A Memory of Light

her own scratched and sooty arms.
    “Were pulling back,” Manda said. “Maybe we’ll have to use gateways.
    And go where?” Leane said. “Abandon the battle?”
    The three grew silent. No. There was no retreat from this fight. It was win here or nothing.
    “We are too fragmented,” Manda said. “We must at least fall back to regroup. We need to bring the women together, and this is the only thing I can think of. Unless you have a better idea.”
    Manda looked to Raechin. Leane was too weak in the power now for her opinion to hold much weight. She started cutting down weaves as the two continued to speak in hushed tones. The Aes Sedai nearby began pulling back out of the hollow and moving back down the slope. They’d regroup, make a gateway toward Dashar Knob and decide what to do next.
    Wait. What was that? Leane sensed powerful channeling nearby. Had the Sharans created a circle? She squinted; they were well into night now, but enough of the landscape burned to give firelight. It also raised a lot of smoke. Leane wove Air to blow the smoke out of the way, but it lifted on its own, split as if by a powerful wind.
    Egwene al’Vere strode past them up the slope, glowing with the power of a hundred bonfires. That was more than Leane had ever seen a woman hold. The Amyrlin walked forward with her hand thrust out, holding a white rod. Egwene’s eyes seemed to shine.
    With a burst of light and force, Egwene released a dozen separate flows of fire. A dozen. They battered the hillside above, throwing the bodies of Sharan channelers into the air.
    “Manda,” Leane said, “I think we have found you a better rallying point.”

    Talmanes lit a twig off the lantern, then used it to light his pipe. He took one puff before hacking and emptying the pipe’s bowl on the rock floor. The tabac had gone bad somehow. Horribly bad. He coughed and ground the offending tabac into the floor with his heel.
    “You all right, my Lord?” Melten asked, walking past, idly juggling a pair of hammers with his right hand as he walked.
    “I’m still bloody alive,” Talmanes said. “Which is far more than I likely have a right to expect.”
    Melten nodded without expression and continued on, joining one of the teams working on the dragons. The deep cavern around them echoed with the sounds of hammers on wood as the Band did its best to reconstruct the weapons. Talmanes tapped the lantern, judging the oil. It smelled awful when it burned, though he was growing used to that. They had enough for a few more hours yet.
    That was good, since—so far as he knew—this cavern had no exits to the battleground above. It was accessible only by gateway. Some Ashaman had known of it. Strange fellow. What kind of man knew of caverns that could not be reached, except through the One Power?
    Anyway, the Band was trapped down here, in a place of safety but isolation. Only rare bits of information came in Mats messages.
    Talmanes strained, thinking he could hear the distant sounds of channelers fighting above, but it was mere fancy. The land was silent, and these ancient stones had not seen the light since the Breaking, if then.
    Talmanes shook his head, walking to one of the working teams. “How goes it?”
    Dennel gestured toward a few sheets of paper Aludra had given him, instructions on how to repair this particular dragon. The woman herself gave precise directions to another of the work teams, her lightly accented voice echoing in the chamber.
    Most of the tubes are solid,” Dennel said. “If you think about it, they were built to withstand a little fire and an explosion now and then . . .” He chuckled, then fell silent, looking at Talmanes.
    Do not let my expression dampen your good humor,” Talmanes said, tucking his pipe away. “Nor let it bother you that we are fighting at the end of the world, that our armies are grossly outnumbered, and that if we lose, our very souls will be destroyed by the Dark Lord of all evil.”
    “Sorry, my Lord.”
    “That was a joke.”
    Dennel blinked. “That?”
    “Yes”
    “That was a joke.”
    “Yes.”
    “You have an interesting sense of humor, my Lord,” Dennel said.
    “So I have been told.” Talmanes stooped down and inspected the dragon cart. The scorched wood was held together with screws and extra boards. “This does not seem very functional.”
    “It will work, my Lord. We won’t be able to move it fast, though. I was saying, the tubes themselves fared well, but the carts . . .