A Memory of Light

  The ground was a series of roped-off squares, numbered with painted planks shoved in the ground. A quartet of women in gray shawls spoke together in hushed voices as one of their number held open a gateway for a supply cart laden with arrows. The placid oxen didn’t look up as a comet-like ball of fire hit the ground nearby, hurling glowing red stones into the air and across a pile of bedrolls, which began to smolder.

  “I need to go to the Seanchan army,” Min said to the Grays. “Lord Bryne’s orders.”

  One of the Gray sisters, Ashmanaille, looked at her. She took in Min’s breeches and curls, then frowned. “Elmindreda? Sweet thing, what are you doing here?”

  “Sweet thing?” one of the others asked. “She’s one of the clerks, isn’t she?”

  “I need to go to the Seanchan army,” Min said, breathing deeply from her run. “Lord Bryne’s orders.”

  This time, they seemed to hear her. One of the women sighed. “Square four?” she asked the others.

  “Three, dear,” Ashmanaille said. “A gateway could be opening to four from Illian any moment.”

  “Three,” the first said, waving Min over. A small gateway split the air there. “All messengers crawl,” she noted. “We have to conserve strength; gateways need to be made as small as reasonable.”

  This is reasonable? Min thought with annoyance, running to the small hole. She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled through.

  She came out in a ring of grass that had been burned black to mark its location. A pair of Seanchan guards stood with tasseled spears nearby, their faces obscured by insectile helmets. Min started to walk forward, but one held up a hand.

  “I’m a messenger from General Bryne,” she said.

  “New messengers wait here,” one of the guards said.

  “It’s urgent!”

  “New messengers wait here.”

  She received no further explanation, so she crossed her arms—stepping out of the black circle, in case another gateway opened—and waited. She could see the river from here, and a large military encampment stretched out along its banks. The Seanchan could make a big difference to this battle, Min thought. There are so many of them. She was far from the battle here, a few miles north of Bryne’s camp, but still close enough to see the flashes of light as channelers traded deadly weaves.

  She found herself fidgeting, so she forced herself to remain still. Explosions from channeling sounded like dull thumps. The sounds came after the flashes of light, like thunder trailing behind lightning. Why was that?

  It doesn’t really matter, Min thought. She needed cavalry for Bryne. At least she was doing something. She had been trying to help, pitching in wherever she found that an extra hand was needed. It was surprising how much there was to do in a war camp other than fighting. It wasn’t work that had required her, specifically, but it was better than sitting in Tear and worrying about Rand… or being angry at him for forbidding her to go to Shayol Ghul.

  You’d have been a liability there, Min told herself. You know it. He couldn’t worry about saving the world and protecting her from the Forsaken at the same time. Sometimes, it was hard not to feel insignificant in a world of channelers like Rand, Elayne and Aviendha.

  She glanced at the guards. Only one had an image hovering above his head. A bloodied stone. He’d die by falling from someplace high. It seemed like decades since she’d seen anything hopeful around a person’s head. Death, destruction, symbols of fear and darkness.

  “And who is she?” a slurred Seanchan voice asked. A sul’dam had approached, one without a damane. The woman held an a’dam in her hand, tapping the silvery collar against her other palm.

  “New messenger,” the guard said. “She has not come through the gateways before.”

  Min took a deep breath. “I was sent by General Bryne—”

  “He was supposed to clear all messengers with us,” the sul’dam said. She was dark of skin, with curls that came down to her shoulders. “The Empress—may she live forever—must be protected. Our camp will be orderly. Every messenger cleared, no opportunities for assassins.”

  “I am no assassin,” Min said flatly.

  “And the knives in your sleeves?” the sul’dam asked.

  Min started.

  “The way your cuffs droop make it obvious, child,” the sul’dam said, though she was no older than Min herself.

  “A woman would be a fool to walk a battlefield without some kind of weapon,” Min said. “Let me deliver my message to one of the generals. The other messenger was killed when one of your raken was hit and fell from the sky onto our camp.”

