"They may come to you here, Berelain Paendrag, and help with tending the sick", the man said. "But they will not fight. It is not their place".
"They will see reason", she said firmly. "It’s the Last Battle!"
"You may be clan chief here", the Aiel said, smiling, "but you are not Car’a’carn. Even he could not command the gai’shain to disobey ji’e’toh".
"Then who could?"
That seemed to surprise the man. "No one. It is not possible".
"And the Wise Ones?"
"They would not", he said. "Never".
"We shall see", Berelain said.
The man smiled deeper. "I should think that no man or woman would wish to suffer your wrath, Berelain Paendrag. But if I had my eyes restored, I would put them out again before I watched gai’shain fight".
"They don’t need to fight, then", Berelain said. "Perhaps they can help carry the wounded. Rosil, you have this group?"
The tired woman nodded. There wasn’t an Aes Sedai in the palace who didn’t look like she’d sooner fall over than take another step. Berelain kept her feet by using some herbs she did not think Rosil would approve.
Well, she could do no more here. She might as well check on the wounded in the storage rooms. They had—
"My Lady First?" a voice asked. It was Kitan, one of the palace maids who had remained behind to help with the wounded. The slight woman took her arm. "There is something you need to see".
Berelain sighed, but nodded. What disaster awaited her now? Another bubble of evil, locking away groups of wounded behind walls that hadn’t been there before? Had they run out of bandages again? She doubted there was a sheet, drapery or piece of smallclothes in the city that hadn’t already been made into a bandage.
The girl led her up the steps to Berelain’s own quarters where a few of the casualties were being nursed. She stepped into one of the rooms, and was surprised to find a familiar face waiting for her. Annoura sat at a bedside, wearing red slashed with gray, her customary braids pulled back and tied in an unflattering way. Berelain almost didn’t recognize her.
Annoura rose at Berelain’s entrance, bowing, though she looked about ready to fall over with fatigue.
In the bed lay Galad Damodred.
Berelain gasped, rushing to his side. It was him, though he bore a vicious wound to his face. He still breathed, but he was unconscious. Berelain lifted his arm to take his hand in hers, but found that the arm ended in a stump. One of the surgeons had already cauterized it to keep him from bleeding to death.
"How?" Berelain asked, clutching his other hand, closing her eyes. His hand felt warm. When she had heard what Demandred bellowed, defeating the man in white . . .
"I felt that I owed it to you", Annoura said. "I located him on the battlefield after Demandred announced what he had done. I pulled him away while Demandred fought against one of the Black Tower’s men". She sat back down on the stool beside the bed, then leaned forward, drooping. "I could not Heal him, Berelain. It was all I could do to make the gateway to bring him here. I’m sorry".
"It is all right", Berelain said. "Kitan, fetch one of the other sisters. Annoura, you will feel better once you have rested. Thank you".
Annoura nodded. She closed her eyes, and Berelain was shocked to see tears at the edges of her eyes.
"What is it?" Berelain asked. "Annoura, what is wrong?"
"It should not concern you, Berelain", she said, rising. "All are taught it, you see. Do not channel if you are too tired. There can be complications. I needed a gateway back to the palace, though. To bring him to safety, to restore . . ".
Annoura collapsed from her stool. Berelain dropped to her side, propping up her head. Only then did she realize that it wasn’t the braids that had made Annoura look so different. The face was wrong, too. Changed. No longer ageless, but instead youthful.
"Oh, Light, Annoura", Berelain said. "You’ve burned yourself out, haven’t you?"
The woman had lapsed into unconsciousness. Berelain’s heart lurched. The woman and she had had differences recently, but Annoura had been her confidante—and friend—for years before that. The poor woman. The way Aes Sedai spoke, this was considered to be worse than death.
Berelain lifted the woman onto the room’s couch and then covered her with a blanket. Berelain felt so powerless. Maybe . . . maybe she can be Healed somehow . . .
She went back to Galad’s side to hold his hand for a time longer, righting the stool and sitting upon it. Just a little rest. She closed her eyes. He lived. It came at a terrible cost, but he lived.
She was shocked when he spoke. "How?"
She opened her eyes to find him looking at her.
"How am I here?" he asked softly.
"Annoura", she said. "She found you on the battlefield".
"My wounds?"
"Other Healers will come when they can be spared", she said. "Your hand . . ". She steeled herself. "Your hand is lost, but we can wash away that cut to your face".
"No", he whispered. "It is only . . . a little cut. Save the Healing for those who would die without it". He seemed so tired. Barely awake.
She bit her lip, but nodded. "Of course". She hesitated. "The battle fares poorly, doesn’t it?"
"Yes".
"So now . . . we simply hope?"
He slipped his hand from hers and reached under his shirt. When an Aes Sedai arrived, they would have to undress him and care for his wounds. Only the stump had been tended to so far, as it was the worst.
Galad sighed, then trembled, his hand slipping away from his shirt. Had he been intending to remove it?
"Hope . . ". he whispered, then fell unconscious.
Rand wept.
He huddled in the darkness, the Pattern spinning before him, woven from the threads of the lives of men. So many of those threads ended.
So many.
He should have been able to protect them. Why couldn’t he? Against his will, the names began to replay in his mind. The names of those who had died for him, starting with only women, but now expanded to each and every person he should have been able to save—but hadn’t.
As humankind fought at Merrilor and Shayol Ghul, Rand was forced to watch the deaths
