The wheel of time, p.1252
The Wheel of Time, page 1252
“You must be,” Tuon said slowly, as if wary of a trap.
“Then you accept me for who I am,” Rand said, voice growing loud, crisp. Like a battle horn. “I am Lews Therin Telamon, the Dragon. I ruled these lands, unified, during the Age of Legends. I was leader of all the armies of the Light, I wore the Ring of Tamyrlin. I stood first among the Servants, highest of the Aes Sedai, and I could summon the Nine Rods of Dominion.”
Rand stepped forward. “I held the loyalty and fealty of all seventeen Generals of Dawn’s Gate. Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag, my authority supersedes your own!”
“Artur Hawkwing—”
“My authority supersedes that of Hawkwing! If you claim rule by the name of he who conquered, then you must bow before my prior claim. I conquered before Hawkwing, though I needed no sword to do so. You are here on my land, Empress, at my sufferance!”
Thunder broke in the distance. Mat found himself shaking. Light, it was just Rand. Just Rand … was it not?
Tuon backed away, eyes wide, her lips parted. Her face was full of horror, as if she had just seen her own parents executed.
Green grass spread around Rand’s feet. The guards nearby jumped back, hands to swords, as a swath of life extended from Rand. The brown and yellow blades colored, as if paint had been poured on them, then came upright—stretching as if after long slumber.
The greenness filled the entire garden clearing. “He’s still shielded!” the sul’dam cried. “Honored One, he is still shielded!”
Mat shivered, and then noticed something. Very soft, so easy to miss.
“Are you singing?” Mat whispered to Rand.
Yes … it was unmistakable. Rand was singing, under his breath, very softly. Mat tapped his foot. “I swear I’ve heard that tune somewhere, once … Is it ‘Two Maids at the Water’s Edge’?”
“You’re not helping,” Rand whispered. “Quiet.”
Rand continued his song. The green spread to the trees, the firs strengthening their limbs. The other trees began to shoot out leaves—they were indeed peach trees—growing at great speed, life flooding into them.
The guards looked about themselves, spinning, trying to watch all of the trees at once. Selucia had cringed. Tuon remained upright, her eyes focused on Rand. Nearby, the frightened sul’dam and damane must have stopped concentrating, for the bonds holding Mat vanished.
“Do you deny my right?” Rand demanded. “Do you deny that my claim to this land precedes your own by thousands of years?”
“I…” Tuon took a deep breath and stared at him defiantly. “You broke the land, abandoned it. I can deny your right.”
Behind her, blossoms exploded onto the trees like fireworks, white and deep pink. The bursts of color surrounded them. Petals sprayed outward with their growth, breaking from the trees, catching in the wind and swirling through the clearing.
“I allowed you to live,” Rand said to Tuon, “when I could have destroyed you in an instant. This is because you have made life better for those under your rule, though you are not without guilt for the way you have treated some. Your rule is as flimsy as paper. You hold this land together only through the strength of steel and damane, but your homeland burns.
“I have not come here to destroy you. I come to you now to offer you peace, Empress. I have come without armies, I have come without force. I have come because I believe that you need me, as I need you.” Rand stepped forward and, remarkably, went down on one knee, bowing his head, his hand extended. “I extend my hand to you in alliance. The Last Battle is upon us. Join me, and fight.”
The clearing fell still. The wind stopped blowing, the thunder stopped rumbling. Peach blossoms wafted to the now-green grass. Rand remained where he was, hand extended. Tuon stared at that hand as if at a viper.
Mat hurried forward. “Nice trick,” he said under his breath to Rand. “Very nice trick.” He approached Tuon, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to the side. Nearby, Selucia looked stunned. Karede was not in much better shape. They would not be any help.
“Hey, look,” Mat said to her softly. “He’s a good fellow. He’s rough at the corners sometimes, but you can trust his word. If he’s offering you a treaty, he’ll make good on it.”
“That was a very impressive display,” Tuon said softly. She was trembling faintly. “What is he?”
“Burn me if I know,” Mat said. “Listen, Tuon. I grew up with Rand. I vouch for him.”
“There is a darkness in that man, Matrim. I saw it when last he and I met.”