  The sul’dam raised an eyebrow. “I am Catrona,” she said. “And you will do exactly as I say while in camp.” She turned and waved for Min to follow.

  Min hurried gratefully behind the woman as they crossed the ground. The Seanchan camp was very different from Bryne’s. They had raken to fly their messages and reports, not to mention an empress to protect. They had set their camp away from the hostilities. It also looked far tidier than Bryne’s camp, which had been nearly destroyed and rebuilt, and which included people from many different countries and military backgrounds. The Seanchan camp was homogeneous, full of trained soldiers.

  At least that was the way Min decided to interpret its orderliness. Seanchan soldiers stood in ranks, silent, awaiting the call to battle. Sections of the camp had been marked with posts and ropes, everything clearly organized. Nobody bustled about. Men walked with quiet purpose or waited at parade rest. Speak what criticism one would about the Seanchan—and Min had a number of things she could add to that conversation—they certainly were organized.

  The sul’dam led Min to a section of camp where several men stood at ledgers set on tall desks. Wearing robes and bearing the half-shaved head of upper servants, they quietly made notations. Immodestly dressed young women carrying lacquered trays threaded their way between the desks, placing on them thin white cups of steaming black liquid.

  “Have we lost any raken in the last little while?” Catrona asked the men. “Was one hit by an enemy marath’damane while in flight, and could it have crashed into General Bryne’s camp?”

  “A report just came in of such a thing,” a servant said, bowing. “I am surprised that you have heard of it.”

  Catrona’s eyebrow inched a little higher as she inspected Min.

  “You hadn’t expected the truth?” Min asked.

  “No,” the sul’dam said. She moved her hand, replacing a knife into its sheath at her side. “Follow.”

  Min let out a breath. Well, she had dealt with Aiel before; the Seanchan couldn’t possibly be as prickly as they were. Catrona led the way along another path in the camp, and Min found herself growing anxious. How long had it been since Bryne had sent her? Was it too late?

  Light, but the Seanchan liked things well guarded. There were two soldiers at every intersection of paths, standing with raised spears, watching through those awful helmets of theirs. Shouldn’t all of these men be out fighting? Eventually, Catrona led her to an actual building they had constructed here. It wasn’t a tent. It had walls that looked to be draped silk, stretched into wooden frames, a wooden floor and a ceiling covered with shingles. It probably broke down quickly to be transported, but it seemed frivolous.

  The guards here were big fellows in armor of black and red. They had a wicked appearance. Catrona passed them as they saluted her. She and Min entered the building, and Catrona bowed. Not to the ground—the Empress wasn’t in the room, it appeared—but still deep, since many members of the Blood were inside. Catrona glanced at Min. “Bow, you fool!”

  “I think I’ll be fine standing,” Min said, folding her arms as she regarded the commanders inside. Standing at their forefront was a familiar figure. Mat wore silken Seanchan clothing—she had heard he was in this camp—but he topped it with his familiar hat. He had an eyepatch covering one eye. So that viewing had finally come to pass, had it?

  Mat looked up at her and grinned. “Min!”


  “I’m a total fool,” she said. “I could have just said I knew you. They’d have brought me right here without all of the fuss.”

  “I don’t know, Min,” Mat said. “They rather like fuss around here. Don’t you, Galgan?”

  A wide-shouldered man with a thin crest of white hair on his otherwise shaven head eyed Mat, as if uncertain what to make of him.

  “Mat,” Min said, clearing her mind. “General Bryne needs cavalry.” Mat grunted. “I don’t doubt it. He’s been pushing his troops hard, even the Aes Sedai. Man ought to be given a medal for that. I’ve never seen one of those women budge so much as to take a step indoors when a man suggests, even if she’s standing in the rain. First Legion, Galgan?”

  “They will do,” Galgan said, “so long as the Sharans don’t manage to get across the ford.”

  “They won’t,” Mat said. “Bryne has set up a good defensive position that should punish the Shadow, with a little encouragement. Laero lendhae an indemela.”

  “What was that?” Galgan asked, frowning.

  Min missed it, too. Something about a flag? She had been studying the Old Tongue lately, but Mat spoke it so quickly.

