A Memory of Light

14 Doses of Forkroot

“Light . . .” Perrin whispered to Gaul, looking across the landscape.

“It’s dying.”

The boiling, thrashing, churning black sky of the wolf dream was nothing new, but the storm that the sky had been foreshadowing for months had finally arrived. Wind blew in enormous gusts, moving this way, then that, in unnatural patterns. Perrin closed his cloak, then strengthened it with a thought, imagining the ties holding it to be fixed strongly in place.

A little bubble of calmness extended out from him, deflecting the worst of the winds. It was easier than he anticipated, as if he’d reached for a heavy piece of oak and found it as light as pine.

The landscape seemed less real than it usually did. The raging winds actually smoothed out hills, like erosion at high speed. In other places, the land swelled up, forming ripples of rock and new hillsides. Chunks of earth sprayed into the air, shattering. The land itself was coming apart.

He grabbed Gaul’s shoulder and shifted the two of them away from the place. It was too close to Rand, Perrin suspected. Indeed, as they appeared on the familiar plain to the south—the place where he’d hunted with Hopper—they found the storm less powerful.

They stowed their heavy packs, laden with food and water, in a thicket of bushes. Perrin didn’t know if they could survive on food or water found in the dream, but he didn’t want to have to find out. They should have enough here for a week or so, and as long as they had a gateway waiting for them, he felt comfortable—or, at least, satisfied—with the risks he was taking here.

The landscape here wasn’t coming apart in the same way as it had been near Shayol Ghul. However, if he watched a section long enough, he could catch bits of . . . well, everything being pulled up in the winds. Stalks of dead grain, fragments of tree trunks, gobs of mud and slivers of rock—all were slowly being pulled toward those gluttonous black clouds. After the way of the wolf dream, when he looked back, things that had been broken apart would often be whole again. He understood. This place was being consumed, slowly, as was the waking world. Here, it was simply easier to see.

The winds whipped at them, but weren’t so strong that he had to keep them at bay. They felt like the winds at the beginning of a storm, right before the rain and lightning. The heralds of oncoming destruction.

Gaul had pulled the shoufa over his face, and looked about suspiciously. His clothing had changed in shade to match the grasses.

“You have to be very careful here, Gaul,” Perrin said. “Your idle thoughts can become reality.”

Gaul nodded, then hesitantly unveiled his face. “I will listen and do as instructed.”

It was encouraging that Gaul’s clothing didn’t change too much as they walked through the field. “Just try to keep your mind clear,” Perrin said. “Free of thought. Act by instinct and follow my lead.”

“I will hunt like the gara,” Gaul said, nodding. “My spear is yours, Perrin Aybara.”

Perrin walked through the field, worried that Gaul would accidentally send himself somewhere by thinking of it. The man barely suffered any effects of the wolf dream, however. His clothing would change a little if he was startled, his veil snapping into place without him reaching for it, but that seemed to be the extent of it.

“All right,” Perrin said. “I’m going to take us to the Black Tower. We hunt a dangerous prey, a man named Slayer. You remember Lord Luc?”

“The lopinginny?” Gaul said.

Perrin frowned.

“It is a type of bird,” Gaul said. “From the Three-fold Land. I did not see this man often, but he seemed to be the type who talked big, but was inwardly a coward.”

“Well, that was a front,” Perrin said. “And either way, he is a very different person in the dream—here, he is a predator named Slayer who hunts wolves and men. He’s powerful. If he decides to kill you, he can appear behind you in an eyeblink and imagine you captured by vines and unable to move. You’ll be trapped as he slits your throat.”

Gaul laughed.

“That’s funny?” Perrin asked.

“You act as if it is something new,” Gaul explained. “Yet in the first dream, wherever I go, I am surrounded by women and men who could tie me in air with a thought and kill me at any time. I am accustomed to being powerless around some, Perrin Aybara. It is the way of the world in all things.”

“Still,” Perrin said sternly, “if we find Slayer—he’s a square-faced fellow, with eyes that don’t seem totally alive, and he dresses in dark leather—I want you to stay away from him. Let me fight him.”

