A Memory of Light

27 Friendly Fire

Gareth Bryne strode through the camp he had set up on the Arafellin side, several hundred paces on the Kandor border east of the ford, ignoring soldiers who tried to salute him. Siuan hastened at one side, a messenger delivering reports at his other. They were trailed by a flurry of guards and attendants carrying maps, ink and paper.

The whole burning place shook with explosions of the Power. Crashing racket and calamity . . . it was like being in the middle of a rockslide.

He’d stopped being bothered by the scent of smoke. It was pervasive. At least some of the fires were put out; those Seanchan channelers had set up by the river and were drawing out streams of water.

Nearby, a rack of polearms tumbled to the ground in a clatter as a surge of the One Power hit in the camp nearby. He stumbled, and earth sprayed around him and Siuan, pebbles clattering against his helmet and breastplate. “Keep talking, man,” he snapped at Holcom, the messenger.

“Er, yes, my Lord.” The spindly man had a face like a horse. “The Aes Sedai on the Red, Green, and Blue hilltops are all holding. The Gray have fallen back, and the White report that they’re running out of strength.”

“The other Aes Sedai will be tiring as well,” Siuan said. “I’m not surprised that the Whites are the first to admit it. It won’t be a point of shame to them, merely another fact.”

Bryne grunted, ignoring another spray of earth as it fell over them. He had to keep moving. The Shadow had too many gateways now. They’d try to strike at his command centers. That was what he’d do, if he were them. The best counter to that strategy was to not have a command center, at least not one that was easy to find.

All things considered, the battle was going according to plan. It was a surprise, sometimes, when that happened; on a battlefield, you expected to have to rebuild your tactics from the ground up at every turn—but for once, everything had gone smoothly.

Aes Sedai were pounding the Sharans from the hilltops south of the ford, augmented by a steady stream of projectiles from archers stationed just below them on the slopes. Because of that, the Shadow’s commander—Demandred himself—couldn’t devote all his troops against the defenders at the river. Nor could he bring all his troops against the Aes Sedai—they would Travel away—so committing himself fully there would expose him with very little gain. Instead, he’d split his forces, sending the Trollocs off his right flank toward the hills—they would sustain heavy losses, but he’d keep the Aes Sedai pressed—and bringing his Sharans forward to engage the bulk of the White Tower troops at the river.

The Seanchan occupied most of the enemy channelers’ attention. This did not prevent some Sharan channelers from lobbing fire at Bryne’s camp across the river. There was no use worrying about being hit. He was as safe here as he would be anywhere, other than perhaps retreating all the way to the White Tower. He couldn’t stand the idea of being safe in a room somewhere, miles from the battlefield.

Light, he thought. That’s how commanders will probably do it in the future. A secure command position accessed only by gateways. But a general needed to feel the flow of the battlefield. He couldn’t do that from miles away.

“How well are the pikemen on each of the hills doing?” he demanded.

“Very well, my Lord,” said Holcom. “As well as can be expected after hours of holding off Trollocs.” Bryne had placed defensive lines of pikemen halfway up each of the hills; any Trollocs that managed to get through the cordon could be picked off by archers above, without having to disturb the work of the Aes Sedai. “The pikes defending the Red Ajah on the middle hill will be needing reinforcement soon, though; they lost a fair number on the last assault.”

“They’ll have to hang on a bit longer. Those Reds are nasty enough to take care of any more Trollocs that break through the pike formations.” He hoped. Another explosion flattened a tent nearby. “How about the archer squadrons up there?” Bryne kicked aside a fallen halberd.

“Some are getting low on arrows, my Lord.”

Well, he couldn’t do much about that. He glanced toward the ford, but it was a right mess of confusion. It rankled him to be this close to the fighting and not know how things were going for his troops.

“Does anyone have information about what’s happening at the ford?” he bellowed, turning toward his aides. “I can’t see a Light-blasted thing, just a churning of bodies and those balls of fire shooting back and forth, blinding us all!”

Holcom paled. “Those Seanchan women are channeling like they’ve got red-hot irons up . . . I mean, they’re giving the Sharans a hard time, my Lord. Our left flank just took a lot of casualties, but they seem to be fighting back admirably now.”

