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 must find them, Sulin.”
Enaila seemed to spring up on the other side of the stallion's head. “You have found your people, Rand al'Thor.”
“The Wise Ones are waiting for you,” Sulin added. She and Enaila turned Jeade'en without waiting on his agreement. Maidens crowded in for some reason as they started along a winding way down the side of the hill, faces reflecting moonlight as they stared up at him, so close their shoulders brushed the horse's flanks.
“Whatever they want,” he grumbled, “they had best be quick.” There was no need for them to be leading the dapple, but it was too much effort to make a fuss over it. He twisted to look back, grunting at the pain in his side; the crest was already swallowed in the night. “I have a lot to do yet. I need to find...” Couladin. Sammael. The men who were fighting and dying for him. “I need to find them.” He was so tired, but he could not sleep yet.
Lamps on poles lit the Wise Ones' encampment, and small fires where kettles of water were hauled away and replaced by whiterobed men and women as soon as they began boiling. Gai'shain scurried everywhere, and Wise Ones as well, tending the wounded whose numbers swelled the camp. Moiraine was moving slowly down the long lines of those who could not stand, only rarely pausing to lay hands on an Aiel who then thrashed in the throes of being Healed. She swayed whenever she straightened, and Lan hovered behind her as if wanting to hold her up, or expecting to have to. Sulin exchanged words with Adelin and Enaila, too low for Rand to make out, and the younger women ran to speak to the Aes Sedai.
Despite the numbers of wounded, not all of the Wise Ones were looking after them. Inside a pavilion off to one side, perhaps twenty sat in a circle listening to one standing in the center. When she sat, another took her place. Gai'shain knelt around the outside of the pavilion, but none of the Wise Ones appeared to have any interest in wine, or anything except what they were hearing. Rand thought the speaker was Amys.
To his surprise, Asmodean was also helping out with the wounded, the water bag hanging from each shoulder looking decidedly odd with his dark velvet coat and white lace. Straightening from giving a drink to a man stripped to the waist except for bandages, he saw Rand and hesitated.
After a moment he handed the water bags to one of the gai'shain and wove his way through the Maidens toward Rand. They ignored him — they all seemed to be watching Adelin and Enaila speaking to Moiraine or else eyeing Rand — and his face was tight by the time he had to pause for the solid circle of Far Dareis Mai around Jeade'en. They were slow in parting, and did so just enough to let him through to Rand's stirrup.
“I was sure you must be safe. I was sure.” From his tone of voice, he had been no such thing. When Rand did not speak, Asmodean shrugged uncomfortably. “Moiraine insisted I carry water. A forceful woman, to not allow the Lord Dragon's bard to...” Trailing off, he licked his lips quickly. “What happened?”
“Sammael,” Rand said, but not in answer. He was just speaking the thoughts that drifted through the Void. “I remember when he was first named Destroyer of Hope. After he betrayed the Gates of Hevan and carried the Shadow down into the Rorn M'doi and the heart of Satelle. Hope did seem to die that day. Culan Cuhan wept. What is wrong?” Asmodean's face had gone as white as Sulin's hair; he only shook his head mutely. Rand peered at the pavilion. Whoever was speaking now, he did not know her. “Is that where they are waiting for me? Then I should join them.”
“They will not welcome you yet,” Lan said, appearing beside Asmodean, who jumped, “or any man.” Rand had not heard or seen the Warder approach either, but he only turned his head. Even that seemed an effort. It seemed to be someone else's head. “They meet with Wise Ones from the Miagoma, the Codarra, the Shiande and the Daryne.”
“The clans are coming to me,” Rand said flatly. But they had waited long enough to make today bloodier. It never happened like that in the stories.
“So it seems. But the four chiefs will not meet you until the Wise Ones have made their arrangements,” Lan added dryly. “Come. Moiraine can tell you more than I of it.”
Rand shook his head. “Done is done. I can hear details later. If Han doesn't need to keep them from our backs any longer, then I need him. Sulin, send a runner. Han —”
“It is done, Rand,” the Warder said insistently. “All of it. Only a few Shaido remain south of the city. Thousands have been taken prisoner, and most of the rest are crossing the Gaelin. Word would have been sent to you an hour ago, had anyone known where you were. You've kept moving. Come and let Moiraine tell you.”
“Done? We've won?”
“You have won. Completely.”
Rand peered at the men being bandaged, the patient lines awaiting bandages and those leaving with them. The rows that lay almost unmoving. Moiraine was still making her way along those, pausing wearily here and there to Heal. Only a few of the wounded would be here, of course. They would have been coming as they could throughout the day, leaving as and when they could. If they could. None of the dead would be here. Only a battle lost is sadder than a battle won. He seemed to remember saying that before, long ago. Perhaps he had read it.
No. There were too many living in his responsibility for him to worry over the dead, But how many faces will I know, like Jolien's? I will never forget Ilyena, not if all the world burns!
Frowning, he raised a hand to his head. Those thoughts had seemed to come on top of one another, from different places. He was so tired he could hardly think. But he needed to, needed thoughts that did not slide by almost beyond his reach. He released the Source and the Void, and convulsed as saidin almost drove him under in that moment of retreat. He barely had time to realize his mistake. With the Power gone, exhaustion and pain crashed down on him.
He was aware of faces turned up to him as he toppled from his saddle, mouths moving, hands reaching to grab him, cushion his fall.
“Moiraine!” Lan shouted, voice hollow in Rand's ears. “He is bleeding badly!”