Robert Jordan - A Memory of Light

Elayne’s line at the river was being pushed back. They had run archers to their right flank. Good. Blood and bloody ashes . . . those Trollocs had nearly the weight behind them of a cavalry push. He’d need to send word to Elayne to get her cavalry lined up behind the pikes.

Like when I fought Sana Ashraf at the falls of Pena, he thought. Heavy cavalry, horseback archers, heavy cavalry, horseback archers. One after another. Taer’ain dhai hochin dieb sene.

Mat could not remember being this engaged by a battle. The fight against the Shaido had not been nearly so gripping, though Mat had not been leading that battle entirely. The fight against Elbar had not been this satisfying, either. Of course, that had been on a much smaller scale.

Demandred knew how to gamble. Mat could sense it through the movements of troops. Mat was playing against one of the best who had ever lived, and the stake this time was not wealth. They diced for the lives of men, and the final prize was the world itself. Blood and bloody ashes, but that excited him. He did feel guilty about that, but it was exciting.

“Lan is in position,” Mat said, straightening up and returning to his maps, making some notations. “Tell him to strike.”

The Trolloc army crossing the riverbed by the ruins needed to be crushed. He’d moved the Borderlanders around the Heights to attack their vulnerable rear flanks while Tam and his combined forces continued to pound them from the front. Tam had killed large numbers of them before and after the river had stopped. That Trolloc horde was close to being broken, and a coordinated action on two sides could do it.

Tam’s men would be tired. Could they hold long enough for Lan to arrive and hit the Trollocs from behind? Light, Mat hoped they could. If they didn’t . . .

Someone darkened the doorway of the command position, a tall man with dark, curling hair, wearing the coat of an Asha’man. He had the expression of a man who had just drawn a losing hand. Light. A Trolloc would have found that stare unnerving.

Min, who had been speaking with Tuon, choked off; Logain seemed to have a special glare for her. Mat straightened, dusting off his hands. “I hope you didn’t do anything too nasty to the guards, Logain.”

“The weaves of Air will untie on their own in a minute or two,” the man said, voice harsh. “I didn’t think they were likely to allow me in.”

Mat glanced at Tuon. She had grown stiff as a well-starched apron. Seanchan did not trust women who could channel, let alone someone like Logain.

“Logain,” Mat said. “I need you to fight alongside the White Tower army. Those Sharans are pounding them.”

Logain had locked eyes with Tuon.

“Logain!” Mat said. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re fighting a bloody war here.”

“It is not my war.”

“This is our war,” Mat snapped. “Every one of us.”

“I stood forth to fight,” Logain said. “And what was my reward? Ask the Red Ajah. They will tell you the reward of a man abused of the Pattern.” He barked a laugh. “The Pattern demanded a Dragon! And so I came! Too soon. Just a little too soon.”

“Listen here,” Mat said, stepping up to Logain. “You’re angry because you didn’t get to be the Dragon?”

“Nothing so petty,” Logain said. “I follow the Lord Dragon. Let him die. I wish no part of that feast. I and mine should be with him, not fighting here. This battle for the little lives of men is nothing compared to the battle happening at Shayol Ghul.”

“And yet, you know we need you here,” Mat said. “You would already be gone, otherwise.”

Logain said nothing.

“Go to Egwene,” Mat said. “Take everyone you have and keep those Sharan channelers busy! ”

“What of Demandred?” Logain asked softly. “He cries out for the Dragon. He has the power of a dozen men. None of us can face him.”

“But you want to try, don’t you?” Mat replied. “That’s why you’re really here, right now. You want me to send you against Demandred.”

Logain hesitated, then nodded. “He cannot have the Dragon Reborn. He will have to take me instead. The Dragon’s . . . replacement, if you will.”

Blood and bloody ashes . . . they’re all insane. Unfortunately, what else was Mat going to do against one of the Forsaken? Right now, his battle plan revolved around keeping Demandred occupied, forcing the man to respond. If Demandred had to act as general, he couldn’t do as much damage channeling.

He would have to come up with something to deal with the Forsaken. He was working on that. He’d been working on it the whole bloody battle, and hadn’t come up with anything.

Mat glanced back through his gateway. Elayne was being pressed too hard. He had to do something. Send in the Seanchan? He had them positioned at the southern end of the field on the banks of the Erinin. They would be a wildcard to Demandred, preventing him from committing all his troops in the battles being waged below the Heights. In addition, he had plans for them. Important ones.

Logain didn’t have much of a shot against Demandred, in Mat’s estimation. But he’d have to deal with the man somehow. If Logain wanted to try, then so be it.

“You may fight him,” Mat said. “Do it now, or wait until he is weakened a little. Light, I hope we can weaken him. Anyway, I leave it to you. Pick your time and attack.”

Logain smiled, then made a gateway right in the middle of the room and strode through, hand on his sword. He had enough pride to be the Dragon Reborn, that was for certain. Mat shook his head. What he would give to be done with all of these high heads. Mat might be one of them now, but that could be fixed. All he had to do was convince Tuon to forsake her throne and run off with him. That would not be easy, but bloody ashes, he was fighting the Last Battle. Compared to the challenge he now faced, Tuon seemed to be an easy knot to untie.

“Glory of men . . .” Min whispered. “It’s still to come.”

“Someone go check on those guards,” Mat said, returning to his maps. “Tuon, we may want to move you. This place never has been secure, and Logain has just proven it.”

“I can protect myself,” she said haughtily.

Too haughty. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she nodded.

Really? Mat thought. This is what you want to fight about? He was not certain the spy would buy it. Too flimsy a reason.

His plan with Tuon was to take a cue from what Rand had once done with Perrin. If Mat could fake a split between himself and the Seanchan, and in so doing make Tuon pull her forces back, perhaps the Shadow would ignore her. Mat needed an edge of some sort.

Two guards came in. No, three. That one fellow was easy to miss. Mat shook his head at Tuon—they needed to find something more realistic to argue over—and glanced back at his maps.

Something itched at him about the little guard. Looks more like a servant than a soldier, Mat thought. He forced himself to look up, though he really should not let himself become distracted by common servants. Yes, there the fellow was, standing beside Mats table. Not worth paying attention to, even if he was pulling a knife out.

A knife.

Mat stumbled back as the Gray Man attacked. Mat yelled, reaching for one of his own knives, just as Mika screamed. “Channeling! Nearby!”

Min threw herself at Fortuona as the wall of the command post went up in flame. Sharans in strange armor made of bands of metal, painted gold, ripped through the blazing opening. Channelers with tattooed faces accompanied them: the women in long, stiff black dresses, the men shirtless, trousers ragged. Min took this in just before she tipped Fortuona’s throne over.