After
Winter winds and winter snows slowed the passage of trade across lands where they did not end it until spring, and for every three pigeons sent by merchants, two fell to hawks or weather, but where ice did not cover the rivers, ships still sailed, and rumor flew faster than lightnings. A thousand rumors, each throwing off a thousand seeds that sprouted and grew in snow and ice as in fertile soil.
At Tar Valon, some stories said, great armies had clashed, and the streets ran with blood, and rebel Aes Sedai had stuck the head of Elaida a’Roihan on a pike. No; Elaida had closed her hand, and those who survived among the rebels groveled at Elaida’s feet. There had been no rebels, no division of the White Tower. It was the Black Tower that had been broken, by Aes Sedai designs and Aes Sedai power, and Asha’man hunted Asha’man across the nations. The White Tower had shattered the Sun Palace in Cairhien, and the Dragon Reborn himself was bound now to the Amyrlin Seat, her puppet and her tool. Some tales said Aes Sedai had been bound to him, bound to the Asha’man, yet few believed that, and those few were ridiculed.
Artur Hawkwing’s armies had returned to reclaim his long-dead empire, and the Seanchan were sweeping all before them, even to driving the Dragon Reborn from Altara in defeat. The Seanchan had come to serve him. No; he had cast the Seanchan into the sea, destroying their army utterly. They had carried the Dragon Reborn away, to kneel before their Empress. The Dragon Reborn was dead, and there was as much celebration as mourning, as many tears as cries of joy.
Across the nations the stories spread like spiderweb laid upon spiderweb, and men and women planned the future, believing they knew truth. They planned, and the Pattern absorbed their plans, weaving toward the future foretold.
The End of the Eighth Book of
