"No, lad. We're not. But we’ll take a break, get the men Healed and find some food". He saw gateways opening beside the field. Cauthon had been smart enough to send a means for Tam to take his wounded to Mayene. It—
People poured through the openings. Hundreds of them, thousands. Tam frowned. Nearby, the Whitecloaks were picking themselves up—they’d been hit hard by the Trolloc attacks, but Tam’s arrival had kept them from being destroyed. Arganda’s force was forming up at the ruins, and the Wolf Guard hoisted their flag high, bloodied, heaps of Trolloc corpses surrounding them.
Tam trudged across the field. Now his limbs felt like dead weights. He felt more exhausted than if he’d spent a month pulling stumps.
At the first of the gateways, he found Berelain herself, standing with a few Aes Sedai. The beautiful woman was terribly out of place here in this mud and death. Her gown of black and silver, the diadem in her hair . . . Light, she didn’t belong here.
"Tam al’Thor", she said. "You command this force?"
"Near enough", Tam said. "Pardon, my Lady First, but who are all of these people?"
"The refugees from Caemlyn", Berelain said. "I sent some people to see if they needed Healing. They refused it, and insisted that I bring them to the battle".
Tam scratched at his head. To the battle? Any man—and many women—who could hold a sword had already been drawn into the army. The people he saw coming through the gateways were mostly children and the elderly, and some matrons who had remained back to care for the young.
"Pardon", Tam said, "but this is a killing field!"
"So I tried to explain", Berelain said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "They claim they can be of use. Better than waiting out the Last Battle huddled together on the road to Whitebridge, so they say".
Tam watched, frowning, as children scattered onto the field. His stomach lurched at them investigating the gruesome dead, and many did shy back at first. Others began picking through the fallen, looking for signs of those people who were still alive and could be Healed. A few aged soldiers who had been set to guard the refugees went among them, watching for Trollocs that weren’t quite dead.
Women and children began to pick arrows out from among the fallen. That would be helpful. Very helpful. With surprise, Tam saw hundreds of Tinkers pour out of one gateway. They went searching for the wounded under the direction of several Yellow sisters.
Tam found himself nodding. It still worried him, allowing the children to see such sights. Well, he thought, they’ll see a worse sight if we fail here. If they wanted to be of use, they should be allowed.
"Tell me, Tam al’Thor", Berelain asked, "is . . . Galad Damodred well?"
"I see his men here, but not his banner".
"He was called to other duties, my Lady First", Tam said. "Downriver. I haven’t heard from him in hours, I’m afraid".
"Ah. Well, let’s Heal and feed your men. Perhaps word of Lord Damodred will be forthcoming".
Elayne touched Gareth Bryne’s cheek softly. She closed his eyes, one, then the other, before nodding to the soldiers who had found his body. They carried Bryne away, legs dangling over the edge of his shield, head hanging down on the other side.
"He just went riding off, screaming", Birgitte said. "Right into the enemy lines. There was no stopping him".
"Siuan is dead", Elayne said, feeling an almost overpowering sense of loss. Siuan. . . . Siuan had always been so strong. With effort, Elayne stilled her emotions. She had to keep her attention on the battle. "Is there word from the command post?"
"The camp at Dashar Knob has been abandoned", Birgitte said. "I don’t know where Cauthon is. The Seanchan have forsaken us".
"Raise my banner high", Elayne said. "Until we hear from Mat, I’m taking command of this battlefield. Bring forward my advisors".
Birgitte moved to give the orders. Elayne’s Guardswomen watched, shuffling nervously, as the Trollocs pushed against the Andorans at the river. They’d totally filled the corridor between Heights and bogs, and threatened to spill out on to Shienaran soil. Part of Egwene’s army had hit the Trollocs from the other side of the corridor, which had taken some pressure off her own troops for a time; but more Trollocs had attacked from above, and it looked as if Egwene’s men were getting the worst of it.
Elayne had had solid lessons in battlefield tactics, though little experience on the field, and she could see how badly things were going. Yes, she had received news that the Trollocs’ position upriver had been destroyed by the arrival of Lan and the Borderlanders. But that brought scant relief with the situation here at the ford.
The sun began to slip beneath the horizon. The Trollocs made no sign of pulling back, and her soldiers reluctantly began to light bonfires and torches. Organizing her men into square formations made for better defense, but it meant giving up any hope of pushing forward. The Aiel fought here as well, as did the Cairhienin. But those pike squares were the core of their battle plan.
They’re slowly surrounding us, she thought. If the Trollocs did so, they could squeeze until the Andorans popped. Light, this is bad.
The sun made a sudden blazing fire behind the horizon clouds. With night, the Trollocs gained another advantage. The air had grown cold in the advent of darkness. Her early assumptions that this battle would last days now seemed silly. The Shadow pushed with all of its might. Humankind did not have days remaining, but hours.
"Majesty", Captain Guybon said, riding up with her commanders. Their dented armor and bloodied tabards proved that nobody, not even the senior officers, could be spared from direct fighting.
