Kaisel gave the orders, and those orders burned through Lan’s men like an autumn fire. Lan saw Andere being helped into his saddle by Bulen.
"Andere?" Lan said, heeling Mandarb toward him. "You are in no condition to ride. Go join the wounded at the back camp".
"So I lie back there and let the Trollocs butcher me after finishing you lot?" Andere leaned forward in the saddle, teetering slightly, and Bulen looked up with concern. Andere waved him off and forced himself upright. "We’ve already moved the mountain, Lan. Let’s budge this feather and be through with it".
Lan could offer no argument. He called the retreat to the men ahead of him in the pass. His remaining men bunched around him, slowly backing out toward the plain.
The Trollocs hooted and yelled in excitement. They knew that once they were free of the walls that restricted their movement, they would win this fight easily.
Lan and his small force left the narrow confines of the Gap, those on foot running toward their horses tethered near the mouth of the canyon.
The Trollocs—for once—needed no push from the Myrddraal to charge. Their footfalls were a low rumble on the stony ground.
Several hundred yards out of the Gap, Lan slowed Mandarb and turned. Andere brought his horse up beside Lan’s with difficulty, and they were joined by the other riders, who formed long lines of cavalry. Bulen cantered up to the other side of Lan.
The storm of Shadowspawn neared the mouth of the Gap, a charging force of thousands of Trollocs that would soon burst out into the open—and try to consume them.
Lan’s forces were silently lined up around him. Many were old men, the last remnants of their fallen kingdom. This force that had managed to plug the narrow gap now seemed tiny on the much larger plain.
"Bulen", Lan said.
"Yes, Lord Mandragoran?"
"You claim to have failed me, years ago".
"Yes, my Lord. It—"
"Any failing on your part is forgotten", Lan said, eyes forward. "I am proud to have given you your hadori".
Kaisel rode up, nodding to Lan. "We are ready, Dai Shan".
"This is for the best", Andere said, grimacing, still holding to his wound, barely able to remain in the saddle.
"It is what must be", Lan said. Not an argument. Not exactly.
"No", Andere said. "It is more than that, Lan. Malkier is like a tree that lost its roots to whiteworms, the branches withering slowly. I’d rather be burned away in a flash".
"I’d rather charge", Bulen said, voice growing firm. "I’d rather charge now than let them overrun us. Let us die on the attack, with swords pointed home".
Lan nodded, turning and raising his sword high above his head. He gave no speeches. He had given those already. The men knew what this was. One more charge, while they still had some strength, would mean something. Fewer Shadowspawn to flood into civilized lands. Fewer Trollocs to kill those who could not fight back.
The enemy seemed endless. A slavering, rampaging horde without battle line or discipline. Anger, destruction incarnate. Thousands upon thousands of them. They came forward like floodwaters suddenly released, surging out of the canyon.
Lan’s little force was but a pebble before them.
The men silently raised their swords to him, a final salute.
"Now!" Lan yelled. Now as they begin to spread out. It will do the most damage. Lan kicked Mandarb forward, leading the way.
Andere galloped beside Lan, clinging to his pommel with both hands. He didn’t try to raise a weapon; he’d have fallen from his saddle if he had.
Nynaeve was too far away for Lan to feel much of her through the bond, but sometimes very powerful emotions could stand out despite the distance. He tried to project confidence in case it reached her. Pride in his men. Love for her. He wished deeply for those to be the last things she remembered of him.
My arm will be the sword . . .
Hooves clattered on the ground. The Trollocs ahead hooted in delight, realizing that their prey had transformed a retreat into a charge of men rushing right into their grasp.
My breast itself a shield . . .
Lan could hear a voice, his father’s voice, speaking these words. That was foolish, of course. Lan had been a baby when Malkier had fallen.
To defend the Seven Towers . . .
He had never seen the Seven Towers stand against the Blight. He’d only heard stories.
To hold back the darkness . . .
The horses’ hooves were becoming a thunder. So loud, louder than he’d have thought possible. He held himself straight, sword out.
I will stand when all others fall.
The oncoming Trollocs leveled spears as the distance between the two opposing forces narrowed.
Al Chalidholara Malkier. For my sweet land Malkier.
It was the oath a Malkieri soldier took during their first posting to the Border. Lan had never spoken it.
He did so now in his heart.
"Al Chalidholara Malkier!" Lan screamed. "Lances, set!" Light, but those hoofbeats were loud! Could six thousand make so much noise? He turned to look at those behind him.
At least ten thousand rode there.
What?
He pressed Mandarb forward through his surprise.
"Forward the Golden Crane!"
Voices, shouts, screams of power and joy.
The air ahead to the left split with a sudden vertical slash. A gateway three dozen paces wide—as large as Lan had ever seen—opened as if into the sun itself. From the other side, the brightness spilled out, exploded out. Charging men in full armor burst from the gateway, falling into place at Lan’s flank. They flew the flag of Arafel.
More gateways. Three, then four, then a dozen. Each broke the field in coordination, charging horsemen bursting forth with lances leveled, flying the flags of Saldaea, Shienar, Kandor. In seconds, his charge of six thousand had become a hundred thousand.
