Time and time again,” Nynaeve said. “There’s no way around the flaw, Rand. You cannot use Callandor. It will be too dangerous.”
Rand came up to Moiraine, reaching out his hand, and she lifted Callandor for him to take. He raised it up before him, looking through its crystalline substance. It started to glow softly. “Min, I have a task for you,” he whispered. “Egwene is progressing well, and I feel her battlefront will be key. I wish you to go and watch her and the Seanchan Empress, whom I have asked to join that battlefront once their forces are ready.”
“You would have the Seanchan join Egwene’s battlefront?” Moiraine asked, aghast. “Is that wise?”
“I cannot tell wisdom from brashness these days,” Rand said. “But I would feel better if someone were keeping an eye on those two factions. Min, will you do it?”
“I was hoping . . .” Min looked away.
Hoping he’d take her into the cavern, Aviendha thought. But of course he could not.
“I’m sorry, Min,” Rand said. “But I need you.”
“I will do it.”
“Rand,” Nynaeve said. “You are taking Callandor when you attack him? Its weakness ... so long as you are channeling into that . . . thing, anyone can seize control of you. They can use you, and can draw the One Power through Callandor into you until it burns you out—leaving you powerless, and leaving them with the strength to level mountains, destroy cities.
“I will take it,” Rand said.
“But it’s a trap!” Nynaeve said.
“Yes,” Rand said, sounding tired. “A trap I must stride into and allow to spring shut upon me.” He laughed, suddenly, throwing his head back. “As always! Why should I be surprised? Spread the word, Nynaeve. Tell Ituralde, Rhuarc, King Darlin. Tomorrow, we invade Shayol Ghul and claim it as our own! If we must put our head into the lion’s mouth, let us make certain that he chokes upon our flesh!”
CHAPTER 21
Not a Mistake to Ignore
Siuan rolled her shoulder. She grimaced at the sharp pain. “Yukiri,” she grumbled, “that weave of yours still needs work.”
The tiny Gray cursed softly, standing up from beside a soldier who had lost his hand. She hadn’t Healed him, instead leaving him to more mundane healers with bandages. To spend energy Healing this man would be a waste, as he would never fight again. They needed to save their strength for soldiers who could rejoin the battle.
It was brutal reasoning. Well, these were brutal times. Siuan and Yukiri moved on to the next soldier in the line of wounded. The man with the missing hand would survive without Healing. Probably. They had the Yellows in Mayene, but their energy was consumed in Healing Aes Sedai who had survived the escape and soldiers who could still fight.
All through the makeshift camp, set up on Arafellin soil east of the river’s ford, soldiers wept and groaned. So many wounded, and Siuan and Yukiri were among the few Aes Sedai left with any strength to Heal. Most of the others had drained themselves making gateways to bring their army out from between the two attacking forces.
The Sharans had attacked aggressively, but securing the White Tower’s camp had occupied them for a while, giving time for the army to flee. Pieces of it, at least.
Yukiri Delved the next man, then nodded. Siuan knelt down and began a Healing weave. She’d never been very good at this, and even with an angreal, it took a lot out of her. She brought the soldier back from the edge of death, Healing the wound in his side. He gasped, much of the energy for the Healing coming from his own body.
Siuan wavered, then fell to her knees in exhaustion. Light, she was as unsteady as a noblewoman her first day on the deck of a ship!
Yukiri looked her over, then reached out for the angreal, a small stone flower. “Go rest, Siuan.”
Siuan clenched her teeth, but handed over the angreal. The One Power slipped from her, and she let out a deep sigh, half-relieved and half-saddened at losing the beauty of saidar.
Yukiri moved to the next soldier. Siuan lay back where she was, her body complaining of its numerous bruises and aches. The events of the battle were a blur to her. She remembered young Gawyn Trakand bursting into the command tent, yelling that Egwene wanted the army to retreat.
Bryne had moved quickly, dropping a written order through the gateway in the floor. That was his newest method of passing commands—an arrow shaft with a note and a long ribbon tied to it, dropped through a gateway high above. There were no heads on the shafts, just a small stone to weight them.
