Lord of Chaos twot-6

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Lord of Chaos twot-6 Page 114

by Robert Jordan


  "Two of us can slip out," Loial said quietly, hefting that huge axe. "Two will stand a better chance." The Tinker only smiled, but almost eagerly.

  "I will have a place opened in the barrier," Taim began, but Rand broke in on him sharply.

  "No!" Not for the Two Rivers folk. He could not appear to worry over them any more than over the Wise Ones. Truth to tell, he had to seem to worry less. Amys was out there? The Wise Ones never took part in battle; they walked untouched through battles and blood feuds. They had ripped apart custom if not law to come for him. He would as soon let Perrin go back into that maelstrom as abandon them. But it could not be for the Wise Ones or the Two Rivers folk. "Sevanna wants my head, Taim. Apparently she thought she could take it today." The emotionless quality the Void gave to his voice was appropriate. It did seem to worry Min, though; she was stroking his back as though to calm him. "I mean to let her know her mistake. I told you to make weapons, Taim. Show me just how deadly they are. Disperse the Shaido. Break them."

  "As you command." If Taim had been stiff before, he was stone now.

  "Put my standard up where they can see it," Rand commanded. At least that would tell everyone outside who held the camp. Maybe the Wise Ones and Two Rivers folk would pull back when they saw that.

  Loial’s ears wriggled uneasily, and Perrin grabbed Rand’s arm as Taim walked away. "I saw what they do, Rand. It’s…" With his bloody face and bloody axe, he still sounded disgusted.

  "What would you have me do?" Rand demanded. "What else can I do?"

  Perrin’s hand fell away, and he sighed. "I do not know. I do not have to like it, though."

  "Grady, raise the Banner of Light!" Taim called, and the Power made his voice boom. On flows of Air, Jur Grady lifted the crimson banner out of a surprised Dobraine’s hand and raised it all the way through the hole in the top of the dome. Fire burst around it and lightning flashed as brilliant red lifted amid the smoke billowing up from the burning wagons. Rand recognized a number of the men in black coats, but he knew only a few names aside from Jur’s. Damer and Fedwin and Eben, Jahar and Torval; of those, only Torval wore the Dragon on his collar.

  "Asha’man, form line of battle!" Taim boomed.

  Black-coated men rushed to place themselves between the barrier and everyone else, all of them except Jur and those watching Aes Sedai. Except for Nesune, who peered intently at everything, the Tower lot had sunk listlessly to their knees, not even looking at the men who had them shielded, and even Nesune still looked on the point of sicking up. The Salidar group stared coldly at the Asha’man guarding them for the most part, though now and then they turned those icy eyes on Rand. Alanna stared only at Rand. His skin was tingled faintly, he realized; for him to feel it at that distance, all nine must be embracing saidar. He hoped they had enough sense not to channel; the stony men facing them held saidin to bursting, and they looked as tense as the Warders fingering their swords.

  "Asha’man, raise the barricade two spans!" At Taim’s command, the edges of the dome rose all around. Surprised Shaido who had been pushing at what they could not see stumbled forward. They recovered instantly, a black-veiled mass surging forward, but they had time for only a stride before Taim’s next shout. "Asha’man, kill!"

  The front rank of the Shaido exploded. There was no other way to put it. Cadin’sor-clad shapes burst apart in sprays of blood and flesh. Flows of saidin reached through that thick mist, darting from figure to figure in the blink of an eye, and the next row of Shaido died, then the next, and the next, as though they were running into an enormous meat grinder. Staring at the slaughter, Rand swallowed. Perrin bent over to empty his stomach, and Rand understood fully. Another rank died. Nandera put a hand over her eyes, and Sulin turned her back. The bloody ruins of human beings began to make a wall.

  No one could stand up to that. Between one blast of death and the next, the Shaido in front were suddenly struggling the other way, forcing themselves back into the mass fighting to get forward. The milling tangle itself began to explode, and then all of them were falling back. No, running. The rain of fire and lightning against the dome faltered.

  "Asha’man," Taim’s voice rang out, "rolling ring of Earth and Fire!"

  Beneath the feet of the Shaido nearest the wagons the ground suddenly erupted in fountains of flame and dirt, hurling men in every direction. While bodies still hung in the air, more gouts of flame roared from the ground, and more, in an expanding ring all the way around the wagons, pursuing the Shaido for fifty paces, a hundred, two hundred. There was nothing but panic and death out there now. Spears and bucklers were cast aside. The dome above stood clear except for the smoke rising from the burning wagons.

  "Stop!" The roar of explosions swallowed Rand’s shout as well as it did men’s screams. He wove the flows Taim had used. "Stop it, Taim!" His voice crashed like thunder over everything.

  One more ring of eruptions, and Taim called, "Asha’man, rest!"