“Look at me, Tuon. Look at me.”
She looked up, meeting his gaze.
“You can trust Rand al’Thor with the world itself,” Mat said. “And if you can’t trust him, trust me. He’s our only choice. We don’t have time to take him back to Seanchan.
“I’ve been in the city long enough to have a little peek at your forces. If you’re going to fight the Last Battle and recapture your homeland, you’re going to need a stable base here in Altara. Take his offer. He just claimed this land. Well, make him secure your borders as they are and announce it to the others. They might listen. Take a little pressure off you. Unless, that is, you want to fight the Trollocs, the nations of this land, and the rebels in Seanchan at the same time.”
Tuon blinked. “Our forces.”
“What?”
“You called them my forces,” she said. “They are our forces. You are one of us now, Matrim.”
“Well, I guess I am at that. Listen, Tuon. You have to do this. Please.”
She turned, looking at Rand, kneeling in the middle of a pattern of peach blossoms that seemed to have circled out from him. Not a one had fallen on him.
“What is your offer?” Tuon asked.
“Peace,” Rand said, standing, hand still out. “Peace for a hundred years. Longer, if I can make it so. I have persuaded the other rulers to sign a treaty and work together to fight the armies of the Shadow.”
“I would have my borders secured,” Tuon said.
“Altara and Amadicia shall be yours.”
“Tarabon and Almoth Plain as well,” Tuon said. “I hold them now. I will not be forced from them by your treaty. You wish peace? You will give me this.”
“Tarabon and half of Almoth Plain,” Rand said. “The half you already control.”
“I would have all of the women this side of the Aryth Ocean who can channel as damane,” Tuon said.
“Do not strain your luck, Empress,” Rand said dryly. “I … I will allow you to do what you will in Seanchan, but I will require you to relinquish any damane you have taken while in this land.”
“Then we have no agreement,” Tuon said.
Mat held his breath.
Rand hesitated, hand lowering. “The fate of the world itself could hang on this, Fortuona. Please.”
“If it is that important,” she said firmly, “you can agree to my demand. Our property is our own. You wish a treaty? Then you will get it with this clause: We keep the damane we already have. In exchange, I will allow you to leave in freedom.”
Rand grimaced. “You’re as bad as one of the Sea Folk.”
“I should hope I’m worse,” Tuon said, no emotion in her voice. “The world is your charge, Dragon, not mine. I care for my empire. I will greatly need those damane. Choose now. As I believe you said, your time is short.”
Rand’s expression darkened; then he thrust his hand outward. “Let it be done. Light be merciful, let it be done. I will carry this weight too. You may keep the damane you already have, but you shall not take any from among my allies while we fight the Last Battle. Taking any afterward who are not in your own land will be seen as breaking the treaty and attacking the other nations.”
Tuon stepped forward, then took Rand’s hand in her own. Mat let out his breath.
“I have documents for you to review and sign,” Rand said.
“Selucia will take them,” Tuon said. “Matrim, with me. We must prepare the Empire for war.” Tuon walked away down the path, her step controlled, though Mat suspected that she wanted to be away from Rand as quickly as possible. He understood the sentiment.
He followed, but stopped beside Rand. “Seems you have a bit of the Dark One’s luck yourself,” he muttered to Rand. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“Honestly?” Rand said softly. “I can’t either. Thank you for the good word.”
“Sure,” Mat said. “By the way, I saved Moiraine. Chew on that as you try to decide which of the two of us is winning.”
Mat followed Tuon, and behind him rose the laughter of the Dragon Reborn.
CHAPTER
18
To Feel Wasted
Gawyn stood on a field near the area where the Aes Sedai had first fought the Trollocs. They’d come off the hills, and had moved deeper onto the Kandor plain. They continued to stem the Trolloc advances, and they even managed to push back the enemy’s main forces a few hundred paces. All in all, this battle was going better than could have been expected.
They’d fought here for a week on this open, unnamed Kandori field. This place had been churned and torn as if in preparation for planting. There were so many bodies here—almost all Shadowspawn—that even Trolloc appetites couldn’t consume them all.
