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at Is Not a Sword sat on its gilded and gem…set stand； shining with the light of the setting sun。 Waiting for him。
Now that he had it in sight； safe； he was almost loath to touch it。 Once； he had used Callandor as it was truly meant to be used。 Only once。 He knew what awaited him when he took it up again； used it to draw on the True Source far beyond what any human could hold unaided。 Letting go the red…gold blade seemed more than he could do； when it vanished； he almost called it back。
Feet dragging； he skirted the corpse of the Gray Man and put his hands slowly on Callandor's hilt。 It was cold； like crystal long in the dark； but it did not feel so smooth that it would slip in the hand。
Something made him look up。 A Fade stood in the doorway； hesitating； its pale…faced； eyeless gaze on Callandor。
Rand pulled at saidin。 Through Callandor。 The Sword That Is Not a Sword blazed in his hands； as if he held noonday。 The Power filled him； hammering down like solid thunder。 The taint rushed through him in a flood of blackness。 Molten rock pulsed along his veins； the cold inside him could have frozen the sun。 He had to use it； or burst like a rotted melon。
The Myrddraal turned to flee； and suddenly black clothes and armor crumpled to the floor； leaving oily motes floating in the air。
Rand was not even aware he had channeled until it was done； he could not have said what he had done if his life had depended upon it。 But nothing could threaten his life while he held Callandor。 The Power throbbed in him like the heartbeat of the world。 With Callandor in his hands； he could do anything。 The Power hammered at him； a hammer to crack mountains。 A channeled thread whisked the Myrddraal's drifting remains out into the anteroom； and its clothes and armor； too； a trickled flow incinerated both。 He strode out to hunt those who had e hunting him。
Some of them had e as far the anteroom。 Another Fade and a huddle of cowering Trollocs stood before the columns at the far side staring at ash that sifted out of the air； the last fragments of the Myrddraal and all its garb。 At the sight of Rand with Callandor flaring in his hands； the Trollocs howled like beasts。 The Fade stood paralyzed with shock。 Rand gave them no chance to run。 Maintaining his deliberate pace toward them； he channeled； and flames roared from the bare； black marble beneath the Shadowspawn； so hot that he flung up a hand against it。 By the time he reached them； the flames were gone； nothing remained but dull circles on the marble。
Back down into the Stone he went； and every Trolloc； every Myrddraal he saw died wreathed in fire。 He burned them fighting Aiel or Tairens； and killing servants trying to defend themselves with spears or swords snatched from the dead。 He burned them as they ran； whether stalking more victims or fleeing him。 He began to move faster； trotting； then running； past the wounded； often lying untended； past the dead。 It was not enough； he could not move fast enough。 While he killed Trollocs in handfuls； others still slew； if only to escape。
Suddenly he stopped； surrounded by the dead； in a wide hallway。 He had to do something … something more。 The Power slid along his bones； pure essence of fire。 Something more。 The Power froze his marrow。 Something to kill them all； all of them at once。 The taint on saidin rolled over him； a mountain of rotting filth threatening to bury his soul。 Raising Callandor； he drew on the Source； drew on it till it seemed he must scream screams of frozen flame。 He had to kill them all。
Just beneath the ceiling； right above his head； air slowly began to revolve； spinning faster； milling in streaks of red and black and silver。 It roiled and collapsed inward； boiling harder； whining as it whirled and grew smaller still。
Sweat rolled down Rand's face as he stared up at it。 He had no idea what it was； only that racing flows he could not begin to count connected him to the mass。 It had mass； a weight growing greater while the thing fell inward on itself。 Callandor flared brighter and brighter； too brilliant to look at； he closed his eyes； and the light seemed to burn； through his eyelids。 The Power raced through him； a raging torrent that threatened to carry all that was him into the spinning。 He had to let go。 He had to。 He forced his eyes open； and it was like looking at all the thunderstorms in the world pressed to the size of a Trolloc's head。 He had to。。。 had to。。。 had to。。。
Now。 The thought floated like cackling laughter on the rim of his awareness。 He severed the flows rushing out of him； leaving the thing still whirling； whining like a drill on bone。 Now。
And the lightnings came； flashing out along the ceiling left and right like silver streams。 A Myrddraal stepped out of a side corridor； and before it could take a second step half a dozen flaring streaks stabbed down； blasting it apart。 The other streams flowed on； fanning down every branching of the corridor； replaced by more and more erupting every second。
Rand had not a clue to what he had made； or how it worked。 He could only stand there； quivering with the Power that filled him with the need to use it。 Even if it destroyed him。 He could feel Trollocs and Myrddraal dying； feel the lightnings strike and kill。 He could kill them everywhere； everywhere in the world。 He knew it。 With Callandor he could do anything。 And he knew trying would kill him just as surely。
The lightnings faded and died with the last Shadowspawn； the spinning mass imploded with a loud clap of inrushing air。 But Callandor still shone like the sun； he shook with the Power。
Moiraine was there； a dozen paces away； staring at him。 Her dress was neat； every fold of blue silk in place； but wisps of her hair were disarrayed。 She looked tired … and shocked。 〃How。。。 ？ What you have done； I would not have believed possible。〃 Lan appeared； half…trotting up the hall； sword in hand； face bloodied； coat torn。 Without taking her eyes from Rand； Moiraine flung out a hand； halting the Warder short of her。 Well short of Rand。 As if he were too dangerous for even Lan to approach。 〃Are you。。。 well； Rand？〃
Rand pulled his gaze away from her； and it fell on the body of a dark…haired girl； little more than a child。 She lay sprawled on her back； eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling； blood blackening the bosom of her dress。 Sadly； he bent to brush strands of hair from her face。 Light； she is only a child。 I was too late。 Why didn't I do it sooner？ A child！
〃I will see that someone takes care of her； Rand；〃 Moiraine said gently。 〃You cannot help her now。〃
His hand shook so hard on Callandor that he could barely hold on。 〃With this； I can do anything。〃 His voice was harsh in his own ears。 〃Anything！〃
〃Rand！〃 Moiraine said urgently。
He would not listen。 The Power was in him。 Callandor blazed； and he was the Power。 He channeled； directing flows into the child's body； searching； trying； fumbling； she lurched to her feet； arms and legs unnaturally rigid and jerky。
〃Rand； you cannot do this。 Not this！〃
Breathe。 She has to breathe。 The girl's chest rose and fell。 Heart。 Has