  For a moment a deafening silence seemed to fill the air, Rand’s ears rang. Then he could hear screams and moans. Wounded heaved among the piles of dead. And beyond them the Shaido ran, leaving behind scattered clusters of siswai’aman and Maidens with red armcloths, Cairhienin and Mayeners, some still on their horses. Almost hesitantly those began to move toward the wagons, some of the Aiel lowering their veils. With Power enhancing his eyes, he could make out Rhuarc, limping, one arm dangling, but on his feet. And well beyond him, a large group of women in dark bulky skirts and pale blouses, with an escort of men in Two Rivers coats carrying longbows. They were too far for him to make out faces, but from the way the Two Rivers men at least were staring at the fleeing Shaido, they were as stunned as anyone else.

  A great sense of relief welled up inside Rand, though not enough to still the distant churning in his stomach. Min had her face pressed against his shirt; she was weeping. He smoothed her hair. "Asha’man" — he had never been more glad of the Void draining emotion from his voice — "you have done well. I congratulate you, Taim." He turned away so he would not have to see the carnage anymore, hardly hearing the cheers of "Lord Dragon!" and "Asha’man!" that thundered from the black-coated men.

  When he turned, he found Aes Sedai. Merana was all the way at the back, but Alanna stood almost face-to-face with him beside two Aes Sedai he did not recognize.

  "You have done well," the square-faced one of the pair said. A farmer, with an ageless face and eyes just holding on to serenity, ignoring the Asha’man around her. Obviously ignoring them. "I am Bera Harkin, and this is Kiruna Nachiman. We came to rescue you — with Alanna’s aid" — that was an obvious addition, at Alanna’s sudden frown — "though it seems you had small need of us. Still, intentions do count, and — "

  "Your place is with them," Rand said, pointing to the Aes Sedai shielded and under guard. Twenty-three, he saw, and Galina not among them. The buzzing of Lews Therin swelled, but he refused to listen. Now was no time for insane rages.

  Kiruna drew herself up proudly. Whatever she was, she was certainly no farmer. "You forget who we are. They may have mistreated you, but we — "

  "I forget nothing, Aes Sedai," Rand said coldly. "I said six could come, but I count nine. I said you would be on an equal footing with the Tower emissaries, and for bringing nine, you will be. They are on their knees, Aes Sedai. Kneel!"

  Coldly serene faces stared back at him. He felt Asha’man readying shields of Spirit. Defiance grew on Kiruna’s face, on Bera’s, on others. Two dozen black-coated men made a ring around Rand and the Aes Sedai.

  Taim appeared as close to a smile as Rand had ever seen him. "Kneel and swear to the Lord Dragon," he said softly, "or you will be knelt."

  As stories do, the tale spread, across Cairhien and north and south, by merchant train and peddler and simple traveler gossiping at an inn. As stories do, the tale changed with every telling. The Aiel had turned on the Dragon Reborn and killed him, at Dumai’s Wells or elsewhere. No, the Aes Sedai had saved Rand al’Thor. It was Aes Sedai who had killed
him — no, gentled him — no, carried him to Tar Valon where he languished in a dungeon beneath the White Tower. Or else where the Amyrlin Seat herself knelt to him. Unusually for stories, it was something very close to truth that was most often believed.

  On a day of fire and blood, a tattered banner waved above Dumai’s Wells, bearing the ancient symbol of Aes Sedai.

  On a day of fire and blood and the One Power, as prophecy had suggested, the unstained tower, broken, bent knee to the forgotten sign.

  The first nine Aes Sedai swore fealty to the Dragon Reborn, and the world was changed forever.

  EPILOGUE

  (Serpent and Wheel)

  The Answer

  The man only paused long enough to rest his hand on the door of the sedan chair, and was away as soon as Falion took the note from his fingers. Her rap had the two bearers moving almost before the fellow in Tarasin Palace livery stepped back into the crowd of the square.

  There was only one word on the small square of paper. Gone. She crumpled it in her fist. Somehow they had slipped out again without her people inside seeing. Months of futile search had convinced her there was no cache of angreal, whatever Moghedien believed. She had even considered putting a Wise Woman or two to the question; one of them might know its whereabouts, if it existed. And horses might fly. All that kept her here in this wretched city was the simple fact that when one of the Chosen gave a command, you obeyed until it was changed. Anything else was a short road to a painful death. Yet if Elayne and Nynaeve were here… They had ruined everything in Tanchico. Whether or not they really were full sisters — impossible as that seemed — Falion would not take their presence as coincidence. Maybe there was a cache. For the first time she was glad that Moghedien had ignored her since giving her her orders so many months ago in Amadicia. What had felt like abandonment might yet be a chance for advancement in the Chosen’s eyes. That pair might yet lead her to the cache, and if not, if there was no cache… Moghedien had seemed to have interest in Elayne and Nynaeve themselves. Delivering them would certainly be better than nonexistent angreal.

  Leaning back, she let the sway of the chair soothe her. She did hate this city — she had come here as a runaway, when she was a novice — but perhaps this visit would end pleasantly after all.

  Sitting in his study, Herid was peering into his pipe and wondering whether he had the means of lighting it at hand when the gholam squeezed under the door. Of course, even if Fel had been paying attention, he would not have believed, and once the gholam was inside the room, few men would have stood any chance.