“Didn’t I put Joni in command of the lancers there?”

“Captain Shagrin is dead, my Lord,” said another messenger, stepping forward. He had a fresh cut on his scalp. “I’ve just come from there.”

Burn me. Well, Joni had always wanted to fall in battle. Bryne kept his emotions in check. “Who commands now?”

“Uno Nomesta,” the messenger said. “He pulled us together after Joni fell, but sends warning that they’re being hard-pressed.”

“Light, Nomesta’s not even an officer!” Still, he’d been training heavy cavalry for years, and there probably wasn’t a better man in the saddle than him. “All right, get back there and tell him I’m giving him some reinforcements.”

Bryne turned back to Holcom. “Get over to Captain Denhold and have him send his cavalry reserve squadron across the ford to beef up our left flank. Let’s see what those Illianers can do! We can’t lose this river!”

The messenger rushed off. I’ll have to do something to take the pressure off those Aes Sedai soon. He bellowed, “Annah, where are you?”

Two soldiers talking nearby were pushed aside as a heavyset young woman—a former merchant’s guard and now foot soldier and messenger serving General Bryne—shoved through. “My Lord?”

“Annah, go beg that Imperial monster of a Seanchan leader if she’d be ever so kind as to lend us some of her bloody cavalry.”

“Shall I phrase it exactly that way?” Annah asked, saluting, a smile on her lips.

“If you do, girl, I’ll throw you off a cliff and let Yukiri Sedai test a few of her new falling weaves on you. Go!”

The messenger grinned, then dashed off toward the Traveling ground for passage.

Siuan eyed Bryne. “You’re growing grouchy.”

“You’re a good influence on me,” he snapped, glancing up as a shadow passed above. He reached for his sword, expecting to see another flight of Draghkar. Instead, it was only one of those Seanchan flying beasts. He relaxed.

A fireball knocked the creature from the sky. It spun, flapping burning wings. Bryne cursed, jumping back as the monstrous animal crashed into the path just ahead, where the messenger Annah was running. The animal’s corpse rolled over her and crashed through one of the supply tents, which was filled with soldiers and quartermasters. The raken’s rider slapped the ground a fraction of a moment later.

Bryne recovered his wits and leaped forward, stooping beneath a fallen section of cloth and tent poles that covered the path. Two of his guards found a soldier half-pinned by the dead beast’s wing and pulled him free, Siuan kneeling and removing her angreal from her pouch to perform Healing.

Bryne moved to where Annah had fallen. He found her crushed where the fallen beast had rolled. “Burn it!” He shoved aside thought for the dead to consider what to do next. “I need someone to go to the Seanchan!”

Of his entourage, only two guards and one clerk remained in camp. He needed the Seanchan to give him some more cavalry; he was beginning to feel that a great deal depended on keeping those Aes Sedai on the hills safe. After all, the Amyrlin was up there with them.

“Looks like we’re going ourselves,” Bryne said, leaving Annah’s corpse. “Siuan, are you strong enough to make a gateway with that angreal?”

She stood, masking her exhaustion, but he could see it. “I can, though it will be so small we’ll have to crawl through. I don’t know this area well enough. We’ll have to move back to the center of camp.”

“Burn me!” Bryne said, turning as a series of explosions sounded from the river. “We don’t have time for this.”

“I can go find us some more messengers,” a guard said. The other was helping the soldier Siuan had Healed. The man stood on wobbly feet.

“I don’t know if there are more messengers to be had,” Bryne said. “Let’s just—”

“I’ll go.”

Bryne saw Min Farshaw rising to her feet nearby and dusting herself off. He’d almost forgotten that he’d set her helping as a clerk for one of the supply regiments.

“It doesn’t look like I’ll be clerking here in the near future,” Min said, inspecting the fallen supply tent. “I can run as well as any of your messengers. What do you want me to do?”

“Find the Seanchan Empress,” Bryne said. “Her camp is a few miles north of here on the Arafellin side. Go to the Traveling ground; they’ll know where to send you. Tell the Empress she needs to send me some cavalry. Our reserves are depleted.”

