My thoughts are starting to go in circles. He pointed with his sword down a crossing alley. The scouts scurried on ahead and looked in both directions before giving the all clear. I can barely think. Not much longer now before the darkness takes me.
He would see the dragons protected first. He had to.
Talmanes stumbled out of the alley onto a familiar street. They were close. On one side of the street, structures burned. The statues there looked like poor souls trapped in the flames. The fires raged around them, and their white marble was slowly being overcome with black.
The other side of the street was silent, nothing there burning. Shadows thrown by the statues danced and played, like revelers watching their enemies burn. The air smelled oppressively of smoke. Those shadows—and the burning statues—seemed to move, to Talmanes’ fuzzy mind. Dancing creatures of shadow. Dying beauties, consumed by a sickness upon the skin, darkening it, feasting upon it, killing the soul…
“We’re close now!” Talmanes said. He pushed himself forward into a shambling run. He couldn’t afford to slow them down. If that fire reaches the warehouse…
They arrived at a burned-out patch of ground; the fire had been here, and gone, apparently. A large wooden warehouse had stood here once, but it had fallen in. Now the timbers only smoldered, and were heaped with rubble and half-burned Trolloc corpses.
The men gathered around him, silent. The only sound was that of crackling flames. Cold sweat dripped down Talmanes’ face.
“We were too late,” Melten whispered. “They took them, didn’t they? The dragons would have made explosions if they’d burned. The Shadowspawn arrived, took the dragons and burned the place down.”
Around Talmanes, exhausted members of the Band sank down to their knees. I’m sorry, Mat, Talmanes thought. We tried. We—
A sudden sound like thunder cracked through the city. It shook Talmanes to his bones, and the men looked up.
“Light,” Guybon said. “The Shadowspawn are using the dragons?”
“Maybe not,” Talmanes said. Strength surged through him, and he broke into a run again. His men filled in around him.
Each footfall sent a jolt of agony up his side. He passed down the street with the statues, flames to his right, cold stillness to his left.
BOOM.
Those explosions didn’t sound loud enough to be dragons. Dared he hope for an Aes Sedai? Jesamyn seemed to have perked up at the sounds, and was running in her skirts alongside the men. The group barreled around a corner two streets from the warehouse and came up on the back ranks of a snarling force of Shadowspawn.
Talmanes bellowed with a startling ferocity and raised his sword in two hands. The fire of his wound had spread through his entire body; even his fingers burned with it. He felt as if he’d become one of those statues, consigned to burn with the city.
He beheaded a Trolloc before it knew he was there, then threw himself at the next creature in line. It drew
back with an almost liquid grace, turning a face on him that had no eyes, a cloak that did not stir in the wind. Pale lips drew back in a snarl.
Talmanes found himself laughing. Why not? And men said he didn’t have a sense of humor. Talmanes moved into Apple Blossoms in the Wind, striking forward wildly with a strength and fury to match the fire that was killing him.
The Myrddraal obviously had him at a disadvantage. At his best, Talmanes would have needed help fighting one. The thing moved like a shadow, flowing from one form to the next, its terrible blade darting toward Talmanes. It obviously felt it only needed to nick him.
It scored a hit on his cheek, the tip of its sword catching on his skin there and slicing a neat ribbon through the flesh. Talmanes laughed and struck at the weapon with his sword, causing the Fade’s mouth to open wide in surprise. That wasn’t how men were supposed to react. They were supposed to stumble at the burning flare of pain, cry out as they knew their life had ended.
“I’ve already had one of your flaming swords in me, you son of a goat,” Talmanes screamed, attacking time and time again. Blacksmith Strikes the Blade. Such an inelegant form. It fit his mood perfectly.
The Myrddraal stumbled. Talmanes swept back in a smooth motion, bringing his sword to the side and slicing the thing’s pale white arm free at the elbow. The limb twisted in the air, the Fade’s blade dropping from spasming fingers. Talmanes spun for momentum and brought his sword across with two hands, severing the Fade’s head from its neck.
Dark blood sprayed free and the thing fell, its remaining hand clawing at the bloodied stump as it collapsed. Talmanes stood over it, his sword suddenly feeling too heavy to hold. It slipped from his fingers, clanging to the paving stones. He tipped and lost his balance, falling face-first, but a hand caught him from behind.
“Light!” Melten exclaimed, looking at the body. “Another one?”
“I’ve found the secret to defeating them,” Talmanes whispered. “You just have to be dead already.” He chuckled to himself, though Melten just looked at him, seeming baffled.
Around them, dozens of Trollocs collapsed to the ground, writhing. They’d been linked to the Fade. The Band gathered around Talmanes, some bearing wounds; a few were down for good. They were exhausted and worn down; this batch of Trollocs could have ended them.
Melten retrieved Talmanes’ sword and swabbed it clean, but Talmanes found he was having trouble standing, so he sheathed it and had a man fetch a Trolloc spear for him to lean on.
“Ho, the back of the street!” a distant voice called. “Whoever you are, thank you!”
Talmanes limped forward, Filger and Mar scouting on ahead without needing orders. The street here was dark and cluttered with Trollocs that had fallen moments ago, so it was a moment before Talmanes could climb over the corpses and see who had called to him.