The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  Harnan thundered past, carrying Olver. He was followed by Sandip with Setalle Anan clinging to him from behind. The frequency of the crystals increased. One jutted up near Faile, and with horror, she realized that the smoky movements inside had form. Figures of men and women, screaming, as if trapped inside.

  She drew back, aghast. Nearby, the last working wagon rattled through the gateway. Soon the field would be nothing but crystals. Some straggling members of the Band helped the wounded onto horses, but two fell as the crystals started budding growths that shot out to the sides. It was time to go. Aravine passed by, grabbing Faile’s reins to pull them to safety.

  “Berisha!” Faile said. The Aes Sedai knelt beside the opening, sweat trickling down her pale face. Faile leaped from her wagon seat, grabbing the woman’s shoulder as Aravine pulled the wagon through the gateway.

  “Let’s move!” Faile said to Berisha. “I’ll carry you.”

  The woman teetered, then fell to the side, holding her stomach. Faile realized with a start that blood streamed around the woman’s fingers. Berisha stared at the sky, mouth working, but no sounds came out.

  “My Lady!” Mandevwin galloped up. “I don’t care where it leads! We must get through!”

  “What—”

  She cut off as Mandevwin grabbed her by the waist and hauled her up, crystals exploding nearby. He galloped through the opening, holding her.

  The gateway snapped shut a moment later.

  Faile panted as Mandevwin let her down. She stared at where the gateway had been.

  His words finally caught up with her. I don’t care where it leads … He had seen something she, in her panic over getting everyone to safety, had not.

  The gateway hadn’t led to the Field of Merrilor.

  “Where…” Faile whispered, joining the others, who stared at the horrid landscape. A sweltering heat, plants covered in spots of darkness, a scent of something awful in the air.

  They were in the Blight.

  * * *

  Aviendha chewed on her rations, crunchy rolled oats that had been mixed with honey. They tasted good. Being near Rand meant that their food stores had stopped spoiling.

  She reached for her water flask, then hesitated. She’d been drinking a lot of water lately. She rarely stopped to think about its value. Had she already forgotten the lessons she’d learned during her return to the Three-fold Land to visit Rhuidean?

  Light, she thought, raising the flask to her lips. Who cares? It’s the Last Battle!

  She sat on the floor of a large Aiel tent in the valley of Thakan’dar. Melaine chewed on her own rations close by. The woman was near to term now with her twins, her belly bulging beneath her dress and shawl. Much as a Maiden was forbidden to fight while with child, Melaine was forbidden dangerous activity. She had voluntarily gone to work in Berelain’s Healing station in Mayene—but she regularly checked on the progress of the battle. Many of the gai’shain had found their way through gateways to help as they could, though all they could do was carry water or soil for the earthen mounds Ituralde had ordered cast up to give the defenders some kind of protection.

  A group of Maidens ate nearby, chatting with handtalk. Aviendha could have read it, but didn’t. It would only make her wish she could join them. She’d become a Wise One and had forsaken her old life. That didn’t mean she had purged herself of every bit of envy. Instead, she wiped out her wooden bowl and stowed it in her pack, stood up and slipped out of the tent.

  Outside, the night air was cool. It was about an hour before dawn, and felt almost like the Three-fold Land at night. Aviendha looked up at the mountain that dominated the valley; despite the dark of early morning, she could see the pit leading inward.

  It had been many days since Rand had entered. Ituralde had wandered back into camp the night before with a tale of being held by wolves and a man who claimed Perrin Aybara had sent him to kidnap the great captain. Ituralde had been taken into custody, and had not complained.

  The Trollocs had not attacked the valley all day. The defenders still had them held in the pass. The Shadow seemed to be waiting for something. The Light send it was not another attack by Myrddraal. The last one had nearly ended the resistance. Aviendha had rallied the channelers once the Eyeless had emerged to kill the humans defending the mouth of the pass; they must have realized that exposing themselves in large numbers was unwise, and they fled back to the safety of the pass once the channeling began.

