Aviendha sliced that wind down the center with an invisible weave the size of a great forest tree. She followed it with another blast of fire, this time more controlled. No, she didn’t dare use balefire. Rand had warned her. That could widen the Bore, break the framework of reality in a place where that membrane was already thin.
Her enemy didn’t have the same restriction. The woman’s next attack came as a white-hot bar, narrowly missing Aviendha—drilling through the air a finger’s width from her head—before hitting the wall of the forge behind. The balefire sliced a wide swath of stone and brick from the wall, and the building collapsed with a crash.
Good riddance, Aviendha thought, throwing herself to the ground. "Spread out!" she ordered the others. "Don’t give her good targets!" She channeled, stirring up air to create a tempest of dust and debris in front of them. Then she used a weave to mask the fact that she was holding to the One Power and hide her from her enemy. She scuttled in a low crouch behind some nearby cover: a heap of slag and broken bits of iron, waiting to be smelted.
Balefire struck again, hitting the stony ground where she’d been before. It punctured stone as easily as a spear went through a melon. Aviendha’s companions had all taken cover, and they continued to feed her their strength. Such power. It was distracting.
She judged the source of the attacks. "Be ready to follow", she said to the others, then made a gateway to the point where the weave had begun. "Come through after me, but take cover immediately!"
She leaped through, skirts swishing, the One Power held like thunder somehow contained. She landed on a slope overlooking the battlefield. Below, Maidens and men fought Trollocs; it looked as if the Aiel were holding back a vast black flood.
Aviendha didn’t spare time for more than a quick glance. She dug into the ground with a primal weave of Earth and ripped up a horse-sized chunk of rock, popping it into the air. The beam that came for her a second later struck the chunk of rock.
Balefire was a dangerous spear to wield. Sometimes it cut, but if it hit a distinct object—a person, for example—it caused the entire thing to flash and vanish. The balefire burned Aviendha’s chunk from existence in a flash, dropping motes of glowing dust that soon vanished. Behind her, the men and women in her circle dashed through her gateway and took cover.
Aviendha barely had time to notice that nearby, cracks had appeared in the rock. Cracks that seemed to look down into darkness. As the bar of light faded in Aviendha’s vision, she released a burning column of fire. This time, she met flesh, burning away a coppery-skinned, slender woman in a red dress. Two other women nearby cursed, scrambling away. Aviendha launched a second attack at the others.
One of the two—the strongest—made a weave with such skill and speed that Aviendha barely caught sight of it. The weave went up in front of her column of fire, and the result was an explosion of blistering steam. Aviendha’s fire was extinguished, and she gasped, temporarily blinded.
Battle instincts took over. Obscured by the cloud of steam, she dropped to her knees, then rolled to the side while grabbing a handful of rocks and tossing them away from her to create a distraction.
It worked. As she blinked tears from her eyes, a white-hot bar struck toward the sound of the rocks. Those dark cracks spread further.
Aviendha blew the steam away with a weave of Air while still blinking tears. She could see well enough to distinguish two black shapes crouching nearby on the rocks. One turned toward her, gasped—seeing the attack weaves that Aviendha was making—then vanished.
There was no gateway. The person just seemed to fold up on herself, and Aviendha sensed no channeling. She did feel something else, a faint . . . something. A tremble to the air that wasn’t entirely physical.
"No!" the second woman said. Just a blur to Aviendhas tear-streaked eyes. "Don’t—"
Aviendha’s vision cleared just enough to make out the woman’s features—a long face and dark hair—as her weave struck the woman. The woman’s limbs ripped from her body. A smoldering arm spun in the air, creating a swirl of black smoke before hitting nearby.
Aviendha coughed, then released the circle. "Healing!" she said, struggling to her feet.
Bera Harkin reached her first, and a Healing weave set Aviendha trembling. She panted, and her reddened skin—her singed eyes—were repaired. She nodded in thanks to Bera, whom she could now see clearly.
Ahead of her, Sarene an Aes Sedai with a teardrop face and numerous dark braids—stepped up to the corpses Aviendha had made, her Warder Vitalien close by her side. She shook her head. "Duhara and Falion. Dreadlords now".
"There’s a difference between Dreadlords and Black Ajah?" Amys asked.
"Of course", Sarene said with a calm tone.
Nearby, the others still held the One Power, expecting another attack.
Aviendha didn’t think there would be one. She had heard that gasp of surprise, sensed the panic in the way the final woman—the strongest of the three had fled. Perhaps she hadn't anticipated facing such powerful resistance so quickly.
Sarene kicked at an arm that had been Falion’s. "Better to have taken them alive for questioning. I am certain we could have learned the identity of that third woman. Did anyone recognize her?"
Members of the group shook their heads. "She was not anyone on the list of Black Ajah who escaped", Sarene said, taking the arm of her Warder. She has a distinctive face so bulbous, and lacking any qualities of charm. I am certain I would remember her".