“But—”

“You said you’d obey, Gaul,” Perrin said. “This is important. He took Hopper; I won’t have him taking you as well. You don’t fight Slayer.”

“Very well,” Gaul said. “I give my oath on it. I will not dance the spears with this man unless you order it.”

Perrin sighed, imagining Gaul standing with his spears put away, letting Slayer kill him because of this oath. Light, but Aiel could be prickly. “You can fight him if he attacks you,” Perrin said, “but only as a means of escape. Don’t hunt him, and if I’m fighting him, stay out of the way. Understand?” Gaul nodded. Perrin put a hand on the Aiel’s shoulder, then shifted them in the direction of the Black Tower. Perrin had never been there before, so he had to guess and try to find it. The first shift was off, taking them to a section of Andor where grass-covered hills seemed to dance in the churning winds. Perrin would have preferred to just leap from hilltop to hilltop, but he didn’t think Gaul was ready for that. He used shifting instead.

After four or five tries, Perrin took them to a place where he spotted a translucent, faintly purple dome rising in the distance.

“What is it?” Gaul asked.

“Our goal,” Perrin said. “That is the thing keeping Grady and Neald from creating gateways to the Black Tower.”

“Just as we were afflicted in Ghealdan.”

“Yes.” Seeing that dome brought back memories, vivid ones, of wolves dying. Perrin suppressed them. Memories like that could lead to idle thoughts, here. He allowed himself a burning anger deep within, like the warmth of his hammer, but that was all.

“Let’s go,” Perrin said, shifting them down in front of the dome. It looked like glass. “Pull me free if I collapse,” he said to Gaul, then stepped into the barrier.

It felt as if he’d hit something incredibly cold. It sucked away his strength.

He stumbled, but kept his mind on his goal. Slayer. Killer of wolves. Hopper’s murderer.

Perrin straightened as his strength returned. This was easier than it had been last time; being in the wolf dream in the flesh did make him stronger. He didn’t have to worry about pulling himself into the dream too strongly, and leaving his body to die in the real world.

He moved slowly through the barrier, as if through water, and stepped out onto the other side. Behind, Gaul reached out with a curious expression on his face, then tapped the dome wall with his index finger.

Gaul immediately dropped to the ground, going limp like a doll. His spears and arrows tumbled away from his body, and he lay perfectly still, his chest not rising. Perrin reached through—his arm slow—and seized Gaul by the leg to pull him through.

Once on the other side, Gaul gasped, then rolled over, groaning. He sat up, holding his head. Perrin quietly fetched the man’s arrows and spears for him.

“This is going to be a good experience for building our ji,” Gaul said. He stood up and rubbed his arm where he’d hit the ground. “The Wise Ones call coming to this place as we do evil? It seems to me they would enjoy bringing men here to teach them.”

Perrin eyed Gaul. He hadn’t realized that the man had heard him speaking to Edarra of the wolf dream. “What did I do to deserve your loyalty, Gaul?” Perrin said, mostly to himself.

Gaul laughed. “It is not anything you did.”

“What do you mean? I cut you down from that cage. That’s why you follow me.”

“That’s why I began following you,” Gaul said. “It is not why I remained. Come, is there not a danger that we hunt?”

Perrin nodded, and Gaul veiled his face. Together, they walked beneath the dome, approaching the structure within. It was a goodly distance from the edge of one of these domes to the center, but Perrin didn’t want to jump and be surprised, so they continued on foot, crossing a landscape of open grasslands patched with groves of trees.

They walked for about an hour before they spotted the walls. Tall and imposing, they looked like those around a large city. Perrin and Gaul walked up to them, Gaul scouting with great care, as if he expected to be fired upon at any moment. However, in the wolf dream, these walls wouldn’t be guarded. If Slayer were in here, he would lurk at the heart of the dome, at the center. And he’d probably have laid a trap.

Perrin rested his hand on Gaul’s shoulder and brought them to the top of the wall in an instant. Gaul prowled to one side, crouching low and peeking into one of the covered guard posts.

Perrin went to the inner edge of the wall, looking in. The Black Tower wasn’t as imposing as the outside implied: a distant village of huts and small houses, and beyond that a large building project.