  Either way, she felt grateful for this rare moment of rest and relative peace between attacks. She stared into that pit in the mountain, within which Rand fought. A strong pulse came from deep within it; channeling, in waves, powerful. Several days on the outside, but how long on the inside? A day? Hours? Minutes? Maidens who guarded the path up to the entrance claimed that after four hours of duty, they’d climb down the mountainside and find that eight hours had passed.

  We have to hold, Aviendha thought. We have to fight. Give him as much time as we can.

  At least she knew he still lived. She could sense that. And his pain.

  She looked away.

  As she did, she noticed something. A woman was channeling in the camp. It was faint, but Aviendha frowned. At this hour, with no fighting, the only channeling should have been happening on the Traveling ground, and this was in the wrong direction.

  Muttering to herself, she started through the camp. It was probably one of the off-duty Windfinders again. They took turns rotating in and out of the group using the Bowl of the Winds, constantly, to keep the tempest at bay. That task was done atop the northern valley wall, well guarded by a large force of Sea Folk. They had to take gateways up there to change shifts.

  When the Windfinders weren’t on duty with the Bowl, they camped with the rest of the army. Aviendha had told them time and time again that, while in the valley, they were not allowed to channel for incidental reasons. One would think, after all the years they had spent never letting Aes Sedai see them use their powers, that they could be more self-controlled! If she caught another one of them using the One Power to warm her tea, she’d send her to Sorilea for an education. This was supposed to be a secure camp.

  Aviendha froze in place. That channeling was not coming from the small ring of tents where the Windfinders made camp.

  Had she sensed an incursion? A Dreadlord or Forsaken would probably assume that—in a camp this large filled with Aes Sedai, Windfinders and Wise Ones—no one would notice a tiny bit of channeling here or there. Aviendha immediately crouched beside a nearby tent, avoiding the light of a lantern on a pole. The channeling came again, very faint. She crept forward.

  If this turns out to be someone heating water for a bath …

  She moved between tents, across the hard earth. As she drew closer, she took off her boots and left them behind, then pulled her dagger from its sheath. She couldn’t risk embracing the Source, lest she reveal herself to her prey.

  The camp didn’t truly sleep. Those warriors who were not on duty had trouble slumbering here. Fatigue among the spears, including the Maidens, was becoming a problem. They complained of terrible dreams.

  Aviendha continued forward silently, slipping between tents, avoiding those that shone with light. This place disturbed all of them, so she was not surprised to hear of bad dreams. How could they sleep in peace so close to the Dark One’s abode?

  Logically, she knew that the Dark One was not nearby, not really. That wasn’t what the Bore was. He didn’t live in this place; he existed outside the Pattern, inside his prison. Still, bedding down here was like trying to sleep while a murderer stood beside your bed, holding a knife and contemplating the color of your hair.

  There, she thought, slowing. The channeling stopped, but Aviendha was close. Draghkar attacks and the threat of Myrddraal slipping in at night had driven the camp leaders to spread the officers throughout the camp, in tents that bore no external sign of which belonged to a commander and which to a common foot soldier. Aviendha, however, knew this tent to belong to
Darlin Sisnera.

  Darlin had official command of this battlefield, now that Ituralde had fallen. He was not a general, but the Tairen army was the bulk of the defense, with the Defenders of the Stone their elite units. Their commander, Tihera, was good with tactics, and Darlin listened well to the man’s suggestions. Tihera was not a great captain, but he was very clever. He, Darlin and Rhuarc had been devising their battle plans following Ituralde’s fall …

  In the darkness, Aviendha nearly missed the three figures crouched ahead of her, just outside Darlin’s tent. They gestured to one another, silent, and she could see little about them—not even their clothing. She raised her knife, and then a bolt of lightning split the sky, giving her a better glimpse of one. The man was wearing a veil. Aiel.

  They noticed the intruder too, she thought, stalking up to them and raising a hand to keep them from attacking. She whispered, “I felt channeling nearby, and I do not think it is from one of ours. What have you seen?”

  The three men stared at her, as if stunned, though she couldn’t make out much of their faces.

  Then they attacked her.

  Aviendha cursed, leaping backward as their spears came out and one threw a knife in her direction. Aiel Darkfriends? She felt a fool. She should have known better.

