A Memory of Light

“Light, Mother,” Silviana said. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that will be? Stay here and lead the White Tower. I will try to find him.” “You can’t sense him.”


“Pass his bond to me.”

Egwene froze.

“You know it is the right thing to do,” Silviana said. “If he dies, it could destroy you. Let me have his bond. It wil let me find him, and it wil protect you, should he die.”

Egwene was aghast. How dare Silviana even suggest this? But, then, she was a Red—and they concerned themselves little with Warders. Silviana did not know what she was asking.

“No,” Egwene said. “No, I won’t even consider it. Besides, if he dies, that would only protect me by shifting the pain to you.”

“I am not the Amyrlin.”

“No. If he dies, I will survive it and keep fighting. Jumping to him by gateway would be foolish, as you say, and I will not let you do it either. He is on the Heights. We will force our way up there, as ordered, and that way we can reach him. It is the best choice.”

Silviana hesitated, then nodded. That would do. Together, they returned to the western side of the Heights, but Silviana stewed. Fool man! If he died, Egwene would have a very difficult time continuing to fight.

The Shadow didn’t need to fel the Amyrlin herself to stop her. It just had to kil one idiot boy.

“What are those Sharans doing?” Elayne asked softly.

Birgitte steadied her horse, taking the looking glass from Elayne. She raised it, looking across the dry river toward the slope of the Heights where a large number of Sharan troops had gathered. She grunted. “They’re probably waiting for the Trol ocs to be fil ed with arrows.”

“You don’t sound very certain,” Elayne said, retrieving the looking glass. She held the One Power, but wasn’t using it for now. Her army had been fighting here at the river for two hours. The Trol ocs had surged into the riverbed al up and down the Mora, but her troops were holding them off from stepping onto Shienaran soil. The bogs prevented the enemy from swinging around her left flank; her right flank was more vulnerable and would need to be watched. It would be much worse if al the Trol ocs were pushing to cross the river, but Egwene’s cavalry was hitting them from behind. That took some of the pressure off her army.

Men held the Trol ocs back with pikes, and the small flow of water still trickling through the bed had turned completely red. Elayne sat resolute, watching and being seen by her troops.

The finest of Andor bled and died, holding back the Trol ocs with difficulty. The Sharan army appeared to be readying a charge off the Heights, but Elayne was unconvinced they would launch an attack just yet; the White Tower assault on the western side had to be a concern to them. Mat sending Egwene’s army to attack from behind the Heights was a stroke of genius.

“I’m not very certain of what I said,” Birgitte said softly. “Not at al . Not about much, any more.”

Elayne frowned. She’d thought the conversation over. What was Birgitte saying? “What about your memories?”

“The first thing I remember now is waking up to you and Nynaeve,” Birgitte said softly. “I can remember our conversations about being in the World of Dreams, but I cannot remember the place itself. It’s all slipped away from me, like water between my fingers.”

“Oh, Birgitte . . .”

The woman shrugged. “I can’t miss what I don’t remember.” The pain in her voice belied the words.

“Gaidai?”

Birgitte shook her head. “Nothing. I feel that I’m supposed to know someone by that name, but I don’t.” She chuckled. “Like I said. I don’t know what I’ve lost, so it’s all right.”

“Are you lying?”

“Bloody ashes, of course I am. It’s like a hole inside of me, Elayne. A deep, gaping hole.

Bleeding out my life and memories.” She looked away.

“Birgitte . . . I’m sorry.”

Birgitte turned her horse and moved off a way, obviously not wanting to discuss the matter further. Her pain radiated its spikes in the back of Elayne’s mind.

What would it be like, to lose so much? Birgitte didn’t have a childhood, parents. Her entire life, all she remembered, usually spanned less than a year. Elayne started to go after her, but her guards moved aside to let Galad approach, attired in the armor, tabard and cloak of the Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light.

Elayne tightened her lips. “Galad.”

“Sister,” Galad said. “I assume that it would be completely futile to inform you how inappropriate it is for a woman in your condition to be on the battlefield.”

“If we lose this war, Galad, my children will be born into captivity to the Dark One, if they are born at all. I think fighting is worth the risk.”

“So long as you refrain from holding the sword personally,” Galad said, shading his eyes to inspect the battlefield. The words implied that he was giving her permission— permission— to lead her troops.