat was much happier with only one knife stuck in him at a time.

  The foxhead medallion rested comfortably against his skin—Tuon had returned them all, and refused to keep a copy—as he tossed on his coat, also retrieved from the bundle.

  “How did you retain those?” Captain-General Galgan asked. “I was under the impression that your clothing had been burned, Raven Prince.”

  Galgan looked very silly with that one strip of white hair on his head, but Mat did not mention this. It was the Seanchan way. Folk could be funny, but he didn’t doubt Galgan could handle himself in a battle, however he looked.

  “These?” Mat said, gesturing to his coat and shirt. “I really have no idea. They were just down there. I’m completely baffled.” He had been very pleased to learn that Seanchan guards—for all their stoic expressions and too-straight backs—responded to bribes like other people.

  All but those Deathwatch Guards. Mat had learned not to try it with them; the glare they’d given him made him think that if he tried it again, he’d end up with his face in the mud. Perhaps it would be better not to even talk to a Deathwatch Guard again, as it was quite obvious that each and every one one of them had traded his sense of humor for an oversized chin.

  In a pinch, though, he knew exactly who he would trust with Tuon’s safety.

  Mat strode out, grabbing his ashandarei from against the wall as he passed. Courtani and Min followed him out. It was too bad Tylee was so good at what she did. Mat would rather have kept her behind for company and sent the scarecrow instead. Maybe he should have. Some of the Trollocs might have mistaken her for one of them.

  He had to wait as a groom ran for Pips, unfortunately, and that gave someone time to alert Tuon. He saw her approaching. Well, she had said she would return shortly anyway, so he had not really expected to avoid a confrontation.

  Min shuffled, cursing softly at her skirts.

  “Still trying to decide if you should run?” Mat asked Min under his breath as Tuon approached.

  “Yes,” Min said sourly.

  “The beds are nice here, you know. And they know how to treat a fellow, so long as they don’t end up beheading him. I still haven’t figured out what keeps that from happening.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Mat turned to her. “You realize that if Rand were here, he’d probably ask you to stay.”

  Min glared at him.

  “It’s just the truth, Min. The bloody truth. I was there when Rand brought them to his side, and I can tell you, he was worried. The Seanchan and Aes Sedai don’t get along too well, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “That’s about as obvious as your pride is, Mat.”

  “Ouch. Here I’m trying to help. I tell you, Min. How much relief do you think it would bring Rand if he knew that someone he trusted had Tuon’s ear, someone who could nudge her to play nicely with the Aes Sedai by giving the right ‘omens’ at the right time? Of course, you could be back at the camp hauling water and running messages. I’m sure that would be just as helpful as you would be keeping an eye on a foreign monarch and encouraging her to trust and respect the Dragon Reborn, building a bridge of friendship between her and the rest of the nations.”

  Min stood silently for a moment. “I hate you, bloody Mat Cauthon.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Mat said, raising a hand to greet Tuon. “Now, let’s see which of my limbs she cuts off for throwing away her fancy clothing.” Too bad about that. Nice embroidery on that robe. A man needed a little embroidery to keep him refined. Still, he was not about to wear that heap of cloth into battle. He would have better luck trying to fight while carrying Pips on his back.

  The others did their usual bowing and scraping when Tuon walked up, though she had been gone only a few minutes. Mat gave her a nod. She took in his clothing with a long glance, up and down. Why was everyone so sour on a good shirt and jacket? He had not chosen the ratty one he had worn to visit Elayne. He had burned that.

  “Greatest One,” Courtani said. She was of the High Blood, and could address Tuon directly. “May you always draw breath. The Raven Prince has determined that he himself must visit the battlefield, as he has judged our messengers and generals to be lacking skill.”

  Mat hooked his thumbs into his belt, regarding Tuon, as a groom finally arrived with Pips. About bloody time. Had the boy stopped for lunch along the way, perhaps taken in a gleeman performance or two?

  “Well, why are we waiting?” Tuon asked. “If the Prince of the Ravens wishes to see the battlefield, I would think that loyal servants of the Empire would have tripped over themselves in their haste to carry him there.”

  Courtani looked as if she had been slapped. Mat grinned at Tuon, and she favored him with a smile. Light, but he liked those smiles.

  “So, you’re coming along, then?” he asked Tuon.

  “Of course. You see a reason why I should not?”

  “Not a one,” Mat said, groaning inside. “Not a single bloody one.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  The Loss of a Hill

  “Focus attention on the Fades!” Egwene said, releasing a burst of Air toward the Trollocs climbing up the hillside. The Trollocs had made a gaping hole in the ranks of pikemen defending the hill and were pouring through. Now accustomed to assaulting channelers, they squatted and braced themselves. That gave Egwene a good view of the fist and the Myrddraal hiding at the very center. It wore a brown coat over its usual clothing and held a Trolloc catchpole.

