The soldiers were busy flushing out servants. Those who ran, they killed with arrows from bows that stretched extremely far. Servants who moved more slowly, they rounded up and forced to the ground.
Egwene longed to embrace the Source, to do something. To bring down fire and lightning upon these invaders. She still had Vora’s sa’angreal. She could—
She quashed that line of thinking. She was surrounded by the enemy, and the swift reaction of the channelers indicated that they were watching for Aes Sedai. If she wove for a single moment, she’d be killed before she could escape. She huddled beside Gawyn, under his cloak, hoping none of the Sharan channelers walked close enough to sense her ability. She could use a weave to hide that ability, but would have to channel first to use it. Dared she try that?
They hid for a good hour or more. If the cloud cover hadn’t been so complete, casting the land into perpetual twilight, they’d certainly have been spotted, cloak or no cloak. She almost cried out at one point when a few of the Sharan soldiers tossed some buckets of water onto the woodpile, stifling the fire and soaking both of them.
She couldn’t make out anything of her own army, though she feared the worst. The Sharan channelers and a large portion of their army moved through the camp quickly, toward the battlefield. With Bryne and the Amyrlin gone, and with a surprise force coming in from behind …
Egwene felt sick. How many were dying, dead? Gawyn caught her arm as he felt her stir, then shook his head, mouthing a few words. Wait until night.
They’re dying! she mouthed.
You can’t help.
It was true. She let him hold her, letting his familiar scent calm her. But how could she simply wait as soldiers and Aes Sedai who depended on her were slaughtered? Light, a huge portion of the White Tower was out there! If this army fell, and those women with it …
I am the Amyrlin Seat, she told herself firmly. I will be strong. I will survive. So long as I live, the White Tower stands.
She still let Gawyn hold her.
* * *
Aviendha crawled across the rock like a winter lizard seeking warmth. Her fingertips, though callused, were beginning to burn from the bitter cold. Shayol Ghul was cold, with air that smelled as if it came from a tomb.
Rhuarc crawled to her left, a Stone Dog named Shaen to her right. Both wore the red headband of the siswai’aman. She didn’t know what to make of Rhuarc, a clan chief, donning that headband. He had never spoken of it; it was as if the headband did not exist. So it was with all of the siswai’aman. Amys crawled on Shaen’s right. For once, no one had objected to Wise Ones joining the advance scouts. In a place such as this, at a time such as this, the eyes of one who could channel might see what ordinary eyes would not.
Aviendha pulled herself forward, making no noise, despite the necklaces she wore. No plants sprouted on these rocks, not even mold or lichen. They were deep within the Blasted Lands, now. Almost as deep as one could go.
Rhuarc reached the ridge first, and she saw him tense. Aviendha arrived next, peering over the side of the rock, keeping low so as not to be seen. Her breath stopped dead in her throat.
She’d heard stories of this place. Of the massive forge near the base of the slope, a single black stream running past it. That water had been poisoned to the point that it would kill any who touched it. Hearths dotted the valley like open wounds, reddening the fog around them. As a young Maiden, she’d listened with wide eyes as an ancient roofmistress told of the creatures who worked the Shadow’s forges, creatures that were not dead and not alive. Silent and horrible, the brutish things moved with steps that held no life—like the ticking hands of a clock.
The forgers paid little heed to the cages full of humans whose blood would be spilled to temper newly forged blades. The captives might as well have been chunks of iron. Though Aviendha was too far to hear the humans’ whimpers, she felt them. Her fingers grew taut upon the rocks.
Shayol Ghul itself dominated the valley, its black slopes rising like a serrated knife into the sky. The sides were rent with cuts, like the skin of a man who had been whipped a hundred times, each score leaving a gash that spat steam. Perhaps that steam created the fog that lay over the valley. The fog churned and surged, as if the valley were a cup holding liquid.
“Such a terrible place,” Amys whispered.