“I’ll do it,” Min said.

She wasn’t a soldier. Well, it seemed half of his army hadn’t been soldiers until a few weeks back. “Go,” he said, then smiled. “I’ll count the day’s work toward what you owe me.”

She blushed. Did she think he’d let a woman forget her oath? It didn’t matter to him whose company she kept. An oath was an oath.

Min ran through the army’s back lines. The camp had more tents and carts—brought in from supply dumps in Tar Valon or Tear—to replace the ones lost during the initial Sharan assault. Those proved to be obstacles to weave around as she sought out the Traveling ground.

The ground was a series of roped-off squares, numbered with painted planks shoved in the ground. A quartet of women in gray shawls spoke together in hushed voices as one of their number held open a gateway for a supply cart laden with arrows. The placid oxen didn’t look up as a comet-like ball of fire hit the ground nearby, hurling glowing red stones into the air and across a pile of bedrolls, which began to smolder.

“I need to go to the Seanchan army,” Min said to the Grays. “Lord Bryne’s orders.”

One of the Gray sisters, Ashmanaille, looked at her. She took in Min’s breeches and curls, then frowned. “Elmindreda? Sweet thing, what are you doing here?”

“Sweet thing?” one of the others asked. “She’s one of the clerks, isn’t she?”

“I need to go to the Seanchan army,” Min said, breathing deeply from her run. “Lord Bryne’s orders.”

This time, they seemed to hear her. One of the women sighed. “Square four?” she asked the others.

“Three, dear,” Ashmanaille said. “A gateway could be opening to four from Illian any moment.”

“Three,” the first said, waving Min over. A small gateway split the air there. “All messengers crawl,” she noted. “We have to conserve strength; gateways need to be made as small as reasonable.”

This is reasonable? Min thought with annoyance, running to the small hole. She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled through.

She came out in a ring of grass that had been burned black to mark its location. A pair of Seanchan guards stood with tasseled spears nearby, their faces obscured by insectile helmets. Min started to walk forward, but one held up a hand.

“I’m a messenger from General Bryne,” she said.

“New messengers wait here,” one of the guards said.

“It’s urgent!”

“New messengers wait here.”

She received no further explanation, so she crossed her arms—stepping out of the black circle, in case another gateway opened—and waited. She could see the river from here, and a large military encampment stretched out along its banks. The Seanchan could make a big difference to this battle, Min thought. There are so many of them. She was far from the battle here, a few miles north of Bryne’s camp, but still close enough to see the flashes of light as channelers traded deadly weaves.

She found herself fidgeting, so she forced herself to remain still. Explosions from channeling sounded like dull thumps. The sounds came after the flashes of light, like thunder trailing behind lightning. Why was that?

It doesn’t really matter, Min thought. She needed cavalry for Bryne. At least she was doing something. She had spent the last week pitching in wherever she found that an extra hand was needed. It was surprising how much there was to do in a war camp other than fighting. It wasn’t work that had required her, specifically, but it was better than sitting in Tear and worrying about Rand . . . or being angry at him for forbidding her to go to Shayol Ghul.

You’d have been a liability there, Min told herself. You know it. He couldn’t worry about saving the world and protecting her from the Forsaken at the same time. Sometimes, it was hard not to feel insignificant in a world of channelers like Rand, Elayne and Aviendha.

She glanced at the guards. Only one had an image hovering above his head. A bloodied stone. He’d die by falling from someplace high. It seemed like decades since she’d seen anything hopeful around a person’s head. Death, destruction, symbols of fear and darkness.

“And who is she?” a slurred Seanchan voice asked. A sul’dam had approached, one without a damane. The woman held an a’dam in her hand, tapping the silvery collar against her other palm.

“New messenger,” the guard said. “She has not come through the gateways before.”

Min took a deep breath. “I was sent by General Bryne—”

“He was supposed to clear all messengers with us,” the sul’dam said. She was dark of skin, with curls that came down to her shoulders. “The Empress—may she live forever—must be protected. Our camp will be orderly. Every messenger cleared, no opportunities for assassins.”

“I am no assassin,” Min said flatly.

“And the knives in your sleeves?” the sul’dam asked.

