A Memory of Light

not argue, though their withdrawal was slow. As if she couldn’t handle herself with her Warder against two people who could not channel. Men.
    Gawyn took up position at the side of the tent, leaving her to address the two prisoners.
    “Nynaeve tells me you are marginally trustworthy, Egwene said to Leilwin. “Oh, sit up. Nobody bows that low in the White Tower, not even the lowest of servants.”
    Leilwin sat up, but kept her eyes lowered. I have failed greatly in the duty assigned me, and in so doing have endangered the Pattern itself.”
    “Yes,” Egwene said. “The bracelets. I’m aware. Would you like a chance to repay that debt?”
    The woman bowed herself, forehead to the ground again. Egwene sighed, but before she could order the woman to rise, Leilwin spoke. “By the Light and my hope for salvation and rebirth,” Leilwin said, “I vow to serve you and protect you, Amyrlin, ruler of the White Tower. By the Crystal Throne and the blood of the Empress, I bind myself to you, to do as commanded in all things, and to put your life before my own. Under the Light, may it be so.” She kissed the floor.
    Egwene looked at her, stunned. Only a Darkfriend would betray an oath such as that one. Of course, every Seanchan was close to being a Darkfriend.
    You think I m not well protected?” Egwene asked. “You think that I need another servant?”
    “I think only of repaying my debt,” Leilwin said.
    In her tone, Egwene sensed a stiffness, a bitterness. That rang of authenticity. This woman did not like humbling herself in this manner.
    Egwene folded her arms, troubled. “What can you tell me of the Seanchan military, its arms and strength, and of the plans of the Empress?”
    ‘I know some things, Amyrlin,” Leilwin said. “But I was a ship’s captain. What I do know is of the Seanchan navy, and that will be of little use to you.”
    Of course, Egwene thought. She glanced at Gawyn, who shrugged.
    Please, Leilwin said softly. “Allow me to prove myself to you somehow. I have little left to me. My name itself is no longer my own.”
    First, Egwene said, “you will talk of the Seanchan. I don’t care if you think it’s irrelevant. Anything you tell me might be helpful.” Or, it might reveal Leilwin as a liar, which would be equally useful. “Gawyn, fetch me a chair. I’m going to listen to what she says. After that, we’ll see . . .

    Rand rifled through the pile of maps, notes and reports. He stood with his arm folded behind his back, a single lamp burning on the desk. Sheathed in glass, the flame danced as breezes eddied through the tent where he stood alone.
    Was the flame alive? It ate, it moved on its own. You could smother it, so in a way, it breathed. What was it to be alive?
    Could an idea live?
    A world without the Dark One. A world without evil.
    Rand turned back to the maps. What he saw impressed him. Elayne was preparing well. He had not attended the meetings planning each battle. His attention was directed toward the north. Toward Shayol Ghul. His destiny. His grave.
    He hated the way these battle maps, with notes for formations and groups, reduced men’s lives to scribbles on a page. Numbers and statistics. Oh, he admitted that the clarity—the distance—was essential for a battlefield commander. He hated it nonetheless.
    Here before him was a flame that lived, yet here were also men who were dead. Now that he could not lead the war himself, he hoped to stay away from maps such as this one. He knew seeing these preparations would make him grieve for the soldiers he could not save.
    A sudden chill ran across him, the hairs on his arms standing on end—a distinct shiver halfway between excitement and terror. A woman was channeling.
    Rand raised his head and found Elayne frozen in the tent doorway. “Light!” she said. “Rand! What are you doing here? Are you trying to kill me with fright?”
    He turned, settling his fingers on the battle maps, taking her in. Now here was life. Flushed cheeks, golden hair with a hint of honey and rose, eyes that burned like a bonfire. Her dress of crimson showed the swell of the children she bore. Light, she was beautiful.
    “Rand al’Thor?” Elayne asked. “Are you going to talk to me, or do you wish to ogle me further?”
    “If I can’t ogle you, whom can I ogle?” Rand asked.
    “Don’t grin at me like that, farmboy,” she said. “Sneaking into my tent? Really. What would people say?”
    “They’d say that I wanted to see you.