A Memory of Light

if they leave Caemlyn, they’ll be at our backs, and that will be a disaster. But if they’re coming in at a single point, we might be able to disrupt their invasion with an attack on that point.” Rand grinned.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “At least I have an excuse for knowing and understanding things no youth from the Two Rivers should.”
    Perrin snorted. “Go jump in the Winespring Water. You really think this is Demandred?”
    “It’s exactly the sort of thing he’d try. Separate your foes, then crush them one at a time. It’s one of the oldest strategies in warfare.”
    Demandred himself had discovered it in the old writings. They’d known nothing of war when the Bore had first opened. Oh, they’d thought they understood it, but it had been the understanding of the scholar looking back on something ancient, dusty.
    Of all those to turn to the Shadow, Demandred’s betrayal seemed the most tragic. The man could have been a hero. Should have been a hero.
    I’m to blame for that , too, Rand thought. If I’d offered a hand instead of a smirk, if I'd congratulated instead of competed. If I’d been the man then that I am now. . .
    Never mind that. He had to send to Elayne. The proper course was to send help for evacuating the city, Asha’man and loyal Aes Sedai to make gateways and free as many people as possible—and to make certain that for now, the Trollocs remained in Caemlyn.
    “Well, I guess those memories of yours are good for something, then,” Perrin said.
    “Do you want to know the thing that twists my brain in knots, Perrin?” Rand said softly. “The thing that gives me shivers, like the cold breath of the Shadow itself? The taint is what made me mad and what gave me memories from my past life. They came as Lews Therin whispering to me. But that very insanity is the thing giving me the clues I need to win. Don’t you see? If I win this, it will be the taint itself that led to the Dark One’s fall.”
    Perrin whistled softly.
    Redemption, Rand thought. When I tried this last time, my madness destroyed us. This time, it will save us.
    “Go to your wife, Perrin,” Rand said, glancing at the sky. “This is the last night of anything resembling peace you shall know before the end. I’ll investigate and see how bad things are in Andor.” He looked back at his friend. “I will not forget my promise. Unity must come before all else. I lost last time precisely because I threw unity aside.”
    Perrin nodded, then rested a hand on Rand’s shoulder. “The Light illumine you.”
    “And you, my friend.”

CHAPTER 2

    The Choke of an Ajah

    P evara did her very best to pretend that she was not terrified.
    If these Asha’man had known her, they’d have realized that sitting still and quiet was not her natural state. She retreated to basic Aes Sedai training: appearing in control when she felt anything but.
    She forced herself to rise. Canler and Emarin had withdrawn to visit the Two Rivers lads and make sure they were going about in pairs. That left only her and Androl again. He quietly tinkered with his leather straps as the rain continued outside. He used two needles at once to stitch, crossing the holes on either side. The man had the concentration of a master craftsman.
    Pevara strolled over, causing him to look up sharply when she drew close. She smothered a smile. She might not look it, but she could move silently, when necessary.
    She stared out of the windows. The rain had grown worse, splashing curtains of water against the glass. “After so many weeks of looking as if it would storm at any moment, it finally comes.”
    “Those clouds had to break open eventually,” Androl said.
    “The rain doesn’t feel natural,” she said, hands clasped behind her. She could feel the coldness through the glass. “It doesn’t ebb and flow. Just the same steady torrent. A great deal of lightning, but very little thunder.
    “You think it’s one of those?” Androl asked. He didn’t need to say what “those” meant. Earlier in the week, common people in the Tower—none of the Asha’man—had begun bursting into flame. Just . . . flame, inexplicably. They’d lost some forty people. Many still blamed a rogue Asha’man, though the men had sworn nobody had been channeling nearby.
    She shook her head, watching a group of people trudge past on the muddy street outside. She had been one of those, at first, who had called the deaths the work of an Asha’man gone mad. Now she accepted