A Memory of Light

18 To Feel Wasted

Gawyn stood on a field near the area where the Aes Sedai had first fought the Trollocs. They’d come off the hills, and had moved deeper onto the Kandor plain. They continued to stem the Trolloc advances, and they even managed to push back the enemy’s main forces a few hundred paces. All in all, this battle was going better than could have been expected.

They’d fought here for a week on this open, unnamed Kandori field. This place had been churned and torn as if in preparation for planting. There were so many bodies here—almost all Shadowspawn—that even Trolloc appetites couldn’t consume them all.

Gawyn carried a sword in one hand, shield in the other, stationed in front of Egwene’s horse. His job was to bring down the Trollocs that came through the Aes Sedai attacks. He preferred to fight two-handed, but against Trollocs, he needed that shield. Some of the others thought him a fool for using the sword. They preferred pikes or halberds, anything to keep the Trollocs at a distance.

You couldn’t really duel with a pike, though; as a pikeman, you were like a brick in a larger wall. You weren’t so much a soldier as a barrier. A halberd was better—at least it had a blade that required some skill to use—but nothing gave the same feel as a sword. When Gawyn fought with the sword, he controlled the fight.

A Trolloc came for him, snorting, face bearing the melded features of a ram and a man. This one was more human than most, including a sickeningly human mouth with bloodied teeth. The thing brandished a mace that bore the Flame of Tar Valon on its haft, stolen from a fallen member of the Tower Guard. Though it was a two-handed weapon, the creature wielded it easily in one.

Gawyn dodged to the side, then brought his shield up and to the right under the expected blow. The shield shook with repeated impacts. One, two, three. Standard Trolloc berserking—hit hard, hit fast and assume that the opponent would break.

Many did. They would trip, or their arms would go numb from the pounding. That was the value of pikewalls or halberd lines. Bryne used both, and a newly improvised half-spear, half-halberd line. Gawyn had read of its like in history books. Bryne’s army used them for hamstringing Trollocs. The pike lines would keep them back, and then the halberds would reach through and slice their legs.

Gawyn ducked to the side, and the Trolloc wasn’t ready for his burst of speed. The thing turned, too slow, as Gawyn separated its hand from its wrist, using Whirlwind on the Mountain. As it screamed, Gawyn spun about, ramming his sword into the stomach of another Trolloc that had plowed through the Aes Sedai defense.

He whipped his sword out of that body and sheathed it in the first Trollocs neck. The dead beast slid off his blade. That was four that Gawyn had killed today. He carefully wiped his sword on the bloody cloth he wore tied at his waist.

He checked on Egwene. Mounted, she used the One Power to rip apart Trollocs in droves. The Aes Sedai used a rotation, with only a small portion of them on the field at a time. Using so few Aes Sedai at a time required the soldiers to take the brunt of the fighting, but the Aes Sedai always came to the battle rested. Their job was to blast apart the groups of Trollocs, shattering lines and letting the soldiers work on the scattered remnants.

With the Aes Sedai keeping the Trollocs from solid battle formations, the fight—though grueling—was proceeding well. They hadn’t had to fall back since leaving the hills behind, and had effectively stalled the Trolloc advance for a week here.

Silviana sat atop a roan gelding beside Egwene, and did her best to keep the Trollocs from coming too close. The ground was ripped and furrowed just in front of them, Silviana’s attacks having torn it asunder, leaving trenchlike depressions all over the field. Despite that, the occasional Trolloc would crawl through the mire and come for Gawyn.

Gawyn saw movement in the nearest trench and strode forward. A wolf-featured Trolloc crouched inside. It snarled at him, scrambling up.

Water Flows Downhill.

The Trolloc fell back into the trench, and Gawyn wiped his blade on the bloody rag. Five. Not bad for one of his two-hour shifts. Often the Aes Sedai were able to repel the Trollocs, and he just ended up standing beside Egwene. Of course, today she was accompanied by Silviana—they always came to the battlefront in pairs—and Gawyn was half-convinced the Keeper let a few through now and then just to keep him working.

A sudden series of explosions nearby drove him backward, and he glanced over his shoulder. Their relief had arrived. Gawyn raised his sword to Sleete as the man took up position with Piava Sedai’s Warder to guard the area.

Gawyn joined Egwene and Silviana as they left the battlefield. He could feel Egwene’s growing exhaustion. She was pushing herself too hard, insisting on joining too many shifts.

They made their way across the trampled grass, passing a group of Illianer Companions charging into the fray. Gawyn didn’t have a good enough view of the battle as a whole to know where specifically they were needed. He watched them go with a hint of envy.

