Robert Jordan - A Memory of Light

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 asked 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.

“I will leave orders for the Aes Sedai and Asha’man, Aviendha. Ituralde leads our troops, but you command our channelers at Shayol Ghul. You must keep the enemy from entering the cavern after me. You are my spear in this battle. If they reach me while I am in the cavern, I will be helpless. What I must do will take all of me—all of my concentration, every scrap of power I have. I’ll be like a babe lying in the wilderness, defenseless against the beasts.”

“And how is this different from how you usually are, Rand al’Thor?” she asked.

He laughed. It felt good to be able to both see and feel that smile. “I thought you said this wasn’t a time for levity.”

“Someone must keep you humble,” Aviendha said. “It would not do for you to think yourself something grand, simply because you save the world.” He laughed again, leading her up to the tent where Min was. Nynaeve and Moiraine waited there, too, one with annoyance on her face, the other serenity. Nynaeve looked very odd with her hair not long enough to braid. Today, she’d pulled it up and pinned it back.

Moiraine sat quietly on a large stone, Callandor —the Sword That Is Not a Sword—lying across her lap, one hand resting protectively on its hilt. Thom sat beside her, whittling a stick and whistling softly to himself.

“You should have taken me, Rand,” Nynaeve said, folding her arms. “You had work to do,” Rand said. “You have tried as I instructed?”

“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!”

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.