Min started.

“The way your cuffs droop make it obvious, child,” the sul’dam said, though she was no older than Min herself.

“A woman would be a fool to walk a battlefield without some kind of weapon,” Min said. “Let me deliver my message to one of the generals. The other messenger was killed when one of your raken was hit and fell from the sky onto our camp.”

The sul’dam raised an eyebrow. “I am Catrona,” she said. “And you will do exactly as I say while in camp.” She turned and waved for Min to follow.

Min hurried gratefully behind the woman as they crossed the ground. The Seanchan camp was very different from Bryne’s. They had raken to fly their messages and reports, not to mention an empress to protect. They had set their camp away from the hostilities. It also looked far tidier than Bryne’s camp, which had been nearly destroyed and rebuilt, and which included people from many different countries and military backgrounds. The Seanchan camp was homogeneous, full of trained soldiers.

At least that was the way Min decided to interpret its orderliness. Seanchan soldiers stood in ranks, silent, awaiting the call to battle. Sections of the camp had been marked with posts and ropes, everything clearly organized. Nobody bustled about. Men walked with quiet purpose or waited at parade rest. Speak what criticism one would about the Seanchan—and Min had a number of things she could add to that conversation—they certainly were organized.

The sul’dam led Min to a section of camp where several men stood at ledgers set on tall desks. Wearing robes and bearing the half-shaved head of upper servants, they quietly made notations. Immodestly dressed young women carrying lacquered trays threaded their way between the desks, placing on them thin white cups of steaming black liquid.

“Have we lost any raken in the last little while?” Catrona asked the men. “Was one hit by an enemy marath’damane while in flight, and could it have crashed into General Bryne’s camp?”

“A report just came in of such a thing,” a servant said, bowing. “I am surprised that you have heard of it.”

Catrona’s eyebrow inched a little higher as she inspected Min.

“You hadn’t expected the truth?” Min asked.

“No,” the sul’dam said. She moved her hand, replacing a knife into its sheath at her side. “Follow.”

Min let out a breath. Well, she had dealt with Aiel before; the Seanchan couldn’t possibly be as prickly as they were. Catrona led the way along another path in the camp, and Min found herself growing anxious. How long had it been since Bryne had sent her? Was it too late?

Light, but the Seanchan liked things well guarded. There were two soldiers at every intersection of paths, standing with raised spears, watching through those awful helmets of theirs. Shouldn’t all of these men be out fighting? Eventually, Catrona led her to an actual building they had constructed here. It wasn’t a tent. It had walls that looked to be draped silk, stretched into wooden frames, a wooden floor and a ceiling covered with shingles. It probably broke down quickly to be transported, but it seemed frivolous.

The guards here were big fellows in armor of black and red. They had a wicked appearance. Catrona passed them as they saluted her. She and Min entered the building, and Catrona bowed. Not to the ground—the Empress wasn’t in the room, it appeared—but still deep, since many members of the Blood were inside. Catrona glanced at Min. “Bow, you fool!”

“I think I’ll be fine standing,” Min said, folding her arms as she regarded the commanders inside. Standing at their forefront was a familiar figure. Mat wore silken Seanchan clothing—she had heard he was in this camp—but he topped it with his familiar hat. He had an eyepatch covering one eye. So that viewing had finally come to pass, had it?

Mat looked up at her and grinned. “Min!”

“I’m a total fool,” she said. “I could have just said I knew you. They’d have brought me right here without all of the fuss.”

“I don’t know, Min,” Mat said. “They rather like fuss around here. Don’t you, Galgan?”

A wide-shouldered man with a thin crest of white hair on his otherwise shaven head eyed Mat, as if uncertain what to make of him.

“Mat,” Min said, clearing her mind. “General Bryne needs cavalry.”

Mat grunted. “I don’t doubt it. He’s been pushing his troops hard, even the Aes Sedai. Man ought to be given a medal for that. I’ve never seen one of those women budge so much as to take a step indoors when a man suggests, even if she’s standing in the rain. First Legion, Galgan?”

“They will do,” Galgan said, “so long as the Sharans don’t manage to get across the ford.”