  “Hmm, what?” Mat said. “You’ve never heard it before? It’s a saying of the Fallen Army of Kardia.”

  “Who?” Galgan sounded baffled.

  “Never mind,” Mat said. “Tylee, would you care to lead your legion on to the battlefield, assuming the good General approves?”

  “I would be honored, Raven Prince,” said a woman in a breastplate standing nearby, four plumes rising from the helmet she held under her arm. “I have wanted to watch the actions of this Gareth Bryne more directly.”

  Mat glanced to Galgan, who rubbed his chin, inspecting his maps. “Take your legion, Lieutenant-General Khirgan, as the Raven Prince suggests.”

  “And,” Mat added, “we need to watch those Sharan archers. They’re going to move north along the river for a better shot at Bryne’s right flank.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “It’s just obvious,” Mat said, tapping at the map. “Send a raken to make sure, if you want.”

  Galgan hesitated, then gave the order. Min wasn’t certain that she was needed any longer, so she started to walk away, but Mat caught her by the arm. “Hey. I could… uh… use you, Min.”

  “Use me?” she asked flatly.

  “Make use of you,” Mat said. “That’s what I meant. I’ve had trouble with the words coming out of my mouth lately. Only the stupid ones seem to make it. Anyway, could you… uh… you know…”

  “I don’t see anything new around you,” she said, “though I assume the eye on a balance scale finally makes sense to you.”

  “Yes,” Mat said, wincing. “That one is bloody obvious. What about Galgan?”

  “A dagger rammed through the heart of a raven.”

  “Bloody ashes…”

  “I don’t think it means you,” she added. “I can’t say why.”

  Galgan was speaking with some lesser nobles. At least, they had more hair than he did, which was the Seanchan mark of a lesser. Their tones were hushed, and Galgan would occasionally glance over at Mat.

  “He doesn’t know what to make of me,” Mat said softly.

  “How very uncommon. I can’t think of anyone else who has reacted that way to you, Mat.”

  “Ha ha. You’re sure that bloody dagger doesn’t mean me? Ravens… well, ravens kind of mean me, right? Sometimes? I’m the flaming Prince of the bloody Ravens now.”

  “It’s not you.”

  “He’s trying to decide when to assassinate me,” Mat said softly, gaze narrowing toward Galgan. “I’ve been put right beneath him in the army, and he worries I will supplant him. Tuon says he’s a dedicated soldier, so he’ll wait until after the Last Battle to strike.”

  “That’s awful!”

  “I know,” Mat said. “He won’t play cards with me first. I was hoping I could win him over. Lose on purpose a few times.”

  “I don’t think you could manage that.”

  “Actually, I figured out how to lose bloody ages ago.” He seemed to be completely serious. “Tuon says it would be a sign of disrespect if he didn’t try to kill me. They’re insane, Min. They’re all bloody insane.”

  “I’m sure Egwene would help you escape if you ask, Mat.”

  “Well, I didn’t say they weren’t fun. Just insane.” He straightened his hat. “But if any more of them bloody well try to—”

  He cut off as the guards outside the door dropped to their knees, then completely prostrated themselves on the ground. Mat sighed. “ ‘Say the name of Darkness, and his eye is upon you.’? Yalu kazath d’Zamon patra Daeseia asa darshi.”

  “… What?” Min asked.

  “You don’t know that one either?” Mat said. “Doesn’t anyone bloody read anymore?”

  The Seanchan Empress stepped through the door. Min was surprised to see her wearing not a dress, but wide silvery trousers. Or… well, maybe it was a dress. Min couldn’t tell if those were skirts that had been divided for riding, or if it was a pair of trousers with very enveloping legs. Fortuona’s top was of tight scarlet silk, and over it she wore an open-fronted blue robe with a very long train. It seemed the clothing of a warrior, a kind of uniform.

  The people in the room fell to their knees, then bowed themselves down all the way to the floor, even General Galgan. Mat stayed standing.

  Gritting her teeth, Min went down on one knee. The woman was the Empress, after all. Min wouldn’t bow to Mat or the generals, but it was only proper to show respect to Fortuona.

