Another lance of light plunged into the battlefield, killing men, disrupting the pikemen. Beyond that, on the far side of the Heights, women channeled in a furious battle. She could see the lights flashing in the night, though that was all. Should Elayne join them? Her command here had not been good enough to save the soldiers, but it had provided guidance and leadership.
“I fear for our army, Elayne.” Birgitte said. “I fear that the day is lost.”
“The day cannot be lost,” Elayne said, “because if it is, we all are lost. I refuse to accept defeat. You and I will return. Let Demandred try to strike us down. Perhaps seeing me will revitalize the soldiers, make them—”
A group of Caemlyn refugees nearby attacked her Guardsmen and Guards-women.
Elayne cursed, turning Moonshadow and embracing the One Power. The group she had, at first, taken for refugees in dirty, soot-stained clothing wore mail beneath. They fought her Guards, killing with sword and axe. Not refugees at all, mercenaries.
“Betrayal!” Birgitte called, lifting her bow and shooting a mercenary through the throat. “To arms!”
“It’s not a betrayal,” Elayne said. She wove Fire and struck down a group of three. “Those aren’t ours! Watch for thieves in the clothing of beggars!”
She turned as another group of “refugees” lunged at the weakened lines of Guards. They were all around! They had crept up while attention had been focused on the distant battlefield.
As a group of mercenaries broke through, she wove saidar to show them the folly of attacking an Aes Sedai. She released a powerful weave of Air.
As it hit one of the men charging her, the weave fell apart, unraveling. Elayne cursed, turning her horse to flee, but one of the attackers lunged forward and drove his sword into Moonshadow’s neck. The horse reared, squealing in agony, and Elayne caught a brief glimpse of Guards fighting all around as she fell to the ground, panicked for the safety of her babes. Rough hands grabbed her by the shoulders and held her against the ground.
She saw something silver glisten in the night. A foxhead medallion. Another pair of hands pressed it to her skin just above her breasts. The metal was sharply cold.
“Hello, my Queen,” Mellar said, squatting beside her. The former Guardsman—the one many people still assumed had fathered her children— leered down at her. “You’ve been very hard to track down.”
Elayne spat at him, but he anticipated her, raising his hand to catch the spittle. He smiled, then stood up, leaving her held by two mercenaries. Though some of her Guards still fought, most had been pushed back or killed.
Mellar turned as two men dragged Birgitte over. She thrashed in their grip, and a third man came over to help hold her. Mellar took out his sword, regarded its blade for a moment, as if inspecting himself in its reflective gleam. Then he rammed it into Birgitte’s stomach.
Birgitte gasped, falling to her knees. Mellar beheaded her with a vicious backhand blow.
Elayne found herself sitting very still, unable to think or react as Birgitte’s corpse flopped forward, spilling lifeblood from the neck. The bond winked away, and with it came . . . pain. Terrible pain.
“I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time,” Mellar said. Blood and bloody ashes, but it felt good.”
Birgitte. . . Her Warder was dead. Her Warder had been killed. That tough yet generous heart, that tremendous loyalty—destroyed. The loss made it . . . made it hard to think.
Mellar kicked at Birgitte’s corpse as a man rode up with a body draped across the back of his saddle. The man wore an Andoran uniform, and the facedown corpse dangled golden hair. Whoever the poor woman was, she wore a dress exactly like Elayne’s.
Oh no.. .
“Go,” Mellar said. The man rode off, a few others forming around him, fake Guardsmen. They carried Elayne’s banner, and one started shouting, “The Queen is dead! The Queen has fallen!”
Mellar turned to Elayne. “Your people still fight. Well, that ought to disrupt their ranks. As for you . . . well, apparently, the Great Lord has a use for those children of yours. I’ve been ordered to bring them to Shayol Ghul. It occurs to me that you needn’t be with them at the time.” He looked at one of his companions. “Can you make it work?”
The other man knelt beside Elayne, then pressed his hands against her belly. A jolt of sudden fright pushed through her numbness and her shock. Her babes!
