No one knew how close the hordes of the Blight were to Tar Valon.

…

Outside the ladies room stood droves of people, all sent down by the Creator with instructions to get fate back on track. Rand opened the door, saw them and his eyes burned out.

"You're the dragon!" someone shouted. "You have the wound on your side."

Rand remembered…

"I'll get you away from here, father," Rand said to Tam, dragging him away from the farm that had been invaded by trollocs.

"Hi," Tam said in his unconsciousness. "got home from the war…woman, in the snow, dead…had just given birth…couldn't let baby freeze…yes. Name him Rand."

Rand froze in horror. Tam wasn't his father? He dragged Tam onwards.

"I swear I won't lose him in the woods like I did with the other babies we adopted," Tam continued.

Rand froze, horrified.

"Hey Marci get up," Tam said, still in his half-asleep stupor and Rand moved to drag him. "That sounded like my wife…get out before she gets here…Hi honey…no I didn't have anyone over."

Rand froze again, intrigued.

"Hi Mick…saw me with Marci? You won't tell my wife, she'll divorce me….what do you think you doing? Quiet down or I'll make you….light forgive me, I've killed him." Rand felt odd as he dragged Tam onwards. "How do I hide the body…axe…how do I dispose of the pieces?...Honey! Dinner! I made beef stew!" Rand wretched and dragged his father onwards.

"Hi baby Rand," Tam whispered. Rand paused. "Rand, don't cry, I just need to take one of your kidneys to pay a gambling debt…it's a knife…See? That didn't hurt...Sell your kidney…No dear, nothing wrong with the baby…blood? That's just cherry jam."

Rand flopped his father down and started back to Emond's Field without him.

A lot of people thought Rand got that ugly mark on his side from Ishamael. In reality, it had been his father's handiwork. But it didn't hurt, showing it off.

"So this proves that I am the Dragon Reborn," Rand said, showing off the scar on his flank. "But even the Dragon Reborn needs some privacy."

"Dragon!" shouted a farmer at the head of a retinue, "a man calling himself the Prophet is rampaging across the land! He keeps knocking on our doors to proselytize to us, even at dinner!"

"Shut up!" Rand yelled.

"Dragon!" shouted a female ogier, "We've a shotgun wedding with Loial's name on it. Where is he?"

"Shut up!" Rand yelled.

"Dragon!" shouted Ingtar, "an intern at the heritage museum misplaced the Horn of Valere!"

"Shut up!" Rand yelled.

"Dragon!" sobbed a woman, "the Shaido attacked my city! They took all the young people from 18 up, said they were gai'shain, stripped them naked and herded them off!"

"Shut u…what?" Rand was intrigued as he imagined a whole city's worth of young women being peeled. "Tell me what happened, except slowly. Very slowly."

"The Shaido!" Storming through the crowd came a thick block of maidens of the spear, Aiel who were literally wedded to their weapons. As with all marriages, it went downhill from the honeymoon. Some of the maidens argued with their spears, complained that their spears weren't sensitive enough, or worse, went out to try unclaimed spears (or claimed spears) when their current spears weren't around. Many had troupes of half-Aiel, half-spear children trotting behind them. "Dragon, we are your troops," they declared. "The Shaido have been sighted. How do we kill them…? Dragon? Dragon?" Rand's eyes had been replaced by glowing yellow stars as he regarded the regiment of maidens.

"Welcome to the team, llllllladies," Rand said, his pearly-whites gleaming through his kingly grin. He chucked the human/spear children out the window.

Inside the ladies room, Elayne, Egwene, Min and Aviendha were unimpressed. They had just escaped the maw of a very hungry toilet that came alive and attacked them (something about bubbles of evil escaping the Dark One's prison).

"Where did all these people come from?" Elayne asked as she swept up pieces of the shattered toilet-monster.

"I saw in their auras that the Creator sent them to help Rand play out his destiny," replied Min. "There's a lot of problems out there. Rand ought to be claimed by one of them. At this rate, we'll never catch Nyaneve."

"It's alright," replied Aviendha. "My people are out there. There are maidens from many Aiel tribes. Ghoud Guiz tribe, the Justis tribe, the Protagoonists tribe and the Friundly Peeps tribe." Elayne nodded.

"And what's the name of the evil Aiel tribe?"

"The Baby-Haters. I mean, the Evil-Names. I mean, the Shaido. They're called the Shaido."

"Right. Just so long as none of those maidens of the spear sleep with Rand before I do, I'm fine," Elayne replied.

"I'm afraid I have a confession. I've had sex with Rand," Aviendha admitted. "I mean, it was a boring night and there was no one in the tent and I almost froze and stuff. But…yeah. So if either of you want to stab me for it," Aviendha drew a knife, "I'll let you." She turned to her friends.

"YOU WHA!"