“They won’t,” Mat said. “Bryne has set up a good defensive position that should punish the Shadow, with a little encouragement. Laero lendhae an indemela.”

“What was that?” Galgan asked, frowning.

Min missed it, too. Something about a flag? She had been studying the Old Tongue lately, but Mat spoke it so quickly.

“Hmm, what?” Mat said. “You’ve never heard it before? It’s a saying of the Fallen Army of Kardia.”

“Who?” Galgan sounded baffled.

“Never mind,” Mat said. “Tylee, would you care to lead your legion on to the battlefield, assuming the good General approves?”

“I would be honored, Raven Prince,” said a woman in a breastplate standing nearby, four plumes rising from the helmet she held under her arm. “I have wanted to watch the actions of this Gareth Bryne more directly.”

Mat glanced to Galgan, who rubbed his chin, inspecting his maps. “Take your legion, Lieutenant-General Khirgan, as the Raven Prince suggests.”

“And,” Mat added, “we need to watch those Sharan archers. They’re going to move north along the river for a better shot at Bryne’s right flank.”

“How can you be certain?”

“It’s just obvious,” Mat said, tapping at the map. “Send a raken to make sure, if you want.”

Galgan hesitated, then gave the order. Min wasn’t certain that she was needed any longer, so she started to walk away, but Mat caught her by the arm. “Hey. I could . . . uh . . . use you, Min.”

“Use me?” she asked flatly.

“Make use of you,” Mat said. “That’s what I meant. I’ve had trouble with the words coming out of my mouth lately. Only the stupid ones seem to make it. Anyway, could you . . . uh . . . you know . . .”

“I don’t see anything new around you,” she said, “though I assume the eye on a balance scale finally makes sense to you.”

“Yes,” Mat said, wincing. “That one is bloody obvious. What about Galgan?”

“A dagger rammed through the heart of a raven.”

“Bloody ashes . . .”

“I don’t think it means you,” she added. “I can’t say why.”

Galgan was speaking with some lesser nobles. At least, they had more hair than he did, which was the Seanchan mark of a lesser. Their tones were hushed, and Galgan would occasionally glance over at Mat.

“He doesn’t know what to make of me,” Mat said softly.

“How very uncommon. I can’t think of anyone else who has reacted that way to you, Mat.”

“Ha ha. You’re sure that bloody dagger doesn’t mean me? Ravens . . . well, ravens kind of mean me, right? Sometimes? I’m the flaming Prince of the bloody Ravens now.”

“It’s not you.”

“He’s trying to decide when to assassinate me,” Mat said softly, gaze narrowing toward Galgan. I’ve been put right beneath him in the army, and he worries I will supplant him. Tuon says he’s a dedicated soldier, so he’ll wait until after the Last Battle to strike.”

“That’s awful!”

“I know,” Mat said. “He won’t play cards with me first. I was hoping I could win him over. Lose on purpose a few times.”

“I don’t think you could manage that.”

“Actually, I figured out how to lose bloody ages ago.” He seemed to be completely serious. “Tuon says it would be a sign of disrespect if he didn’t try to kill me. They’re insane, Min. They’re all bloody insane.”

“I’m sure Egwene would help you escape if you ask, Mat.”

“Well, I didn’t say they weren’t fun. Just insane.” He straightened his hat. “But if any more of them bloody well try to—”

He cut off as the guards outside the door dropped to their knees, then completely prostrated themselves on the ground. Mat sighed. “‘Say the name of Darkness, and his eye is upon you.’ Yalu kazath d’Zamon patra Dae-seia asa darshi. ”

“ . . . What?” Min asked.

“You don’t know that one either?” Mat said. “Doesn’t anyone bloody read anymore?”

The Seanchan Empress stepped through the door. Min was surprised to see her wearing not a dress, but wide silvery trousers. Or . . . well, maybe it was a dress. Min couldn’t tell if those were skirts that had been divided for riding, or if it was a pair of trousers with very enveloping legs. Fortuona’s top was of tight scarlet silk, and over it she wore an open-fronted blue robe with a very long train. It seemed the clothing of a warrior, a kind of uniform.