Gawyn carried a sword in one hand, shield in the other, stationed in front of Egwene’s horse. His job was to bring down the Trollocs that came through the Aes Sedai attacks. He preferred to fight two-handed, but against Trollocs, he needed that shield. Some of the others thought him a fool for using the sword. They preferred pikes or halberds, anything to keep the Trollocs at a distance.
You couldn’t really duel with a pike, though; as a pikeman, you were like a brick in a larger wall. You weren’t so much a soldier as a barrier. A halberd was better—at least it had a blade that required some skill to use—but nothing gave the same feel as a sword. When Gawyn fought with the sword, he controlled the fight.
A Trolloc came for him, snorting, face bearing the melded features of a ram and a man. This one was more human than most, including a sickeningly human mouth with bloodied teeth. The thing brandished a mace that bore the Flame of Tar Valon on its haft, stolen from a fallen member of the Tower Guard. Though it was a two-handed weapon, the creature wielded it easily in one.
Gawyn dodged to the side, then brought his shield up and to the right under the expected blow. The shield shook with repeated impacts. One, two, three. Standard Trolloc berserking—hit hard, hit fast and assume that the opponent would break.
Many did. They would trip, or their arms would go numb from the pounding. That was the value of pikewalls or halberd lines. Bryne used both, and a newly improvised half-spear, half-halberd line. Gawyn had read of its like in history books. Bryne’s army used them for hamstringing Trollocs. The pike lines would keep them back, and then the halberds would reach through and slice their legs.
Gawyn ducked to the side, and the Trolloc wasn’t ready for his burst of speed. The thing turned, too slowly, as Gawyn separated its hand from its wrist, using Whirlwind on the Mountain. As it screamed, Gawyn spun about, ramming his sword into the stomach of another Trolloc that had plowed through the Aes Sedai defense.
He whipped his sword out of that body and sheathed it in the first Trolloc’s neck. The dead beast slid off his blade. That was four that Gawyn had killed today. He carefully wiped his sword on the bloody cloth he wore tied at his waist.
He checked on Egwene. Mounted, she used the One Power to rip apart Trollocs in droves. The Aes Sedai used a rotation, with only a small portion of them on the field at a time. Using so few Aes Sedai at a time required the soldiers to take the brunt of the fighting, but the Aes Sedai always came to the battle rested. Their job was to blast apart the groups of Trollocs, shattering lines and letting the soldiers work on the scattered remnants.
With the Aes Sedai keeping the Trollocs from solid battle formations, the fight—though grueling—was proceeding well. They hadn’t had to fall back since leaving the hills behind, and had effectively stalled the Trolloc advance for a week here.
Silviana sat atop a roan gelding beside Egwene, and did her best to keep the Trollocs from coming too close. The ground was ripped and furrowed just in front of them, Silviana’s attacks having torn it asunder, leaving trenchlike depressions all over the field. Despite that, the occasional Trolloc would crawl through the mire and come for Gawyn.
Gawyn saw movement in the nearest trench and strode forward. A wolf-featured Trolloc crouched inside. It snarled at him, scrambling up.
Water Flows Downhill.
The Trolloc fell back into the trench, and Gawyn wiped his blade on the bloody rag. Five. Not bad for one of his two-hour shifts. Often the Aes Sedai were able to repel the Trollocs, and he just ended up standing beside Egwene. Of course, today she was accompanied by Silviana—they always came to the battlefront in pairs—and Gawyn was half-convinced the Keeper let a few through now and then just to keep him working.
A sudden series of explosions nearby drove him backward, and he glanced over his shoulder. Their relief had arrived. Gawyn raised his sword to Sleete as the man took up position with Piava Sedai’s Warder to guard the area.
Gawyn joined Egwene and Silviana as they left the battlefield. He could feel Egwene’s growing exhaustion. She was pushing herself too hard, insisting on joining too many shifts.
They made their way across the trampled grass, passing a group of Illianer Companions charging into the fray. Gawyn didn’t have a good enough view of the battle as a whole to know where specifically they were needed. He watched them go with a hint of envy.
