A Memory of Light

squealing in agony, and Elayne caught a brief glimpse of Guards fighting all around as she fell to the ground, panicked for the safety of her babes. Rough hands grabbed her by the shoulders and held her against the ground.
    She saw something silver glisten in the night. A foxhead medallion. Another pair of hands pressed it to her skin just above her breasts. The metal was sharply cold.
    “Hello, my Queen,” Mellar said, squatting beside her. The former Guardsman—the one many people still assumed had fathered her children— leered down at her. “You’ve been very hard to track down.”
    Elayne spat at him, but he anticipated her, raising his hand to catch the spittle. He smiled, then stood up, leaving her held by two mercenaries. Though some of her Guards still fought, most had been pushed back or killed.
    Mellar turned as two men dragged Birgitte over. She thrashed in their grip, and a third man came over to help hold her. Mellar took out his sword, regarded its blade for a moment, as if inspecting himself in its reflective gleam. Then he rammed it into Birgitte’s stomach.
    Birgitte gasped, falling to her knees. Mellar beheaded her with a vicious backhand blow.
    Elayne found herself sitting very still, unable to think or react as Birgitte’s corpse flopped forward, spilling lifeblood from the neck. The bond winked away, and with it came . . . pain. Terrible pain.
    “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time,” Mellar said. Blood and bloody ashes, but it felt good.”
    Birgitte. . . Her Warder was dead. Her Warder had been killed. That tough yet generous heart, that tremendous loyalty—destroyed. The loss made it . . . made it hard to think.
    Mellar kicked at Birgitte’s corpse as a man rode up with a body draped across the back of his saddle. The man wore an Andoran uniform, and the facedown corpse dangled golden hair. Whoever the poor woman was, she wore a dress exactly like Elayne’s.
    Oh no.. .
    “Go,” Mellar said. The man rode off, a few others forming around him, fake Guardsmen. They carried Elayne’s banner, and one started shouting, “The Queen is dead! The Queen has fallen!”
    Mellar turned to Elayne. “Your people still fight. Well, that ought to disrupt their ranks. As for you . . . well, apparently, the Great Lord has a use for those children of yours. I’ve been ordered to bring them to Shayol Ghul. It occurs to me that you needn’t be with them at the time.” He looked at one of his companions. “Can you make it work?”
    The other man knelt beside Elayne, then pressed his hands against her belly. A jolt of sudden fright pushed through her numbness and her shock. Her babes!
    “She’s far enough along,” the man said. “I can probably keep the children alive with a weave, if you cut them out. It will be difficult to do right. They are young yet. Six months along. But with the weaves I was shown by the Chosen . . . yes, I think I can keep them living for an hour. But you will have to take them to M’Hael to get them to Shayol Ghul. Traveling with a regular gateway won’t work there any longer.”
    Mellar sheathed his sword and pulled a hunting knife from his belt. “Good enough for me. We’ll send the children on, as the Great Lord asks. But you, my Queen . . . you are mine.”
    Elayne flailed, but the men’s grip was tight. She clawed at saidar again and again, but the medallion worked like forkroot. She might as well have been trying to embrace saidin as reach saidar
    “No!” she screamed as Mellar knelt beside her. “NO!”
    “Good,” he said. “I was hoping you’d get around to screaming.”

    Nothing.
    Rand turned. He tried to turn. He had no form or shape.
    Nothing.
    He tried to speak, but he had no mouth. Finally, he managed to think the words and make them manifest.
    SHAI’TAN, Rand projected, WHAT IS THIS?
    OUR COVENANT, the Dark One replied. OUR ACCOMMODATION.
    OUR ACCOMMODATION IS NOTHING? Rand demanded.
    YES.
    He understood. The Dark One was offering a deal. Rand could accept this ... He could accept nothingness. The two of them dueled for the fate of the world. Rand pushed for peace, glory, love. The Dark One sought the opposite. Pain. Suffering.
    This was, in a way, a balance between the two. The Dark One would agree not to reforge the Wheel to suit his grim desires. There would be no enslaving of mankind, no world without love. There would be no world at all.
    IT IS WHAT YOU PROMISED ELAN, Rand said. YOU PROMISED HIM AN END TO EXISTENCE.
    I