A few hundred leagues north the world was pure ice, but Thakan’dar was always dry as any desert, though always wrapped in winter. Feathery mist marked his breath, barely visible before the air drank it. Despite the steam it was bitter cold, now he did not allow himself to feel it, but instinct made him pull his fur-lined velvet cloak closer. In what was now called the Age of Legends, this had been an idyllic island in a cool sea, a favorite of those who enjoyed the rustic. Besides, here only a fool would want to see or smell or feel too clearly. The absence of saidin left him hollow, yet here only a fool would even appear ready to channel. He released the One Power immediately, and with the vanished sweetness went the heightened senses that made everything sharper, clearer. Across the slope steam and smoke rose from scattered vents, some holes as small as a man’s hand and some large enough to swallow ten men. Lightning streaked up at the clouds, and slow thunder rolled. Below, odd lights flashed across the barren valley, washed-out blues and reds, failing to dispel the dusky murk that shrouded their source. Above, roiling gray clouds hid the sky, an inverted sea of sluggish ashen waves crashing around the mountain’s hidden peak.
Let the Lord of Chaos rule.Ĭhant from a children's game heard in Great Arvalon, the Fourth Ageĭemandred stepped out onto the black slopes of Shayol Ghul, and the gateway, a hole in reality’s fabric, winked out of existence. The lions sing and the hills take flight. And in Salidar, among the Aes Sedai in exile, Egwene al'Vere, although summoned to high office, faces the knowledge that her colleagues also wish to bind him.ĭrought and summer heat linger into winter and Nynaeve al'Meara and Elayne, the Daughter-Heir of Andor, begin a desperate search for the fabled ter'angreal that may enable them to bring normal weather - a search that takes them among Whitecloaks bent on exterminating Aes Sedai.Īnd across half a continent, Perrin Aybara feels Rand's pull, ta'veren to ta'veren, and for the first time in a thousand years the bowmen of the Two Rivers march to war. The White Tower in Tar Valon, under the Amyrlin Elaida, has decided that Rand must be controlled - gentled, if need be - immediately.
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