Aviendha had never heard such dread in the woman’s voice. That chilled Aviendha nearly as much as the bitter wind that ruffled their clothing. Distant pings broke the air, the workers forging. A black column of smoke rose from the nearest forge, and did not dissipate. It rose like an umbilical cord to the clouds above, which rained down lightning with dreadful frequency.
Yes, Aviendha had heard stories of this place. Those stories had failed to convey the full truth. One could not describe this place. One had to experience it.
A scraping from behind, and in a few moments, Rodel Ituralde crawled up next to Rhuarc. He moved quietly, for a wetlander.
“You were so impatient that you could not await our report?” Rhuarc asked softly.
“No report can convey what a man’s own eyes can,” Ituralde said. “I didn’t promise I’d stay behind. I told you to go ahead. And you did.” He raised his looking glass, shading the front with his hand, though that probably wasn’t necessary with those clouds.
Rhuarc frowned. He and the other Aiel who had come north had agreed to follow a wetlander general, but it did not sit well with them. Nor should it. They would do this thing without growing comfortable. Comfort was the great killer of men.
Let it be enough, Aviendha thought, turning back to look at the valley. Enough for my people. Enough for Rand and the task he must accomplish.
Seeing the end of her people had nauseated and horrified her, but also awakened her. If the end of the Aiel was the sacrifice required for Rand to win, she would make it. She would scream and curse the Creator’s own name, but she would pay that price. Any warrior would. Better that one people should end than the world fall completely under Shadow.
The Light willing, it would not come to that. The Light willing, her actions with the Dragon’s Peace would serve to protect and shelter the Aiel. She would not let the possibility of failure stop her. They would fight. Waking from the dream was always a possibility when the spears were danced.
“Interesting,” Ituralde said softly, still looking through his glass. “Your thoughts, Aiel?”
“We need to create a distraction,” Rhuarc said. “We can come down the slope just to the east of the forge and set those captives free and break the place apart. This stops the Myrddraal from receiving new weapons and will keep the Dark One’s eyes on us and not the Car’a’carn.”
“How long will it take the Dragon?” Ituralde asked. “What do you think, Aiel? How much time do we give him to save the world?”
“He will fight,” Amys said. “Enter the mountain, duel with Sightblinder. It will take as long as a fight needs to take. A few hours, perhaps? I have not seen a duel last much longer than that, even between two men of great skill.”
“Let us assume,” Ituralde said with a smile, “that there is going to be more to it than a duel.”
“I am not a fool, Rodel Ituralde,” Amys said coolly. “I doubt that the Car’a’carn’s fight will be one of spears and shields. However, when he cleansed the Source, did that not happen in the space of a single day? Perhaps this will be similar.”
“Perhaps,” Ituralde said. “Perhaps not.” He lowered the glass and looked to the Aiel. “Which possibility would you rather plan for?”
“The worst one,” Aviendha said.
“So we plan to hold out as long as the Dragon needs,” Ituralde said. “Days, weeks, months … years? As long as it takes.”
Rhuarc nodded slowly. “What do you suggest?”
“The pass into the valley is narrow,” Ituralde said. “Scout reports put most of the Shadowspawn left in the Blight out beyond the pass there. Even they spend as little time as they can in this forsaken place.
If we can close off the pass and seize this valley—destroy those forgeworkers and the few Fades down there—we could hold this place for ages. You Aiel are good at slash-and-run tactics. Burn me, but I know that from personal experience. You lot attack that forge, and we’ll set about closing up the pass.”
Rhuarc nodded. “It is a good plan.”
The four of them walked down the ridge to where Rand waited, dressed in red and gold, arms behind his back, accompanied by a force of twenty Maidens and six Asha’man, plus Nynaeve and Moiraine. He seemed very troubled by something—she could feel his anxiety—though he should have been pleased. He had convinced the Seanchan to fight. What was it that, in his meeting with Egwene al’Vere, had disturbed him so?
Rand turned and looked upward, toward the peak of Shayol Ghul. Staring at it, his emotions changed. He seemed a man looking at a fountain in the Three-fold Land, savoring the idea of cool water. Aviendha could feel his anticipation. There was also fear in him, of course. No warrior ever rid himself completely of the fear. He controlled it, overwhelmed it with the thirst to be on with the fight, to test himself.
