A Memory of Light

OFFER IT TO YOU, TOO, the Dark One replied. AND TO ALL MEN. YOU WANTED PEACE. I GIVE IT TO YOU. THE PEACE OF THE VOID THAT YOU SO OFTEN SEEK. I GIVE YOU NOTHING AND EVERYTHING.
    Rand did not reject the offer immediately. He grasped the offer and cradled it in his mind. No more pain. No more suffering. No more burdens.
    An ending. Was that not what he had desired? A way to end the cycles finally?
    NO, Rand said. AN END TO EXISTENCE IS NOT PEACE. I MADE THIS CHOICE BEFORE. WE WILL CONTINUE.
    The Dark Ones pressure began to surround him again, threatening to rip him apart.
    I WILL NOT OFFER AGAIN, the Dark One said.
    “I would not expect you to,” Rand said as his body returned and the threads of possibility faded.
    Then the true pain began.

    Min waited with the gathered Seanchan forces, officers walking down the lines with lanterns to prepare the men. They had not returned to Ebou Dar, but instead had fled through gateways to a large open plain that she did not recognize. Trees with a strange bark and large, open fronds grew here. She could not tell if they were truly trees, or just very large ferns. It was particularly hard to tell because of the wilting; the trees had grown leaves, but now they drooped down at the sides as if they had not seen water in far too many weeks. Min tried to imagine what they would have looked like when healthy.
    The air smelled different to her—of plants she did not recognize, and of seawater. The Seanchan forces waited in strict formations of troops, ready to march, each fourth man with a lantern, though only one in ten of those were currently lit. Moving an army could not be done fast, despite gateways, but Fortuona had access to hundreds of damane . The retreat had been carried out efficiently, and Min suspected that a return to the battlefield could be accomplished swiftly.
    If Fortuona decided to return, that was. The Empress sat atop a pillar in the night, lifted up to it on her palanquin, lit by blue lanterns. It was not a throne, but a pure white pillar, about six feet high, erected on the top of a small hill. Min had a seat next to the pillar, and could hear reports as they arrived.
    “This battle is not going well for the Prince of the Ravens,” General Galgan said. He addressed his generals before Fortuona, speaking to them directly, so that they could respond to him without formally addressing the Empress. “His request for us to return came only just now. He has waited far too long to seek our aid.”
    “I hesitate to say this,” Yulan said. “But, though the Empress’s wisdom knows no bounds, I do not have confidence in the Prince. He might be the chosen consort of the Empress, and he was obviously a wise choice for that role. He has proven himself reckless in battle, however. Perhaps he is overly strained by what is happening.”
    “I’m sure he has a plan,” Beslan said, earnest. “You have to trust Mat. He knows what he’s doing.”
    “He impressed me earlier,” Galgan said. “The omens seem to favor him.
    He is losing, Captain-General,” Yulan said. “Losing badly. The omens for a man can change quickly, as can the fortune of a nation.”
    Min narrowed her eyes at the short Captain of the Air. He now wore the last two fingernails of each hand lacquered. He had been the one to lead the strike on Tar Valon, and the success of that attack had gained him great favor in Fortuona’s eyes. Symbols and omens spun around his head, like those above Galgan’s—and, indeed, Beslan’s.
    Light, Min thought. Am I really starting to think of “omens” like Fortuona? I need to leave these people. They’re mad.
    “I feel that the Prince views this battle too much as a game,” Yulan said again. “Though his initial gambles were keen ones, he has over extended himself. How many a man has stood around the table of dactolk and looked like a genius because of his bets, when really just random chance made him seem capable? The Prince won at first, but now we see how dangerous it is to gamble as he has.”
    Yulan inclined his head toward the Empress. His assertions grew increasingly bold, as she gave him no reason to quiet himself. From the Empress, in this situation, that was an indication he should continue.
    “I have heard . . . rumors about him ,” Galgan said.
    “Mat’s a gambler, yes,” Beslan said. “But he’s uncannily good at it. He wins, General. Please, you need to go back and help.”
    Yulan shook his head emphatically. “The Empress—may she