Daerid climbed into his own saddle and swung in beside him, nodding as Mat spun out his plan. The bowmen on the slopes, where they could cover the flanks, but lying down, hidden in the brush until the last minute. One man on the crest to signal the Aiel in sight. And the pikes to step off as soon as he did, marching straight out toward the approaching enemy. “As soon as we can see the Shaido, we'll retreat just as fast as we can, almost back to the gap between these two hills, then turn to face them.”
“They will think we wanted to run, realized we could not, and turned at bay like a bear to the hounds. Seeing us less than half their number and fighting only because we must, they should think to roll over us. Can we but hold their attention until the horse comes down on them from behind...” The Cairhienin actually grinned. “It is using the Aiel's own tactics against them.”
“We had better hold their bloody attention.” Mat's tone was as dry as he was wet. “To make sure we do — to make sure they don't start putting loops around our flanks — I want a cry raised as soon as you stop the retreat. 'Protect the Lord Dragon.'” This time Daerid laughed aloud.
That should bring the Shaido in right enough, especially if Couladin was leading. If Couladin really was leading, if he thought Rand was with the pikes, if the pikes could hold until the horse arrived... A lot of ifs. Mat could hear those dice rolling in his head again. This was the biggest gamble he had ever taken in his life. He wondered how long it was until nightfall; a man should be able to make his way out in the night. He wished those dice would get out of his head, or else fall so he knew what they showed. Scowling into the rain, he booted Pips on down the hillside.
Jeade'en stopped on a crest where a dozen trees made a thin topknot, and Rand hunched slightly against the pain in his side. The crescent moon, riding high, cast a pale light, yet even to his saidinamplified vision anything more than a hundred paces distant was featureless shadow. Night swallowed the surrounding hills whole, and he was only intermittently aware of Sulin hovering nearby, and Maidens all around him. But then, he could not seem to keep his eyes more than half open; they felt grainy, and he thought the gnawing pain in his side might be all that held him awake. He did not think of it often. Thought was not only distant now, it was slow.
Was it twice Sammael had attempted his life today, or three times? More? It seemed that he should be able to remember how often someone had tried to kill him. No, not to kill. To bait. Are you still so jealous of me, Tel Janin? When did I ever slight you, or give you one finger less than your due?
Swaying, Rand scrubbed a hand through his hair. There had been something odd about that thought, but he could not recall what. Sammael... No. He could deal with him when... if... No matter. Later. Today Sammael was only a distraction from what was important. He might even be gone.
Vaguely it seemed that there had been no attack after... After what? He recalled countering Sammael's last move with something particularly nasty, but he could not pull the memory to the surface. Not balefire. Mustn't use that. Threatens the fabric of the Pattern. Not even for Ilyena? I would burn the world and use my soul for tinder to hear her laugh again.
He was drifting again, away from what was important.
However long ago the sun had gone down, it had sunk on fighting, lengthening shadows gradually overwhelming the goldenred light, the men killing and dying. Now, vagrant winds still brought distant shouts and screams. Because of Couladin, true, but at the heart of it, because of himself.
For a moment he could not remember his name.
“Rand al'Thor,” he said aloud, and shivered, though his coat was damp with sweat. For an instant, that name had sounded strange to him. “I am Rand al'Thor, and I need to... I need to see.”
He had not eaten since morning, but then, the taint on saidin drove hunger away. The Void quivered constantly, and he hung on to the True Source by his fingernails. It was like riding a bull driven mad by redwort, or swimming naked in a river of fire churned to rapids by jagged boulders of ice. Yet when he was not on the brink of being gored or battered or drowned, it seemed that saidin was the only strength left in him. Saidin was there, filing at the edges of him, trying to erode or corrode his mind, but ready to be used.
With a jerky nod, he channeled, and something burned high in the sky. Something. A ball of bubbling blue flame that banished shadows in harsh light.
Hills mounded up all around, trees black in the stark illumination. Nothing moved. A faint sound came to him on a gust of wind. Cheering perhaps, or singing. Or maybe he was imagining things; it was so tiny, he could well have been, and it died with the wind.
Suddenly he became aware of the Maidens around him, hundreds of them. Some, including Sulin, were staring at him, but many had their eyes squeezed shut. It took him a moment to realize they were trying to preserve night vision. He frowned, searching. Egwene and Aviendha were no longer there. Another long moment passed before he remembered to loose the weave of his channeling and let blackness reclaim the night. A deep blackness to his eyes, now.
“Where are they?” He was vaguely irritated when he had to say who he meant, and just as vaguely aware that he had no reason for it.
“They went to Moiraine Sedai and the Wise Ones at dusk, Car'a'carn,” Sulin replied, moving closer to Jeade'en. Her short white hair shone in the moonlight. No, her head was bandaged. How could he have forgotten? “A good two hours gone. They know that flesh is not stone. Even the strongest legs can run only so far.”
Rand frowned. Legs? They had been riding Mist. The woman was making no sense. “I have to find them.”
“They are with Moiraine Sedai and the Wise Ones, Car'a'carn,” she said slowly. He thought she was frowning too, but it was hard to be sure.
“Not them,” he muttered. “Have to find my people. They're still out there, Sulin.” Why was the stallion not moving? “Can you hear them? Out there, in the night. Still fighting. I need to help them.” Of course; he had to dig his heels into the dapple's ribs. But when he did, Jeade'en only shifted sideways, with Sulin holding on to his bridle. He did not remember that she had been holding the bridle.
“The Wise Ones must speak to you now, Rand al'Thor.” Her voice had changed, but he was too weary to say how.
“Can't it wait?” He must have missed the runner with the message. “I mus