Memories
Apart from a lone, hooded figure with a staff, the whole stretch of road was deserted. There was not a call from a bird not the sound of crickets, only the sound of the leaves of trees on both sides of the road rustling in the cool breeze. Oblivious to his eerie surroundings, he walked on with slow, steady steps.
The hooded figure stopped. There were voices up front, at the turning of the forest road. He tensed. With the ease of a messenger used to errands, he ran forward quickly, with unnaturally long strides for his stature and he raised his long oaken staff.
He turned with the curve of the road, robes flapping in the breeze. Through the clearing in the trees he spied five burly men with rusty axes and swords cornering a farmer with his meagre harvest on a cart, drawn by a horse which looked all skin and bones, unsuitable for drawing even such a small cart with such little load.
Brigands. Robbers. Pirates. They were all the same. Men so desperate, so poor that they resorted to robbing people.
Wielding his staff like a hurricane, he rushed into the midst of the men and struck. A well-aimed blow to the head. A hard strike to the neck. A blow to the spine. Three heavy objects fell to the ground with a thump and accompanied by a clang of metal. The other two survivors ran. The hooded figure stood still and silent.
Men shouting, screaming…clangs of metal on metal. A whirlwind of a man, long staff in hand, topped by a foot-long blade, rushing into battle, into impossible odds with a few men at his side. And survived. The gambler. With his luck. The cunning commander.
The sound of blood dripping from the farmer's arm made him focus. When he finally noticed that the survivors had gone, the farmer was groveling on the ground, muttering a prayer.
"The rust of weapons kills a well as a knife in your ribs. You should wash your wound." The hooded figure walked on as the man whimpered.
A few moments later, the smoke from a nearby village caught the attention of the mysterious stranger. He changed his direction, heading towards the village. He drew the attention of the villagers as he walked silently towards the village inn.
"I want a room please," he said simply to the innkeeper. The innkeeper bowed and said, "It will cost you two crowns, kind sir." Widespread poverty, hunger and killing had inflated the prices of everything after the Last Battle but the Shadow had been defeated, at a costly price only to him…Tuon…
The hooded man took four gold coins from his robe and put it on the counter. The innkeeper's eyes widened in greed and then in fear as he saw the four-legged serpentine creature on each of the coins. The coins of the Dragon.
"For the room and for information. But first, let us play dice. One of my throws against two of yours. If you throw a number higher than mine, you get double, but if I win, I get one of those measly horses that you have."
Without waiting for the innkeeper to answer, he took out a pair of dice and pushed it over the counter. The innkeeper took the dice, quickly, cautiously, but with assured triumph on his face and threw both at once. Two fives. Ten. The innkeeper smirked, took the four gold coins and held up his hands for more.
The stranger took one die and rolled it as the innkeeper looked confused. Spinning in a circle, as fast as an arrow could fly through the air, the die rolled endlessly. Frustrated, the innkeeper banged the table. "What madness is this? Stop it you bloody madman!"
The dice stopped suddenly and rested on one of its twelve edges. A five and six. Eleven.
Impossible except for a ta' veren, someone who could change the pattern like the Dragon himself.
The hooded figure took one of the keys from the astonished innkeeper's pockets and asked, "Have you seen a tall, red-haired man on a piece of cloth carried as if by invisible hands? He would be accompanied by two men, six women and also an Ogier. You should have seen them. Where did they go?"
The innkeeper hesitated.
"You know who I'm looking for! The Dragon and his companions! Where did they go!"
And the Shadow fell upon the land, and the world was riven stone from stone. The oceans fled, and the mountains were swallowed up, and the nations were scattered to the eight corners of the world. The moon was as blood, and the Sun was as ashes. The seas boiled, and the living envied the dead. All was shattered, and all but memory lost, and one memory above all others, of him who brought the Shadow and the Breaking of the World. And him they named Dragon. And it came to pass in those days, as it had come before and would come again, that the Dark lay heavy on the land and weighed down the hearts of men, and the green things failed, and hope died. And men cried out to the Creator, saying, O Light of the Heavens, Light of the World, let the promised One be born of the mountain, according to the prophecies, as he was in ages past and will be in ages to come. Let the Prince of the Morning sing to the land that green things will grow and the valley give forth lambs. Let the arm of the Lord of the Dawn shelter us from the Dark and the great sword of justice defend us. Let the Dragon ride again on the winds of Time.
"N-North, north…" the frightened man answered.
The hooded figure went upstairs and into a room. He sat down on the bed.
Rand al' Thor. The Dragon Reborn. Aviendha, a bloody Aiel who won't bloody let go of Rand. Elayne, Queen of Andor and Cairhien, another like Aviendha. Min, a crazy woman who was able to see people's future, a third. Nynaeve al' Meara and her Warder husband, Lan. Verin Sedai and Loial, both bent on writing down the history of the Dragon. Alivia, supposedly to help Rand to die. Perrin Aybara, Lord of the Two Rivers, and his wife, Faile. People from his village and people connected to Rand. All so distant now…after Tuon died…screaming, looking at him with her eyes so bright, killed by Rand unintentionally by balefire…not even a trace of her left…
He lay down and slept.
The next morning, the innkeeper found the door of the room open and four gold coins on the bed. He rushed down to his stable and found his best horse missing. He shivered in fear and knelt down, praying.
A mile away, the hooded man found a party of people walking in the distance. He smiled. It was impossible facing so many wielders of the Power at once. At least he would try.
Maybe he would be lucky again. Matrim Cauthon ran forward.
