Robert Jordan - A Memory of Light

YOUR PARADISE IS FLAWED, ADVERSARY.

Darkness hung in a mirror to Rand’s right. It reflected not the hallway, but instead HIS presence.

YOU THINK YOU CAN ELIMINATE SUFFERING? EVEN IF YOU WIN, YOU WILL NOT ON THOSE PERFECT STREETS, MEN ARE STILL MURDERED AT NIGHT. CHILDREN GO HUNGRY DESPITE THE EFFORTS OF YOUR MINIONS. THE WEALTHY EXPLOIT AND CORRUPT; THEY MERELY DO SO QUIETLY.

“It is better,” Rand whispered. “It is good.”

IT IS NOT ENOUGH, AND WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH. YOUR DREAM IS FLAWED. YOUR DREAM IS A LIE. I AM THE ONLY HONESTY YOUR WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN.

The Dark One attacked him.

It came like a storm. A burst of wind so terrible, it threatened to rip Rand’s skin from his bones. He stood tall, eyes toward the nothing, crossing his arms behind his back. The attack ripped away the vision—the beautiful city, the laughing people, the monument to learning and peace. The Dark One consumed it, and once again, it became mere possibility.

Silviana held the One Power, felt it flooding her, lighting the world. When she held saidar ; she felt as if she could see all. It was a glorious feeling, so long as she acknowledged that it was merely a feeling. It was not truth. The lure of saidar ’s power had coaxed many a woman into foolhardy gestures. Certainly many Blues had made them, at one point or another.

Silviana sculpted fire from horseback, leveling Sharan soldiers. She had trained her gelding, Stinger, to never be skittish around channeling.

“Archers fall back!” Chubain yelled from just behind her. “Go, go! Heavy infantry companies, advance!” The armored foot soldiers marched past Silviana with axes and maces to confront the disoriented Sharans on the slopes. Pikes would have been better, but they didn’t have nearly enough of those for everyone.

She wove one more burst of fire into the enemy, preparing the way, then turned her attention to the Sharan archers higher up on the slope.

Once Egwene’s forces had rounded the bogs, they had split into two assault groups. The Aes Sedai had moved in with the White Tower infantry, attacking Sharans on the Heights from the west. By this time, the fires had been extinguished and most of the Trollocs had moved off the Heights to attack below.

The other half of Egwene’s army, mainly cavalry, were sent into the corridor that skirted the bogs and led toward the ford; they attacked the vulnerable rear flanks of the Trollocs that had come down the slopes to hit Elayne’s troops defending the area around the ford.

The first groups main job was to make its way up the western slope. Silviana began aiming a careful series of lightning blasts at the Sharans who were advancing to repel them.

“Once the infantry has forced its way up the slope a ways,” Chubain said from beside Egwene, “we’ll have the Aes Sedai start . . . Mother?” Chubain’s voice had risen.

Silviana spun on horseback, looking with alarm at Egwene. The Amyrlin wasn’t channeling. Her face had grown pale, and she was trembling. Was she being attacked by a weave? Not one Silviana could see.

Figures gathered at the top of the slope, pushing aside the Sharan infantry. They began to channel, and lightning fell on the White Tower army, each with a crack shattering the air and a flash of light bright enough to stun.

“Mother!” Silviana kneed her horse up beside Egwene’s mount. Demandred must be attacking her. Touching the sa’angreal in Egwene’s hands for an extra boost of power, Silviana wove a gateway. The Seanchan woman who rode behind Egwene grabbed the Amyrlin’s reins and yanked the horse to safety through the gateway. Silviana followed, yelling, “Stand against those Sharans! Warn the male channelers of Demandred’s attack on the Amyrlin Seat!

“No,” Egwene said weakly, wavering in her saddle as the horses clopped into a large tent. Silviana would have liked to take her farther away, but she had not known the area well enough for a long jump. “No, it’s not ...”

“What’s wrong?” Silviana asked, pulling up beside her and letting the gateway vanish. “Mother?”

“It’s Gawyn,” she said, pale, trembling. “He’s been hurt. Badly. He’s dying, Silviana.”

Oh, Light, Silviana thought. Warders! She had feared something like this from the moment she’d seen that fool boy.

“Where?” Silviana asked.

“On the Heights. I’m going to find him. I’ll use gateways, Travel in his direction . . .”

“Light, Mother,” Silviana said. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that will be? Stay here and lead the White Tower. I will try to find him.”

“You can’t sense him.”

“Pass his bond to me.”

Egwene froze.

“You know it is the right thing to do,” Silviana said. “If he dies, it could destroy you. Let me have his bond. It will let me find him, and it will protect you, should he die.”

Egwene was aghast. How dare Silviana even suggest this? But, then, she was a Red—and they concerned themselves little with Warders. Silviana did not know what she was asking.

“No,” Egwene said. “No, I won’t even consider it. Besides, if he dies, that would only protect me by shifting the pain to you.”

“I am not the Amyrlin.”

“ No. If he dies, I will survive it and keep fighting. Jumping to him by gateway would be foolish, as you say, and I will not let you do it either. He is on the Heights. We will force our way up there, as ordered, and that way we can reach him. It is the best choice.”

Silviana hesitated, then nodded. That would do. Together, they returned to the western side of the Heights, but Silviana stewed. Fool man! If he died, Egwene would have a very difficult time continuing to fight.

The Shadow didn’t need to fell the Amyrlin herself to stop her. It just had to kill one idiot boy.

“What are those Sharans doing?” Elayne asked softly.

Birgitte steadied her horse, taking the looking glass from Elayne. She raised it, looking across the dry river toward the slope of the Heights where a large number of Sharan troops had gathered. She grunted. “They’re probably waiting for the Trollocs to be filled with arrows.”

“You don’t sound very certain,” Elayne said, retrieving the looking glass. She held the One Power, but wasn’t using it for now. Her army had been fighting here at the river for two hours. The Trollocs had surged into the riverbed all up and down the Mora, but her troops were holding them off from stepping onto Shienaran soil. The bogs prevented the enemy from swinging around her left flank; her right flank was more vulnerable and would need to be watched. It would be much worse if all the Trollocs were pushing to cross the river, but Egwene’s cavalry was hitting them from behind. That took some of the pressure off her army.

Men held the Trollocs back with pikes, and the small flow of water still trickling through the bed had turned completely red. Elayne sat resolute, watching and being seen by her troops. The finest of Andor bled and died, holding back the Trollocs with difficulty. The Sharan army appeared to be readying a charge off the Heights, but Elayne was unconvinced they would launch an attack just yet; the White Tower assault on the western side had to be a concern to them. Mat sending Egwene’s army to attack from behind the Heights was a stroke of genius.

“I’m not very certain of what I said,” Birgitte said softly. “Not at all. Not about much, any more.”

Elayne frowned. She’d thought the conversation over. What was Birgitte saying? “What about your memories?”

“The first thing I remember now is waking up to you and Nynaeve,” Birgitte said softly. “I can remember our conversations about being in the World of Dreams, but I cannot remember the place itself. It’s all slipped away from me, like water between my fingers.”