The trees moved nearby, figures stepping from the shadows. Lumbering creatures with drooping eyebrows and thick fingers. They seemed as ancient as the trees themselves, with wrinkled skin and white hair.
He was in a stedding.
Mishraile tried to run, but firm arms grabbed him. Ogier ancients surrounded him and the others. Ahead, in the forest, al’Thor stepped forward—but it wasn't him. Not any longer. It had been a trick. Androl had been wearing the Dragon Reborn’s face.
The others screamed and battered at the Ogier with their fists, but Mishraile fell to his knees, looking into that emptiness where the One Power had been.
Pevara moved next to Androl as the Ogier, those too ancient to join the battle, took the Dreadlords in strong hands and dragged them further into Stedding Sholoon. Lindsar—eldest among them, leaning on a cane as large as a man’s thigh—approached Androl.
"We will care for the captives, Master Androl", Lindsar said. "Execution?" Pevara asked.
"By the eldest trees, no!" The Ogier looked offended. "Not in this place, no, no killing here. We will hold them, and not let them escape".
"These are very dangerous people, good Ogier", Androl said. "Do not underestimate how devious they can be".
The Ogier chuckled, limping toward the stedding's still beautiful trees. "Men assume that because we are calm, we cannot be devious ourselves", she said. "Let them see how crafty a mind can become with centuries worth of aging upon it. Do not worry, Master Androl. We will be careful. It will be well for these poor souls to live in the peace of the stedding. Perhaps a few decades of peace will change their outlook on the world".
She vanished into the trees.
Androl looked at Pevara, feeling her satisfaction pulse through the bond, though her face was calm. "You did well", he said. "The plan was excellent".
She nodded in satisfaction, and the two of them left the stedding—passing the invisible barrier back to the One Power. Though Androl was so tired he could barely think, he didn’t have any trouble seizing saidin. He snatched it like a starving man taking a hunk of bread, though he'd only been without for a few minutes.
Almost, he felt sorry for what he had done to Donalo and the others.
Rest well here, my friend, he thought, looking over his shoulder. Perhaps we can find a way to free you someday from the prison they put upon your mind.
Well? Jonneth asked, running up.
"Done", Androl said.
Pevara nodded as they stepped out of the trees to overlook the Mora and the ruins outside the stedding. She stopped as they saw the area around the ruins before them, where the refugees from Caemlyn had been gathering the wounded and weapons.
It was now filled with Trollocs.
Slaughtering.
Aviendha knelt over Rhuarc's body.
Dead. She’d killed Rhuarc.
It was no longer him, she told herself. Graendal killed him. Her weave might as well have burned him away. This is just a shell.
It was just a . . .
It was just a . . .
It was just a . . .
Strength, Aviendha. Rand’s determination filled her, radiating from the bond at the back of her mind. She looked up and felt all fatigue leave her, all distractions vanish.
Graendal was dueling with Amys, Talaan, Alivia and Cadsuane—and Graendal was winning. Weaves zipped back and forth, lighting the dusty air, but those coming from Cadsuane and the others were less and less vibrant. More defensive. As Aviendha watched, a storm of lightning fell around Amys, throwing her to the ground. Beside Graendal, Sashalle Anderly shook, then fell to the side; the glow of the One Power no longer surrounded her. Graendal had worn her out, pulling too much Power.
Aviendha stood up. Graendal was powerful and wily. She was exceptionally good at slicing weaves from the air as they were formed.
Aviendha held a hand out to her side, and wove Fire, Air, Spirit. A glowing, burning spear of light and fire appeared in her hand. She prepared five other weaves of Spirit, then dashed forward.
The thrumming of the trembling ground accompanied her footsteps. Crystalline lightning fell from the heavens, then froze in place. Men and beasts howled as the Darkhounds reached the final lines of humans defending the pathway up to Rand.
Graendal saw Aviendha and began to weave balefire. Aviendha slashed the weave from the air with a flow of Spirit. Graendal cursed, weaving again. Aviendha struck, cutting the weave apart.
Cadsuane and Talaan sent bursts of fire. One of the captive Aiel threw himself in front of Graendal, dying with a long cry as the flames engulfed him.
Aviendha ran swiftly, the ground a blur beneath her, clutching a spear of light. She remembered her first race, one of the tests to join the Maidens. On that day, she had felt the wind behind her, urging her on.
This time, she felt no wind. Instead, she heard the cries of the warriors. The Aiel who fought seemed to drive her onward. The sound itself carried her toward Graendal.
The Forsaken made a weave before Aviendha could stop it, a powerful weave of Earth directed beneath Aviendha.
So she leaped.
The ground exploded, rocks flying upward as the blast threw her forward into the air. Stones flayed her legs, carrying ribbons of blood up through the air around her. Her feet were ripped apart, bones cracking, legs burning.
She gripped the spear of fire and light in two hands amid the storm of rock, skirt rippling as it shredded. Graendal looked up, eyes widening, lips parting. She was going to Travel with the True Power. Aviendha knew it. The woman had only avoided it so far because this method of Traveling seemed to require her to touch her companions to take them with her, and she didn’t want to leave any.
Aviendha met the Shadowsouled’s eyes during that brief moment when she hung in the air, and she saw true terror therein.
The air began to warp.
Aviendha’s spear, point first, sank into Graendal’s side.
In a moment, both of them vanished.
CHAPTER 43
A Field of Glass
Logain stood in the middle of a field of glass, hands clasped behind his back. The battle raged across the Heights. The Sharans appeared to be falling back from the onslaught of Cauthon’s armies, and his scouts had just reported that the Shadow was being hit hard all across the Field of Merrilor.
"I guess they probably won’t need you", Gabrelle said to him as his scouts retreated. "So you were right".
The bond sent dissatisfaction and even disappointment. "I need to look to the future of the Black