“She’s far enough along,” the man said. “I can probably keep the children alive with a weave, if you cut them out. It will be difficult to do right. They are young yet. Six months along. But with the weaves I was shown by the Chosen . . . yes, I think I can keep them living for an hour. But you will have to take them to M’Hael to get them to Shayol Ghul. Traveling with a regular gateway won’t work there any longer.”
Mellar sheathed his sword and pulled a hunting knife from his belt. “Good enough for me. We’ll send the children on, as the Great Lord asks. But you, my Queen . . . you are mine.”
Elayne flailed, but the men’s grip was tight. She clawed at saidar again and again, but the medallion worked like forkroot. She might as well have been trying to embrace saidin as reach saidar
“No!” she screamed as Mellar knelt beside her. “NO!”
“Good,” he said. “I was hoping you’d get around to screaming.”
Nothing.
Rand turned. He tried to turn. He had no form or shape.
Nothing.
He tried to speak, but he had no mouth. Finally, he managed to think the words and make them manifest.
SHAI’TAN, Rand projected, WHAT IS THIS?
OUR COVENANT, the Dark One replied. OUR ACCOMMODATION.
OUR ACCOMMODATION IS NOTHING? Rand demanded.
YES.
He understood. The Dark One was offering a deal. Rand could accept this ... He could accept nothingness. The two of them dueled for the fate of the world. Rand pushed for peace, glory, love. The Dark One sought the opposite. Pain. Suffering.
This was, in a way, a balance between the two. The Dark One would agree not to reforge the Wheel to suit his grim desires. There would be no enslaving of mankind, no world without love. There would be no world at all.
IT IS WHAT YOU PROMISED ELAN, Rand said. YOU PROMISED HIM AN END TO EXISTENCE.
I OFFER IT TO YOU, TOO, the Dark One replied. AND TO ALL MEN. YOU WANTED PEACE. I GIVE IT TO YOU. THE PEACE OF THE VOID THAT YOU SO OFTEN SEEK. I GIVE YOU NOTHING AND EVERYTHING.
Rand did not reject the offer immediately. He grasped the offer and cradled it in his mind. No more pain. No more suffering. No more burdens.
An ending. Was that not what he had desired? A way to end the cycles finally?
NO, Rand said. AN END TO EXISTENCE IS NOT PEACE. I MADE THIS CHOICE BEFORE. WE WILL CONTINUE.
The Dark Ones pressure began to surround him again, threatening to rip him apart.
I WILL NOT OFFER AGAIN, the Dark One said.
“I would not expect you to,” Rand said as his body returned and the threads of possibility faded.
Then the true pain began.
Min waited with the gathered Seanchan forces, officers walking down the lines with lanterns to prepare the men. They had not returned to Ebou Dar, but instead had fled through gateways to a large open plain that she did not recognize. Trees with a strange bark and large, open fronds grew here. She could not tell if they were truly trees, or just very large ferns. It was particularly hard to tell because of the wilting; the trees had grown leaves, but now they drooped down at the sides as if they had not seen water in far too many weeks. Min tried to imagine what they would have looked like when healthy.
The air smelled different to her—of plants she did not recognize, and of seawater. The Seanchan forces waited in strict formations of troops, ready to march, each fourth man with a lantern, though only one in ten of those were currently lit. Moving an army could not be done fast, despite gateways, but Fortuona had access to hundreds of damane. The retreat had been carried out efficiently, and Min suspec
ted that a return to the battlefield could be accomplished swiftly.
If Fortuona decided to return, that was. The Empress sat atop a pillar in the night, lifted up to it on her palanquin, lit by blue lanterns. It was not a throne, but a pure white pillar, about six feet high, erected on the top of a small hill. Min had a seat next to the pillar, and could hear reports as they arrived.
“This battle is not going well for the Prince of the Ravens,” General Galgan said. He addressed his generals before Fortuona, speaking to them directly, so that they could respond to him without formally addressing the Empress. “His request for us to return came only just now. He has waited far too long to seek our aid.”
