A Memory of Light

fight.”
    “Don’t try to—”
    Sunlight exploded through the clouds above. There was often no sunlight in the World of Dreams, but now it bathed the area around Rand.
    Moridin stumbled back. He looked up at the light, then gazed at Rand and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think . . . don’t think I will believe your simple tricks, Lews Therin. Weiramon was shaken by what you did to him, but it’s not such a difficult thing, holding saidin and listening for people’s heartbeats to speed up.”
    Rand exerted his will. The crackling dead leaves began to transform at his feet, turning green again, and shoots of grass broke through the leaves.
    The green spread from him like spilled paint, and clouds above boiled away.
    Moridin’s eyes opened wider. He stumbled, staring at the sky as the clouds retreated . . . Rand could feel his shock. This was Moridin’s dream-shard.
    However, to draw another in, he had had to place it close to Tel’aran’rhiod. Those rules applied. There was something else, too, something about the connection between the two of them . . .
    Rand strode forward, lifting his arms out to the sides. Grass sprouted in waves, red blossoms burst from the ground like a blush upon the land. The storm stilled, the dark clouds burned away by light.
    “Tell your master!” Rand commanded. “Tell him this fight is not like the others. Tell him I’ve tired of minions, that I’m finished with his petty movement of pawns. Tell him that I’m coming for HIM!”
    “This is wrong,” Moridin said, visibly shaken. “This isn’t . . ” He looked at Rand for a moment, standing beneath the blazing sun, then vanished.
    Rand let out a deep breath. The grass died around him, the clouds sprang back, the sunlight faded. Though Moridin was gone, holding on to that transformation of the landscape had been difficult. Rand sagged, panting, recovering from the exertion.
    Here, willing something to be true could make it so. If only things were that simple in the real world.
    He closed his eyes and sent himself away, to sleep for the short time before he had to rise. Rise, and save the world. If he could.

    Pevara crouched beside Androl in the rainy night. Her cloak was soaked completely through. She knew a couple of weaves that would have been useful for that, but she didn’t dare channel. She and the others would be facing Turned Aes Sedai and women of the Black Ajah. They could sense it if she channeled.
    “They’re definitely guarding the area,” Androl whispered. Ahead of them, the ground broke away into a large sequence of mazelike brickworks and trenches. These were the foundation rooms of what would eventually become the Black Tower proper. If Dobser was right, other rooms had been created within the foundation—hidden chambers, already complete, that would continue to be secret as the Tower itself was constructed.
    A pair of Taim’s Asha’man stood chatting nearby. Though they tried to appear nonchalant, the effect was spoiled by the weather. Who would choose to stand outside on a night like this one? Despite a warm brazier lighting them and a weave of Air to send the rain streaming away, their presence was suspicious.
    Guards. Pevara tried sending the thought to Androl directly.
    It worked. She could feel his surprise as the thought intruded onto his own.
    Something returned, fuzzy. We should take advantage.
    Yes, she sent back. The next thought was too complex, though, so she whispered it. “How have you never before noticed that he left the foundation guarded at night? If there really are secret rooms, then the work on them would be done at night as well.”
    “Taim set a curfew,” Androl whispered. “He lets us ignore it only when convenient to him—such as for Welyn’s return tonight. Besides, this area is dangerous, with those pits and trenches. It would be a good enough reason to set guards, except . . ”
    “Except,” Pevara said, “Taim isn’t exactly the type to care if a child or two break their necks poking around.”
    Androl nodded.
    Pevara and Androl waited in the rain, counting their breaths, until three ribbons of fire flew from the night and struck the guards directly in their heads. The two Asha’man dropped like sacks of grain. Nalaam, Emarin and Jonneth had done their work perfectly. Quick channeling; with luck, it either wouldn’t be noticed or would be thought the work of Taim’s men on guard.
    Light, Pevara thought. Androl and the others really are weapons. She