A Memory of Light

seemed so tired. Barely awake.
    She bit her lip, but nodded. “Of course.” She hesitated. “The battle fares poorly, doesn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    “So now ... we simply hope?”
    He slipped his hand from hers and reached under his shirt. When an Aes Sedai arrived, they would have to undress him and care for his wounds. Only the stump had been tended to so far, as it was the worst.
    Galad sighed, then trembled, his hand slipping away from his shirt. Had he been intending to remove it?
    “Hope . . .” he whispered, then fell unconscious.

    Rand wept.
    He huddled in the darkness, the Pattern spinning before him, woven from the threads of the lives of men. So many of those threads ended.
    So many.
    He should have been able to protect them. Why couldn’t he? Against his will, the names began to replay in his mind. The names of those who had died for him, starting with only women, but now expanded to each and every person he should have been able to save—but hadn’t.
    As humankind fought at Merrilor and Shayol Ghul, Rand was forced to watch the deaths. He could not turn away.
    The Dark One chose then to attack him in force. The pressure came again, striving to crush Rand into nothing. He couldn’t move. Every bit of his essence, his determination and his strength focused on keeping the Dark One from ripping him apart.
    He could only watch as they died.
    Rand watched Davram Bashere die in a charge, followed quickly by his wife. Rand cried out at the fall of his friend. He wept for Davram Bashere.
    Dear, faithful Hurin fell to a Trolloc attack as it struck for the top of the Heights where Mat made his stand. Rand wept for Hurin. The man with so much faith in him, the man who would have followed him anywhere.
    Jori Congar lay buried beneath a Trolloc body, whimpering for help until he bled to death. Rand wept for Jori as his thread finally vanished.
    Enaila, who had decided to forsake Far Dareis Mai and had laid a bridal wreath at the foot of the siswai’aman Leiran, speared through the gut by four Trollocs. Rand wept for her.
    Karldin Manfor, who had followed him for so long and had been at Dumai’s Wells, died when his strength for channeling gave out and he dropped to the ground in exhaustion. Sharans fell upon him and stabbed him with their black daggers. His Aes Sedai, Beldeine, stumbled and fell moments later. Rand wept for them both.
    He wept for Gareth Bryne and Siuan. He wept for Gawyn.
    So many. So very many.
    YOU ARE LOSING.
    Rand huddled down further. What could he do? His dream of stopping the Dark One ... he would create a nightmare if he did that. His own intentions betrayed him.
    GIVE IN, ADVERSARY. WHY KEEP FIGHTING? STOP FIGHTING AND REST.
    He was tempted. Oh, how he was tempted. Light. What would Nynaeve think? He could see her, fighting to save Alanna. How ashamed would she and Moiraine be if they knew that in that moment, Rand wanted to just let go?
    Pain washed across him, and he screamed again.
    “Please, let it end!”
    IT CAN.
    Rand huddled down, writhing, trembling. But still, their screams assaulted him. Death upon death. He held on, barely. “No,” he whispered.
    VERY WELL, the Dark One said. I HAVE ONE MORE THING TO SHOW YOU. ONE MORE PROMISE OF WHAT CAN BE . . .
    The Dark One spun threads of possibility one last time.
    All became darkness.

    Taim lashed out with the One Power, thrashing Mishraile with weaves of Air. “Go back, then, you fool! Fight! We will not lose that position!”
    The Dreadlord ducked back, gathering his two companions and slinking away to do as ordered. Taim smoldered, then shattered a nearby stone with a surge of power. That Aes Sedai ridgecat! How dare she best him?
    “M’Hael,” a calm voice said.
    Taim . . . M’Hael. He had to think of himself as M’Hael. He crossed the hillside toward the voice that had called to him. He had taken a gateway to safety, panicked, across the Heights, and he was now at the edge of the southeastern slope of the Heights. Demandred used this location to monitor the battle below and to send destruction down into the formations of Andorans, Cairhienin and Aiel.
    Demandred’s Trollocs controlled the entire corridor between the Heights and bogs, and were wearing down the defenders at the dry river. It was only a matter of time. Meanwhile, the Sharan army fought northeast of here on the Heights. It concerned him that Cauthon had arrived so quickly to stop the advance of the Sharans. No matter. That was a move of desperation