A Memory of Light

COMPASSION IS NOT NEEDED.

Rand felt deathly cold. “This is different from the world you showed me before.”

WHAT I SHOWED BEFORE IS WHAT MEN EXPECT. IT IS THE EVIL THEY THINK THEY FIGHT.

BUT I WILL MAKE A WORLD WHERE THERE IS NOT GOOD OR EVIL.

THERE IS ONLY ME.

“Do your servants know?” Rand whispered. “The ones you name Chosen? They think they fight to become lords and rulers over a world of their own making. Instead you will give them this. The same world . . . except one without Light.”

THERE IS ONLY ME.

No Light. No love of men. The horror of it sank deep within Rand, shaking him. This was one of the possibilities that the Dark One could choose, if he won. It didn’t mean he would, or that it had to happen, but .. oh Light, this was terrible. Far more terrible than a world of captives, far more terrible than a dark land with a broken landscape.

This was true horror. This was a full corruption of the world, it was taking everything beautiful from it, leaving behind only a husk. A pretty husk, but stil a husk.

Rand would rather live a thousand years of torture, retaining the piece of himself that gave him the capacity for good, than live a moment in this world without Light.

He turned, enraged, upon the darkness. It consumed the far wall, growing larger. “You make a mistake, Shai’tan!” Rand yel ed at that nothingness. “You think to make me despair? You think to shatter my will? This will not do it, I swear to you. This makes me sure to fight!”

Something rumbled inside of the Dark One. Rand yelled, pushing outward with his will, shattering the dark world of lies and men who would kill without empathy. It exploded into threads, and Rand was once again in the place outside of time, the Pattern rippling around him.

“You show me your true heart?” Rand demanded of the nothingness as he seized those threads. “I will show you mine, Shai’tan. There is an opposite to this Lightless world you would create.

“A world without Shadow.”

Mat stalked away, calming his anger. Tuon had seemed really angry at him! Light. She would come back when he needed her to, would she not?

“Mat?” Min said, hurrying up beside him.

“Go with her,” Mat said. “Keep an eye on her for me, Min.”

“But—”

“She doesn’t need much protecting,” Mat said. “She’s a strong one. Bloody ashes, but she is.

She does need watching, though. She worries me, Min. Anyway, I have this bloody war to win. I can’t do that and go with her. So would you go and watch her? Please?”

Min slowed, then gave him an unexpected hug. “Luck, Matrim Cauthon.

“Luck, Min Farshaw,” Mat said. He let her go, then shouldered his ashandarei. The Seanchan had begun leaving Dashar Knob, pulling back to the Erinin before leaving the Field of Merrilor altogether. Demandred would let them go; he would be a fool not to. Blood and bloody ashes, what was Mat getting himself into? He had just sent away a good quarter of his troops.

They’l come back, he thought. If his gamble worked. If the dice fel as he needed them.

Only this battle was not a game of dice. There was too much subtlety to it for that. It was cards, if anything. Mat usually won at cards. Usually.

To his right, a group of men in dark Seanchan armor marched toward the battlefield. “Hey, Karede!” Mat yelled.

The large man gave Mat a dark look. Suddenly, Mat knew what an ingot of metal felt like when Perrin eyed it, hefting a hammer. Karede stalked up, and though he obviously was making an effort to keep his face calm, Mat could feel the thunder coming off him.

“Thank you,” Karede said, voice stiff, “for helping protect the Empress, may she live forever.”

“You think I should have kept her someplace secure,” Mat said. “Not at the command post.”

“It is not my place to question one of the Blood, Great One,” Karede said.

“You’re not questioning me,” Mat said, “you’re thinking of sticking something sharp in me.

Entirely different.”

Karede breathed out a long, deep breath. “Excuse me, Great One,” he said, turning to leave.

“I must take my men and die.”

“I don’t think so,” Mat said. “You’re coming with me.”

Karede turned back toward him. “The Empress, may she live forever, ordered—”

“You to the front lines,” Mat said, shading his eye as he scanned the riverbed, swarming with Trol ocs . . . “Great. Where do you bloody think I’m going?”

“You ride to battle?” Karede asked.

“I was thinking more of a saunter,” Mat said. He shook his head. “I need a feel for what Demandred is doing . . . I’m going out there, Karede, and putting you fel ows between me and the Trollocs sounds delightful. Are you coming?”

Robert Jordan's books