Men or women could not know themselves, not truly, until they were strained to their absolute limit. Until they danced the spears with death, felt their blood seeping out to stain the ground, and drove the weapon home into the beating heart of an enemy. Rand al’Thor wanted this, and she understood him because of it. Strange to realize, after all of this time, just how alike they were.
She stepped up to him, and he moved so that he stood just beside her, his shoulder touching hers. He did not drape an arm around her, and she did not take his hand. He did not own her, and she did not own him. The act of his movement so that they faced the same direction meant far more to her than any other gesture could.
“Shade of my heart,” he said softly, watching his Asha’man open a gateway, “what did you see?”
“A tomb,” she replied.
“Mine?”
“No. That of your enemy. The place where he was buried once, and the place he will slumber again.”
Something hardened inside Rand. She could feel it, his resolve.
“You mean to kill him,” Aviendha whispered. “Sightblinder himself.”
“Yes.”
She waited.
“Others tell me I am a fool for thinking this,” Rand said. His guards moved through the gateway to return to Merrilor.
“No warrior should enter a battle without intending to see that battle finished,” Aviendha said. She hesitated after saying it, something else occurring to her.
“What is it?” Rand asked.
“Well, the greatest victory would be to take your enemy gai’shain.”
“I doubt he would submit to that,” Rand said.
“Don’t make jest,” she said, elbowing him in the side, earning a grunt. “This must be considered, Rand al’Thor. Which is the better way of ji’e’toh? Is imprisoning the Dark One like taking him gai’shain? If so, that would be the proper path.”
“I’m not certain I care what is ‘proper’ this time, Aviendha.”
“A warrior must always consider ji’e’toh,” she said sternly. “Have I taught you nothing? Do not speak like that, or you will shame me again before the other Wise Ones.”
“I had hoped that—considering how our relationship has progressed—we would be through with the lectures, Aviendha.”
“You thought that growing closer to me would end the lectures?” she asked, baffled. “Rand al’Thor, I have been among wetlander wives, and I’ve seen that they—”
He shook his head, leading the way through the gateway, Aviendha following. He seemed amused, and that was good. Some of his anxiety had faded. But truly, this was not a jest. Wetlanders did not have good senses of humor. Sometimes, they did not understand at all when to laugh.
On the other side of the gateway, they entered a camp made up of many groups. Rand had command of the Maidens and the siswai’aman, along with most of the Wise Ones.
Just outside of the Aiel camp were the Aes Sedai. Rand had command of some three dozen—all of the Aes Sedai who had sworn to him personally, and most who were bonded to his Asha’man. That meant another two dozen Asha’man, of various ranks.
He also had Rodel Ituralde and his force, composed primarily of Domani. Their king, with his wispy beard and the beauty mark on his cheek, rode with them as well, but left the command to the great captain. The monarch gestured, and Ituralde walked over to give a report. Alsalam seemed uncomfortable around Rand, and did not go on any excursions when the Dragon did. Aviendha liked that arrangement. She wasn’t certain she trusted this Alsalam.
Outside the Aiel tents camped another large military force, the Tairen army, including the elite force known as the Defenders of the Stone, led by a man named Rodrivar Tihera. Their king was with them as well, and was generally considered the highest authority in their gathered armies, aside from Rand.
The Tairens would form a key part of Rodel Ituralde’s plans. As much as it galled Aviendha to admit it, Ituralde was right. The Aiel were not a defensive force, and though they could hold a pass if needed, they would be better used for offensive maneuvers.
The Tairens would be perfect for holding ground. They had well-trained companies of pikemen, and a full banner of crossbowmen with a new kind of crossbow crank, knowledge of which the smiths had only just received. They had spent the last week converting the equipment to the new style.
