A Memory of Light

The carcass crashed down to the ground. Gawyn stood with sword out, then cursed himself, crouching and moving back into the smoke. It would mask his scent, and the twisting blackness his blurred form. Fool, to risk exposing himself to kill one Trolloc. Symons corpse would end up in a cookpot anyway. Gawyn couldn’t kil the entire army. He was here for one man.

Gawyn crouched, waiting to see if his attack had been noticed. Perhaps they wouldn’t have been able to see him—he wasn’t certain how much the rings clouded him—but anyone watching would have seen the Trol oc fal .

No warning cal . Gawyn rose and continued. Only then did he notice that his fingers were showing red among the black of the ash. He had burned them. The pain was distant. The rings. He had difficulty thinking straight, but that didn’t—fortunately—stop his ability to fight. If anything, his instincts were stronger now.

Demandred. Where was Demandred? Gawyn sped back and forth across the top of the Heights. Cauthon had troops stationed at the river near the ford, but the smoke made it impossible to see who was involved. On the other side, the Borderlanders were engaged with a Sharan cavalry unit. Yet here, on top, it was peaceful, despite the presence of Shadowspawn and Sharans. Now Gawyn crept along the back lines of the Shadowspawn, keeping to the rougher patches of deadwood and weeds. Nobody seemed to notice him.

There were shadows here, and shadows were protection. Down below, in the corridor between Heights and bog, the fires were going out. That seemed too quick for them to have burned themselves out. Channeling?

He had intended to find Demandred by seeking the origin of the man’s attacks, but if he was just channeling to put out fires, then— The Shadow’s army charged, racing down the slope toward Hawal Ford. Though the Sharans remained behind, the bulk of the Trol ocs moved. They obviously intended to push over the now-dry riverbed and engage Cauthon’s army.

If Cauthon had intended to lure al of Demandred’s forces off the Heights, he had failed.

Many Sharans remained behind, infantry and cavalry units, watching impassively as the Trollocs thundered toward battle.

Explosions pounded along the slope, throwing Trollocs into the air like dirt from a beaten rug. Gawyn hesitated, crouching low. Dragons, the few working ones. Mat had set them up somewhere across the river; it was difficult to see an exact position because of the smoke.

By the sound, there were only half a dozen or so, but the damage they caused was enormous, particularly considering the distance.

A burst of red light from nearby atop the Heights launched toward the smoke of the dragons.

Gawyn smiled. Thank you kindly. He put his hand on his sword. Time to test just how wel these rings worked.

He dashed, low and quick, out of cover. Most of the Trol ocs were piling down the slope, loping toward the dry riverbed. Crossbow bolts and arrows assaulted them, and another round of dragon fire came from a slightly different location. Cauthon had the dragons moving, and Demandred had trouble pinpointing them.

Gawyn ran between howling Shadowspawn. The ground thumped like a beating heart from the impacts along the ground behind him. Smoke whipped around him, thick in his throat.

His hands had been blackened, and he assumed his face had been as wel . He hoped that would help keep him hidden.

Trol ocs turned about, screeching or grunting, but none of them fixed upon him. They knew something had passed, but to them, he was merely a blur.

Egwene’s anger poured through the bond. Gawyn smiled. He had not expected her to be pleased. As he ran, arrows slicing the earth around him, he found peace with his choice.

Once, perhaps, he would have done this for the pride of the battle and the chance to pit himself against Demandred.

That was not his heart now. His heart was the need. Someone had to fight this creature, someone had to kil him or they would lose this battle. They could al see it. Risking Egwene or Logain would be too great a gamble.

Gawyn could be risked. No one would send him to do this—no one would dare—but it was necessary. He had a chance to change things, to real y matter. He did it for Andor, for Egwene, for the world itself.

Ahead, Demandred bellowed his now familiar challenge. “Send me al’Thor, not these so-called dragons!” Another streak of fire flew from him.

Gawyn passed the charging Trol ocs and came up behind a large group of Sharans with strange bows, almost as big as those of the Two Rivers. They surrounded a mounted man in interlinking armor of coins, bound at holes in the centers, with a gorget and armguards. The faceplate on his fearsome helmet was open. That proud face was eerily familiar to Gawyn, handsome and imperious.

This wil have to be quick, Gawyn thought. And Light, Vd better not give him a chance to channel.