"Then, like it or not, we’ll bring those dragons in to start leveling Caemlyn. We cannot wait any longer".
Androl struggled to stay awake. The drink they had given him . . . it made him drowsy. What was the purpose of that?
Something to do with channeling, Androl thought in a daze. The One Power was lost to him, though there was no shield. What kind of drink could do that to a man?
Poor Emarin lay weeping in his bonds. They had not managed to Turn him yet, but as the hours wore on, he seemed closer and closer to breaking. Androl stretched, twisting his head. He could barely make out the thirteen men Taim had been using for the process. They slumped as they sat around a table in the dim room. They were exhausted.
Androl remembered . . . Taim yelling the day before. He railed against the men, claiming their work went too slowly. They had expended much strength on the first men and women they’d Turned, and now they were apparently having a more difficult time.
Pevara slept. The tea had knocked her out. They’d given it to Androl after her, but almost as an afterthought. They seemed to forget about him much of the time. Taim had actually been angry when he’d found his minions had given the tea to Pevara. He’d wanted to Turn her next, apparently, and the process required the victim to be able to channel.
"Release me!"
Androl twisted at the new voice. Abors and Mishraile pulled someone in through the door, a short woman with coppery skin. Toveine, one of the Aes Sedai that Logain had bonded.
Nearby, Logain—eyes closed, looking as if he’d been beaten by a mob of angry men—stirred.
"What are you doing!" Toveine demanded. "Light! I—" She cut off as Abors gagged her. The thick-browed man was one of those who had gone to Taim willingly, during the days before Turning had begun.
Androl tried, thoughts still cloudy, to pull his hands free from the bonds. The ropes were bound more tightly. That was right. Evin had noticed the bonds and retied them.
He felt so helpless. Useless. He hated that feeling. If there was one thing Androl had dedicated his life to, it was to never being useless. Always knowing something about the situation.
"Turn her next", Taim’s voice said.
Androl twisted, craning his neck. Taim sat at the table. He liked to be there for the Turnings, but he wasn’t watching Toveine. He fondled something in his hands. Some kind of disc . . .
He stood up suddenly, tucking the object into a pouch at his waist. "The others complain about exhaustion from so much Turning. Well, if they Turn this one, she can join their ranks and lend her strength. Mishraile, you come with me. It’s time".
Mishraile and several others joined Taim; they’d been standing where Androl couldn’t see them.
Taim stalked toward the door. "I want that woman Turned by the time I get back", he said.
Lan galloped across the rocky ground, riding toward the Gap for what seemed like the hundredth time, though he had been fighting here less than a week.
Prince Kaisel and King Easar fell in beside him, riding hard. "What is it, Dai Shan?" Kaisel yelled. "Another attack? I did not see the emergency signal!"
Lan leaned down grimly in the dusk, bonfires made of carcasses and wood blazing to either side of him as he led the charge of several hundred Malkieri. Burning carcasses was difficult, but not only did they need the light; they wanted to deny the Trollocs some meals.
Lan heard something ahead, something that horrified him. Something he had been dreading.
Explosions.
The distant eruptions sounded like boulders crashing against one another. Each one made the air shake.
"Light!" Queen Ethenielle of Kandor joined them, galloping on her white gelding. She yelled to him. "Is that what I think it is?"
Lan nodded. Enemy channelers.
Ethenielle called back to her retinue, yelling something he did not catch. She was a plump woman, somewhat matronly for a Borderlander. Her retinue included Lord Baldhere—her Swordbearer—and the grizzled Kalyan Ramsin, her new husband.
They approached the Gap, where warriors fought to keep the beasts contained. A group of Kandori riders near the bonfires at the front were suddenly thrown into the air.
"Lord Mandragoran!" A figure in a black coat waved to them. Narishma hurried up, his Aes Sedai accompanying him. Lan always had one channeler at the front lines, but had given them orders not to fight. He needed them fresh for emergencies.
Like this one.
"Channeling?" Lan asked, slowing Mandarb.
"Dreadlords, Dai Shan", Narishma said, panting. "Maybe as many as two dozen".
"Twenty or more channelers", Agelmar said. "They’ll cut through us like a sword through a spring lamb".
Lan looked across the bitter landscape, once his homeland. A homeland he’d never known.
He would have to abandon Malkier. Admitting it felt like a knife twisting inside him, but he would do it. "You have your retreat, Lord Agelmar", Lan said. "Narishma, can you channelers do anything?"
"We can try to cut their weaves from the air if we ride up close enough", Narishma said. "But that will be hard, perhaps impossible, with them using just ribbons of Fire and Earth. Besides, with so many on their side . . . well, they’ll target us. I fear we would be cut down—"
A nearby blast rocked the earth, and Mandarb reared, nearly throwing Lan to the ground. Lan fought the horse, nearly blind from the flash of light. "Dai Shan!" Narishma’s voice.
Lan blinked tears from his eyes.
"Go to Queen Elayne!" Lan bellowed. "Bring back channelers to cover our retreat. We’ll be cut to ribbons without them. Go, man!"