The people in the room fell to their knees, then bowed themselves down all the way to the floor, even General Galgan. Mat stayed standing.

Gritting her teeth, Min went down on one knee. The woman was the Empress, after all. Min wouldn’t bow to Mat or the generals, but it was only proper to show respect to Fortuona.

“Who is this one, Knotai?” Fortuona asked, curious. “She thinks herself high.”

“Oh, well,” Mat said idly, “she’s just the Dragon Reborn’s woman.” Catrona, who at the side of the room had bowed herself to the ground, made a strangled sound. She looked up at Min with bulging eyes.

Light, Min thought. She probably thinks she’s offended me or something.

“How curious,” Fortuona said. “That would make her your equal, Knotai. Of course, you seem to have forgotten to bow again.”

“My father would be mortified,” Mat said. “He always did pride himself on my memory.”

“You embarrass me in public again.”

“Only as much as I embarrass myself.” He smiled, then hesitated, as if thinking through those words a second time.

The Empress smiled as well, though she looked distinctly predatory. She moved into the room, and the people rose, so Min climbed to her feet. Mat immediately began to push her toward the door.

“Mat, wait,” Min whispered.

“Just keep moving,” he said. “Don’t risk her deciding to snatch you up. She’s not particularly good at letting things go, once she has them in hand.” He actually sounded proud, saying that.

You’re as crazy as they are, Min thought. “Mat, a bloody flower.”

“What?” he said, still shoving her.

“A bloody flower around her head,” Min said. “A death lily. Someone is going to try to kill her very soon.”

Mat froze. Fortuona turned sharply.

Min didn’t realize that two guards were moving until they had her pressed against the ground. They were the odd ones in the black armor—though now that she was close, Min could see it was actually a dark green.

Idiot, she thought as they pressed her face against the floor. I should have let Mat pull me from the room first. She hadn’t made a mistake like that—speaking of one of her viewings loud enough for others to hear—in years. What was wrong with her?

“Stop!” Mat said. “Let her up!”

Mat might have been elevated to the Blood, but the guards obviously had no problem ignoring a direct order from him.

“How does she know this, Knotai?” Fortuona asked, stepping up to Mat. She sounded angry. Perhaps disappointed. “What is happening?”

“It’s not what you assume, Tuon,” Mat said.

No, don’t—

“She sees things,” Mat continued. “It’s nothing to get all angry about. It’s just a trick of the Pattern, Tuon. Min sees visions around people, like little pictures. She didn’t mean anything by what she said.” He laughed. It was forced.

The room grew very still. It was so quiet, Min could once again hear the explosions in the distance.

“Doomseer,” Fortuona whispered.

The guards suddenly let her free, backing away. Min groaned, sitting up. The guards had moved to protect the Empress, but one who had touched her pulled his gauntlets off and tossed them to the ground. He wiped his hand against his breastplate, as if trying to clean his skin of something.

Fortuona didn’t seem afraid. She stepped up to Min, lips parting, almost in awe. The young Empress reached out and touched Min’s face. “What he says . . . it is true?”

“Yes,” Min said, grudgingly.

“What do you see around me?” Fortuona said. “Speak it, Doomseer. I would know your omens, and judge you true or false!”

That sounded dangerous. “I see a bloody death lily, as I told Mat,” Min said. “And three ships, sailing. An insect in the darkness. Red lights, spread across a field that should be lush and ripe. A man with the teeth of a wolf.” Fortuona drew in a sharp breath. She looked up at Mat. “This is a great gift you have brought me, Knotai. Enough to pay your penance. Enough for credit beyond. Such a grand gift.”

“Well . . . I . . ”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Min said. “Except maybe Rand, and him to me.”

Fortuona ignored her, standing. “This woman is my new Soe’feia. Doomseer, Truthspeaker! Holy woman, she who may not be touched. We have been blessed. Let it be known. The Crystal Throne has not had a true reader of the omens for over three centuries!”

Min sat, stunned, until Mat pulled her to her feet. “Is that a good thing?” she whispered to him.

“I’ll be bloody in the face if I know,” Mat said back. “But you remember what I said about getting away from her? Well, you can probably forget about that now.”