  She reached out to embrace the Source. If a female Dreadlord was nearby, she’d feel what Aviendha did, but there was no help for it. She needed to survive these three.

  However, as Aviendha reached for the One Power, something snapped into place between her and the Source. A shield, with weaves she could not see.

  One of these men could channel. Aviendha’s reaction was instinctive. She shoved down her panic, stopped scrambling to touch the Source and threw herself at the nearest of the men. She caught his spear-thrust with her off hand—ignoring the pain as the spearhead sliced against her ribs—and hauled him forward to ram her knife in his neck.

  One of the other two cursed, and Aviendha suddenly found herself wrapped in weaves of Air, unable to speak or move. Blood soaked into her blouse and pooled against her wounded side. The man she’d struck gasped and thrashed on the ground as he died. The other two did not move to help him.

  One of the Darkfriends stepped forward, lithe, almost invisible in the darkness. He pulled her face close to inspect her, then waved his hand to the other. A very soft light appeared beside them, giving them a better look at her—and her at them. They wore red veils, but this one had taken his down for the fight. Why? What was this? No Aiel she knew did that. Were these the Shaido? Had they joined the Shadow?

  One of the men made a few gestures to the other. It was handtalk. Not Maiden handtalk, but something similar. The other man nodded.

  Aviendha thrashed against her invisible bonds. She slammed her will against that shield, biting down on her gag of Air. The Aiel on the right—the taller one, the one who probably held her shield—grunted. She felt as if her fingers were clawing at the edge of a nearly shut door, with light, warmth and power beyond. That door wouldn’t budge an inch.

  The tall Aiel narrowed his eyes at her. He let the light he’d summoned vanish, plunging them into darkness. Aviendha heard him take out a spear.

  A foot fell on the ground nearby. The red-veils heard it and spun; Aviendha looked as best she could, but couldn’t make out the newcomer.

  The men stood perfectly still.

  “What is this?” a woman’s voice asked. Cadsuane. She approached, a lantern in her hand. Aviendha was jerked away as the man holding her weaves pulled her back into the shadows, and Cadsuane did not seem aware of her. Cadsuane saw only the other man, who stood closer to the pathway.

  That Aiel man stepped from the shadows. He’d lowered his veil, too. “I thought I heard something near the tents here, Aes Sedai,” he said. He had a strange accent, one that was slightly off. Only by a shade. A wetlander would never know the difference.

  These aren’t Aiel, Aviendha thought. They’re something different. Her mind wrestled with the concept. Aiel who were not Aiel? Men who could channel?

  The men we send, she realized with horror. Men discovered among the Aiel with the ability to channel were sent to try to kill the Dark One. Alone, they came to the Blight. Nobody knew what happened to them after that.

  Aviendha began to struggle again, trying to make noise—any noise—to alert Cadsuane. The attempts were in vain. She hung tightly in the air, in the darkness, and Cadsuane wasn’t looking in her direction.

  “Well, did you find anything?” Cadsuane asked the man.

  “No, Aes Sedai.”

  “I will speak to the guards,” Cadsuane said, sounding dissatisfied. “We must be vigilant. If a Draghkar—or, worse, a Myrddraal—managed to sneak in, it could kill dozens before being discovered.”

  Cadsuane turned to go. Aviendha shook her head, tears of frustration in her eyes. So close!

  The red-veil who had been with Cadsuane stepped back into the shadows, going up to Aviendha. In a flash of lightning, she caught a smile on his lips, mimicked by the one who still held her in the bonds.

  The red-veil in front of her slid a dagger from his belt, then reached up for her. She watched that knife, helpless, as he raised it to her throat.

  She sensed channeling.

  The bonds holding her were gone instantly, and she dropped to the ground. Aviendha caught the man’s knife hand as she fell, his eyes opening wide. Though she embraced the Source by raw, mad instinct, her hands were already moving. She twisted the man’s wrist, snapping the bones where hand met arm. She caught the knife with her other hand, then slammed it into his eye as he started to scream in pain.

  The scream cut off. The red-veil fell at her feet, and she looked with anxiety toward the one beside her—the one who had been holding her in weaves. He lay dead on the ground.