He knew Egwene needed him. Now more than ever. Fades slipped into camp at night, bringing Thakan’dar-forged blades to take the lives of Aes Sedai. Gawyn kept watch personally when Egwene slept, relying on her to wash his fatigue away when it overwhelmed him. He slept when she was in conference with the Hall of the Tower.

He insisted that she sleep in a different tent each night. Once in a while, he convinced her to Travel to Mayene and the beds in the palace. She hadn’t done that in a few days. His arguments that she should check on the Yellows, and inspect the Healing work, were growing thin. Rosil Sedai had things in hand there.

Gawyn and the two women continued on into the camp. Some soldiers bowed, the ones who were not currently on duty, while others hastened toward the battlefield. Gawyn eyed some of these. Too young, too new.

Others were Dragonsworn, and who knew what to make of them? There were Aiel among the Dragonsworn, which made sense to him, since all Aiel seemed basically Dragonsworn to him. But there were also Aes Sedai among the Dragonsworn ranks. He didn’t think much of their choice.

Gawyn shook his head and continued on. Their camp was enormous, though it contained virtually no camp followers. Food was brought in daily through gateways in wagons—some pulled by those unreliable metal machines from Cairhien. When those wagons left, they carried away clothing for washing, weapons to be repaired and boots to be mended.

It made for a very efficient camp; one not heavily populated, however, as almost everyone spent long hours on the battlefield fighting. Everyone but Gawyn.

He knew he was needed, and that what he did was important, but he couldn’t help feeling wasted. He was one of the finest swordsmen in the army, and he stood on the battlefield for a few hours a day, killing only the occasional Trolloc stupid enough to charge two Aes Sedai. What Gawyn did was more like putting them out of their misery than fighting them.

Egwene nodded farewell to Silviana, then turned her horse toward the command tent.

“Egwene . . ” Gawyn said.

“I only want to check on things,” she said calmly. “Elayne was supposed to have sent new orders.”

“You need sleep.”

“It seems that all I do these days is sleep.”

“When you fight on the battlefield, you are easily worth a thousand soldiers,” Gawyn said. “If sleeping twenty-two hours a day were required to keep you in good enough shape to protect the men for two, I’d suggest you do it. Fortunately, that isn’t required—and neither is it required that you run yourself as hard as you do.”

He could feel her annoyance through the bond, but she snuffed it out. “You are right, of course.” She eyed him. “And you needn’t feel surprised to hear me admit it.”

“I wasn’t surprised,” Gawyn said.

“I can feel your emotions, Gawyn.”

“That was from something else entirely,” he said. “I remembered something Sleete said a few days back, a joke I didn’t understand until now.” He looked at her innocently.

That, finally, earned a smile. A hint of one, but that was enough. She didn’t smile much these days. Few of them did.

“In addition,” he said, taking her reins and helping her dismount as they reached the command tent, “I’d never given much thought to the fact that a Warder can, of course, ignore the Three Oaths. I wonder how often sisters have found that convenient?”

“I hope not too often,” Egwene said. A very diplomatic answer. Inside the command tent, they found Gareth Bryne looking down through his now customary gateway; it was being maintained by a mousy Gray whom Gawyn didn’t know. Bryne stepped to his map-littered desk, where Siuan was attempting to bring order. He made a few notes on a map, nodding to himself, then looked to see who had entered.

“Mother,” Bryne said, and took her hand to kiss her ring.

“The battle seems to be going well,” Egwene said, nodding to Siuan. “We have held here well. You have plans to push forward, it seems?”

“We can’t loiter here forever, Mother,” Bryne said. “Queen Elayne has asked me to consider an advance farther into Kandor, and I think she is wise to do so. I worry that the Trollocs will pull back into the hills and brace themselves. You notice how they’ve been pulling more of the bodies off the field each night?”

“Yes.”

Gawyn could sense her displeasure; she wished the Aes Sedai had the strength to burn the Trolloc carcasses with the One Power each day.

“They’re gathering food,” Bryne said. “They might decide to move eastward and try to get around us. We need to keep them engaged here, which might mean pushing into those hills. It would be costly, normally, but now . . .” He shook his head, walking over and looking down through his gateway onto the front lines. “Your Aes Sedai dominate this battlefield, Mother. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“There is a reason,” she replied, “that the Shadow did everything in its power to bring down the White Tower. It knew. The White Tower has the ability to rule this war.”

“We’ll need to watch for Dreadlords,” Siuan said, shuffling through papers. Scouting reports, Gawyn suspected. He knew little of Siuan Sanche, despite having spared her life, but Egwene commonly spoke of the woman’s greed for information.