  No wonder I had trouble spotting him, Egwene thought, destroying the creature with a weave of Fire. The Halfman writhed, shaking and screeching in the fire, its eyeless face turned toward the heavens. The fist of Trollocs dropped as well.

  Egwene smiled in satisfaction, but her pleasure was short lived. Her archers were getting low on arrows, the pike ranks wer
e tattered and some of the Aes Sedai were clearly fatigued. Another wave of Trollocs replaced those that Egwene had dropped. Will we be able to stand another day of this? she thought.

  A banner of lancers suddenly broke from the left flank of Bryne’s army fighting at the river. They flew the Flame of Tar Valon—that would be the unit of heavy cavalry that Bryne was proud of. He had cobbled them together under Captain Joni Shagrin out of a mix of seasoned veterans from the cavalries of other countries and those soldiers from the Tower Guard who wanted to join this elite fighting force.

  The lancers skirted the Sharans opposite them and rode furiously toward Egwene’s hills, directly at the rear of the Trolloc army that was assaulting her position. Right behind them, a second cavalry unit followed in the dust of the first, this one displaying the dark green banner of Illian. It looked like the general was finally going to send her some relief.

  But … Wait. Egwene frowned. From her vantage, she could see that the main army’s left flank was completely unprotected now. What is he doing? Some … some sort of trap for the Sharans?

  If there had been a trap planned, the jaws did not snap shut. Instead, a Sharan cavalry unit charged into Bryne’s exposed left flank and began to inflict heavy casualties on the foot soldiers defending that position at the river. And then Egwene saw another movement on the field below that really horrified her—an even larger Sharan cavalry banner had broken off the enemy’s right flank and was bearing down on the lancer unit that had come to help Egwene.

  “Gawyn, get word to those lancers—it’s a trap!”

  But there was no time to do anything. Within moments, the Sharan cavalry had begun slaying the White Tower lancers from behind. At the same time, the back ranks of Trollocs had turned around to face the lancer charge. Egwene could see that these Trollocs all carried long polearms that ripped through the flesh of man and horse. The front ranks of lancers went down in a bloody heap, and the Trollocs waded between the bodies to pull down and thrust their weapons through the cavalrymen behind.

  Egwene shouted, drawing what Power she could and trying to destroy that Trolloc force—and the other women joined her. It was a massacre on both sides. There were just too many Trollocs, and the lancers were unprotected. In minutes, it was over. Only a few cavalrymen had managed to survive, and Egwene saw them riding at full bore toward the river.

  It shook her. At times, the armies seemed to move at the turgid pace of enormous ships at dock—and then, in an instant, everything would burst and entire banners would have perished.

  She looked away from the corpses below. The Aes Sedai positions on the hilltops had been compromised. As the Trollocs returned their attention toward her force, Egwene gave orders for gateways. She had the pikemen withdraw uphill through the gateways as her archers continued to shoot projectiles into the Trollocs below. Then, Egwene and the remaining Aes Sedai rained destruction down on the Trollocs long enough to get the archers through the gateways.

  Before disappearing through the last gateway on her hill, Egwene gave a final look at the battlefield. What had just happened? She shook her head as Gawyn stepped up to her side, faithful as always. He hadn’t had an opportunity to draw his sword this battle. Neither had Leilwin; the two seemed to be having a little silent competition as to who could act as the better guard, remaining right by Egwene’s side. She’d have found it annoying, but it was better than Gawyn’s sullen regret in previous battle engagements.

  He was looking pale, though. As if at the start of a sickness. Had he been getting enough sleep?

  “I want to go to the camp and find General Bryne,” Egwene said. “I want to know why this was allowed to happen. And then I will go to our troops defending the ford, and avenge our people who just lost their lives here.”

  They both gave her frowns.

  “Egwene…” Gawyn said.

  “I have strength yet,” Egwene said. “I have been using the sa’angreal to keep from having to work too hard. The men fighting in that quarter need to see me, and I must do good where I can. I will take as many guards as you wish me to take.”

  Gawyn hesitated, glanced at Leilwin, then finally nodded.

  * * *

  Lan dismounted and handed the reins to Andere, then continued past the guards—who seemed shocked to see him and his numerous guards, many of them bloodied—toward the command tent. The tent was little more than an awning now, open on all sides, with soldiers moving in and out like ants in a hill. The air was hot here in Shienar today. He had not received reports recently from the other battlefronts, but had heard his would not be the only desperate stand today. Elayne fought at Cairhien; the Amyrlin on the border of Arafel.

