פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ
Epilogue
It began as a simple rumble that shook the road beneath their feet. Wagons swayed and creaked, with the rufugees grabbed onto any support they could.
"What's going on now?" One of the women called, trying to calm her screaming baby. The rumble didn't help the feeling of despair and confusion that so permeated the fleeing citizens. Noone knew where to go, just that they had to put distance between them and the city. Some said to head across the mountains into Safer, others to the abandoned fortresses at Marena's Line, but noone took charge.
"I don't know. I wish I did." Cordin replied with the only answer he truthfully knew.
The wagons were loaded with women clutching their children and old men that could not walk by themselves, along with the last belongings of their lives. One man with no legs had seized a battered lyre, and in a crackled and battered voice, was softly singing a song.
"Fire and thunder smote the field,
But the Band stood still beneath,
The air hissed with a mighty crackle,
Of steel from leather sheath."
The man's voice was not the best, but Cordin had to admit it had a calming effect on the desperate people running for their lives.
The earth began to shake, as rocks begin to drizzle down the sides of the pass. "I think we better hurry up." He shouted towards the lead wagons.
He turned to glance across the distance at the fading city, at the curious lights in the sky. At the glowing sphere that seemed to rise upon the city.
Then it was instantly gone, consumed by a burning white pillar that burned at his eyes. Then the shockwave hit, knocking the young soldier sprawling back. Screams were all around him, and rocks from the pass showered down all around them. Cordin felt at the wetness on his head and blinked at the blood on his hand.
He dizzily stood up, glancing at the overturned wagons and the screaming people. He turned to the city.
Ruin met his eyes. Black, scorched debris was all that left of the magnificent jewel of the world, the cradle of their civilization, a hole carved into the Misty Mountains. Then, rocks fell in a thunderous clap, burying it in a hail.
Cordin felt weak on his knees, and it wasn't from the blood loss.
"Manetheren." The soldier's mouth was dry. He felt a wariness. He drew his sword, feeling wetness from his eyes. He breathed in the stale lines of steel then stabbed the blade into the earth. From around his shoulder, he removed his cloak, casting it about the cross of the hilt.
"Carai an Manetheren." Cordin whispered. It was not a fitting funeral. Not for the men that died and the memories and dreams purged. But, it was the only funeral they could have. There was no time to mourn.
He turned his back on the buried city. "Come! Get those wagons up! Move on!"
And the people broke away from the awe and terror of the sight. Heavy though their bones, they bore their weight once more, away from lives lost and squandered. And one man found a battered lyre from the rubble once more, and a soft sound drifted through the pass, until its chords too was lost.
"The Battle Lost, but the War won.
The Band died, but live e'er on.
The Shadow halted, drowned
in blood,
washed away by Manetheren flood."
"The Old Blood sings of a mighty Band,
The infamous guardians of the Land.
The Dark One 'self felt the bite of the Thorn,
The bravest souls whom ever born.
Forever live those bold Red Hand! "
The Battle of Manetheren would mark the last major campaign of the Trolloc Wars. The Band of the Red Hand had finally been vanquished by the Black Flood, but in Ellisende's heartbreak, had completely destroyed every single taint that stepped on her soil, tragically along with herself. At the end of the battle, hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children were dead, marking the fall of the great nation of Manetheren, to follow in the wake of Jaramide, Aramaelle, Aridhol, and Coremanda. From its start at the betrayal of Barsine to its end at the betrayal of Manetheren, the Trolloc Wars between the Covenant and the Horde lasted over three hundred years, leaving millions dead and the Covenant of Nations shattered. Not a single nation survived the final moments of the war. Even mighty Tar Valon felt the echoes of war, as Tetsuan, the Amyrlin Seat, was deposed along with over a third of the Aes Sedai for their crimes. The survivors of Manetheren would disappear into a deep slumber, utterly lost in the great tapestry of time. That is, until the General and the Wolf King rise once more.
פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