“Yes,” Egwene said. “They will come.”

“The Black Tower,” Bryne said, frowning. “Do you trust the word from Lord Mandragoran?”

“With my life,” Egwene said.

“Asha’man fighting for the enemy. Why wouldn’t the Dragon Reborn have done something? Light, if all of the remaining Asha’man side with the Shadow . . .”

Egwene shook her head. “Bryne, I want you to saddle up riders and send them to the area outside the Black Tower where gateways can still be made. Send them, riding hard, to the sisters still camped outside the Black Tower.”

“You want them to attack?” Gawyn asked, perking up.

“No. They are to retreat back as far as it takes to make gateways, and then they are to join us here. We can’t afford any further delays. I want them here.”

She tapped the table with one finger. “Taim and his Dreadlords will come. They have stayed away from this battlefield, instead focusing on Lord Mandragoran. That lets them dominate their battlefield as we have this one. I will choose more sisters to send to the Borderlander army. We will have to confront them eventually.”

Gawyn said nothing, but drew his lips tight. Fewer sisters here meant more work for Egwene and the others.

And now, Egwene said, “I need to . . .” She trailed off, seeing Gawyn’s expression. “I suppose I need to sleep. If I am needed, send to . . . Light, I don’t know where I’m sleeping today. Gawyn?”

“I have you in Maerin Sedai’s tent. She’s on duty in the rotation after this, so that should give you some hours of uninterrupted sleep.”

“Unless I’m needed,” Egwene reminded him. She walked toward the tent flaps.

“Of course,” Gawyn said, following her out, but shaking his head toward Bryne and Siuan. Bryne smiled back, nodding. On a battlefield, there was little that would absolutely require the Amyrlin’s attention. The Hall of the Tower had been given direct oversight of their armies.

Outside, Egwene sighed, closing her eyes. He put his arm around her, and let her slump against him. The moment lasted but a few seconds before she pulled back, standing up straight and putting on the face of the Amyrlin. So young, he thought, to have so much required of her.

Of course, she wasn’t much younger than al’Thor himself. Gawyn was pleased, and a little surprised, that thinking of the man did not provoke any anger. Al’Thor would fight his fight. Really, what the man did was none of Gawyn’s business.

Gawyn led Egwene to the Green Ajah section of camp, the several Warders at the perimeter greeting them with nods of respect. Maerin Sedai had a large tent. Most of the Aes Sedai had been allowed to bring what housing and furniture they wished, so long as they could make their own gateway for it and use their own Warders to carry it. If the army had to move quickly, such things would be abandoned. Many Aes Sedai had chosen to bring very little, but others . . . well, they were not accustomed to austerity. Maerin was one of those. Few had brought as much as she.

Leilwin and Bayle Domon waited outside the tent. They had been the ones to inform Maerin Sedai that her tent was being borrowed, and that she wasn’t to tell anyone that Egwene was the one using it. The secret could be discovered if anyone asked around—they hadn’t hidden themselves while walking here—but at the same time, someone asking where the Amyrlin was sleeping would draw attention. It was the best protection Gawyn could arrange, since Egwene was unwilling to Travel each day to sleep.

Egwene’s emotions immediately turned sour when she saw Leilwin.

“You did say you wanted to keep her close,” Gawyn said softly.

“I don’t like her knowing where I sleep. If their assassins do come looking for me in camp, she might be the one to lead them to me.”

Gawyn fought down the instinct to argue. Egwene was a cunning, insightful woman—but she had a blind spot regarding anything Seanchan. He, on the other hand, found himself trusting Leilwin. She seemed to be the type who dealt straight with people.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he said.

Egwene composed herself with a breath, then walked to the tent and passed Leilwin without saying a word. Gawyn didn’t follow her inside.

“The Amyrlin seems intent on not letting me provide service,” Leilwin said to Gawyn in that telltale Seanchan drawl.

“She doesn’t trust you,” Gawyn said frankly.

“Is one’s oath worth so little on this side of the ocean?” Leilwin said. “I swore an oath to her that none would break, not even a Muyami!”

“A Darkfriend will break any oath.”

The woman eyed him coolly. “I begin to think she assumes all Seanchan to be Darkfriends.”

Gawyn shrugged. “You beat her and imprisoned her, making her into an animal to be led by a collar.”

“I did not,” Leilwin said. “If one baker made you foul bread, would you assume all of them seek to poison you? Bah. Do not argue. There is no point. If I cannot serve her, then I will serve you. Have you eaten today, Warder?”

Gawyn hesitated. When had he last had something to eat? This morning . . . no, he’d been too eager for the fight. His stomach grumbled loudly.