Bryne had been restless before Gawyn appeared. He hadn’t liked the way the battle had been playing out. The way the Trollocs moved had warned him that the Shadow had been planning something. Siuan was certain he’d already prepared the orders.
Then there had been the explosions in camp. And Yukiri yelling for them to jump through the hole in the floor. Light, she’d assumed the woman was mad! Mad enough to save all of their lives, apparently.
Burn me if I’m going to lie here like a piece of yesterday’s catch on the deck, Siuan thought, staring up at the sky. She hauled herself to her feet and started stalking through the new camp.
Yukiri claimed her weave wasn’t all that obscure, though Siuan had never heard of it. A massive cushion of Air, meant to cradle someone who had fallen a great distance. Crafting it had drawn the attention of the Sharans—Sharans, of all things!—but they’d escaped. She, Bryne, Yukiri and a few aides. Burn her, they’d gotten out, though that fall still made her wince to remember. And Yukiri kept saying she thought the weave might be the secret behind discovering how to fly! Fool woman. There was a good reason the Creator hadn’t given people wings.
She found Bryne at the edge of the new camp, sitting exhausted on a stump. Two battle maps spread out by stones lay on the ground in front of him. The maps were wrinkled; he’d grabbed them as the tent started to explode around him.
Fool man, she thought. Risking his life for a couple of pieces of paper.
. . . from reports,” said General Haerm, the new commander of the Illianer Companions. “I’m sorry, my Lord. The scouts don’t dare sneak too close to the old camp.”
“No sign of the Amyrlin?” Siuan asked.
Bryne and Haerm both shook their heads.
“Keep looking, young man.” Siuan wagged a finger at Haerm. He raised an eyebrow at her use of the word “young.” Burn this youthful face she’d been given. “I mean it. The Amyrlin is alive. You find her, you hear me?”
“I . . . Yes, Aes Sedai.” He showed some measure of respect, but not enough. These Illianers didn’t know how to treat Aes Sedai.
Bryne waved the man off, and for once, it didn’t look as if anyone was waiting to meet with him. Everyone was probably too exhausted. Their “camp” looked more like a collection of refugees from a terrible fire than it did an army. Most of the men had rolled themselves in cloaks and gone to sleep. Soldiers were better than sailors at sleeping whenever, and wherever, they could.
She couldn’t blame them. She’d been exhausted before the Sharans arrived. Now she was tired as death itself. She sat down on the ground beside Bryne’s stump.
“Arm still hurting you?” Bryne asked, reaching down to rub her shoulder. “You can feel that it is,” Siuan grumbled.
“Merely trying to be pleasant, Siuan.”
“Don’t think I have forgotten that you’re to blame for this bruise.”
“Me?” Bryne said, sounding amused.
“You pushed me through the hole.”
“You didn’t seem ready to move.”
“I was just about to jump. I was almost there.”
“I’m certain,” Bryne said.
“It’s your fault,” Siuan insisted. “I tumbled. I hadn’t intended to tumble. And Yukiri’s weave . . . horrible thing.”
“It worked,” Bryne said. “I doubt many people can claim to have fallen three hundred paces and survived.”
“She was too eager,” Siuan said. “She was probably longing to make us jump, you know. All that talk about Tra
veling and weaves of movement . . .” She trailed off, partly because she was annoyed at herself. This day had gone poorly enough without her griping at Bryne. “How many did we lose?” Not a much better topic, but she needed to know. “Do we have reports yet?
Nearly one in two of the soldiers,” Bryne said softly.
Worse than she’d suspected. “And the Aes Sedai?”
“We have somewhere around two hundred and fifty left,” Bryne said. “Though a number of those are in shock at having lost Warders.”
That was more of a disaster. A hundred and twenty Aes Sedai dead in a matter of hours? The White Tower would require a very long time to recover from that.
“I’m sorry, Siuan,” Bryne said.
“Bah,” Siuan said, “most of them treated me like fish guts anyway. They resented me as Amyrlin, laughed when I was cast down, and then made a servant of me when I returned.”