“They’re arrogant, wouldn’t you say?” a feminine voice asked.

Perrin jumped, spinning, summoning his hammer to his hands and readying a brick wall around himself for protection. A short young woman with silver hair stood next to him, standing straight as if to try to appear taller than she was. She wore white clothing, tied at the waist with a silver belt. He didn’t recognize the face, but he did know her scent.

“Moonhunter,” Perrin said, almost a growl. “Lanfear.”

“I’m not allowed to use that name any longer,” she said, tapping one finger on the wall. “He’s so strict with names.”

Perrin backed away, glancing from side to side. Was she working with Slayer? Gaul appeared out of the guard post and froze, seeing her. Perrin held out a hand to stop him. Could he jump to Gaul and be away before she attacked?

“Moonhunter?” Lanfear asked. “Is that what the wolves call me? That’s not right, not at all. I don’t hunt the moon. The moon is mine already.” She leaned down, resting her arms on the chest-high battlement.

“What do you want?” Perrin demanded.

“Vengeance,” she whispered. Then she looked at him. “The same as you, Perrin.”

“I’m to believe you want Slayer dead too?”

“Slayer? That orphan errand boy of Moridin’s? He doesn’t interest me. My vengeance will be against another.”

“Who?”

“The one who caused my imprisonment,” she said softly, passionately. Suddenly, she looked toward the skies. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she vanished.

Perrin passed his hammer from one hand to the other as Gaul crept forward, trying to watch all directions at once. “What was that?” he whispered. “Aes Sedai?”

“Worse,” Perrin said with a grimace. “Do the Aiel have a name for Lanfear?”

Gaul drew in a sharp breath.

“I don’t know what she wants,” Perrin said. “She’s never made any sense to me. With any luck, we merely crossed paths, and she will go on with what she was about.”

He didn’t believe that, not after what the wolves had told him earlier. Moonhunter wanted him. Light, as if I didn’t have enough trouble.

He shifted them down to the bottom of the wall, and they continued.

Toveine knelt beside Logain. Androl was forced to watch as she caressed his chin, his wearied eyes open and watching her with horror.

“It’s all right,” she said sweetly. “You can stop resisting. Relax, Logain. Give in.”

She had been Turned easily. Apparently, linked with thirteen Halfmen, it was easier for male channelers to Turn female channelers, and vice versa. That was why they were having so much trouble with Logain.

“Take him,” Toveine said, pointing at Logain. “Let’s see this done, once and for all. He deserves the peace of the Great Lord’s bounty.”

Taim’s minions dragged Logain away. Androl watched with despair. Taim obviously considered Logain a prize. Turn him, and the rest of the Black Tower would go easily. Many of the boys up above would come willingly to their fate if Logain ordered them to it.

How can he keep fighting? Androl thought. Stately Emarin had been reduced to a whimpering wreck after only two sessions, though he hadn’t yet been Turned. Logain had suffered nearly a dozen, and still he resisted.

That would change, for Taim now had women. Soon after Toveine’s Turning, others had arrived, sisters of the Black Ajah led by a horridly ugly woman who spoke with authority. The other Reds who had come with Pevara had joined them.

Drowsy concern flowed through Pevara’s bond to Androl. She was awake, but full of that drink that stopped her from channeling. Androl’s own mind felt relatively clear. How long had it been since they’d forced him to drink the dregs out of the cup they’d first given to Emarin?

Logain . . . will not last much longer. Pevara’s sending was laced with fatigue and growing resignation. What are . . . She cut off, thoughts growing muddled. Burn me! What are we going to do?

Logain screamed in pain. He hadn’t done that before. It seemed a very bad sign. By the doorway, Evin stood and watched. He looked over his shoulder suddenly, jumping at something.

Light, Androl thought. Could it be . . . his madness, caused by the taint? Is it still there?

Androl noticed for the first time that he was shielded, which they never did to captives unless letting their dose of forkroot wane so they could be Turned.

That sent a spike of panic through him. Were they coming for him next?

Androl? Pevara sent. I have an idea.

What?