“I know you will not leave her,” Leilwin said, “particularly under the watch of a Seanchan. Come, Bayle. Let us fetch this fool some food so that he does not faint if assassins do come.” She stalked off, her large Illianer husband following. The fellow shot a glare over his shoulder that could have cured leather.

Gawyn sighed and settled down on the ground. From his pocket, he pulled three black rings; he selected one, then shoved the others back into his pocket.

Talk of assassins always made him think of the rings, which he’d taken off the Seanchan who had come to kill Egwene. The rings were ter’angreal. They were the means by which those Bloodknives had moved quickly and blended into shadows.

He held up the ring toward the light. It didn’t look like any ter’angreal he had seen, but an object of the Power could look like anything. The rings were of some heavy black stone he did not recognize. The outside was carved like thorns, though the inside surface—the side that touched the skin—was smooth.

He turned the ring over in his fingers. He knew that he should go to Egwene with it. He also knew how the White Tower treated ter’angreal. They locked the objects away, afraid to experiment with them. But this was the Last Battle. If there was ever a time to take risks . . .

You decided to stand in Egwene’s shadow, Gawyn, he thought. You decided you would protect her, do what she needed of you. She was winning this war, she and the Aes Sedai. Would he let himself grow as jealous of her as he had been of al’Thor?

“Is that what I believe it to be?”

Gawyn snapped his head up, fist closing around the ring. Leilwin and Bayle Domon had been to the mess tent and returned with a bowl for him. From the smell of it, the meal was barley stew again. The cooks used so much pepper it was almost sickening. Gawyn suspected they did so because the black flakes hid the bits of weevil.

I can’t act like I’m doing something suspicious, he thought immediately. I can’t let her go to Egwene.

“This?” he asked, holding up the ring. “It’s one of the rings we recovered from the Seanchan assassins who tried to kill Egwene. We assume it’s a ter’angreal of some sort, though it’s not one the White Tower has ever heard of.”

Leilwin hissed softly. “Those are to be bestowed only by the Empress, may she—” She cut herself off and took a deep breath. “Only one appointed as a Bloodknife, one who has given their life to the Empress, is allowed to wear such a ring. For you to put one on would be very, very wrong.”

“Fortunately,” Gawyn said, “I’m not wearing it.”

“The rings are dangerous,” Leilwin said. “I do not know much of them, but they are said to kill those who use them. Do not let your blood touch the ring, or you will activate it, and that could be deadly, Warder.” She handed him the bowl of stew, then strode away.

Domon didn’t follow her. The Illianer scratched at his short beard. “She do not always be the most accommodating of women, my wife,” he said to Gawyn. “But she do be strong and wise. You would do well to listen to her.”

Gawyn pocketed the ring. “Egwene would never allow me to wear it in the first place.” That was true. If she knew about it. “Tell your wife that I appreciate the warning. I should warn you that the subject of the assassins is still a very sore subject for the Amyrlin. I’d suggest avoiding the topic of the Bloodknives, or their ter’angreal.”

Domon nodded and then went after Leilwin. Gawyn felt only a small prick of shame at the deception. He hadn’t said anything untrue. He just didn’t want Egwene asking any awkward questions.

That ring, and its brothers, represented something. They weren’t the way of the Warder. Standing beside Egwene, watching for danger to her . . . that was the way of the Warder. He would make a difference on the battlefield by serving her, not by riding out like some hero.

He told himself that time and time again as he ate his stew. By the time he was done, he was nearly certain he believed it.

He still didn’t tell Egwene about the rings.

Rand remembered the first time he’d seen a Trolloc. Not when they had attacked his farm in the Two Rivers. The true first time he’d seen them. During the last Age.

There will come a time when they no longer exist, he thought, weaving Fire and Air, creating an explosive wall of flames that roared to life in the middle of a pack of Trollocs. Nearby, men of Perrin’s Wolf Guard raised weapons in thanks. Rand nodded back. He wore the face of Jur Grady in this fight, for now.

Once Trollocs had not scourged the land. They could return to that state. If Rand killed the Dark One, would it happen immediately?

The flames of his fire wall brought sweat on his forehead. He drew carefully on the fat-man angreal—he couldn’t afford to seem too powerful—and struck down another group of Trollocs here on the battlefield just west of the River Alguenya. Elayne’s forces had crossed the Erinin and the countryside to the east, and were waiting for their bridges across the Alguenya to be constructed. These were almost completed, but meanwhile a vanguard of Trollocs had caught up with them, and Elayne’s army had formed up in defensive positions to hold them off until they could cross the river.