Bryne nodded, still rubbing her shoulder. He could feel that she was hurt, despite her words. There were good women among the dead. Many good sisters.
“She’s out there,” Siuan said stubbornly. “Egwene will surprise us, Bryne. You watch.”
“If I’m watching, it won’t be much of a surprise, will it?”
Siuan grunted. “Fool man.”
“You’re right,” he said solemnly. “On both counts. I think Egwene will surprise us. I’m also a fool.”
“Bryne . . .”
“I am, Siuan. How could I miss that they were stalling? They wanted to occupy us until this other force could gather. The Trollocs pulled back into those hills. A defensive move. Trollocs aren’t defensive. I assumed they were trying to set up an ambush only, and that was why they were pulling back corpses and preparing to wait. If I’d attacked them earlier, this could have been avoided. I was too careful.”
“A man who thinks all day about the catch he missed because of stormy weather ends up wasting time when the sky is clear.”
“A clever proverb, Siuan,” he said. “But there’s a saying among generals, written by Fogh the Tireless. ‘If you do not learn from your losses, you will be ruled by them.’ I can’t see how I let this happen. I’ve trained better than this, prepared better than this! It’s not just a mistake I can ignore, Siuan. The Pattern itself is at stake.”
He rubbed his forehead. In the dim light of the setting sun, he looked older, his face wrinkled, his hands frail. It was as if this battle had stolen decades from him. He sighed, hunching forward.
Siuan found herself at a loss for words.
They sat in silence.
Lyrelle waited outside the gates to the so-called Black Tower. It took every ounce of her training not to let her frustration show.
This entire expedition had been a disaster from the start. First, the Black Tower had refused them entry until the Reds had done their business, and that had been followed by the trouble with gateways. That had been followed by three bubbles of evil, two attempts by Darkfriends to murder the lot of them and the warning from the Amyrlin that the Black Tower had joined the Shadow to fight.
Lyrelle had sent most of her women to fight alongside Lan Mandragoran at the Amyrlin’s insistence. She’d remained behind with a few sisters to watch the Black Tower. And now . . . now this. What to make of it?
“I can assure you,” the young Asha’man said, “the danger has passed. We drove off the M’Flael and the others who turned to the Shadow. The rest of us walk in the Light.”
Lyrelle turned to her companions. A representative from each Ajah, along with backup—sent for desperately this morning when the Asha’man had first approached her—in the form of thirty other sisters. They accepted Lyrelle’s leadership here, if only reluctantly.
“We will discuss it,” she said, dismissing the young Asha’man with a nod.
“What do we do?” Myrelle asked. The Green had been with Lyrelle from the start, one of the few that she’d not sent away, partially because she wanted the woman’s Warders near. “If some of their members are fighting for the Shadow . . .”
“Gateways can be made again,” Seaine said. “Something has changed about this place in the days since we felt that channeling inside.”
“I don’t trust it,” Myrelle said.
“We must know for certain,” Seaine said. “We cannot leave the Black Tower unattended during the Last Battle itself. We must see these men taken care of, one way or another.” The Black Tower men claimed that only a few of their number had joined the Shadow, and that the channeling had been the result of an attack by the Black Ajah.
It galled her to hear them use those words. Black Ajah. For centuries, the White Tower had denied the existence of Darkfriends among Aes Sedai. The truth had, unfortunately, been revealed. That didn’t mean Lyrelle wanted to hear men tossing around the term so casually. Particularly men like these.
“If they’d wanted to attack us,” Lyrelle said speculatively, “they’d have done it when we couldn’t escape with gateways. For now, I will assume they have cleansed the . . . problems among their ranks. As was required of the White Tower itself.”
“So we go in?” Myrelle asked.
“Yes. We bond the men we were promised, and from them draw out the truth, if it is obscured.” It troubled Lyrelle that the Dragon Reborn had refused them the highest-ranking among the Asha’man, but Lyrelle had devised a plan when she first came here. It should still work. She would first ask for a display of channeling among the men, and would bond the one she felt was strongest. She would then have that one tell her which among the trainees were the most talented so her sisters could bond those.
