A Memory of Light

The rulers treated it as an attack on their sovereignty. Gregorin glowered at Rand through the din, only maintaining the most threadbare respect. Amusing, since he had the least authority of them all. Darlin shook his head, and Elayne’s face was livid.

Those on Rand’s side argued back, primarily the Borderlanders. They’re desperate, Egwene thought. They’re being overrun. They probably thought that if command were given to the Dragon, he would immediately march to the defense of the Borderlands. Darlin and Gregorin would never agree to that. Not with the Seanchan breathing down their necks.

Light, what a mess.

Egwene listened to the arguments, hoping they would set Rand on edge. Once, they might have. Now, he stood and watched, arms folded behind his back. His face became serene, though she was increasingly certain that was a mask. She’d seen flashes of his temper inside.

Rand certainly was more in control of himself now, but he was by no means emotionless.

Egwene actually found herself smiling. For all of his complaints about Aes Sedai, for all of his insistence that he wouldn’t be controlled by them, he was acting more and more like one of them himself. She prepared to speak and take control, but something in the tent changed.

A . . . feeling to the air. Her eyes seemed drawn to Rand. Sounds came from outside, sounds she couldn’t place. A faint cracking sound? What was he doing?

The arguments trailed off. One by one the rulers turned toward him. The sunlight outside dimmed, and she was glad for those spheres of light he had made.

“I need you,” Rand said softly to them. “The land itself needs you. You argue; I knew that you would, but we no longer have time for arguments. Know this. You cannot talk me out of my designs. You cannot make me obey you. No force of arms, nor weave of the One Power, can make me face the Dark One for you. I must do it of my own choice.”

“You would really toss the world for this, Lord Dragon?” Berelain asked.

Egwene smiled. The lightskirt suddenly didn’t seem so certain of the side she had chosen.

“I won’t have to,” Rand said. “You’ll sign it. To fail to do so means death.”

“So it’s extortion,” Darlin snapped.

“No,” Rand said, smiling toward the Sea Folk, who had said little as they stood near Perrin.

They had simply read the document and nodded among themselves, as if impressed. “No, Darlin. It’s not extortion . . . it’s an arrangement. I have something you want, something you need. Me. My blood. I wil die. We’ve al known this from the start; the Prophecies demand it. As you wish this of me, I will sell it to you in exchange for a legacy of peace to balance out the legacy of destruction I gave the world last time.”

He scanned the meeting, looking at each ruler in turn. Egwene felt his determination almost like a physical thing. Perhaps it was his ta’veren nature, or perhaps it was just the weight of the moment. A pressure rose inside the pavilion, making it difficult to breathe.

He’s going do it, she thought. They’l complain, but they’l bend.

“No,” Egwene said loudly, her voice breaking the air. “No, Rand alThor, we will not be bullied into signing your document, into giving you sole control of this battle. And you’re an utter fool if you think I believe you’d let the world—your father, your friends, all those you love, all of humanity— be slaughtered by Trol ocs if we defy you.”

He met her eyes, and suddenly she wasn’t certain. Light, he wouldn’t really refuse, would he?

Would he really sacrifice the world?

“You dare call the Lord Dragon foolish?” demanded Narishma.

“The Amyrlin is not to be spoken to that way,” Silviana said, stepping up beside Egwene.

The arguments began again, this time louder. Rand kept Egwene’s eyes, and she saw the flush of anger rise in his face. The shouting rose, tension mounting. Unrest. Anger. Old hatreds, flaring anew, fueled by terror.

Rand rested his hand on the sword he wore these days—the one with the dragons on the scabbard—his other arm folded behind his back.

“I will have my price, Egwene,” he growled.

“Require if you wish, Rand. You are not the Creator. If you go to the Last Battle with this foolishness, we’re all dead anyway. If I fight you, then there is a chance I can change your mind.”

“Ever the White Tower has been a spear at my throat,” Rand snapped. “Ever, Egwene. And now you really have become one of them.”

She met his stare. Inside, however, she was beginning to lose certainty. What if these negotiations did break down? Would she real y drive her soldiers to fight Rand’s?

She felt as if she had tripped over a rock at the top of a cliff and was tipping toward the fal .

There had to be a way to stop this, to salvage it!

Rand started to turn away. If he left the pavilion, that would be the end of it.

“Rand!” she said.

He froze. “I wil not budge, Egwene.”

“Don’t do this,” she said. “Don’t throw it all away.”

“It cannot be helped.”

“Yes it can! All you have to do is stop being such a Light-burned, woolheaded, stubborn fool for once!”