A Memory of Light

“That is effective,” Leane noted, folding her arms and raising an immaculate eyebrow at the gateway. It was the middle of the Last Battle, and the woman still took time each morning to do her face.

Their gateway had taken them back to camp, which was now mostly empty. With the reserves formed up and ready to move when required, the only soldiers who remained in the camp were a force of five hundred guarding Bryne’s command tent.

She stil carried the pouch with the false seals at her side. Rands words had shaken her hard.

How would they get the seals back? If the minions of the Shadow broke them at the wrong time, it would be a catastrophe.

Had they broken them already? Would the world know? Egwene felt a dread she could not abandon. And yet, the war continued, and she had no recourse but to keep fighting. They would think of a way to recover the seals, if they could. Rand swore to try. She wasn’t certain what he could do.

“They’re fighting so hard,” Gawyn said.

Egwene turned to find him standing a short distance away, inspecting the battlefield with his looking glass. She felt a longing from him. Without some men to lead as he had the Younglings, she knew, he felt useless in these battles.

“The Trollocs are driven by Myrddraal,” Egwene said, “linked to give the Fades greater control over them.”

“Yes, but why resist so strongly?” Gawyn said, stil looking through the glass. “They don’t care about this land. It’s obvious that these hills are lost to them, and yet they fight savagely.

Trollocs are base—they fight and win or they scatter and retreat. They don’t hold land.

They’re trying to do so here. It’s like . . . like the Fades think that even after a rout like this one, they’re in a good position.”

“Who knows why Fades do what they do?” Lelaine remarked, arms folded, looking through the stil -open gateway.

Egwene turned, looking through it, too. The hil top was now empty, strangely isolated amid the battle. Her soldiers had crashed up against the Trollocs in the small valley between the hills, and the fighting was brutal down there. She heard grunts, yells, clangs. Bloodied pikes were raised in the air as a group of men were forced back, and halberdiers moved in to try to slow the Trollocs.

The Shadowspawn were taking terrible casualties. It was an oddity; Bryne had expected them to retreat.

“Something’s wrong,” Egwene said, the hairs of her arms standing on end. Her worry about the seals vanished, for now. Her army was in danger. “Gather the Aes Sedai and have the army pull back.”

The other women looked at her as if she were mad. Gawyn took off at a dash toward the command tent to give her orders. He didn’t question.

“Mother,” Romanda said, letting her gateway die. “What is—”

Something split the air on the other side of Egwene’s war camp, opposite the battlefield. A line of light, longer than any gateway Egwene had seen. It was nearly as wide as her camp itself.

The line of light turned upon itself, opening a view that was not of southern Kandor. Instead, it was a place of ferns and drooping trees— though they were brown, like everything else, they were still alien and unfamiliar.

An enormous army stood silently upon this unfamiliar landscape. Thousands of banners flew above it, emblazoned with symbols Egwene didn’t recognize. The foot soldiers wore knee-length garments that appeared to be some kind of padded armor, reinforced with chain in a large-squared pattern. Others wore metal shirts that seemed sewn from coins tied together.

Many carried hand axes, though of a very strange design. They had long, thin handles that bulged like bulbs at the end and the axe heads were narrow and thin, almost like picks. The hafts of al of their weapons—from polearms to swords—had a flowing, organic design.

Smooth and not of a uniform width, made of some dark red wood that had been painted with colorful dots down the sides.

Egwene took in all of this in moments, her mind searching for any kind of origin for this strange force. She found nothing to latch on to until she sensed the channeling. The glow of saidar surrounded hundreds of women, all of them riding, wearing strange dresses made entirely of stiff black silk. The dresses were not tied at the waists, but instead pulled relatively tight around the shoulders, and flared wide toward the bottoms. Long, rectangular tassels of a multitude of colors hung from ties at the front, just below the neck. The faces of the women were al tattooed.

“Release the Power,” Egwene said, letting go of saidar. “Don’t let them sense you!” She dashed to the side, Lelaine fol owing, the glow winking out from around her.

Romanda ignored Egwene, letting out a curse. She began weaving a gateway to escape.

A dozen different weaves of fire suddenly thrashed the area where Romanda stood. The woman didn’t have a chance to scream. Egwene and the other women scrambled through the camp as weaves of the One Power destroyed tents, consumed supplies and set the entire place aflame.

head then crashed into a collection !f J Zty ' ^ ,US'

Light! Gawyn said. “What is it?”