He knew Egwene needed him. Now more than ever. Fades slipped into camp at night, bringing Thakan’dar-forged blades to take the lives of Aes Sedai. Gawyn kept watch personally when Egwene slept, relying on her to wash his fatigue away when it overwhelmed him. He slept when she was in conference with the Hall of the Tower.
He insisted that she sleep in a different tent each night. Once in a while, he convinced her to Travel to Mayene and the beds in the palace. She hadn’t done that in a few days. His arguments that she should check on the Yellows, and inspect the Healing work, were growing thin. Rosil Sedai had things in hand there.
Gawyn and the two women continued on into the camp. Some soldiers bowed, the ones who were not currently on duty, while others hastened toward the battlefield. Gawyn eyed some of these. Too young, too new.
Others were Dragonsworn, and who knew what to make of them? There were Aiel among the Dragonsworn, which made sense to him, since all Aiel seemed basically Dragonsworn to him. But there were also Aes Sedai among the Dragonsworn ranks. He didn’t think much of their choice.
Gawyn shook his head and continued on. Their camp was enormous, though it contained virtually no camp followers. Food was brought in daily through gateways in wagons—some pulled by those unreliable metal machines from Cairhien. When those wagons left, they carried away clothing for washing, weapons to be repaired and boots to be mended.
It made for a very efficient camp; one not heavily populated, however, as almost everyone spent long hours on the battlefield fighting. Everyone but Gawyn.
He knew he was needed, and that what he did was important, but he couldn’t help feeling wasted. He was one of the finest swordsmen in the army, and he stood on the battlefield for a few hours a day, killing only the occasional Trolloc stupid enough to charge two Aes Sedai. What Gawyn did was more like putting them out of their misery than fighting them.
Egwene nodded farewell to Silviana, then turned her horse toward the command tent.
“Egwene…” Gawyn said.
“I only want to check on things,” she said calmly. “Elayne was supposed to have sent new orders.”
“You need sleep.”
“It seems that all I do these days is sleep.”
“When you fight on the battlefield, you are easily worth a thousand soldiers,” Gawyn said. “If sleeping twenty-two hours a day were required to keep you in good enough shape to protect the men for two, I’d suggest you do it. Fortunately, that isn’t required—and neither is it required that you run yourself as hard as you do.”
He could feel her annoyance through the bond, but she snuffed it out. “You are right, of course.” She eyed him. “And you needn’t feel surprised to hear me admit it.”
“I wasn’t surprised,” Gawyn said.
“I can feel your emotions, Gawyn.”
“That was from something else entirely,” he said. “I remembered something Sleete said a few days back, a joke I didn’t understand until now.” He looked at her innocently.
That, finally, earned a smile. A hint of one, but that was enough. She didn’t smile much these days. Few of them did.
“In addition,” he said, taking her reins and helping her dismount as they reached the command tent, “I’d never given much thought to the fact that a Warder can, of course, ignore the Three Oaths. I wonder how often sisters have found that convenient?”
“I hope not too often,” Egwene said. A very diplomatic answer. Inside the command tent, they found Gareth Bryne looking down through his now customary gateway; it was being maintained by a mousy Gray whom Gawyn didn’t know. Bryne stepped to his map-littered desk, where Siuan was attempting to bring order. He made a few notes on a map, nodding to himself, then looked to see who had entered.
“Mother,” Bryne said, and took her hand to kiss her ring.
“The battle seems to be going well,” Egwene said, nodding to Siuan. “We have held here well. You have plans to push forward, it seems?”
“We can’t loiter here forever, Mother,” Bryne said. “Queen Elayne has asked me to consider an advance farther into Kandor, and I think she is wise to do so. I worry that the Trollocs will pull back into the hills and brace themselves. You notice how they’ve been pulling more of the bodies off the field each night?”
“Yes.”
Gawyn could sense her displeasure; she wished the Aes Sedai had the strength to burn the Trolloc carcasses with the One Power each day.
“They’re gathering food,” Bryne said. “They might decide to move eastward and try to get around us. We need to keep them engaged here, which might mean pushing into those hills. It would be costly, normally, but now…” He shook his head, walking over and looking down through his gateway onto the front lines. “Your Aes Sedai dominate this battlefield, Mother. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
