A Memory of Light

through the valley, striking at each other here and there. Some soldiers, not Aiel, defended the way up to the Pit of Doom, but that was the only organized formation Mat could see.
    Along the side of the valley a deep mist had begun to flood down onto its floor. At first, Mat was confused, thinking it had come from the heroes of the Horn. But no, the Horn was strapped to the saddle beside Mat’s ashandarei. And this mist was too . . . silvery. If that was the right word. He thought he’d seen that mist before.
    Then, Mat felt something. From that mist. A prickling cold sensation, followed by what he swore was whispering in his mind. He knew immediately what it was.
    Oh, Light!
    “Mat, look!” Olver called, pointing. “Wolves!”
    A group of jet black animals, almost as large as horses, were assaulting the soldiers defending the path up to Shayol Ghul. The wolves were making quick work of the men. Light! As if things had not been difficult enough.
    “Those aren’t wolves,” Mat said grimly. The Wild Hunt had come to Thakan’dar.
    Maybe they and Mashadar would destroy one another? Was that too much to hope for? With the dice tumbling in his head, Mat was not going to bet on it. Rand’s forces—what was left of the Aiel, Domani, Dragon-sworn and Tairen soldiers who had come here—would be crushed by the Darkhounds. If they survived, Mashadar would take them. They could not fight either one.
    That voice in there ... It wasn’t just Mashadar, the mindless mist. Fain was here somewhere, too. And the dagger.
    Shayol Ghul loomed above. High in the air, clouds churned. Surprisingly, some white thunderheads had rolled in from the south, colliding with the black as they spun together. Actually, those two together looked an awful lot like the—
    The to’raken turned and winged about, then swooped down lower, maybe only a hundred feet off the ground.
    “Be careful!” Mat hollered, holding on to his hat. “Are you bloody trying to kill us!”
    “Apologies, my Prince,” the woman yelled back. “I just need to find a safe place to put you down.”
    “A safe place?” Mat said. “Good luck on that.”
    “It’s going to be difficult. Dhana is strong, but I—”
    A black-fletched arrow grazed the side of Sulaan’s head, loosed from somewhere down below, along with a flight of a dozen others that zipped around Mat, one hitting the wing of the to’raken.
    Mat cursed, dropping his hat and reaching for Sulaan as Olver cried out in shock. Sulaan went limp, dropping the reins. Below, a group of red-veiled Aiel prepared another volley.
    Mat undid his straps. He leaped—well, more crawled—over Olver and the unconscious woman and grabbed the reins of the panicked to’raken. This could not be too much harder than riding a horse, could it? He pulled as he had seen Sulaan do, turning the to'raken as arrows cut the air behind them, several taking the beast in the wings.
    They veered straight toward the rock wall, and Mat found himself on his feet, standing on the saddle and gripping the reins tightly as he tried to keep the wounded beast from bloody killing them all. That turn nearly tossed him free, but he held himself in place with feet wedged and holding the reins even tighter.
    The rush of air as they turned caught up Olver’s next words. The creature’s badly wounded wings beat wildly and it screeched wretchedly. Mat was not certain either of them were in control as the beast twisted toward the ground.
    They hit the floor of the valley in a heap. Bones cracked—Light, Mat hoped they belonged to the to’raken —and he found himself tumbling end over end across the broken ground.
    He finally came to a rest, flopping over.
    He breathed in and out, stunned by it all. “That,” he finally groaned, “is the bloody worst idea I’ve ever had.” He hesitated. “Maybe the second worst.” He had decided to kidnap Tuon, after all.
    He stumbled to his feet, and his legs still seemed to work. He did not limp too badly as he ran to the twitching to’raken . “Olver? Olver!”
    He found the boy still tied in the saddle, blinking and shaking his head to clear it. “Mat,” Olver said, “next time I think you should let me fly it. I don’t think you did a very good job.”
    “If there is a next time,” Mat said, “I’ll eat a whole bag of Tar Valon gold.” He yanked free the ties holding his ashandarei and Olver’s Horn, then handed the instrument to the boy. He reached for the pack with Rand’s banner,