  Gasping, she scrambled toward the path nearby, and found Cadsuane.

  “It is a simple thing, to stop a man’s heart,” Cadsuane said, arms folded. She seemed dissatisfied. “So close to Healing, yet opposite in effect. Perhaps it is an evil thing, yet I’ve always failed to see how it would be worse than simply burning a man to ash with fire.”

  “How?” Aviendha asked. “How did you recognize what they were?”

  “I am not a half-trained wilder,” Cadsuane replied. “I would have liked to strike them down when I first arrived, but I had to be certain before I could act. When that one threatened you with the knife, I knew.”

  Aviendha breathed in and out, trying to still her heart.

  “And, of course, there was the other one,” Cadsuane said. “The one that channeled. How many male Aiel warriors can secretly channel? Was this an anomaly, or have your people been covering them up?”

  “What? No! We don’t. Or, we didn’t.” Aviendha wasn’t certain what they would do now that the Source had been cleansed. Men, certainly, should stop being sent alone to die fighting the Dark One.

  “You’re certain?” Cadsuane asked, voice flat.

  “Yes!”

  “Pity. That could have been a large boon to us, now.” Cadsuane shook her head. “I wouldn’t have been surprised, after finding out about those Windfinders. So these were just run-of-the-mill Darkfriends, with one among them who had hidden his channeling ability? What were they about tonight?”

  “These are anything but ordinary Darkfriends,” Aviendha said softly, inspecting the corpses. Red veils. The man who had been able to channel wore his teeth filed to points, but the other two did not. What did it mean?

  “We need to alert the camp,” Aviendha continued. “It’s possible that these three merely walked in, unchallenged. Many of the wetlander guards avoid challenging Aiel. They assume that all of us serve the Car’a’carn.”

  To many wetlanders, an Aiel was an Aiel. Fools. Though … to be honest, Aviendha had to admit that her own first instinct upon seeing Aiel had been to think them allies. When had that happened? Not two years back, if she’d caught unfamiliar algai’d’siswai prowling about, she’d have attacked
.

  Aviendha continued her inspection of the dead men—a knife on each man, spears and bows. Nothing else telling. However, her thoughts whispered to her that she was missing something.

  “The female channeler,” she said suddenly, looking up. “It was a woman using the One Power that drew me, Aes Sedai. Was that you?”

  “I did not channel until I killed that man,” Cadsuane said, frowning.

  Aviendha dropped back into a battle stance, hugging the shadows. What would she find next? Wise Ones who served the Shadow? Cadsuane frowned, as Aviendha scouted the area further. She passed Darlin’s tent, where soldiers outside huddled around lamps and cast shadows that danced on the canvas. She passed soldiers in tight groups walking along the pathways, not speaking. They carried torches, blinding their eyes to the night.

  Aviendha had heard Tairen officers remark that it was nice, for once, to have no worry about their sentries dozing on duty. With the lightning, the Trolloc drums in the near distance, the occasional raids by Shadowspawn trying to slip into camp … soldiers knew to be wary. The frosted air smelled of smoke, with putrid scents blowing in from the Trolloc camps.

  She eventually gave up the hunt and walked back the way she had come, finding Cadsuane speaking with a group of soldiers. Aviendha was about to approach when her eyes passed over a patch of darkness nearby, and her senses came alert. That patch of darkness is channeling.

  Aviendha began weaving a shield immediately. The one in the darkness wove Fire and Air toward Cadsuane. Aviendha dropped her weave and instead lashed out with Spirit, slicing the enemy weave just as it was released.

  Aviendha heard a curse, and a quick weave of fire blossomed in her direction. Aviendha ducked as it lashed overhead, hissing in the cold air. The wave of heat passed. Her enemy ducked out of the shadows—whatever weave she’d been using to hide had collapsed—revealing the woman Aviendha had fought before. The one with the face almost as ugly as a Trolloc’s.

  The woman dashed behind a group of tents just before the ground ripped up behind her—a weave that Aviendha hadn’t made. A second later, the woman folded again, as she had before. Vanishing.