Agelmar was yelling the retreat, bringing forward archers to target the channelers and drive them beneath cover. Lan unsheathed his sword, galloping to bring the horsemen back.
Light protect us, Lan thought, yelling himself ragged and salvaging what he could of his cavalry. The Gap was lost.
Elayne waited nervously just inside Braem Wood.
It was an old forest, the type that seemed to have a soul of its own. The ancient trees were its gnarled fingers, reaching out of the earth to feel the wind.
It was difficult not to feel tiny in a wood like Braem. Though many of the trees were bare, Elayne could feel a thousand eyes watching her from the depths of the forest. She found herself thinking of the stories told to her as a child, stories of the Wood being full of brigands—some goodly, others with hearts as twisted as those of Darkfriends.
In fact. . . Elayne thought, remembering one of the stories. She turned to Birgitte. "Didn’t you once lead a band of thieves out of this forest?" Birgitte grimaced. "I was hoping you hadn’t heard that one".
"You robbed the Queen of Aldeshar!" Elayne said.
"I was very polite about it", Birgitte said. "She wasn’t a good queen. Many claimed she wasn’t the rightful one".
"It’s the principle!"
"That’s exactly why I did it". Birgitte frowned. "At least . . . I think it was . . ".
Elayne didn’t push the topic any farther. Birgitte always grew anxious when reminded that her memories of past lives were fading. At times, she had no recollection of her past lives at all; at other times, certain incidents would come flooding back to her, only to disappear the next moment.
Elayne led the rear guard, which would—in theory—do the bulk of the damage to the enemy.
Dry leaves crunched as a winded messenger arrived from the Traveling ground. "I’ve come from Caemlyn, Your Majesty", the woman said with a bobbing bow from her mount. "Lord Aybara has successfully engaged the Trollocs. They are on their way".
"Light, they took the bait", Elayne said. "Now we make our preparations. Go get some rest; you’ll be needing all your strength soon enough". The messenger nodded, galloping away. Elayne relayed the latest news to Talmanes, the Aiel and Tam al’Thor.
As Elayne heard something in the forest she raised a hand, stopping a Guards-woman’s report. Moonshadow danced forward, anxious, past the men who crouched in the underbrush around Elayne. No one spoke. The soldiers barely seemed to be drawing breath.
Elayne embraced the Source. Power flooded her, and with it the sweetness of a world expanded. The dying wood seemed more colorful within the embrace of saidar Yes. There was something climbing over the hills in the near distance. Her soldiers, thousands of them, whipping at horses past the point of exhaustion, were fast approaching the Wood. Elayne raised her spyglass to make out the twisting mass of Trollocs chasing behind like black waves flooding onto an already shadowed land.
"Finally!" Elayne exclaimed. "Archers, to the front!"
The Two Rivers men scrambled out of the woods before her, forming up just inside the tree line. They were one of the smallest forces in her army, but if reports on their prowess weren’t exaggerations, they’d be as useful as an ordinary force of archers three times their size.
A few of the younger men began nocking arrows to bows.
"Hold!" Elayne yelled. "Those are our men coming toward you".
Tam and his leaders repeated the order. The men lowered their bows nervously.
"Your Majesty", Tam said, stepping up to her horse. "The lads can hit them at this range".
"Our soldiers are still too close", Elayne said. "We need to wait for them to break to the sides".
"Pardon, my Lady", Tam said. "But no Two Rivers man would miss a shot like this. Those riders are safe, and the Trollocs have bows of their own". He was right on that last count. Some of the Trollocs were pausing in their pursuit long enough to draw their massive blackwood bows. Perrin's men were riding with their backs exposed, and more than a few had dark-fletched arrows protruding from their limbs or their horses.
"Loose", Elayne said. "Archers, loose!" Birgitte relayed the orders as she rode down the line. Tam barked orders to those nearby.
Elayne lowered the spyglass as a breeze blew through the forest, crackling dried leaves, rattling skeletal branches. The Two Rivers men drew. Light! Could they really shoot that far and still be accurate? The Trollocs were hundreds of paces away.
Arrows flew high, like hawks breaking from their roosts. She’d heard Rand brag about his bow, and she’d seen a Two Rivers longbow used on occasion. But this . . . so many arrows climbing into the air with incredible precision . . .
The arrows arced and dropped, not a one falling too short. They rained onto the Trolloc ranks, especially on the Trolloc archers. A few straggling Trolloc arrows returned, but the Two Rivers men had handily broken up their lines.
"That’s some fine archery", Birgitte said, riding back up. "Fine indeed . . ". The Two Rivers men loosed more volleys in quick succession as Perrin’s riders entered the forest.
"Crossbowmen!" Elayne ordered, drawing her sword and raising it high. "Forward the Legion of the Dragon!"
The Two Rivers men fell back into the trees and the crossbowmen came out. She had two full banners of them from the Legion of the Dragon, and Bashere had drilled them well. They formed three ranks, one standing at a time to loose while the others reloaded while kneeling. The death they sent at the Trollocs hit like a crashing wave, driving a tremble through the advancing army, thousands falling dead.