Bands of soldiers scrambled about, seeking cover in blown-out holes in the rock. Others protected groups of channelers. Nearby, women and men roamed about in small groups, destroying soldiers with fire and lightning.
These were what Galad hunted.
He raised his sword, pointing at a trio of Sharan women holding at the top of the Heights. He and his men were more than halfway up the slope.
Three. Three would be difficult. They turned their attention on a small band of men wearing the Flame of Tar Valon. Lightning struck the unfortunate soldiers.
Galad held up four fingers. Plan four. He leaped out of his hollow and dashed toward the three women. His men waited a count of five, then followed behind.
The women saw him. If they’d remained turned away, Galad would have gained the advantage. One raised a hand and summoned Fire, hurling the weave at him. The flame struck him, and though he could feel its heat, the weave unraveled and dissipated—leaving him singed, but mostly unharmed.
The Sharan’s eyes opened with shock. That look . . . that look was becoming familiar to Galad now. It was the look of a soldier whose sword had broken in battle, the look of one who had seen something that should not be. What did you do when the One Power failed, the thing you relied upon to raise you above common folk?
You died. Galad's sword took the woman’s head off as one of her companions tried to seize him with Air. He felt the metal grow cold at his chest, and sensed the rush of Air moving around him.
A poor choice, Galad thought, ramming his sword into the chest of a second woman. The third proved smarter, and she slammed him with a large rock. He barely raised his shield before the rock smashed into his arm, throwing him backward. The woman raised another stone right as Galad’s team hit her. She fell to their swords.
Galad caught his breath, his head back, pain radiating from the impact of the rock. He groaned, sitting up. Nearby, his men hacked at the third Sharan woman’s body. They didn’t need to be so thorough, but some Children had strange ideas about what Aes Sedai could do. He’d caught Laird cutting off one of the Sharan women’s heads to bury it separate from the body. Unless you did that, Laird claimed, they would return to life at the next full moon.
As the men butchered the other two corpses, Golever came over and offered Galad a hand. "Light burn me", Golever said, a wide grin splitting his bearded face, "if this isn’t the finest work we’ve ever done, my Lord Captain Commander, I don’t know what is!"
Galad stood up. "It is what must be done, Child Golever".
"I wish it had to be done more often! This is what the Children have awaited for centuries. You are the first to deliver it. The Light illumine you, Galad Damodred. The Light illumine you!"
"May the Light illumine a day when men need not kill at all", Galad said tiredly. "It is not fitting to take joy in death".
"Of course, my Lord Captain Commander". Golever continued grinning.
Galad looked across the bloody pandemonium of the western slope of the Heights. The Light send Cauthon could make some sense of this battle, for Galad certainly could not.
"Lord Captain Commander!" a frightened voice cried.
Galad spun about, hand on his sword. It was Alhanra, one of his scouts.
"What is it, Child Alhanra?" Galad asked as the spindly man ran up. No horses. They were on an incline, and the animals would not have reacted well to the lightning. Better to trust one’s own feet.
"You need to see this, my Lord", Alhanra said, panting. "It’s . . . It’s your brother".
"Gawyn?" Impossible. No, he thought. Not impossible. He would be with Egwene, fighting on their front. Galad ran after Alhanra, Golever and the others falling in around him.
Gawyn’s body lay ashen-faced in a gap between two rocks on the top of the Heights. Nearby a horse was munching on grass, a trail of blood streaming down its side. By the looks of it, not the horse’s blood. Galad knelt down beside the younger man’s corpse. Gawyn had not died easily. But what of Egwene?
"Peace, brother", Galad said, resting a hand on the body. "May the Light—"
"Galad . . ". Gawyn whispered, his eyes fluttering open.
"Gawyn?" Galad asked, shocked. Gawyn had a nasty gut wound. He wore some strange rings. There was blood everywhere. His hand, chest . . . his entire body. . . .
How could the man still be alive?
The Warder bond’ he realized. "We need to carry you to a Healer! One of the Aes Sedai". He reached into the hollow, scooping up Gawyn.
"Galad . . . I failed". Gawyn stared at the sky, eyes blank.
"You did well".
"No. I failed. I should have . . . I should have stayed with her. I killed Hammar. Did you know that? I killed him. Light. I should have picked a side . . ".
Galad cradled his brother and began running along the slope toward the Aes Sedai. He tried to shelter Gawyn amid the attacks of channelers. After only a few moments, an explosion of earth ripped up among the Children, flinging them aside, tumbling Galad to the ground. He dropped Gawyn as he collapsed to the earth beside him.
Gawyn trembled, eyes staring distantly.
Galad crawled over and tried to pick him up again, but Gawyn grabbed his arm, meeting his eyes. "I did love her, Galad. Tell her".
"If you are truly bonded, then she knows".
"This will hurt her", Gawyn said through pale lips. "And at the end of it, I failed. To kill him".
"Him?"
"Demandred", Gawyn whispered. "I tried to kill him, but I wasn’t good enough. I’ve never . . . been quite good . . . enough . . "
Galad found himself in a very cold place. He had seen men die, he had lost friends. This hurt more. Light, but it did. He had loved his brother, loved him deeply—and Gawyn, unlike Elayne, had returned the sentiment.
"I will bring you to safety, Gawyn", Galad said, picking him up, shocked to find tears in his eyes. "I will not be left without a brother".
Gawyn coughed. "You won’t be. You have another brother, Galad. One you do not know. A son of . . . Tigraine . . . who went into the Waste . . . Son of a Maiden. Born on Dragonmount. . . ".
Oh, Light.
"Don’t hate him, Galad", Gawyn whispered. "I always hated him, but I stopped. I . . . stopped . . ".
Gawyn’s eyes stopped moving.
Galad felt for a pulse, then sat back, looking down at his dead brother. The bandage Gawyn had made for himself at his side seeped blood onto the dry ground below, whi