Androl started coughing through his gag. Evin jumped, then came over, bringing out his water flask and pouring water on the gag. Abors—one of Taim’s flunkies—lounged against the wall. He was holding the shield. He glanced at Androl, but something at the other side of the room drew his attention.

Androl coughed worse, so Evin untied the gag and rolled him to the side, letting him spit out the water.

“Quiet now,” Evin said, glancing back at Abors, who was too far away to hear. “Don’t make them angry at you, Androl.”

The Turning of a man to the Shadow was not perfect. While it changed their allegiance, it did not change everything about them. The thing in Evin’s head had his memories, his personality, and—the Light send—his failings.

“Have you convinced them?” Androl whispered. “Not to kill me?”

“I have!” Evin said, leaning low, eyes frenzied. “They keep saying you’re useless, since you can’t channel very well, but none of them like making gateways to shuffle people about. I told them you’d do it for them. You will, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Androl said. “It’s better than dying.”

Evin nodded. “They stopped your dose of forkroot. They’ll take you next, after Logain. M’Hael was finally sent new women from the Great Lord, women who aren’t tired from channeling all the time. Them and Toveine and the Reds mean it should go quickly now. M’Hael should have Logain by the end of the day.”

“I’ll serve them,” Androl said. “I’ll swear to the Great Lord.”

“That’s good, Androl,” Evin said. “But we can’t let you go until you’ve been Turned. M’Hael won’t accept just an oath. It will be all right. I told them that you’d Turn easily. You will, won’t you? Not resisting?”

“I won’t resist.”

“Thank the Great Lord,” Evin said, relaxing.

Oh, Evin. You never were terribly bright.

“Evin,” Androl said softly, “you need to watch out for Abors. You know that, right?”

“I’m one of them now, Androl,” Evin said. “I don’t have to worry about them.”

“That’s good,” Androl whispered. “What I heard him say about you must have been nothing.”

Evin fidgeted. That look in his eyes . . . it was fright. The taint had been cleansed. Jonneth, Emarin and the other new Asha’man would never have to suffer the madness.

It manifested differently in different Asha’man, and at different rates. However, the fear was the most common. It came in waves; it had been consuming Evin when the cleansing happened. Androl had seen Asha’man need to be put down as the taint overwhelmed them. He knew that look in Evin’s eyes well. Though the lad had been Turned, he still carried the madness with him. He would do so forever.

“What did he say?” Evin said.

“He didn’t like it that you had been Turned,” Androl said. “He thinks you’ll take his place.”

“Oh.”

“Evin . . . he might be planning to kill you. Take care.”

Evin stood up. “Thank you, Androl.”

He walked away, leaving Androl ungagged.

That. . . can’t possibly work, Pevara sent drowsily.

She hadn’t lived among them long enough. She hadn’t seen what the madness could do, and didn’t know to recognize it in the eyes of the Asha’man. Normally, when one of them became like this, they would take him and confine him until he rode it out. If that didn’t work, Taim added something to their wine, and they didn’t wake up.

If they weren’t stopped, they would descend to destruction. They would kill those closest to them, lashing out first at people they should have loved.

Androl knew that madness. He knew it was inside of him, too. That is a mistake, Taim, he thought. You use our own friends against us, but we know them better than you do.

Evin struck at Abors. It came in a burst of the One Power. A second later, Androl’s shield dropped.

Androl embraced the Source. He was not very strong, but he had enough Power to burn away a few ropes. He rolled free of his bindings, hands bloodied, and took stock of the room. He hadn’t been able to see it before, not entirely.

The room was bigger than he’d assumed, the size of a small throne room. A wide circular dais dominated the far end, topped by a double ring of Myrddraal and women. He shivered as he saw the Fades. Light, but that eyeless gaze was awful.

Taim’s exhausted men stood by the far wall, the Asha’man who had failed to Turn Logain. He sat on the dais, slouching and tied to a chair in the center of the double ring. Like a throne. Logain’s head rolled to the side, his eyes closed. He appeared to be whispering something.

Taim had spun, furious, toward Evin, who fought with Mishraile beside Abors’ smoking corpse. Evin and Mishraile each held the One Power, wrestling on the floor, a knife in Evin’s hands.