From there . . . well, she hoped that would contain the majority of these men. Light, what a mess. Men who could channel, walking about unashamed! She did not accept this fable of the taint having been cleansed. Of course these . . . men . . . would claim such a thing.
“Sometimes,” Lyrelle muttered, “I wish I could go back and slap myself for accepting this commission.”
Myrelle laughed. She never did take events as seriously as she should. Lyrelle felt annoyed at having missed the chances to be had at the White Tower during her long absence. Reunification, fighting the Seanchan . . . These were the times when leadership could be proven, and a woman could gain a reputation for strength.
Opportunities appeared during times of upheaval. Opportunities now lost to her. Light, but she hated that thought.
“We will enter,” she called up to the walls framing the gate before her. Then, more softly, she continued to her women: “Hold the One Power and be careful. We do not know what could happen here.” Her women would be a match for a larger number of untrained Asha’man, if it came to that. It shouldn’t, logically. Of course, the men were likely mad. So perhaps assuming logic from them was imprudent.
The large gates opened to allow her people in. It said something about these Black Tower men that they chose to finish the walls around their grounds before actually building their tower.
She kneed her horse forward, and Myrelle and the others followed in a clopping of hooves. Lyrelle embraced the Source and used the new weave, which would tell her if a man channeled nearby. It was not the young man from a short time ago who met them at the gates, however.
“What is this?” Lyrelle asked as she was joined by Pevara Tazanovni. Lyrelle knew the Red Sitter, though not well.
“I’ve been asked to accompany you,” Pevara said cheerfully. “Logain thought that a familiar face might make you more comfortable.”
Lyrelle held in a sneer. Aes Sedai should not be cheerful. Aes Sedai should be calm, collected, and—if anything else—stern. A man should look at an Aes Sedai and immediately wonder what he had done wrong and how he could fix it.
Pevara fell in beside her as they rode onto the grounds of the Black Tower. “Logain, who is in charge now, sends his regards,” Pevara continued. “He was gravely wounded in the attacks and has not yet fully recovered.
Will he be well?”
“Oh, certainly. He should be up and abo
ut in another day or two. He will be needed to lead the Asha’man as they join the Last Battle, I suspect.” Pity, Lyrelle thought. The Black Tower would have been more easily controlled without a false Dragon at their head. Better that he had died.
“I am certain his aid will be useful,” Lyrelle said. “His leadership, however . . . Well, we shall see. Tell me, Pevara. I have been told that bonding a man who can channel is different from bonding a normal man. Have you been through the process?”
“Yes,” Pevara said.
“Is it true, then?” Lyrelle asked. “Ordinary men can be compelled with the bond to obey, but not these Asha’man?”
Pevara smiled, seeming wistful. “Ah, what would that be like? No, the bond cannot force Asha’man. You will have to use more inventive means.” That was not good. “How obedient are they?” Aledrin asked from the other side.
“It depends on the man, I suspect,” Pevara said.
“If they cannot be forced,” Lyrelle said, “will they obey their Aes Sedai in battle?”
“Probably,” Pevara said, though there was something ambiguous about the way she said it. “I must tell you something, all of you. The mission I was sent on, and the one you also pursue, is a fool’s errand.”
“Is that so?” Lyrelle asked evenly. She was hardly going to trust a Red after what they had done to Siuan. “Why is that?”
“I was once where you are,” Pevara said. “Ready to bond all of the Asha’man in an attempt to control them. But would you ride into another city and select fifty men there, at a whim, and bond them as Warders? Bonding the Asha’man just to bond them is foolish. It will not control them. I do think some Asha’man will make excellent Warders, but—like many men— others will not. I suggest that you abandon your plan to bond exactly forty-seven and take those who are most willing. You will gain better Warders.”
“Interesting advice,” Lyrelle said. “But, as you mentioned, the Asha’man will be needed at the battlefront. There is not time. We will take the forty-seven most powerful.”
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