A Memory of Light

rising some fifty feet in the air. Frozen at its center was a fluted rod, Vora’s sa’angreal. There was no sign of the Amyrlin herself, but Leane knew.
    “The Amyrlin Seat has fallen,” a nearby Aes Sedai cried amid the crystallized Sharans. “The Amyrlin Seat has fallen!”

    Thunder rumbled. Berelain looked up from the side of the bed, then stood, Galad’s hand slipping from hers as she walked to the window set in the stone wall.
    The sea churned and broke against the rocks outside, roaring, as if in anger. Perhaps pain. White foam sprayed, violent, toward clouds where lightning cast a fractured light. While she watched, those clouds grew thicker in the night, if that was possible. Darker.
    Dawn was still an hour off. The clouds were so black, though, she knew she would not see the sun when it rose. She went back to Galad’s side, sat down and took his hand. When would an Aes Sedai come to Heal him? He was still unconscious, save for nightmare whispers. He twisted, and something sparkled at his neck.
    Berelain reached under his shirt, taking out a medallion. It was in the shape of a fox’s head. She rubbed her finger across it.
    “ . . back to Cauthon . . .” Galad whispered, eyes closed. “. . . Hope . . ”
    Berelain thought for a moment, feeling that darkness outside as if it were the Dark One’s own, smothering the land and crawling in through windows, under doors. She rose, left Galad and walked quickly away, carrying the medallion.

    “The Amyrlin Seat is dead,” Arganda reported.
    Blood and bloody ashes, Mat thought. Egwene. Not Egwene too? It hit him like a punch to the face.
    “What’s more,” Arganda continued, “the Aes Sedai report that they have lost over half their numbers. The ones remaining claim . . . and this is a quote . . . that they ‘couldn’t channel enough of the One Power to lift a feather.’ They’re out of the battle.”
    Mat grunted. “How many of the Sharan channelers did they take?” he asked, bracing himself.
    “All of them.”
    Mat looked at Arganda and frowned. “What?”
    “All of the channelers,” Arganda said. “All the ones that were fighting the Aes Sedai.”
    “That’s something,” Mat said. But Egwene . . .
    No. No thinking of that right now. She and her people had stopped the Sharan channelers.
    The Sharans and Trollocs fell back from the front lines to regroup. Mat took the opportunity to do the same.
    His forces—what remained of them—were strung out across the Heights. He had joined together everyone he had left. The Borderlanders, the Dragonsworn, Loial and the Ogier, Tam’s troops, the Whitecloaks, soldiers of the Band of the Red Hand. They fought hard, but their foe greatly outnumbered them. It was bad enough when they just had the Sharans to contend with, but once the Trollocs had broken through on the eastern edge of the Heights, they were forced to defend themselves on two fronts. Over the past hour they had been pushed back more than a thousand paces, in a northerly direction, and their back ranks had almost reached the end of the plateau.
    This would be the last push. The end of the battle. With the Sharan channelers gone, Mat would not be wiped out immediately, but Light . . . there were still so many bloody Trollocs left. Mat had danced this dance well. He knew he had. But there was only so much a man could do. Even Tuon’s return might not be enough, if it came.
    Arganda handled reports from the other areas of the battlefield—the man was wounded badly enough he could not fight, and there was no one with enough of the Power left to spare for Healing. He did his job well. Good man. Mat could have used him in the Band.
    The Trollocs gathered for their push, again moving bodies out of the way, forming into fists with Myrddraal leading them. That would give Mat five or ten minutes to get ready. Then it would come.
    Lan walked over, expression grim. “What would you have my men do, Cauthon?”
    “Get ready to fight those Trollocs,” Mat said. “Has anyone checked with Mayene lately? Now would be a wonderful time to get back a few ranks of men who have been Healed.”
    “I will check on it for you,” Lan said. “And then I will prepare my men.”
    Mat dug in his saddlebags as Lan withdrew. He pulled out Rand’s banner, the one of the ancient Aes Sedai. He’d gathered it earlier, thinking perhaps it might have some use. “Somebody hoist this thing up. We’re fighting in Rand’s bloody name. Let’s show the Shadow