  “Who is this one, Knotai?” Fortuona asked, curious. “She thinks herself high.”

  “Oh, well,” Mat said idly, “she’s just the Dragon Reborn’s woman.”

  Catrona, who at the side of the room had bowed herself to the ground, made a strangled sound. She looked up at Min with bulging eyes.

  Light, Min thought. She probably thinks she’s offended me or something.

  “How curious,” Fortuona said. “That would make her your equal, Knotai. Of course, you seem to have forgotten to bow again.”

  “My father would be mortified,” Mat said. “He always did pride himself on my memory.”

  “You embarrass me in public again.”

  “Only as much as I embarrass myself.” He smiled, then hesitated, as if thinking through those words a second time.

  The Empress smiled as well, though she looked distinctly predatory. She moved into the room, and the people rose, so Min climbed to her feet. Mat immediately began to push her toward the door.

  “Mat, wait,” Min whispered.

  “Just keep moving,” he said. “Don’t risk her deciding to snatch you up. She’s not particularly good at letting things go, once she has them in hand.” He actually sounded proud, saying that.

  You’re as crazy as they are, Min thought. “Mat, a bloody flower.”

  “What?” he said, still shoving her.

  “A bloody flower around her head,” Min said. “A death lily. Someone is going to try to kill her very soon.”

  Mat froze. Fortuona turned sharply.

  Min didn’t realize that two guards were moving until they had her pressed against the ground. They were the odd ones in the black armor—though now that she was close, Min could see it was actually a dark green.

  Idiot, she thought as they pressed her face against the floor. I should have let Mat pull me from the room first. She hadn’t made a mistake like that—speaking of one of her viewings loud enough for others to hear—in years. What was wrong with her?

  “Stop!” Mat said. “Let her up!”

  Mat might have been elevated to the Blood, but the guards obviously had no problem ignoring a direct order from him.

  “How does she know this, Knotai?” Fortuona asked, stepping up to Mat. She sounded angry. Perhaps disappointed. “What is happening?”

  “It’s not what you assume, Tuon,” Mat said.

  No, don’t— r />
  “She sees things,” Mat continued. “It’s nothing to get all angry about. It’s just a trick of the Pattern, Tuon. Min sees visions around people, like little pictures. She didn’t mean anything by what she said.” He laughed. It was forced.

  The room grew very still. It was so quiet, Min could once again hear the explosions in the distance.

  “Doomseer,” Fortuona whispered.

  The guards suddenly let her free, backing away. Min groaned, sitting up. The guards had moved to protect the Empress, but one who had touched her pulled his gauntlets off and tossed them to the ground. He wiped his hand against his breastplate, as if trying to clean his skin of something.

  Fortuona didn’t seem afraid. She stepped up to Min, lips parting, almost in awe. The young Empress reached out and touched Min’s face. “What he says… it is true?”

  “Yes,” Min said, grudgingly.

  “What do you see around me?” Fortuona said. “Speak it, Doomseer. I would know your omens, and judge you true or false!”

  That sounded dangerous. “I see a bloody death lily, as I told Mat,” Min said. “And three ships, sailing. An insect in the darkness. Red lights, spread across a field that should be lush and ripe. A man with the teeth of a wolf.”

  Fortuona drew in a sharp breath. She looked up at Mat. “This is a great gift you have brought me, Knotai. Enough to pay your penance. Enough for credit beyond. Such a grand gift.”

  “Well… I…”

  “I don’t belong to anyone,” Min said. “Except maybe Rand, and him to me.”

  Fortuona ignored her, standing. “This woman is my new Soe’feia. Doomseer, Truthspeaker! Holy woman, she who may not be touched. We have been blessed. Let it be known. The Crystal Throne has not had a true reader of the omens for over three centuries!”

  Min sat, stunned, until Mat pulled her to her feet. “Is that a good thing?” she whispered to him.

  “I’ll be bloody in the face if I know,” Mat said back. “But you remember what I said about getting away from her? Well, you can probably forget about that now.”