  When Idrien came to Fel’s study later, she stared at what was piled none too neatly on the floor beside the table. It took her a moment to realize what it was, and when she did, she fainted before she could get a scream out. However many times she heard of someone torn limb from limb, she had never seen it before.

  The rider turned his horse at the top of the hill for a last look back at Ebou Dar, gleaming white in the sun. A good city for looting, and from what he had learned of the local people, they would resist, so the Blood would allow looting. They would resist, but he hoped the other eyes were bringing back reports of disunity such as he had seen. Resistance would not last long, where a so-called queen ruled a tiny patch of ground, and that combined the best possibilities. Wheeling his mount, he rode west. Who knew? Perhaps that fellow’s comment had been an omen. Perhaps the Return would come soon, and the Daughter of the Nine Moons with it. Surely that would be the greatest omen of victory.

  Lying on her back in the night, Moghedien stared at the roof of the tiny tent she was allowed to herself as one of the Amyrlin’s servants. From time to time her teeth ground, but as soon as she realized it, she stilled them again, very conscious of the a’dam necklace tight around her neck. This Egwene al’Vere was harder than Elayne or Nynaeve had been; she tolerated less and demanded more. And when she passed the bracelet to Siuan or Leane, especially Siuan… Moghedien shivered. That must be what it would be like if Birgitte could wear the bracelet.

  The tent flap moved aside, admitting just enough moonlight for her to make out a woman ducking in.

  "Who are you?" Moghedien demanded roughly. When they sent for her in the night, whoever came always brought a lantern.

  "Call me Aran’gar, Moghedien," an amused voice said, and a small light bloomed inside the tent.

  Her own name clove Moghedien’s tongue to the roof of her mouth; that name meant death here. She was struggling to speak, to say her name was Marigan, when suddenly she became truly aware of the light. A small glowing white ball, pale, hanging in the air near her head. With the a’dam on her, she could not do more than think of saidar without permission, but she could still feel it channeled, see the webs woven. This time she felt nothing, saw nothing. Just a tiny ball of pure light.

  She stared at the woman who had called herself Aran’gar, recognizing her now. Halima, she thought; secretary to one of the Sitters, she believed. But a woman certainly, if one who looked as though she had been designed by a man. A woman. But that ball of light had to be saidin! "Who are you?" Her voice shook slightly, and she was surprised it was so steady.

  The woman smiled at her — a very amused smile — as she settled beside the pallet. "I told you, Moghedien. My name is Aran’gar. You will learn that name in the future, if you are lucky. Now, listen to me carefully, ask no more questions. I will tell you what you need to know. In a moment I will remove your pretty necklace. When I do, you will vanish as quickly and silently as Logain did. If you do not, you will die here. And that will be a shame, because you are summoned to Shayol Ghul this very night."

  Moghedien licked her lips. Summoned to Shayol Ghul. That could mean eternity in the Pit of Doom, or immortality ruling the world, or anything in between. Little chance it meant being named Nae’blis, not if the Great Lord knew enough of how she had spent the past months to send someone to free her. Yet it was a summons she could not refuse. And it meant an end to the a’dam at last. "Yes. Remove it. I will go immediately." There was no point to delaying anyway; she was stronger than any woman in the camp, but she did not intend to give a circle of thirteen a chance at her.

  "I thought you would see it so," Halima — or Aran’gar — chuckled richly. She touched the necklace, flinching slightly, and Moghedien wondered again about a woman who apparently channeled saidin and was hurt, however faintly, by touching what should only hurt a man who could channel. Then the necklace was off, being slipped hastily into the woman’s pouch. "Go, Moghedien. Go, now."

  When Egwene reached the tent and put her head and lantern in, she found only disturbed blankets. She withdrew slowly.

  "Mother," Chesa fussed behind her, "you should not be out in the night air. Night air is bad air. If you wanted Marigan, I could have fetched her."

  Egwene looked around. She had felt the necklace come off, and felt the flash of pain that meant a man who could channel had brushed the link. Most people were already asleep, but a few still sat outside their tents around low fires, and some not far. It might be possible to find out which man had come to "Marigan’s" tent.

  "I think she has run away, Chesa," she said. Chesa’s angry mutterings about women who deserted their mistresses followed her back to her own tent. It could not have been Logain, could it? He would not have come back, could not have known. Could he?

  Demandred knelt in the Pit of Doom, and for once he did not care that Shaidar Haran watched his trembling with that eyeless, impassive gaze. "Have I not done well, Great Lord?" The Great Lord’s laughter filled Demandred’s head.

  The unstained tower breaks and bends knee to the forgotten sign. The seas rage, and stormclouds gather unseen. Beyond the horizon, hidden fires swell, and serpents nestle in the bosom. What was exalted is cast down; what was cast down is raised up. Order burns to clear his path.

  The Prophecies of the Dragon translation by Jeorad Manyard Governor of the Province of Andor for the High King, Artur Paendrag Tanreall

  The End of the Sixth Book
of The Wheel of Time

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