Robert Jordan - A Memory of Light

Egwene fought forward desperately. She could feel Gawyn above, but she thought he was unconscious; his spark of life was so faint that she could barely sense his direction. Her only hope was to fight through the Sharans and reach him.

The ground rumbled as she vaporized a Sharan woman above; Saerin, Doesine and other sisters concentrated on deflecting the enemy weaves, while Egwene focused on sending attacks. She stepped forward. One step after another.

I’m coming, Gawyn, she thought, growing frantic. I’m coming.

“We come to report, Wyld.”

Demandred ignored the messengers for the moment. He flew upon the wings of a falcon, inspecting the battle through the birds eyes. Ravens were better, but each time he tried using one of those, one Borderlander or another shot it down. Of all the customs to remember through the Ages, why did it have to be that one?

No matter. A falcon would work, even if the bird did resist his control. He guided it about the battlefield, inspecting formations, deployments, advancements of troops. He did not have to rely upon the reports of others.

It should have been an almost insurmountable advantage. Lews Therin could not use such an animal; this was a gift only the True Power could grant. Demandred could channel only a thin trickle of the True Power—not enough for destructive weaves, but there were other ways to be dangerous. Unfortunately, Lews Therin had his own advantage. Gateways that looked down upon a battlefield? It was discomforting the things people of this time discovered, things that hadn’t been known during the Age of Legends.

Demandred opened his eyes and broke his bond to the falcon. His forces were advancing, but each step was a grueling ordeal. Tens of thousands of Trollocs had been slain. He had to be careful; their numbers were not limitless.

He was currently on the eastern side of the Heights, looking down at the river below and northeast of the place where Lews Therin’s assassin had tried to kill him.

Here, Demandred was nearly opposite the hill that Moghedien said they called Dashar Knob. The rock formation rose high in the air; its base was a fine position for a command post, sheltered from attacks by the One Power.

It was so tempting to strike there himself, to Travel to it and lay waste. But was that what Lews Therin wanted? Demandred would fight the man. He would. However, Traveling into the enemy’s stronghold and possibly a trap, surrounded as it was by those high rock walls . . . Better to draw Lews Therin to him. Demandred dominated this battlefield. He could choose where their confrontation would occur.

The riverbed had been slowed to a muddy trickle below, and Demandred’s Trollocs fought to seize the southern bank. The defenders held for now, but he would have them soon. Far upriver M’Hael had done his work well in diverting that water, though he had reported unusual resistance. Townspeople and a small unit of soldiers? An oddity that Demandred had not yet deciphered.

He had almost wished for failure from M’Hael. Though Demandred himself had been the one to recruit the man, he had not expected M’Hael to rise to the rank of Chosen so quickly.

Demandred turned to the side. Before him bowed three women in black with white ribbons. Next to them, Shendla.

Shendla. He had thought himself long past caring for a woman again—how could affection thrive beside the burning passion that was his hatred for Lews Therin? And yet, Shendla . . . Devious, capable, powerful. Almost it was enough to change his heart.

“What is your report?” he asked the three bowing women in black.

“The hunt was a failure,” Galbrait said, her head low.

“He escaped?”

“Yes, Wyld. I have failed you.” He heard the pain in the woman’s voice, one was leader of the female Ayyad.

“You were not meant to kill him,” Demandred said. “He is a foe beyond your skill. You have disrupted his command post?”

“Yes” Galbrait said. “We killed half a dozen of his channelers, set the building aflame and destroyed his maps.”

“Did he channel? Did he reveal himself?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

So he could not know for certain yet if this Cauthon was Lews Therin in disguise Demandred suspected he was, but there were reports from Shayol Ghul that Lews Therin had been seen there, on the slopes of the mountain. He had proven devious in the Last Battle before, jumping between battlefields, showing himself here and there.

The more Demandred maneuvered against the enemy general, the more he believed that Lews Therin was here. It would be very like Lews Therin to send a decoy north while coming to fight this battle himself.

Lews Therin had difficulty letting others fight for him. He always wanted to be doing everything himself, leading every battle—every charge if he could.

Yes . how else could Demandred explain the skill of the enemy general. Only a man with the experience of an ancient was so masterly at the dance of battlefields. At their core, many battle tactics were simple. Avoid being flanked, meet heavy force with pikes, infantry with a well-trained line channelers with other channelers. And yet, the finesse of it . . . the little details . . . these took centuries to master. No man from this Age had lived long enough to learn the details with such care.

During the War of Power, the only thing that Demandred had ever done better than his friend was as a battle general. It stung to admit that, but he would no longer hide from that truth. Lews Therin had been stronger in the One Power. Lews Therin had been better at capturing the hearts of men. Lews Therin had taken Ilyena.

But Demandred . . . Demandred had been better at war. Lews Therin had never been able to correctly balance caution and boldness. The man would hold back and deliberate, worrying over his decisions, until boiling forward in a reckless military action.

If this Cauthon was Lews Therin, the man had grown better at that. The enemy general knew when to flip the coin and let fate rule, but did not let too much ride on each result. He would have made an excellent card player.

Demandred would still defeat him, of course. The battle would merely be more . . . interesting.

He rested his hand on his sword, considering his scan of the battlefield moments before. His Trollocs continued their attack at the riverbed, and Lews Therin had formed his pikemen, opposite them, into disciplined square formations, a defensive move. Behind Demandred, the shaking booms of channelers marked the greater war, that between his Sharan Ayyad and the Aes Sedai.

He held the advantage there. His Ayyad were far better at war than the Aes Sedai. When would Cauthon commit those damane ? Moghedien had reported some dissension between them and the Aes Sedai. Could Demandred widen the fracture there somehow?

He gave orders, and the three Ayyad nearby retreated. Shendla remained, waiting his permission to leave. He had her scouting the area nearby and watching for more assassins.

“Are you worried?” he asked her. “You know now for which side we fight. So far as I know, you have not given yourself to the Shadow.”

“I’ve given myself to you, Wyld.”

“And for me you fight beside Trollocs? Halfmen? Creatures from nightmare?”

“You said some would call your actions evil,” she said. “But I do not see them as such. Our path is clear. Once you are victorious, you will remake the world, and our people will be preserved.” She took his hand, and something stirred within him. It was quickly smothered by his hatred.

“I would cast it all away,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Everything for a chance at Lews Therin.”

“You have promised to try,” she said. “That will be enough. And if you destroy him, you will destroy one world and preserve another. I will follow you. We will follow you.”