Rand was happy to help. The real Jur Grady rested back in his camp in Kandor, worn out from Healing. A convenient face that Rand could wear and not draw the attention of the Forsaken.

The Trolloc screams were satisfying as they burned. He had loved that sound, near the end of the War of Power. It had always made him feel as if he were doing something.

He hadn’t known what Trollocs were the first time he’d seen them. Oh, he’d known of Aginor’s experiments. Lews Therin had named him a madman on more than one occasion. He hadn’t understood; so many of them hadn’t. Aginor had loved his projects far too much. Lews Therin had made the mistake of assuming that Aginor, like Semirhage, enjoyed the torture for its own sake.

And then the Shadowspawn had come.

The monsters continued burning, limbs twitching.

Still, Rand worried that these things might be humans reborn. Aginor had used people to create the Trollocs and Myrddraal. Was this the fate of some? To be reborn as twisted creations such as this? The idea sickened him.

He checked the sky. The clouds had begun to withdraw, as they did near him. He could force them to not do so, but . . . no. Men needed the Light, and he could not fight here too long, lest it become obvious that one of the Asha’man was too strong for the face he wore.

Rand let the light come.

All across the battlefield near the river, people glanced toward the sky as sunlight fell on them, the dark clouds pulling back.

No more hiding, Rand thought, removing his Mask of Mirrors and raising his hand in a fist above his head. He wove Air, Fire and Water, creating a column of light extending from himself high into the sky. Soldiers across the battlefield cheered.

He would not bring down the traps the Dark One had waiting for him. He moved through a gateway back to Merrilor. He never stayed long at a battlefront, but he always revealed himself before he left. He let the clouds break above, proving he had been there, then withdrew.

Min waited for him at the Merrilor Traveling ground. He looked behind himself as his gateway closed, leaving the people to fight without him. Min placed a hand on his arm. His Maiden guards waited here; they reluctantly allowed him to fight alone as they knew that their presence would give him away.

“You look sad,” Min said softly.

A hot breeze blew from somewhere north. Nearby soldiers saluted him. Most of what he had here were Domani, Tairens and Aiel. The assault force, led by Rodel Ituralde and King Darlin, that would try to hold the valley of Thakan’dar while Rand wrestled with the Dark One.

The time had almost arrived for that. The Shadow had seen him fighting on all fronts. He had joined Lan’s fighting, Egwene’s fighting and Elayne’s in turn. By now the Shadow had committed most of its armies to the fighting in the south. The time for Rand to strike Shayol Ghul was at hand.

He looked to Min. “Moiraine calls me a fool for these attacks. She says that even a small risk to me is not worth what I accomplish.”

“Moiraine is probably right,” Min said. “She often is. But I prefer you as the person who would do this. That is the person who can defeat the Dark One: the man who cannot sit and plan while others die.”

Rand put his arm around her waist. Light, what would he have done without her? I’d have fallen, he thought. During the dark months . . . I’d have fallen for certain.

Over Min’s shoulder, Rand saw a gray-haired woman approaching. And behind her, a smaller figure in blue stopped and pointedly turned the other way. Cadsuane and Moiraine gave one another wide berth in the camp. He thought he caught a hint of a glare in Moiraine’s eyes when she saw that Cadsuane had spotted Rand first.

Cadsuane came up to him, then walked around him, looking him up and down. She nodded to herself several times.

“Trying to decide if I’m up to the task?” Rand said to Cadsuane, keeping emotions—in this case, annoyance—from his voice.

“I never wondered,” Cadsuane said. “Even before I found you were reborn, I never wondered if I would be able to make you into the man you needed to be. Wondering, in that manner at least, is for fools. Are you a fool, Rand al’Thor?”

“An impossible question,” Min replied. “If he says that he is, then a fool he becomes. If he says that he is not, then he implies he does not seek further wisdom.”

“Phaw. You’ve been reading too much, child.” Cadsuane seemed fond as she said it. She turned to Rand. “I hope you give her something nice.”

“What do you mean?” Rand asked.

“You’ve been giving things to people,” Cadsuane said, “in preparation for death. It’s common for the elderly or for men riding into a battle they don’t think they can win. A sword for your father, a ter’angreal for the Queen of Andor, a crown for Lan Mandragoran, jewelry for the Aiel girl, and for this one.” She nodded at Min.

Rand stiffened. He’d known what he was doing, on some level, but to hear it explained was disconcerting.

Min’s expression darkened. Her grip on him tightened.

“Walk with me,” Cadsuane said. “Just you and me, Lord Dragon.” She glanced at him. “If you will.”

Min looked to Rand, but he patted her on the shoulder and nodded. “I’ll meet you at the tent.”