Androl scrambled toward Emarin, then nearly fell on his face as his legs gave out. Light! He was weak, but he did manage to burn away Emarin’s bonds, then Pevara’s. She shook her head, trying to clear it. Emarin nodded in gratitude.

“Can you weave?” Androl whispered. Taim’s attention was on Evin’s fight.

Emarin shook his head. “The drink they gave us . . .”

Androl clung to the One Power. Shadows began to lengthen around him.

No! he thought. No, not now!

A gateway. He needed a gateway! Androl sucked in the One Power, forming the weave for Traveling. And yet, as before, he hit some kind of barrier—like a wall, preventing him from opening the gateway. Frustrated, he tried to make one to a closer destination. Perhaps distance mattered. Could he make a gateway to Canler’s store above them?

He struggled against that wall, fighting with everything he had. He strained, inching closer; he could almost do it . . . He felt as if something was happening.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, open. We need to get out of here . . .”

Evin fell to Taim’s weave.

“What was that?” Taim bellowed.

“I don’t know,” Mishraile said. “Evin attacked us! He had been talking to the pageboy, and—”

Both spun toward Androl. Androl stopped trying to make the gateway, instead flinging a weave of fire in desperation toward Taim.

Taim smiled. By the time Androl’s tongue of fire reached him, it vanished into a weave of Air and Water that dissipated it.

“You are a persistent one,” Taim said, slamming Androl against the wall with a weave of Air.

Androl gasped in pain. Emarin stumbled dizzily to his feet, but a second weave of Air knocked him down. Dazed, Androl felt himself hoisted up and pulled across the room.

The ugly woman wearing black stepped out of the circle of Aes Sedai and walked up beside Taim. “So, M’Hael,” she said. “You are not nearly as in control of this place as you indicated.”

“I have inferior tools,” Taim said. “I should have been given more women earlier!”

“You ran your Asha’man to exhaustion,” the woman replied. “You squandered their strength. I will take charge here.”

Taim stood on the dais, beside Logain’s slumped form, the women and the Fades. He seemed to consider this woman, perhaps one of the Forsaken, a greater threat than anyone else in the room.

“You think that will work, do you?” Taim asked.

“When the Nae’blis hears of how you are bungling—”

“The Nae’blis? I care not for Moridin. I have already provided a gift to the Great Lord himself. Beware, I am in his favor. I hold the keys in my hands, Hessalam.”

“You mean . . . you actually did it? You stole them?”

Taim smiled. He turned back to Androl, who hung in the air, struggling without success. He wasn’t shielded. He flung another weave at Taim, but the man blocked it indifferently.

Androl wasn’t even worth shielding. Taim dropped him from the weaves of Air. Androl hit the ground hard. He grunted.

“How long have you trained here, Androl?” Taim asked. “You shame me. That is the best you can do when trying to kill?”

Androl struggled to his knees. He felt pain and worry from Pevara behind, her mind clouded with forkroot. In front of him, Logain sat on his throne, locked in place, surrounded by the enemy. The man’s eyes were closed; he was barely conscious.

“We are done here,” Taim said. “Mishraile, kill these captives. We will take those above and carry them to Shayol Ghul. The Great Lord has promised me more resources for my work there.”

Taim’s lackeys approached. Androl looked up from his knees. The darkness grew all around, shapes moving in the shadows. The darkness . . . it terrified him. He had to let go of saidin, he had to. And yet, he could not.

He had to begin weaving.

Taim glanced at him, then smiled and wove balefire.

Shadows, all around!

Androl clung to the Power.

The dead, they come for me!

He wove by instinct, the best weave he knew. A gateway. He hit that wall, that blasted wall.

So tired. Shadows . . . Shadows will take me.

A white-hot bar of light sprang from Taim’s fingers, pointed right at Androl. Androl shouted, straining, thrusting his hands forward and snapping his weave into place. He hit that wall and heaved.

A gateway the width of a coin opened in front of him. He caught the stream of balefire in it.

Taim frowned, and the room grew still, stunned Asha’man pausing their weaves. At that moment, the door to the room exploded inward.

