To the Blight: The Eye of the World


PROLOGUE Dragonmount


1 An Empty Road

2 Strangers

3 The Peddler

4 The Gleeman

5 Winternight

6 The Westwood

7 Out of the Woods

8 A Place of Safety

9 Tellings of the Wheel

10 Leavetaking

11 The Road to Taren Ferry

12 Across the Taren

13 Choices

14 The Stag and Lion

15 Strangers and Friends

16 The Wisdom

17 Watchers and Hunters

18 The Caemlyn Road

19 Shadow’s Waiting

20 Dust on the Wind

21 Listen to the Wind

22 A Path Chosen

23 Wolfbrother

24 Flight Down the Arinelle

25 The Traveling People

26 Whitebridge

27 Shelter From the Storm

28 Footprints in Air

29 Eyes Without Pity

30 Children of Shadow

31 Play for Your Supper

32 Four Kings in Shadow

33 The Dark Waits

34 The Last Village

35 Caemlyn

36 Web of the Pattern

37 The Long Chase

38 Rescue

39 Weaving of the Web

40 The Web Tightens

41 Old Friends and New Threats

42 Remembrance of Dreams

43 Decisions and Apparitions

44 The Dark Along the Ways

45 What Follows in Shadow

46 Fal Dara

47 More Tales of the Wheel

48 The Blight

49 The Dark One Stirs

50 Meetings at the Eye

51 Against the Shadow

52 There Is Neither Beginning Nor End

53 The Wheel Turns




The palace still shook occasionally as the earth rumbled in memory, groaned as if it would deny what had happened. Bars of sunlight cast through rents in the walls made motes of dust glitter where they yet hung in the air. Scorch-marks marred the walls, the floors, the ceilings. Broad black smears crossed the blistered paints and gilt of once-bright murals, soot overlaying crumbling friezes of men and animals which seemed to have attempted to walk before the madness grew quiet. The dead lay everywhere, men and women and children, struck down in attempted flight by the lightnings that had flashed down every corridor, or seized by the fires that had stalked them, or sunken into stone of the palace, the stones that had flowed and sought, almost alive, before stillness came again. In odd counterpoint, colorful tapestries and paintings, masterworks all, hung undisturbed except where bulging walls had pushed them awry. Finely carved furnishings, inlaid with ivory and gold, stood untouched except where rippling floors had toppled them. The mind-twisting had struck at the core, ignoring peripheral things.

Lews Therin Telamon wandered the palace, deftly keeping his balance when the earth heaved. “Ilyena! My love, where are you?” The edge of his pale gray cloak trailed through blood as he stepped across the body of a woman, her golden-haired beauty marred by the horror of her last moments, her still-open eyes frozen in disbelief. “Where are you, my wife? Where is everyone hiding?”

His eyes caught his own reflection in a mirror hanging askew from bubbled marble. His clothes had been regal once, in gray and scarlet and gold; now the finely-woven cloth, brought by merchants from across the World Sea, was torn and dirty, thick with the same dust that covered his hair and skin. For a moment he fingered the symbol on his cloak, a circle half white and half black, the colors separated by a sinuous line. It meant something, that symbol. But the embroidered circle could not hold his attention long. He gazed at his own image with as much wonder. A tall man just into his middle years, handsome once, but now with hair already more white than brown and a face lined by strain and worry, dark eyes that had seen too much. Lews Therin began to chuckle, then threw back his head; his laughter echoed down the lifeless halls.

“Ilyena, my love! Come to me, my wife. You must see this.”

Behind him the air rippled, shimmered, solidified into a man who looked around, his mouth twisting briefly with distaste. Not so tall as Lews Therin, he was clothed all in black, save for