She sighed, but retreated. Cadsuane had already started on the path. Rand had to jog a few steps to catch up. She probably enjoyed seeing that.

“Moiraine Sedai grows restless with your delays,” Cadsuane said.

“And what are your thoughts?”

“I think she has a portion of wisdom to her. However, I do not find your plan to be complete idiocy. You must not delay much longer, however.”

He purposely did not say when he would give the order to attack Shayol Ghul. He wanted everyone guessing. If nobody around him knew when he would strike, then chances were good the Dark One wouldn’t know either.

“Regardless,” Cadsuane said, “I am not here to speak about your delays. I feel that Moiraine Sedai has your . . . education in that matter well in hand. Something else worries me far more.”

“And that is?”

“That you expect to die. That you are giving so much away. That you do not even seek to live.”

Rand took a deep breath. Behind, a group of Maidens trailed him. He passed the Windfinders in their small camp, huddled and speaking over the Bowl of Winds. They looked toward him and Cadsuane with placid faces.

“Leave me go to my fate, Cadsuane,” Rand said. “I have embraced death. I will take it when it comes.”

“I am pleased at that,” she said, “and do not think—for a moment—that I would not trade your life for the world.”

“You’ve made that obvious from the start,” Rand said. “So why worry now? This fight will claim me. So it must be.”

“You must not assume that you will die,” Cadsuane said. “Even if it is nearly inevitable, you must not take it as completely inevitable.”

“Elayne said much the same thing.”

“Then she has spoken wisdom at least once in her life. A better average than I had assumed of that one.”

Rand refused to rise to that comment, and Cadsuane let slip a smile. She was pleased at how he controlled himself now. That was why she tested him. Would the tests never end?

No, he thought. Not until the final one. The one that matters most.

Cadsuane stopped in the path, causing him to stop as well. “Do you have a gift for me as well?”

“I am giving them to those I care about.”

That actually made her smile more deeply. “Our interactions have not always been smooth, Rand al’Thor.”

“That would be one way to say it.”

“However,” she continued, eyeing him, “I will have you know that I am pleased. You have turned out well.”

“So I have your permission to save the world?”

“Yes!” She looked upward, where the dark clouds boiled. They began to split at his presence, as he did not try to mask it or keep them back.

“Yes,” Cadsuane repeated, “you have my permission. So long as you do it soon. That darkness grows.”

As if in concert with her words, the ground rumbled. It did that more and more lately. The camp shook, and men stumbled, wary.

“There will be Forsaken,” Rand said. “Once I enter. Someone will need to face them. I intend to ask Aviendha to lead the resistance against them. She could use your aid.”

Cadsuane nodded. “I will do my part.”

“Bring Alivia,” Rand said. “She is strong, but I worry about putting her with others. She does not understand limits in the way that she should.” Cadsuane nodded again, and from the look in her eyes, he wondered if she’d already planned to do just that. “And the Black Tower?”

Rand set his jaw. The Black Tower was a trap. He knew it was a trap. Taim wanted to lure Rand into a place where he couldn’t escape through a gateway.

“I sent Perrin to help.”

“And your determination to go yourself?”

I have to help them. Somehow. I let Taim gather them. I can’t just leave them to him . . .

“You still aren’t certain,” Cadsuane said, dissatisfied. “You’d risk yourself, you’d risk us all, stepping into a trap.”

“I . . ”

“They’re free.” Cadsuane turned to walk away. “Taim and his men have been cast out of the Black Tower.”

“What?” Rand demanded, taking her by the arm.

“Your men there freed themselves,” Cadsuane said. “Though, from what I’ve been told, they took a beating doing it. Few know it. Queen Elayne might not be able to use them in battle for some time. I don’t know the details.”

“They freed themselves?” Rand said.

“Yes.”

They did it. Or Perrin did.

Rand exulted, but a wave of guilt slammed against him. How many had been lost? Could he have saved them, if he’d gone? He’d known for days now of their predicament, and yet he’d left them, obeying Moiraine’s insistent counsel that this was a trap he could not afford to spring.

And now they’d escaped it.

“I wish that I’d been able to draw an answer out of you,” Cadsuane said, “about what you intended to do there.” She sighed, then shook her head. “You have cracks in you, Rand al’Thor, but you’ll have to do.”

She left him.

“Deepe was a good man,” Antail said. “He survived the fall of Maradon. He was on the wall when it blew, but he lived and kept fighting. The Dreadlords came for him eventually, sending an explosion to finish the job. Deepe spent the last moments throwing weaves at them. He died well.”