Canler, holding the One Power, roared in. He was followed by the twenty or so Two Rivers boys who had come to train in the Black Tower.

Taim yelled, embracing the Source. “We are attacked!”

The dome seemed to be centered on the building project he’d noted. That was bad; with those foundations and pits, Slayer would have plenty of places to hide and ambush him.

Once they reached the village, Perrin pointed to a particularly large building. Two stories, built like an inn, with a solid wooden roof. “I’m going to take you up there,” Perrin whispered. “Ready your bow. Yell if you spot anyone trying to sneak up on me, all right?”

Gaul nodded. Perrin shifted them up onto the top of the building, and Gaul took position by the chimney. His clothing blended to match the color of the clay bricks, and he stayed low, bow out. It wouldn’t have the range of a longbow, but from here, he’d be deadly.

Perrin dropped to the ground, floating softly the last inch or so in order to keep from making noise. He crouched and shifted to the side of a building just ahead. He shifted again, to the edge of the last building in the row before the excavation, then looked over his shoulder. Gaul, hidden quite well up above, raised his fingers. He had tracked Perrin.

From here, Perrin crept forward on his belly, not wanting to shift to a place he couldn’t see directly. He reached the lip of the first cavernous foundation hole and looked down on a dirt floor. The wind still blew, and dust swirled down below, obscuring any tracks that might have been left.

Perrin rose to a crouch and began to make his way around the perimeter of the large foundation. Where would the exact center of the dome be? He couldn’t tell; it was too large. He kept his eyes open.

His attention was so focused on the foundation holes that he nearly walked right into the guards. A quiet chuckle from one of them alerted him, and he shifted immediately, jumping to the other side of the foundation and dropping to his knees, Two Rivers longbow appearing in his hands. He scanned the area he’d left, now distant.

Fool, he thought, finally spotting them. The two men lounged in a shack built beside the foundations. The shack was the type of structure you’d expect workers to take meals in. Perrin looked about anxiously, but Slayer did not rise out of hiding to attack him, and the two guards failed to spot him.

He couldn’t make out many details, so he cautiously shifted back to near where he’d been. He dropped down into the foundation and created an earthen ledge on its side to stand on while peering over the lip of the hole into the shack.

Yes, there were two of them. Men in black coats. Asha’man. He thought he recognized them from the aftermath of Dumai’s Wells, where they had rescued Rand. They were loyal to him, weren’t they? Had Rand sent help for Perrin?

Light burn that man, Perrin thought. Couldn’t he just be upfront with everyone for once?

Of course, even Asha’man could be Darkfriends. Perrin debated climbing out of the pit and confronting them.

“Broken tools,” Lanfear said idly.

Perrin jumped, cursing to find her standing on the ledge beside him, peeking up at the two men.

“They’ve been Turned,” she said. “I’ve always found that to be a wasteful business. You lose something in the transformation—they will never serve as well as if they’d come willingly. Oh, they’ll be loyal, but the light is gone. The self-motivation, the spark of ingenuity that makes people into people.”

“Be quiet,” Perrin said. “Turned? What do you mean? Is that . . .”

“Thirteen Myrddraal and thirteen Dreadlords.” Lanfear sneered. “Such crudeness. Such a waste.”

“I don’t understand.”

Lanfear sighed, speaking as if she were explaining to a child. “Those who can channel can be Turned to the Shadow by force in the right circumstances. M’Hael has been having trouble here making the process work as easily as he should. He needs women if he’s going to Turn men easily.

Light, Perrin thought. Did Rand know this could happen to people? Were they planning to do the same thing to him?

“I’d be careful around those two,” Lanfear said. “They’re powerful.”

“Then you should be speaking more softly,” Perrin whispered.

“Bah. It’s easy to bend sound in this place. I could shout for all I’m worth, and they wouldn’t hear. They’re drinking, you see? They brought the wine through with them. They’re here in the flesh, of course. I doubt their leader warned them of the dangers of that.”

Perrin looked up at the guards. The two men sipped at their wine, chuckling to one another. As Perrin watched, the first slumped to the side, then the other did as well. They slipped out of their seats and hit the ground.