"She was powerful, Aviendha said. Very powerful". Aviendha would have guessed her as one of the Forsaken. But that certainly hadn’t been Moghedien, and it didn’t match the description of Graendal.
"We’ll split into three circles", Aviendha said. "Bera will lead one of them, Amys and I the others. Yes, we can make circles larger than thirteen now, but it seems a waste. I don’t need that much power to kill. One of our groups will attack the Trollocs below. The other two will avoid channeling, and hide nearby watching. That way, we can goad the enemy channeler into assuming were still in one large circle, and the other two can strike at her from the sides when she comes to attack".
Amys smiled. She recognized this as a basic Maiden raiding tactic. She didn’t seem particularly put out to be following Aviendha’s orders, now that annoyance at Rand's presumption had faded. In fact, if anything, she and the other four Wise Ones looked proud.
As Aviendha's team obeyed, she sensed more channeling on the battlefield. Cadsuane and those who followed her liked to consider themselves outside Rand’s orders. They fought while another group of Aes Sedai and Asha’man held open gateways to usher through the Domani and Tairen armies.
Too many people channeling all about. It was going to grow difficult to pinpoint an attack by one of the Forsaken.
"We need to set up Traveling grounds", Aviendha said. "And keep strict control over who is going to channel and where. That way, we’ll be able to tell in an instant when we sense channeling if something is wrong.’’ She raised her hand to her head. "This is going to be very difficult to organize". Nearby, Amys smile widened. You are in command now, Aviendha, that smile seemed to say. And leadership’s headaches are yours to endure.
Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn, turned away from Aviendha and left her and Ituralde to their battle. He had a different one to join.
At last, the time had come.
He approached the base of the mountain of Shayol Ghul. Above, a black hole burrowed into the mountain face, the only way to reach the Pit of Doom. Moiraine joined him, pulling close her rippling shawl, its blue fringe catching in the wind. "Remember. This is not the Bore, this is not the Dark Ones prison. This is merely the place where his touch is strongest upon the world. He has control here".
"He touches the entire world now, to one extent or another", Rand said.
"And so his touch here will be stronger".
Rand nodded, setting his hand upon the dagger he wore at his belt. "No channeling until we strike at the Dark One directly. If possible, I would avoid a fight like the one we had at the cleansing. What comes will require all of my strength".
Nynaeve nodded. She wore her angreal and ter’angreal jewelry over a gown of yellow, one far more beautiful than she would ever have allowed herself during their days in the Two Rivers. She looked strange to him without her braid, her hair now barely to her shoulders. She seemed somehow older. That shouldn’t be. The braid was a symbol of age and maturity in the Two Rivers. Why should Nynaeve look older without it?
Thom stepped up beside Rand, squinting up at the hole in the rock. "I suspect I’m not going in with you".
Moiraine looked at him, pursing her lips.
"Someone will need to guard the entry into the cave, my wife", Thom said. "That ledge up there right beside the opening has an excellent view of the battlefield. I can watch the battle below, maybe compose a good ballad or two".
Rand smiled at the spark of humor in Thom’s eyes. They stood at the edge of time itself, and still Thom Merrilin found a smile.
Above them, dark clouds spun, the peak of Shayol Ghul their axis. Darkness assaulted the sun until it was nearly gone, entirely covered, in total oblivion.
Rand’s forces stopped, staring in terror at the sky, and even the Trollocs paused, growling and hooting. But as the sun slowly emerged from its captivity, the fierce battle resumed in the valley below. It announced his intentions, but the dagger would shield him from the Dark One’s eyes. The Light willing, the Shadow’s leaders would focus on the battle and assume Rand would wait for its outcome before striking.
"Now?" Nynaeve asked, looking up the narrow, stony pathway to the cavern.
Rand nodded and led the way forward. A wind rose, whipping at the four as they climbed the pathway. He had chosen his clothing deliberately. His red coat, embroidered with long-thorned briars on the sleeves and golden herons on the collar, was a twin to one of those Moiraine had arranged for him to receive in Fal Dara. The white shirt, laced across the front, was of Two Rivers make. Callandor on his back, the sword of Laman at his hip. It had been a long time since he’d chosen to wear that, but it felt appropriate.
The winds buffeted him, threatening to throw him from the heights. He pushed forward anyway, climbing the steep hill, gritting his teeth against the pain in his side. Time seemed to have less meaning here, and he felt as if he’d been walking for days when he reached the flat area before the cavern. He turned, resting one hand against the rock of the open maw, and looked out over the valley.
His forces in the valley seemed so fragile, so insignificant. Would they be able to hold it long enough?
"Rand . . ". Nynaeve said, taking his arm. "Perhaps you should rest".
He looked down, following her eyes to his side. His wound, the old wound, had broken open again. He felt blood inside his boot. It had run down his side, down his leg, and when he moved his foot, he left a bloody footprint behind.
Blood on the rocks . . .
Nynaeve raised a hand to her mouth.