Robert Jordan - A Memory of Light

“Perhaps,” Perrin said. “I want to visit Elayne’s battlefront and—”

Young Bull, a wolf called to him. He found the “voice” of the sending to be familiar somehow. She is here.

Here? Perrin sent. Heartseeker?

Come.

Perrin grabbed Gaul by the arm and shifted them far to the north. Graendal was at Shayol Ghul? Was she trying to break in and kill Rand?

They arrived on a ledge overlooking the valley. He and Gaul went down immediately to their stomachs, peering over the edge, inspecting the valley. An old, grizzled wolf appeared beside Perrin. He knew this wolf, he was certain of it—the scent was familiar, but he could not place a name to him, and the wolf did not send one.

“Where?” Perrin whispered. “Is she in the cavern?”

No, the grizzled wolf sent. There.

The wolf sent an image of tents clustered in the valley just below the entrance to the cavern. She had not been spotted in this valley since that first time Perrin had caught her here.

Ituralde’s troops had been holding here for long enough that their tents were becoming more and more stable in the wolf dream. Perrin shifted , carefully, down below. Gaul and the wolf joined him as he prowled forward, relying on the wolfs Sending to lead him.

There, the wolf said, nodding toward a large tent at the center. Perrin had seen Graendal here before, at this tent, the tent of Rodel Ituralde.

Perrin froze as the tent’s flap rustled. Graendal stepped out. She looked as she had before, with a face like a slab of rock.

Perrin created a thin, painted wall to hide himself, but he needn’t have bothered. Graendal immediately created a gateway and stepped into the waking world. It was night there, though time passed at such a strange rate this close to the Bore, that might not mean much for the rest of the world.

Perrin could see the same tent darkly on the other side of the gateway, two Domani guards out front. Graendal waved a hand, and both stood up straighter and saluted her.

The gateway began to close as Graendal slipped into the tent. Perrin hesitated, then shifted to stand just in front of the gateway. He had a moment to decide. Follow?

No. He had to keep watch on Slayer. However, being this close, he felt something . . . an awareness. Stepping through that gateway would be like . . .

Like waking up.

The gateway snapped shut. Perrin felt a stab of regret, but knew staying in the wolf dream had been right. Rand was all but defenseless against Slayer here; he would need Perrin’s help.

“We need to send warning,” Perrin said.

I suppose I could take the message for you, Young Bull, sent the unnamed wolf.

Perrin froze, then spun, pointing. “Elyas!”

I am Long Tooth here, Young Bull. Elyas sent amusement.

“I thought you said you didn’t come here.”

I said I avoided it. This place is strange and dangerous. I have enough strangeness and danger in my life in the other world. The wolf sat down on his haunches. But someone needed to check on you, foolish pup.

Perrin smiled. Elyas’ thoughts were a strange mix of wolf and human. His way of sending was very wolflike, but the way he thought of himself was too individual, too human.

“How goes the fight?” Perrin asked eagerly. Gaul took up position nearby, watching, alert, in case Graendal or Slayer appeared. The field before them, the floor of the valley, was quiet for once. The winds had died down, the dust on the sandy ground stirring in small rifts and ripples. Like water.

I do not know of the other battlefields, Elyas sent, and we wolves stay far from the two-legs. We fight, here and there, at the edges of the battle. Mostly, we have attacked the Twisted Ones and Neverborn from the other side of the canyon, where there are no two-legs except those strange Aiel.

It is a grueling fight. Shadowkiller must do quick work. We have stood five days, but may not last many more.

Five days here in the north. Much longer had passed in the rest of the world since Rand entered to face the Dark One. Rand himself was so close to the Bore that it was likely only hours—maybe minutes—had passed for him. Perrin could feel how time moved differently when he drew near to where Rand fought.

“Ituralde,” Perrin said, scratching at his beard. “He’s one of the great captains.”

Yes, Elyas sent, smelling of amusement. Some call him “Little Wolf.” “Bashere is with Elayne’s army,” Perrin said. “And Gareth Bryne is with Egwene. Agelmar is with the Borderlanders and Lan.”

I do not know.

“He is. Four battlefronts. Four great captains. That’s what she’s doing.

“Graendal?” Gaul asked.

“Yes,” Perrin said, anger gathering. “She’s doing something to them, changing their minds, corrupting them. I overheard her saying . . . Yes. That’s it, I’m certain. Instead of fighting our armies with armies of her own, she plans to bring down the great captains. Elyas, do you know how a man can shift in and out of the wolf dream in the flesh?”

Even if I knew this thing—which I do not—I would not teach it to you, Elyas said with a growl. Has nobody told you it is a terrible, dangerous thing that you do?

“Too many,” Perrin said. “Light! We need to warn Bashere. I must—”

“Perrin Aybara!” Gaul said, pointing. “He is here!”

Perrin spun to see a dark blur streak upward toward the entrance to the Pit of Doom. Wolves whimpered and died. Others howled, beginning the hunt. This time, Slayer did not back away.

The way of the predator. Two or three quick lunges to determine weakness, then an all-out attack.

“Wake!” Perrin called to Elyas, running up the incline. “Warn Elayne, Egwene, anyone you can! And if you cannot, stop Ituralde somehow. The great captains are being corrupted. One of the Forsaken controls their minds, and their tactics cannot be trusted!”

I will do it, Young Bull, Elyas sent, fading.

“Go to Rand, Gaul!” Perrin roared. “Guard the way to him! Do not let any of those red-veils pass you!”

Perrin summoned his hammer to his hands, not waiting for a reply, then shifted to confront Slayer.

Rand clashed with Moridin, sword against sword, standing before the darkness that was the essence of the Dark One. The cold expanse was somehow both infinite and empty.

Rand held so much of the One Power that he nearly burst. He would need that strength in the fight to come. For now, he resisted Moridin sword against sword. He wielded Callandor as a physical weapon, fighting as if with a sword made of light itself, parrying Moridin’s attacks.

Each step Rand took dripped blood to the ground. Nynaeve and Moiraine clung to stalagmites as if something were battering them, a wind that Rand could not sense. Nynaeve closed her eyes. Moiraine stared straight ahead as if determined not to look away, no matter the price.

Rand turned aside Moridin’s latest attack, the blades throwing sparks. He had always been the better swordsman of the two, during the Age of Legends.

He had lost his hand, but thanks to Tam, that no longer mattered as it once might have. And he was also wounded. This place . . . this place changed things. Rocks on the ground seemed to move, and he often stumbled. The air grew alternately musty and dry, then humid and moldy. Time slipped around them like a stream. Rand felt as if he could see it. Each blow here took moments, yet hours passed outside.

He scored Moridin across the arm, drawing his blood to spray against the wall.

“My blood and yours,” Rand said. “I have you to thank for this wound in my side, Elan. You thought you were the Dark One, didn’t you? Has he punished you for that?”