“What did you do?”

“Forkroot in the wine,” Lanfear said.

“Why are you helping me?” Perrin demanded.

“I’m fond of you, Perrin.”

“You’re one of the Forsaken!”

“I was,” Lanfear said. “That . . . privilege has been removed from me. The Dark One discovered I was planning to help Lews Therin win. Now, I—” She froze, looking toward the sky again. What did she see in those clouds? Something that made her grow pale. She vanished a moment later.

Perrin tried to decide what to do. He couldn’t trust her, of course. However, she was good with the wolf dream. She managed to appear next to him without making any sound at all. That was tougher than it seemed; she had to still the air as it was moved out of the way when she arrived. She had to land just precisely so that she didn’t make noise, and had to mute her clothing’s rustle.

With a start, Perrin realized that this time she’d also been masking her scent. He’d only been able to smell her—her scent was that of soft night lily—after she’d begun speaking to him.

Uncertainly, he crawled out of the pit and approached the shack. Both men were asleep. What happened to men who slept in the dream? Normally, this would have sent them back to the waking world—but they were here in the flesh.

He shivered, thinking of what had been done to them. “Turned”? Was that the word she’d used? Light. It seemed unfair. Not that the Pattern is ever fair, Perrin acknowledged, quickly searching through the hut.

He found the dreamspike driven into the ground under the table. The silvery piece of metal looked like a long tent spike, carved with designs down its length. It was similar to the other one he’d seen, but not exactly the same. He pulled it free, then waited, hand on his hammer, expecting Slayer to come for him.

“He’s not here,” Lanfear said.

“Light!” Perrin jumped, hammer raised. He turned. “Why do you keep appearing like that, woman?”

“He searches for me,” she said, glancing skyward. “I’m not supposed to be able to do this, and he’s grown suspicious. If he finds me, he’ll know for certain, and I will be destroyed, captured and burned for an eternity.”

“You expect me to feel sorry for you, one of the Forsaken?” Perrin snapped.

“I chose my master,” she said, studying him. “This is my price—unless I can find a way free of it.”

“What?”

“I think you have the best chance,” she said. “I need you to win, Perrin, and I need to be at your side when you do.”

He snorted. “You haven’t learned any new tricks, have you? Take your offers elsewhere. I’m not interested.” He turned the dreamspike over in his fingers. He had never been able to figure out how the other one worked.

“You have to twist it at the top.” Lanfear held out a hand.

Perrin eyed her.

“You don’t think I could have taken it on my own if I’d wanted?” she asked, amused. “Who was it who put M’Hael’s little pets down for you?”

He hesitated, then handed it over. She ran her thumb from tip to midlength, and something clicked inside it. She reached up and twisted the head about. Outside, the faint wall of violet shrank and vanished.

She handed it back. “Twist it again to set up the field—the longer you twist, the larger it will grow—then slide your finger in the reverse of what I did to lock it. Be careful. Wherever you set it will have ramifications in the waking world as well as this world, and it will stop even your allies from moving in or out. You can get through with a key, but I do not know it for this spike.”

“Thank you,” Perrin said grudgingly. At his feet, one of the slumbering men grunted, then rolled to his side. “Is there . . . Is there really no way to resist being Turned? Nothing they can do?”

“A person can resist for a short time,” she said. “A short time only. The strongest will fail eventually. If you are a man facing women, they will beat you quickly.”

“It shouldn’t be possible,” Perrin said, kneeling. “Nobody should be able to force a man to turn to the Shadow. When all else is taken from us, this choice should remain.”

“Oh, they have the choice,” Lanfear said, idly nudging one with her foot. “They could have chosen to be gentled. That would have removed the weakness from them, and they could never have been Turned.”

“That’s not much of a choice.”

“This is the weave of the Pattern, Perrin Aybara. Not all options will be good ones. Sometimes you have to make the best of a bad lot and ride the storm.”

He looked at her sharply. “And you imply that’s what you did? You joined the Shadow because it was the ‘best’ option? I don’t buy it for a moment. You joined for power. Everyone knows it.”

