A Memory of Light

“The sa’angreal. . .”


Demandred held out his scepter, with the golden goblet affixed atop it. Was this a test?

Such power. M’Hael had felt the strength radiating from Demandred as he used it.

“You say she has a sa’angreal,” Demandred said. “With this, you will have one as well. I grant you Sakarnen to take from you any excuse for failure. Succeed or die in this, M’Hael.

Prove yourself worthy to stand among the Chosen.”

M’Hael licked his lips. “And if the Dragon Reborn final y comes to you?”

Demandred laughed. “You think I would use this to fight him? What would that prove? Our strengths must be matched if I am to show myself the better. By al accounts, he cannot use Callandor safely, and he foolishly destroyed the Choedan Kal. He will come, and when he does, I will face him unaided and prove myself the true master of this realm.”

Darkness within. . . Taim thought. He’s gone completely mad\ hasn’t he? Strange to look into those eyes, which seemed so lucid, and hear complete insanity from his lips. When Demandred had first come to M’Hael, offering him the chance to serve the Great Lord, the man had not been like this. Arrogant, yes. All of the Chosen were arrogant. Demandreds determination to kill al’Thor personally had burned like a fire within him.

But this . . . this was something different. Living in Shara had changed him. Weakened him, certainly. Now this. What man would willingly give such a powerful artifact to a rival?

Only a fool, M’Hael thought, reaching for the sa’angreal. Kil ing you wil be like putting down a horse with three broken legs, Demandred. Pity. I had hoped to vanquish you as a rival.

Demandred turned away, and M’Hael pulled the One Power through Sakarnen, drinking gluttonously of its bounty. The sweetness of saidin saturated him, a raging torrent of succulent Power. He was immense while holding this! He could do anything. Level mountains, destroy armies, all on his own!

M’Hael itched to pull out flows, to weave them together and destroy this man.

“Take care,” Demandred said. His voice sounded pathetic, weak. The squeaking of a mouse.

“Do not channel through that toward me. I have bonded Sakarnen to me. If you try to use it against me, it will burn you from the Pattern.”

Did Demandred lie? Could a sa’angreal be attuned to a specific person? He did not know. He considered, then lowered Sakarnen, bitter despite the power surging through him.

“I am not a fool, M’Hael,” Demandred said dryly. “I will not hand you the noose in which to hang me. Go and do as you are told. You are my servant in this thing, the hand that holds my axe to chop down the tree. Destroy the Amyrlin; use balefire. We have been commanded, and in this, we will obey. The world must be unraveled before we reweave it to our vision.”

M’Hael snarled at the man, but did as he was told, weaving a gateway. He would destroy that Aes Sedai witch. Then . . . then he would decide how to deal with Demandred.

Elayne watched in frustration as her pike formations were pushed back. That Birgitte had managed to convince her to remove herself from the immediate area of combat—a Trolloc breakthrough could come at any moment—did not sit wel with her.

Elayne had retreated almost to the ruins, out of direct danger for the moment. A double ring of Guards surrounded her, most of them sitting and eating—gaining what little strength they could during the moments between fights.

Elayne did not fly her banner, but she sent messengers to let her commanders know that she stil lived. Though she had tried to guide her troops against the Trollocs, her efforts had not been enough. Her forces were clearly weakening.

“We have to go back,” she said to Birgitte. “They need to see me, Birgitte.”

“I don’t know if it wil change anything,” Birgitte said. “Those formations just cant hold in the face of both Trol ocs and that bloody channeling. I . . .”

“What is it?” Elayne asked.

Birgitte turned away. “I swear I once remembered a situation like this.”

Elayne set her jaw. She found Birgitte’s loss of memory heart-wrenching, but it was only one woman’s problem. Thousands of her people were dying.

Nearby, the refugees from Caemlyn still searched the area for arrows and wounded. Several groups approached Elayne’s guards, speaking with them softly, asking after the battle or the Queen. Elayne felt a spike of pride at the refugees and their tenacity. The city had broken, but a city could be rebuilt. The people, the true heart of Caemlyn, would not fal so easily.

Another lance of light plunged into the battlefield, kil ing men, disrupting the pikemen.

Beyond that, on the far side of the Heights, women channeled in a furious battle. She could see the lights flashing in the night, though that was al . Should Elayne join them? Her command here had not been good enough to save the soldiers, but it had provided guidance and leadership.