“How am I here?” he asked softly.
“Annoura,” she said. “She found you on the battlefield.”
“My wounds?”
“Other Healers will come when they can be spared,” she said. “Your hand…” She steeled herself. “Your hand is lost, but we can wash away that cut to your face.”
“No,” he whispered. “It is only… a little cut. Save the Healing for those who would die without it.” He seemed so tired. Barely awake.
She bit her lip, but nodded. “Of course.” She hesitated. “The battle fares poorly, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“So now… we simply hope?”
He slipped his hand from hers and reached under his shirt. When an Aes Sedai arrived, they would have to undress him and care for his wounds. Only the stump had been tended to so far, as it was the worst.
Galad sighed, then trembled, his hand slipping away from his shirt.
Had he been intending to remove it?
“Hope…” he whispered, then fell unconscious.
Rand wept.
He huddled in the darkness, the Pattern spinning before him, woven from the threads of the lives of men. So many of those threads ended.
So many.
He should have been able to protect them. Why couldn’t he? Against his will, the names began to replay in his mind. The names of those who had died for him, starting with only women, but now expanded to each and every person he should have been able to save—but hadn’t.
As humankind fought at Merrilor and Shayol Ghul, Rand was forced to watch the deaths. He could not turn away.
The Dark One chose then to attack him in force. The pressure came again, striving to crush Rand into nothing. He couldn’t move. Every bit of his essence, his determination and his strength focused on keeping the Dark One from ripping him apart.
He could only watch as they died.
Rand watched Davram Bashere die in a charge, followed quickly by his wife. Rand cried out at the fall of his friend. He wept for Davram Bashere.
Dear, faithful Hurin fell to a Trolloc attack as it struck for the top of the Heights where Mat made his stand. Rand wept for Hurin. The man with so much faith in him, the man who would have followed him anywhere.
Jori Congar lay buried beneath a Trolloc body, whimpering for help until he bled to death. Rand wept for Jori as his thread finally vanished.
Enaila, who had decided to forsake Far Dareis Mai and had laid a bridal wreath at the foot of the siswai’aman Leiran, speared through the gut by four Trollocs. Rand wept for her.
Karldin Manfor, who had followed him for so long and had been at Dumai’s Wells, died when his strength for channeling gave out and he dropped to the ground in exhaustion. Sharans fell upon him and stabbed him with their black daggers. His Aes Sedai, Beldeine, stumbled and fell moments later. Rand wept for them both.
He wept for Gareth Bryne and Siuan. He wept for Gawyn.
So many. So very many.
YOU ARE LOSING.
Rand huddled down further. What could he do? His dream of stopping the Dark One… he would create a nightmare if he did that. His own intentions betrayed him.
GIVE IN, ADVERSARY. WHY KEEP FIGHTING? STOP FIGHTING AND REST.
He was tempted. Oh, how he was tempted. Light. What would Nynaeve think? He could see her, fighting to save Alanna. How ashamed would she and Moiraine be if they knew that in that moment, Rand wanted to just let go?