“I hesitate to say this,” Yulan said. “But, though the Empress’s wisdom knows no bounds, I do not have confidence in the Prince. He might be the chosen consort of the Empress, and he was obviously a wise choice for that role. He has proven himself reckless in battle, however. Perhaps he is overly strained by what is happening.”
“I’m sure he has a plan,” Beslan said, earnest. “You have to trust Mat. He knows what he’s doing.”
“He impressed me earlier,” Galgan said. “The omens seem to favor him.
He is losing, Captain-General,” Yulan said. “Losing badly. The omens for a man can change quickly, as can the fortune of a nation.”
Min narrowed her eyes at the short Captain of the Air. He now wore the last two fingernails of each hand lacquered. He had been the one to lead the strike on Tar Valon, and the success of that attack had gained him great favor in Fortuona’s eyes. Symbols and omens spun around his head, like those above Galgan’s—and, indeed, Beslan’s.
Light, Min thought. Am I really starting to think of “omens” like Fortuona? I need to leave these people. They’re mad.
“I feel that the Prince views this battle too much as a game,” Yulan said again. “Though his initial gambles were keen ones, he has over extended himself. How many a man has stood around the table of dactolk and looked like a genius because of his bets, when really just random chance made him seem capable? The Prince won at first, but now we see how dangerous it is to gamble as he has.”
Yulan inclined his head toward the Empress. His assertions grew increasingly bold, as she gave him no reason to quiet himself. From the Empress, in this situation, that was an indication he should continue.
“I have heard . . . rumors about him ,” Galgan said.
“Mat’s a gambler, yes,” Beslan said. “But he’s uncannily good at it. He wins, General. Please, you need to go back and help.”
Yulan shook his head emphatically. “The Empress—may she live forever—pulled us away from the battlefield for good reason. If the Prince could not protect his own command post, he is not in control of the battle.”
Bolder and bolder. Galgan rubbed his chin, then looked at another person there. Min didn’t know much of Tylee. She remained quiet at these meetings. With graying hair and broad shoulders, the dark-skinned woman had an indefinable strength to her. This was a general who had led her people directly, in battle, many times. Those scars proved it.
“These mainlanders fight better than I ever assumed they would,” Tylee said. “I fought alongside some of Cauthon’s soldiers. I think they will surprise you, General. I, too, humbly suggest that we return to help.”
“But is it in the best interests of the Empire to do so?” Yulan asked. “Cauthon’s forces will weaken the Shadow, as will the Shadow’s march to Ebou Dar from Merrilor. We can crush the Trollocs with air attacks along the way. The long victory should be our goal. Perhaps we can send damane to fetch the Prince and bring him to safety. He has fought well, but he is obviously overmatched in this battle. We cannot save his armies, of course. They are doomed.”
Min frowned, leaning forward. One of the images above Yulan’s head . . . it was so odd. A chain. Why would he have a chain above his head?
He’s a captive, she thought suddenly. Light. Someone is playing him like an instrument.
Mat feared a spy. Min felt cold.
“The Empress, may she live forever, has made her decision,” Galgan said. “We return. Unless her mind, in its wisdom, has been changed . . . ?” He turned toward her, a questioning look on his face.
Our spy can channel, Min realized, inspecting Yulan. That man is under Compulsion.
A channeler. Black Ajah? Darkfriend damane? A male Dreadlord? It could be anyone. And the spy would be wearing a weave for disguise, too, in all likelihood.
So, then, how would Min ever spot this spy?
Viewings. Aes Sedai and other channelers always had viewings attached to them. Always. Could she find a clue in one of those? She knew, by instinct, that Yulan’s chain meant he was a captive of another. He wasn’t the true spy, then, but a puppet.
She started with the other nobility and generals. Of course, many of them had omens above their heads, and those types commonly did. How would she spot something out of the ordinary? Min scanned the watching crowd, and her breath caught as she noticed for the first time that one of the so’jhin, a youthful woman with freckles, carried an array of images above her head.