Trollocs in the front lines screamed, and some of them stopped running. Some held steady, spears angled to impale oncoming horses. Bunching up behind them—not being able to see clearly what was happening in front—other enraged hordes pushed eagerly forward, waving large swords with scythe-like blades and double-bitted battle-axes.
Those Trollocs at the front, holding spears, exploded.
From somewhere behind Lan, Asha’man began to send weaves to rip the earth, completely destroying the front ranks of Trollocs. As the carcasses collapsed to the ground, the middle ranks found themselves completely exposed, facing a storm of hooves, swords and lances.
Lan hit, swinging, crashing Mandarb through the snarling Trollocs. Andere was laughing.
"Back, you fool!" Lan yelled to him as he lashed out at the nearby Trollocs. "Direct the Asha’man to our wounded; have them protect the camp!"
"I want to see you smile, Lan!" Andere shouted, clinging to his horse’s saddle. "Show more emotion than a stone, for once! Surely this deserves it!"
Lan looked at the battle he’d never thought to win, seeing a last stand instead become a promising fight, and couldn’t help himself. He didn’t just smile, he laughed.
Andere obeyed his order, riding off to seek Healing and organize the back lines.
"Jophil", Lan called. "Raise my banner high! Malkier lives on this day!"
CHAPTER 7
Into the Thick of It
Elayne stepped out of the pavilion after the meeting—and entered a grove of a dozen or so trees. And not just any trees: they were towering, healthy, huge-limbed, beautiful trees, hundreds of feet tall with massive trunks. The way she froze and gaped would have been embarrassing if everyone else hadn’t been doing the same. She looked to the side, where Egwene stood, mouth open, as she stared up into the huge trees. The sun still shone above, but the green leaves shaded the area, explaining why the light had dimmed inside the tent.
"These trees", Perrin said, stepping forward and resting his hand on the thick, ribbed bark. "I’ve seen Great Trees like this before. Inside a stedding!"
Elayne embraced the Source. The glow of saidar was there, a warmth alongside that of the sun. She breathed in the Power, and was amused to notice that most of the women who could channel had done as she had the moment a stedding was mentioned.
"Well, whatever Rand is now", Egwene said, folding her arms, "he can’t just make stedding appear". She seemed to find the thought comforting.
"Where did he go?" Elayne asked.
"He strolled out there", Perrin said, waving toward the trees. "And vanished".
People were walking among the massive trunks: soldiers from the various camps, staring upward. She heard a Shienaran talking to Lord Agelmar close by. "We watched them grow, my Lord. They burst from the ground; it took less than five minutes for them to become so tall. I swear it, my Lord, or may I never draw blade again".
"All right", Elayne said, releasing the Source. "Lets begin. Nations are burning. Maps! We need maps!"
The other rulers turned toward her. In the meeting, with Rand standing there, few of them had objected to her being chosen to lead them. That was how it could be around him; a person was swept up in the tides of Rand’s will. Things seemed so logical when he spoke of them.
Many now looked displeased to have her put above them. Best to give them no time to dwell on it. "Where is Master Norry?" she said to Dyelin. "Could he have—"
"I have maps, Your Majesty", Gareth Bryne said as he left the pavilion, Siuan at his side.
He seemed grayer than she remembered him; he wore a stiff white coat and trousers, the breast marked with the Flame of Tar Valon. He bowed in respect, but did not step too close. His uniform made his allegiance plain, as did Siuan’s protective hand on his arm.
Elayne remembered him standing with that same quiet expression behind her mother. Never presuming, always protecting the Queen. That queen had put him out to pasture. That event hadn’t been Elayne’s fault, but she could read the breached trust in Bryne’s face.
Elayne could not change what had come and gone. She could look only to the future. "If you have maps of this area and the potential battlefields presented to us, Lord Bryne, we would love to see them. I would like maps for the area between here and Caemlyn, a detailed map of Kandor and your best maps of the other Borderland areas". To the rulers, she continued, "Gather your commanders and advisors! We must meet immediately with the other great captains to discuss our next course of action".
It didn’t take long, though the confusion was pervasive as two dozen different factions set to work. Servants pulled open the sides of the pavilion, and Elayne ordered Sumeko to gather Kinswomen and guards to fetch tables and some chairs through a gateway from her camp. Elayne also sent for specific reports of what was happening at the Gap, where Rand had asked the bulk of the Borderlander armies to go and rescue Lan. The rulers and great captains had remained behind for the planning.
Shortly, Elayne and Egwene stood surveying Bryne’s detailed maps, which had been spread out across four tables. The rulers stood back and allowed the commanders to deliberate.
"This is good work, Bryne", Lord Agelmar said. The Shienaran was one of the four remaining great captains. Bryne was another. The final two great captains—Davram Bashere and Rodel Ituralde—stood side by side at the end of another table, making corrections to a map of the western Borderlands. Ituralde had bags under his eyes, and his hands sometimes shook. From what Elayne had heard, he had suffered quite an ordeal in Maradon, having been rescued only very recently. She was surprised he was here, actually.