"Advice", Elayne said, looking at him, Theodohr—commander of the cavalry—and Birgitte, who was Captain-General.
"Retreat?" Guybon asked.
"Do you really think we could disengage?" Birgitte replied.
Guybon hesitated, then shook his head.
"Right, then", Elayne said. "How do we win?"
"We hold", said Theodohr. "We hope the White Tower can win their fight against the Sharan channelers and come to our aid".
"I don’t like just sitting here", Birgitte said. "It—"
A blazing beam of white-hot fire sliced through Elayne’s guards, vaporizing dozens of them. Guybon’s horse vanished beneath him, though he narrowly missed being hit himself. Elayne’s horse reared.
Swearing, she wrestled her mount under control. That had been balefire!
"Lews Therin!" A power-enhanced voice rang over the field. "I hunt a woman you love! Come to me, coward! Fight!"
The earth exploded near Elayne, heaving her standard-bearer into the air, the flag bursting into flames. This time Elayne was thrown from horseback, and she hit hard, grunting.
My babes! She groaned, rolling over as hands grabbed her. Birgitte. The woman hauled Elayne into the saddle behind her, helped by several Guards-women.
"Can you channel?" Birgitte asked. "No. Never mind. They’ll be watching for that. Celebrain, raise another banner! Ride downriver with a squadron of Guards. I will take the Queen the other way!"
The woman standing beside Birgitte’s horse saluted. It was a death sentence! "Birgitte, no", Elayne said.
"Demandred has decided you’ll draw out the Dragon Reborn for him", Birgitte said, turning her horse. "I’m not about to let that happen. Hya!" She pushed her horse into a gallop as lightning struck Elayne’s guards, blowing bodies into the air.
Elayne ground her teeth. Her armies were in danger of being overwhelmed, surrounded—all while Demandred laid down blast after blast of balefire, lightning and weaves of Earth. That man was as dangerous as an army himself.
"I can’t leave", Elayne said from behind Birgitte.
"Yes you can, and you are", she replied gruffly as their horse galloped on. "If Mat has fallen—Light send that isn’t the case—then we’ll need to set up a new command post. There’s a reason Demandred struck at Dashar Knob and then directly at you. He’s trying to destroy our command structure. Your duty is to assume command from someplace safe and secret. Once we’re far enough away that Demandred's scouts can’t sense you channeling, we’ll make a gateway and you will be back in control. Right now though, Elayne, you need to shut your mouth and let me protect you".
She was right. Burn her, she was. Elayne hung on as Birgitte galloped across the battlefield, her horse churning clods of dirt behind them in a flight toward safety.
At least he’s making it easy to find him, Galad thought as he rode, watching the lines of fire streak from the enemy position toward Elayne’s army.
Galad’s heels dug into the flanks of his stolen horse, tearing across the Heights toward its eastern edge. Over and over, he saw Gawyn’s dying body in his arms.
"Face me, Lews Therin!" The thunder of Demandred’s shout shook the ground from up ahead. He had taken Galad’s brother. Now the monster hunted Galad’s sister.
The right thing had always seemed clear to Galad before, but never had it felt as right as this. Those streaks of light were like indicators on a map, arrows pointing his way. The Light itself guided him. It had prepared him, placed him here at this moment.
He ripped through the back lines of the Sharan force to where Demandred stood, just above the riverbed looking down on Elayne’s troops. Arrows sank into the earth around him, archers firing, heedless of the risk of hitting their own men. Sword out, Galad pulled his leg from the stirrup, preparing to leap free.
An arrow struck the horse. Galad threw himself from the animal. He hit hard, skidding to a stop, and sliced the hand from a crossbowman nearby. A growling male channeler came for him, and the foxhead medallion grew cold against Galad’s chest.
Galad rammed his blade through the man’s neck. The man raved, blood spurting from his neck with each beat of his heart. He didn’t seem surprised as he died, just angry. His howls drew more attention.
"Demandred!" Galad yelled. "Demandred, you call for the Dragon Reborn! You demand to fight him! He is not here, but his brother is! Will you stand against me?"
Dozens of crossbows were raised. Behind Galad, his horse collapsed, expelling a bloody froth from its nostrils.
Rand al’Thor. His brother. The shock of Gawyn’s death had numbed Galad to this revelation. He would have to deal with it eventually, if he survived. He still did not know if he would be proud or ashamed.
A figure in strange, coin-link armor stepped through the Sharan ranks here. Demandred was a proud man; one needed see only his face to know that. He looked like al’Thor, actually. They had a similar sense about them.
Demandred inspected Galad, who stood with bloody sword out. The dying channeler scraped the ground with clawed fingers before him.
"His brother?" Demandred said.
"Son of Tigraine", Galad said, "who became a Maiden of the Spear. Who gave birth to my brother on Dragonmount, the tomb of Lews Therin. I had two brothers. You killed the other on this battlefield".