A Memory of Light

was the first to step out into the night; the cool air, away from the sweltering heat of the sweat tent, felt good on her skin. She took a deep breath. Her mind was heavy with fatigue, but sleep would need to wait.
    The tent flaps rustled behind the other Wise Ones, Melaine and Amys speaking softly to one another as they hastened into the night. Kymer walked purposefully toward the Tomanelle section of the camp. Perhaps she would speak with her sister-father, Han, the Tomanelle chief.
    Aviendha started to move off herself, but a bony hand took her arm. She glanced over her shoulder to see Bair standing behind her, dressed again in blouse and skirt.
    “Wise One,” Aviendha said by reflex.
    “Wise One,” Bair replied with a smile.
    “Is there something . . .”
    “I would go to Rhuidean,” Bair said, glancing at the sky. “Would you kindly make a gateway for me?”
    “You’re going through the glass columns.”
    “One of us needs to. Despite what Amys said, Elenar is not ready, particularly not to see . . . something of this nature. That girl spends half of her days squawking like a buzzard over the last scrap of a rotting carcass.”
    “But—”
    “Oh, don’t you start, too. You’re one of us now, Aviendha, but I’m still old enough to have tended your greatmother when she was a child.” Bair shook her head; her white hair almost seemed to glow in the filtered moonlight. “I am the best one to go,” she continued. “Channelers must be preserved for the battle to come. I would not have some child walk into those columns now. I will do it. Now, that gateway? Will you grant my request, or do I need to bully Amys into doing so?”
    Aviendha would have liked to see anyone bully Amys into anything. Maybe Sorilea could do it. She said nothing, however, and created the proper weave to open a gateway.
    The thought of another seeing what she’d seen made her stomach twist. What would it mean if Bair returned with the exact same vision? Would that indicate the future was more likely?
    “It was that terrible, was it?” Bair asked softly.
    “Horrible. It would have made spears weep and stones crumble, Bair. I would rather have danced with Sightblinder himself.”
    “Then it is much better that I go than another. It should be the strongest of us who does this.”
    Aviendha stopped herself from raising an eyebrow. Bair was as tough as good leather, but the other Wise Ones weren’t exactly flower petals. “Bair,” Aviendha said, a thought occurring to her. “Have you ever met a woman named Nakomi?”
    “Nakomi.” Bair tried the word in her mouth. “An ancient name. I have never known anyone who uses it. Why?”
    “I met an Aiel woman while traveling to Rhuidean,” Aviendha said. “She claimed not to be a Wise One, but she had a way about her . . .” She shook her head. “The question was merely idle curiosity.”
    “Well, we shall know some of the truth of these visions,” Bair said, stepping toward the gateway.
    “What if they are true, Bair?” Aviendha found herself asking. “What if there isn’t anything we can do?”
    Bair turned. “You saw your children, you said?”
    Aviendha nodded. She hadn’t spoken in detail of that segment of the vision. It had seemed more personal to her.
    “Change one of their names,” Bair said. “Never speak of the name that child was called in the vision, not even to us. Then you shall know. If one thing is different, then others may be different as well. Will be different. This is not our fate, Aviendha. It is a path we will avoid. Together.”
    Aviendha found herself nodding. Yes. A simple change, a small change, but full of meaning. “Thank you, Bair.”
    The aging Wise One nodded to her, then stepped through the gateway, running in the night toward the city ahead.

    Talmanes threw his shoulder against a hulking, boar-faced Trolloc in crude chain armor. The beast smelled horrid, like smoke, wet fur and unwashed flesh. It grunted at the force of Talmanes’ assault; the things always seemed surprised when he attacked them.
    Talmanes pulled back, ripping his sword out of the beast’s side as it collapsed. He then lunged forward and rammed his sword into its throat, heedless of its ragged fingernails scratching at his legs. Life faded from the beady, too-human eyes.
    Men fought, called, grunted, killed. The street ran up a steep incline toward the Palace. Trolloc hordes had entrenched here, holding position and keeping the Band from reaching the