There was one other group in Rand’s force, and it was the most baffling to Aviendha. Dragonsworn in large numbers. They camped together, and flew a flag that placed the image of the dragon over the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. The group was made up of common men, soldiers, lords, ladies and some Aes Sedai and Warders. They came from all nations, including the Aiel, and shared only one common bond: They had put aside all loyalties, broken all bonds, to fight in the Last Battle. Aviendha had heard discomforting rumors that many of the Aiel among them were gai’shain who had put aside the white, claiming they would take it up again when the Last Battle was won.
Rand’s coming was said to remove all bonds from men. Oaths shattered when he drew near, and any loyalty or alliance was secondary to the need to serve him in this last fight for humankind. Part of her wanted to name that wetlander foolishness, but perhaps she used that term too easily. A Wise One had to see with better eyes than that.
Now that they were on the other side of the gateway, Aviendha finally allowed herself to release saidar. The world dulled around her, the added sense of life and wonder evaporating. Every time she released the One Power, she felt slightly hollow, the joy and thrill now passed, over.
Ituralde and Rhuarc went to join King Darlin, speaking together about their battle plans. Aviendha joined Rand as he walked toward his tent.
“The dagger worked,” Rand said. He reached down and fingered the black sheath that held the dull dagger. “Artham. I had heard them spoken of, back in the Age of Legends, but nobody created one. I wonder who finally managed it…”
“Are you certain it worked?” Aviendha said. “He could have been watching you, but not exposed his hand.”
“No, I would have felt the attention,” Rand said. “It did work. With this, he won’t sense me until I step right up to the Bore. Once he does know I’m there, he will have trouble envisioning me, striking at me directly. Aviendha, that you should find this and identify it when you did, that Elayne should give it to me … The Pattern weaves us all where we need to be.”
Rand smiled, then added, “Elayne sounded sad when she gave me the dagger. I think a part of her wanted to keep it because it would let her curse by the Dark One’s name without drawing his attention.”
“Is this really a time for levity?” Aviendha asked, scowling at him.
“If ever there was a need for laughter, this is it,” Rand said, though the laughter seemed to have left his voice. That anxiety of his returned as they reached his tent.
“What is troubling you?” Aviendha aske
d him.
“They have the seals,” Rand said.
“What!”
“Only Egwene knows, but it is true. They were stolen, perhaps from my hiding place, perhaps after I delivered them to Egwene.”
“Then they are broken.”
“No,” Rand said. “I would feel that. I think they must be waiting. Perhaps they know that in breaking the seals, they clear the way for me to reforge his prison. They’ll break them at just the wrong moment, to let the Dark One touch the world, perhaps to give him the strength to overwhelm me as I face him…”
“We will find a way to stop this,” Aviendha said, voice firm.
He looked to her and smiled. “Always the warrior.”
“Of course.” What else would she be?
“I have another concern. The Forsaken will try to strike at me when I enter to face him. The Dark One cannot see me, does not know where I am, and so is committing some of his forces to each of the different battlefronts. The Shadow pushes hard at Lan, trying to destroy him—the Dark One presses Elayne almost as badly in Cairhien. Only Egwene seems to be having some success.
“He searches for me at each of these battlefields, committing his creatures in large numbers. When we attack Shayol Ghul, we should be able to hold the valley against armies. The Forsaken, however, will come through gateways. Holding a pass will not stop them, or the Dreadlords, male or female. My confrontation with the Dark One will draw them as the cleansing did—only a thousand times more urgently. They will come, with fire and thunder, and they will kill.”
“So will we.”
“I’m counting on it,” Rand said. “But I cannot afford to take you into the cavern with me, Aviendha.”
She felt a sinking feeling, though she attacked it, stabbed it, left it to die. “I suspected. Do not think to send me away to safety, Rand al’Thor. You would—”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said. “I’d fear for my life if I were to try—there isn’t any place that is safe, now. I cannot take you into the cavern because you will be needed out in the valley, watching for the Forsaken and the seals. I need you, Aviendha. I need all three of you to watch, to be my hands—my heart—during this fight. I am going to send Min to Egwene. Something is going to happen there, I’m certain. Elayne will fight in the south, and you … I need you in the valley of Thakan’dar, watching my back.
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