The Malkieri soldiers raised cups toward Antail, saluting the fallen. Lan raised his own cup, though he stood just outside the ring of men around the fire. He wished Deepe had followed orders. He shook his head, downing his wine. Though it was night, Lan’s men were on rotation to be awake in case of an attack.

Lan turned his cup between two fingers, thinking of Deepe again. He found he couldn’t drum up anger at the man. Deepe had wanted to kill one of the Shadow’s most dangerous channelers. Lan couldn’t say he would turn down a similar opportunity, if it were given him.

The men continued their toasts to the fallen. It had become a tradition every evening, and had spread among all of the Borderlander camps. Lan found it encouraging that the men here were starting to treat Antail and Narishma as fellows. The Asha’man were aloof, but Deepe’s death had forged a link between the Asha’man and the ordinary soldiers. Now they’d all paid the butcher’s bill. The men had seen Antail grieving, and had invited him to make a toast.

Lan stepped away from the fire and walked through the camp, stopping by the horselines to check on Mandarb. The stallion was holding up well, though he bore a large wound on his left flank where his coat would never grow back; it seemed to be healing well. The grooms still spoke in hushed tones about how the wounded horse had appeared out of the night following the fight where Deepe had died. Many riders had been killed or unhorsed in the fighting that day. Very few horses had escaped the Trollocs and made their way back to camp.

Lan patted Mandarb’s neck. “We’ll rest soon, my friend,” he said softly. “I promise.”

Mandarb snorted in the darkness, and nearby, several of the other horses nickered.

“We’ll make a home,” Lan said. “The Shadow defeated, Nynaeve and I will reclaim Malkier. We’ll make the fields bloom again, cleanse the lakes. Green pastures. No more Trollocs to fight. Children to ride on your back, old friend. You can spend your days in peace, eating apples and having your pick of mares.”

It had been a very long time since Lan had thought of the future with anything resembling hope. Strange to find it now, in this place, in this war. He was a hard man. At times, he felt he had more in common with the rocks and the sand than he did with the men who laughed together beside the fire.

That was what he’d made of himself. It was the person he’d needed to be, a person who could someday journey toward Malkier and uphold the honor of his family. Rand al’Thor had begun to crack that shell, and then Nynaeve’s love had ripped it apart completely.

I wonder if Rand ever knew, Lan thought, taking out the currycomb and working on Mandarb’s coat. Lan knew what it was like to be chosen, from childhood, to die. He knew what it was like to be pointed toward the Blight and told he would sacrifice his life there. Light, but he did. Rand al’Thor would probably never know how similar the two of them were.

Lan brushed Mandarb for a time, though he was bone tired. Perhaps he should have slept. Nynaeve would have told him to sleep. He played out the conversation in his head, allowing himself a smile. She’d have won, explaining that a general needed sleep and that there were plenty of grooms to care for the horses.

But Nynaeve wasn’t there. He kept brushing.

Someone approached the horselines. Lan heard the footsteps long before the person arrived, of course. Lord Baldhere retrieved a brush from the groom station, nodding to one of the guards there, and walked toward his own horse. Only then did he notice Lan.

“Lord Mandragoran?” he said.

“Lord Baldhere,” Lan said, nodding toward the Kandori. Queen Ethenielle’s Swordbearer was slender, with streaks of white in his otherwise black hair. Though Baldhere was not one of the great captains, he was a fine commander, and had served Kandor well since his king’s death. Many had assumed that the Queen would marry Baldhere. That, of course, was foolish; Ethenielle looked at him as she would a brother. Besides, anyone who paid attention would know that Baldhere clearly preferred men to women.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Dai Shan,” Baldhere said. “I had not realized that anyone else would be here.” He moved to withdraw.

“I was nearly done,” Lan said. “Do not let me stop you.”

“The grooms do well enough,” Baldhere said. “I wasn’t here to check on their work. I have found, at times, that doing something simple and familiar helps me think.”

“You’re not the only one to have noticed that,” Lan said, continuing to brush Mandarb.

Baldhere chuckled, then fell silent for a moment. Finally, he spoke. “Dai Shan,” he said, “are you worried about Lord Agelmar?”

“In what regard?”

“I worry that he’s pushing himself too hard,” Baldhere said. “Some of the choices he is making . . . they confuse me. It’s not that his battle decisions are bad. They simply strike me as too aggressive.”

“It is war. I don’t know that one can be too aggressive in defeating one’s enemy.”

Baldhere fell quiet for a time. “Of course. But did you notice the loss of Lord Yokata’s two cavalry squadrons?”

“That was unfortunate, but mistakes do happen.”

