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.
Fie 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 inev
itable.”
“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.
A Memory of Light Page 43