A Memory of Light

“But . . .”


“This war is everything or nothing. If I could round up each woman in the Borderlands and put a sword in her hands, I would. For now, I’l settle for not doing something stupid—like forbidding some trained and passionate soldiers from fighting. If you, however, decide not to exercise that prudence, you are free to tel them what you think. I promise to give you a good burial once they let me take your head down off the pole.”

“I . . . Yes, Lord Mandragoran,” Kaisel said.

Lan took out his spyglass and surveyed the field.

“Lord Mandragoran?” Kaisel said. “Do you really think this plan will work?”

“There are too many Trollocs,” Lan said. “The leaders of the Dark One’s armies have been breeding them for years, growing them like weeds. Trollocs eat a lot; each one requires more food than a man to keep it going.

“By now, they must have eaten the Blight out of anything that could sustain them. The Shadow expended every bit of food they could to create this army, counting on the Trol ocs being able to eat the corpses of the fal en.”

Sure enough, now that the battle had broken off, the Trol ocs swarmed the field in their gruesome scavenging. They preferred human meat, but would eat their own fal en. Lan had spent four days running before their army, not giving them any bodies to feast upon.

They’d managed it only because of the burning of Fal Dara and Fal Moran and other cities in western Shienar. Scouring those cities for food had slowed the Trollocs, allowing Lan’s army to get its feet underneath it and organize its retreat.

The Shienarans had left nothing edible in any of the nearby cities. Four days without food.

The Trol ocs didn’t use supply lines; they ate what they came across. They’d be starving.

Ravenous. Lan studied them with his spyglass. Many did not wait for the cookpots. They were far more animal than they were human.

They’re far more Shadow than they are either one, Lan thought, lowering his spyglass. His plan was morbid, but the Light send it would be effective. His men would fight, and there would be casualties. Those casualties would become the bait for the real battle.

“Now,” Lan whispered.

Lord Agelmar saw it, too. The horns blew, and a yellow streak of light rose into the air. Lan turned Mandarb, the horse snorting at the command. He was tired, but so was Lan. Both could stand another battle. They had to.

“Tai’shar Malkier!” Lan roared, lowering his sword and leading his force back onto the field.

All five Borderlander armies converged on the fractured Shadowspawn horde. The Trollocs had broken lines completely to fight over the corpses.

As Lan thundered toward them, he heard the Myrddraal yel ing, trying to force the Trol ocs back into order. It was far too late. Many of the famished beasts didn’t look up until the armies were nearly upon them.

When Lan’s forces hit this time, the effect was very different from before. Earlier, their attack had been slowed by the Trol ocs’ close ranks, and they had managed to penetrate only a dozen paces before being forced to take up swords and axes. This time, the Trollocs were spread out. Lan signaled the Shienarans to hit first; their line was so tight, one would have been hard-pressed to find an opening of more than two paces between the horses.

That left no room for the Trol ocs to run or dodge. The riders trampled them in a thunder of hooves and clanking barding, skewering Trollocs on their lances, firing horsebows, laying about themselves with two-handed swords. There seemed to be a special viciousness to the Shienarans as they attacked, wearing their open-fronted helmets and armor made up of flat plates.

Lan brought his Malkieri cavalry in behind, riding cross-field behind the Shienarans to kil any Trol ocs that survived the initial onslaught. Once they’d passed, the Shienarans broke to the right to gather for another pass, but the Arafel in slammed in behind them, slaying more Shadowspawn that were attempting to form up. After them came a wave of Saldaeans crossing as the Malkieri had, then the Kandori sweeping from the other direction.

Sweating—sword-arm tired—Lan prepared again. Only then did he realize that Prince Kaisel himself was carrying the banner of Malkier. The lad was young, but his heart was right.

Though he was somewhat stupid about women.