“This isn’t one that Lord Agelmar should have made. He’s been in situations like this before, Dai Shan. He should have seen.”

It had happened during a recent raid against the Trollocs. The Asha’man had been setting fire to Fal Eisen and the surrounding countryside. At Agelmar’s orders, Yokata had taken his cavalry in a swing around a large hill to attack the right flank of the Trolloc army advancing on the Asha’man. Using a classic pincer movement, Agelmar was to send in more cavalry against the enemy’s left flank, and the Asha’man would turn to meet the Trollocs head-on.

But the Shadow’s leaders had seen through the maneuver. Before Agelmar and the Asha’man could act, a large contingent of Trollocs had come over the hill to hit Yokata’s own right flank, while the remainder hit Yokata head-on, enveloping his cavalry.

The cavalry had been killed to the last man. Immediately after, the Trollocs went after the Asha’man, who had barely been able to save themselves.

“He is tired, Dai Shan,” Baldhere said. “I know Agelmar. He would never have made a mistake like that if he were awake and alert.”

“Baldhere, anyone could have made a mistake like that.”

“Lord Agelmar is one of the great captains. He should see the battle differently than ordinary men do.”

“Are you certain you aren’t expecting too much of him?” Lan asked. “Agelmar is just a man. We all are, at the end of the day.”

“I . . . Perhaps you are right,” Baldhere said, hand on his sword, as if worried. He wasn’t carrying the Queen’s weapon, of course—he did that only when she was acting in her station. “I guess it comes down to an instinct, Lan. An itch. Agelmar seems tired a lot, and I worry it’s affecting his ability to plan. Please, just watch him.”

“I’ll watch,” Lan said.

“Thank you,” Baldhere said. He seemed less troubled now than when he’d approached.

Lan gave Mandarb a final pat, left Baldhere to tend his horse and walked through camp to the command tent. He went in; the tent was lit and well guarded, though the soldiers on guard weren’t allowed clear views of the battle maps.

Lan moved around the hung cloths that obscured the entry and nodded to the two Shienaran commanders, subordinates to Agelmar, who attended this inner sanctum. One was studying the maps spread out on the floor. Agelmar himself wasn’t there. A leader needed to sleep sometime.

Lan squatted, looking at the map. After tomorrow’s retreat, it appeared that they would reach a place called Blood Springs, named for the way the rocks beneath the water made the river seem to run red. At Blood Springs, they would have a slight advantage of height because of the adjacent hills, and Agelmar wanted to stage an offensive against the Trollocs with bowmen and cavalry lines working together. And, of course, there would be more burning of the land.

Lan knelt on one knee, looking over Agelmar’s notes about which army would fight where and how he’d divide the attacks. It was ambitious, but nothing looked particularly troublesome to Lan.

As he was studying, the tent flaps rustled, and Agelmar himself entered, speaking softly with Lady Ells of Saldaea. He stopped when he saw Lan, excusing himself quietly from his conversation. He approached Lan.

Agelmar did not slump with exhaustion, but Lan had learned to read beyond a man’s posture for signs of tiredness. Redness to the eyes. Breath that smelled faintly of flatwort, an herb chewed to keep the mind alert when one had been up too long. Agelmar was tired—but so was everyone else in camp.

“Do you approve of what you see, Dai Shan?” Agelmar asked, kneeling.

“It is very aggressive for a retreat.”

“Can we afford any other action?” Agelmar asked. “We leave a swath of burned land behind us, destroying Shienar almost as surely as if the Shadow had taken her. I will bring Trolloc blood to quench those ashes.”

Lan nodded.

“Baldhere came to you?” Agelmar asked.

Lan looked up sharply.

Agelmar smiled wanly. “I assume it was regarding the loss of Yokata and his men?”

“Yes”

“It was a mistake, to be certain,” Agelmar said. “I wondered if anyone would confront me on it; Baldhere is one to believe I should never have made such an error.”

“He thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“He is clever in tactics,” Agelmar said, “but he does not know so much as he thinks. His head is full of the stories of great captains. I am not without flaw, Dai Shan. This will not be my only error. I will see them, as I saw this one, and learn from them.”

“Still, perhaps we should see that you get more sleep.”

“I am perfectly hale, Lord Mandragoran. I know my limits; I have spent my entire life learning them. This battle will push me to my utmost, and I must let it.”

“But—”

“Relieve me or let me be,” Agelmar said, cutting in. “I will listen to advice—I am not a fool—but I will not be second-guessed.”

“Very well,” Lan said, rising. “I trust your wisdom.”

Agelmar nodded, lowering his eyes to his maps. He was still working on his plans when Lan finally left to turn in.