“Think what you will, wolf pup,” she said, eyes growing hard. “I’ve suffered for my decisions. I’ve borne pain, agony, excruciating sorrow because of what I’ve done in my life. My suffering goes beyond what you could conceive.”

“And of all of the Forsaken,” Perrin said, “you chose your place and accepted it most readily.”

She sniffed. “You think you can believe stories three thousand years old?”

“Better to trust them than the words of one such as yourself.”

“As you wish,” she said, then looked down again at the sleeping men. “If it helps you to understand, wolf pup, you should know that many think men like these are killed when the Turning happens. And then something else invades the body. Some think that, at least.” She vanished.

Perrin sighed, then tucked the dreamspike away and shifted back to the rooftop. As soon as he appeared, Gaul spun about, drawing an arrow. “Is it you, Perrin Aybara?”

“It’s me.”

“I wonder if I should ask for proof,” Gaul said, arrow still drawn. “It seems to me that in this place, one could easily change one’s appearance.” Perrin smiled. “Appearance isn’t all. I know that you have two gai’shain, one you want, one you do not. Neither seems content to act as proper gai’shain. If we live through this, one might marry you.”

“One might,” Gaul agreed, lowering his bow. “It’s looking like I’ll have to take both or neither. Perhaps it is punishment for making them put away their spears, though it is not my choice that makes them do so, but their own.” He shook his head. “The dome is gone.”

Perrin held up the dreamspike. “It is.”

“What is our next task?”

“To wait,” Perrin said, settling down on the rooftop, “and see if removing the dome draws Slayer’s attention.”

“What if it does not?”

“Then we go to the next likely place to find him,” Perrin said, rubbing his chin. “And that is wherever there are wolves to kill.”

“We heard you!” Canler yelled to Androl amid the firefight. “Burn me if it isn’t true! We were in my shop above and we heard you speak, begging! We decided we had to attack. Now or never.”

Weaves exploded through the room. Earth erupted, and Fire shot from Taim’s people at the dais toward the Two Rivers men. Fades slunk across the room with cloaks that did not move, unsheathing swords.

Androl scrambled away from Canler, head low, making for Pevara, Jonneth and Emarin at the side of the room. Canler had heard him? The gateway he’d made, just before Taim heaved him in air. It must have opened, so small he hadn’t been able to see it.

He could make gateways again. But only very small ones. What good was that? Enough to stop Taim’s balefire, he thought, reaching Pevara and the others. None of the three were in a state to fight. He wove a gateway, hitting the wall, pushing to—

Something changed.

The wall vanished.

Androl sat, stunned for a moment. Blasts and explosions in the room assaulted his ears. Canler and the others fought well, but the Two Rivers lads faced fully trained Aes Sedai and maybe one of the Forsaken. They were dropping one by one.

The wall was gone.

Androl stood up slowly, then walked back toward the center of the room. Taim and his people fought on the dais; the weaves coming from Canler and his lads were flagging.

Androl looked to Taim and felt a powerful, overwhelming surge of anger. The Black Tower belonged to the Asha’man, not this man.

It was time for the Asha’man to reclaim it.

Androl roared, raising his hands beside him, and wove a gateway. The power rushed through him. As always, his gateways snapped into place faster than any others, growing larger than a man of his strength should be able to make.

He built this one the size of a large wagon. He opened it facing Taim’s channelers, snapping it in place right as they released their next round of deadly weaves.

The gateway only covered the distance of a few paces, and opened behind them.

Weaves crafted by Taim’s women and men hit the open gateway—which hung before Androl like a haze in the air—then exploded out behind them.

Weaves killed their own masters, burning away Aes Sedai, killing Asha’man and the few remaining Myrddraal. Straining at the exertion, Androl bellowed louder and opened small gateways on Logain’s bonds, snapping them. He opened another one directly in the floor beneath Logain’s chair, dropping it from the room to a place far away from the Black Tower—one that was, the Light send, safe.

The woman called Hessalam fled. As she darted through a gateway of her own, Taim followed with a couple of others. The rest were not so wise—for a moment later, Androl opened a gateway as wide as the floor, dropping the other women and Asha’man through it to plummet hundreds of feet.