  Light send that they were having a better time of it than Lan. Inside the tent, Agelmar stood with maps on the ground all around him, pointing at them with a thin pole and moving bits of colored stone around as he gave orders. Runners would come and give updates on the progress of battle. The best battle plans lasted only until the first sword was drawn, but a good general could work battles like a potter working clay, taking the ebbs and flows of soldiers and molding them.

  “Lord Mandragoran?” Agelmar asked, looking up. “Light, man! You look like the Blight itself. Have you seen the Aes Sedai for Healing?”

  “I am well,” Lan said. “How goes the battle?”

  “I’m encouraged,” Agelmar said. “If we can find some way to stall those Dreadlords for an hour or two, I think we actually have a fair shot of turning the Trollocs back.”

  “Surely not,” Lan said. “There are so many.”

  “It’s not about numbers,” Agelmar said, waving Lan over, pointing at a map. “Lan, here is a thing that few men understand. Armies can and often do break when they have superior numbers, superior battlefield advantage, and a good chance of winning.

  “When you spend time commanding, you start to think of an army as a single entity. A massive beast with thousands of limbs. That’s a mistake. An army is made up of men—or, in this case, Trollocs—each one on the field, each one terrified. Being a soldier is about keeping your terror in check. The beast inside just wants to escape.”

  Lan crouched down, inspecting the battle maps. The situation was much as he’d seen it, only Agelmar still had the Saldaean light cavalry watching the eastern flank on the map. A mistake? Lan had confirmed for himself that they were no longer there. Shouldn’t runners have brought Agelmar word that the map was wrong? Or was he somehow distracting them from noticing?

  “I’ll show you something today, Lan,” Agelmar said softly. “I’ll show you what the smallest man on the practice yard must learn if he is to survive. You can make the larger enemy break if you convince him that he is going to die. Hit him hard enough, and he will run, and won’t return to let you hit again—even if you’re secretly too weak to hit again.”

  “That’s your plan, then?” Lan asked. “Today?”

  “The Trollocs will break if we show them a display of force that frightens them,” Agelmar said. “I know it can work. I’m hoping that we can bring down the leader of those Dreadlords. If the Trollocs assume they’re losing, they will run. They are cowardly beasts.”

  Listening to Agelmar made it seem plausible. Perhaps Lan just wasn’t seeing the entire picture. Perhaps the great captain’s genius was beyond what others could fathom. Had he done right in countermanding the order to move the archers?

  The messenger Lan had sent earlier came galloping back to the command center. One of Lan’s High Guard was there, too, holding his own arm, a black-fletched arrow stuck in it. “An enormous force of Shadowspawn!” the messenger said. “Coming in from the east! Dai Shan, you were right!”

  They knew to come in that way, Lan thought. They couldn’t have just noticed that we’d exposed ourselves, not with those hills blocking their view. It’s come too quickly. The Shadow must have been told, or must have known what to expect. He looked at Agelmar.

  “Impossible!” Agelmar said. “What’s this, now? Why didn’t the scouts see
it?”

  “Lord Agelmar,” one of his commanders said. “You sent the scouts in the east back to look at the river, remember? They were to inspect the crossing for us. You said the archers would…” The commander paled. “The archers!”

  “The archers are still in their positions,” Lan said, rising. “I want the front lines to begin withdrawing. Pull the Saldaeans out of the fighting, ready to strike to help the foot soldiers disengage. Pull the Asha’man back. We’ll need gateways.”

  “Lord Mandragoran,” Agelmar said. “This new development can be used. If we pull apart and then smash them between us, we can—”

  “You are relieved of duty, Lord Agelmar,” Lan said, not looking at the man. “And, unfortunately, I must request that you remain under supervision until I can sort through what has happened.”

  The command tent grew silent, every aide, messenger and officer turning toward Lan.

  “Now, Lan,” Agelmar said. “That sounded like you are having me arrested.”

  “I am,” Lan said, motioning to the High Guard. They moved into the tent, taking positions to keep anyone from escaping. Some of Agelmar’s men did reach for swords, but most looked confused, and only rested their hands on the hilts.

  “This is an outrage!” Agelmar said. “Don’t be a fool. This isn’t the time—”

  “What would you have me do, Agelmar?” Lan barked. “Let you run this army into the ground? Let the Shadow take us? Why are you doing this? Why?”

  “You’re overreacting, Lan,” Agelmar said, keeping his calm with obvious difficulty, his eyes burning. “What’s going through your head? Light!”

  “Why did you pull the archers off of the eastern hills?”

  “Because I needed them elsewhere!”

  “And does that make sense?” Lan demanded. “Didn’t you tell me that guarding that flank was vital?”

  “I…”

  “You drew away the scouts from that position too. Why?”