Min didn’t recognize the woman. Had she been serving here the whole time? Min was certain she’d have noticed earlier if the woman had come close to her; people who were not channelers, Warders or ta’veren rarely had so many images attached to them. Oversight or happenstance, though, she hadn’t thought to look specifically at the servants.
Now, the cover-up was obvious to her. Min looked away so as to not raise the servant’s suspicions, and considered her next move. Her instincts whispered that she should just attack, take out a knife and throw it. If that servant were a Dreadlord—or, Light, one of the Forsaken—striking first might be the only way to defeat her.
There was also a chance, however, that the woman was innocent. Min debated, then stood up on her chair. Several of the Blood muttered at the breach of decorum, but Min ignored them. She stepped up onto the arm rest of her chair, balancing there to put herself even with Tuon. Min leaned in.
“Mat has asked for us to return,” Min said softly. “How long will you debate doing what he asked?”
Tuon eyed her. “Until I am convinced this is best for my Empire.”
“He is your husband.”
“One man’s life is not worth that of thousands,” Tuon said, but she sounded genuinely troubled. “If the battle really does go as badly as Yulan’s scouts say . . .”
“You named me Truthspeaker,” Min said. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It is your duty to censure me in public, if I do something wrong. However, you are untrained in the station. It would be best for you to hold yourself back until I can provide proper—”
Min turned to face the generals and the watching crowd, her heart beating frantically. “As Truthspeaker to the Empress Fortuona, I speak now the truth. She has abandoned the armies of humankind, and she withholds her strength in a time of need. Her pride will cause the destruction of all people, everywhere.”
The Blood looked stunned.
“It is not so simple, young woman,” General Galgan said. From the looks others gave him, it seemed he wasn’t supposed to debate a Truth-speaker. He barreled forward anyway. “This is a complex situation.”
“I would be more sympathetic,” Min said, “if I didn’t know there was a spy for the Shadow among us.”
The freckled so’jhin looked up sharply.
I have you, Min thought, then pointed at General Yulan. “Abaldar Yulan, I denounce you! I have seen omens that prove to me you are not acting in the interests of the Empire!”
The real spy relaxed, and Min caught a hint of a smile on her lips. That was good enough. As Yulan protested loudly the accusation, Min dropped a knife into her hand and whipped it toward the woman.
It flipped end over end—but just before hitting the woman, it stopped and hung in the air.
Nearby damane and sul’dam gasped. The spy shot Min a hateful glare, then opened a gatewa
y, throwing herself through. Weaves shot after her, but she was gone before most of the people at the meeting realized what was happening.
“I’m sorry, General Yulan,” Min announced, “but you are suffering from Compulsion. Fortuona, it is obvious that the Shadow is doing whatever it can to keep us from this battle. With that in mind, will you still pursue this course of indecision?”
Min met Tuon’s eyes.
“You play these games quite well,” Tuon whispered, voice cold. “And to think that I worried for your safety by bringing you into my court. I should have worried for myself, it appears.” Tuon sighed, ever so softly. “I suppose you give me the opportunity . . . perhaps the mandate ... to follow what my heart would choose, whether or not it is wise.” She stood. “General Galgan, gather your troops. We will return to the Field of Merrilor.”
Egwene wove Earth and destroyed the boulders behind which the Sharans had hidden. The other Aes Sedai struck immediately, hurling weaves through the crackling air. The Sharans died in fire, lightning and explosions.
This side of the Heights was so piled with rubble and scarred with trenches it looked like the remains of a city following a terrible earthquake. It was still night, and they had been fighting . . . Light, how long had it been since Gawyn died? Hours upon hours.
Egwene redoubled her efforts, refusing to let the thought of him pull her down. Over the hours, her Aes Sedai and the Sharans had fought back and forth across the western side of the Heights. Slowly, Egwene was pushing them eastward.
At times, Egwene’s side had seemed to be winning, but lately, more and more Aes Sedai fell from the effects of fatigue or the One Power.
Another group of channelers approached through the smoke, drawing on the One Power. Egwene could sense them more than see them.
“Deflect their weaves!” Egwene yelled, standing at the forefront. “I will attack, you defend!”
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