Seeing the end of her people had nauseated and horrified her, but also awakened her. If the end of the Aiel was the sacrifice required for Rand to win, she would make it. She would scream and curse the Creator’s own name, but she would pay that price. Any warrior would. Better that one people should end than the world fall completely under Shadow.
The Light willing, it would not come to that. The Light willing, her actions with the Dragon’s Peace would serve to protect and shelter the Aiel. She would not let the possibility of failure stop her. They would fight. Waking from the dream was always a possibility when the spears were danced.
“Interesting,” Ituralde said softly, still looking through his glass. “Your thoughts, Aiel?”
“We need to create a distraction,” Rhuarc said. “We can come down the slope just to the east of the forge and set those captives free and break the place apart. This stops the Myrddraal from receiving new weapons and will keep the Dark One’s eyes on us and not the Car’a’carn.”
“How long will it take the Dragon?” Ituralde asked. “What do you think, Aiel? How much time do we give him to save the world?”
“He will fight,” Amys said. “Enter the mountain, duel with Sightblinder. It will take as long as a fight needs to take. A few hours, perhaps? I have not seen a duel last much longer than that, even between two men of great skill.”
“Let us assume,” Ituralde said with a smile, “that there is going to be more to it than a duel.”
“I am not a fool, Rodel Ituralde,” Amys said coolly. “I doubt that the Car’a’carn’s fight will be one of spears and shields. However, when he cleansed the Source, did that not happen in the space of a single day? Perhaps this will be similar.”
“Perhaps,” Ituralde said. “Perhaps not.” He lowered the glass and looked to the Aiel. “Which possibility would you rather plan for?”
“The worst one,” Aviendha said.
“So we plan to hold out as long as the Dragon needs,” Ituralde said. “Days, weeks, months… years? As long as it takes.”
Rhuarc nodded slowly. “What do you suggest?”
“The pass into the valley is narrow,” Ituralde said. “Scout reports put most of the Shadowspawn left in the Blight out beyond the pass there. Even they spend as little time as they can in this forsaken place. If we can close off the pass and seize this valley—destroy those forgeworkers and the few Fades down there—we could hold this place for ages. You Aiel are good at slash-and-run tactics. Burn me, but I know that from personal experience. You lot attack that forge, and we’ll set about closing up the pass.”
Rhuarc nodded. “It is a good plan.”
The four of them walked down the ridge to where Rand waited, dressed in red and gold, arms behind his back, accompanied by a force of twenty Maidens and six Asha’man, plus Nynaeve and Moiraine. He seemed very troubled by something—she could feel his anxiety—though he should have been pleased. He had convinced the Seanchan to fight. What was it that, in his meeting with Egwene al’Vere, had disturbed him so?
Rand turned and looked upward, toward the peak of Shayol Ghul. Staring at it, his emotions changed. He seemed a man looking at a fountain in the Three-fold Land, savoring the idea of cool water. Aviendha could feel his anticipation. There was also fear in him, of course. No warrior ever rid himself completely of the fear. He controlled it, overwhelmed it with the thirst to be on with the fight, to test himself.
Men or women could not know themselves, not truly, until they were strained to their absolute limit. Until they danced the spears with death, felt their blood seeping out to stain the ground, and drove the weapon home into the beating heart of an enemy. Rand al’Thor wanted this, and she understood him because of it. Strange to realize, after all of this time, just how alike they were.
She stepped up to him, and he moved so that he stood just beside her, his shoulder touching hers. He did not drape an arm around her, and she did not take his hand. He did not own her, and she did not own him. The act of his movement so that they faced the same direction meant far more to her than any other gesture could.
“Shade of my heart,” he said softly, watching his Asha’man open a gateway, “what did you see?”
“A tomb,” she replied.
“Mine?”
“No. That of your enemy. The place where he was buried once, and the place he will slumber again.”
Something hardened inside Rand. She could feel it, his resolve.
“You mean to kill him,” Aviendha whispered. “Sightblinder himself.”
“Yes.”
She waited.
“Others tell me I am a fool for thinking this,” Rand said. His guards moved through the gateway to return to Merrilor.
“No warrior should enter a battle without intending to see that battle finished,” Aviendha said. She hesitated after saying it, something else occurring to her.
“What is it?” Rand asked.
“Well, the greatest victory would be to take your enemy gai’shain.”