Min and Elayne both had huge swords raised over their heads and were prepared to deliver a killing chop to Aviendha. Their faces were Nyaneve-level angry.

"Woah! I didn't mean it. It's supposed to show how noble and barbaric I am…"

"CHOP! CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!" both girls charged after Aviendha, who sprinted in terror outside. Both girls charged after her, swords waving. Rand came in a short while later, his arms extended to encompass the whole unit of maidens of the spear who had joined their cause.

'The greatest pimp of all scores again,' Rand thought. "Good news ladies!" Rand paused, glancing around. "Where's the other three?"

"Gone," Egwene explained what happened.

"No!" Rand loosed waves of tears from his eyes. "They killed Aviendha! She's joined the women who've died for me! No!" He took out his fat notebook, donned his bifocals and read off the names. "Jana Axeswinger! Lada Johnson! Havania Buttkicker! Lauraine Miske! Now Aviendha!"

"She hasn't died for you, sheepherder!" Egwene yelled.

…

Sinto was a noble warrior. At age nine he was already beating people twice his age in sparring matches. At age fifteen he made his first kill. At age twenty-five, he fathered a beautiful baby girl, Mes, with his wife Thasan.

"For the Dragon!" Sinto yelled as the next wave of trollocs charged. He fought desperately to save the caravan. Sinto fought until his spear broke, then fought with the sharp end of his spear. He was hewn by a trolloc and fell dying to the ground. Yet he did not allow himself to die until he saw the day was won. He smiled with bloody lips when the Dragon's flag rose in triumph over the caravan he had helped rescue.

"Praise the Light," Sinto whispered. "I love you Thasan. I love you Mes." He died smiling.

Days later, Thasan ran to the messenger sent to her village. The messenger delivered news of the men from her village who fought in the Dragon's army. Thasan was already wailing in grief halfway through the announcement of Sinto's death. She ran back to her cottage and held Mes in close. At three, Mes couldn't understand her mother's tears.

"Daddy's in heaven," Thasan whispered through her warm tears to her previous child. "He won't be coming home." At those final words, little Mes finally understood. She hugged her mother and began to cry, begging her mother to explain why she couldn't see her father.

Back at the battlefield, the butcher's bill was being counted.

"Bring it in!" shouted Rand. A noisy bulldozer rolled forward. Sinto's dead, smiling face was crushed under the pile of dead men that the bulldozer was messily driving into the landfill the survivors had dug. Rand flicked the ash from his cigar in after the corpses and watched in indifference as the dead things were buried in a hurry. Better to hide the smell. The hole was covered, but here and there a dead limb or face still stuck out of the dirt. Sinto's bones snapped like twigs as the bulldozer rolled over the corpses to compress them in better.

Rand walked away from the pit. He felt teary, now that the dead had been counted. The men and their families could go to hell, but the women! The women!

!THE WOMEN!

"Salah Tselna!" sobbed Rand as he rolled on the ground, cut himself, listened to emo music, wrote sad poetry and dyed his hair black. "Marah Issinel! Fenera Viex! Nashneya Viex!" And he just went on and on and on and on.

And on.

'Why does he do that?' thought most of the readers.

…

"Oh, they haven't killed her?" Rand put away his razors but forgot about his bifocals. "Good. Where are they?"

"Rand!" bellowed the disembodied voice of the Creator, "go with one of the people I've sent!"

"Blood and ashes, it's Lews," snorted Rand.

"Blood and bloody ashes, you dinosaur!" replied the Creator. "And I'm not Lews!" Rand ignored the voice. He'd been taking medication to silence Lews' voice. It had worked, but was it starting up again?

"Lews is right," added Perrin, "it's 'blood and bloody ashes' now."

"I'm bringing it back," Rand replied. "Blood and ashes." He grinned when Aviendha, Elayne and Min came back inside. "What happened to you? I've got some more women to join our troupe," he said. Aviendha (who was in a shopping cart, chopped into pieces) nodded by rocking her decapitated head back and forth.

"The others," Aviendha's head replied as her body came back together. "I confessed. The night in the tent. I told them. Now they all want a turn." Elayne grabbed Rand and ran off with him. Perrin made a jealous noise.

"Elayne's going to get pregnant with Rand's kids. Twins," Min muttered. She looked at Aviendha, who was going to be pregnant with...was that four? Was that even possible? Suddenly, sleeping with Rand didn't sound very safe.

"Good thing you're alive," Perrin said to Aviendha, "I thought you were dead."

Then, Thom walked in.

"Thom!" cried Perrin in surprise. "I thought you were dead!" Thom shook his head.

"Takes more than that to stop a gleeman, though my leg is…ow," Thom replied.

Then, Morgase walked in.

"Morgase!" Perrin cried, "I thought you were dead!"

"Nope," replied Morgase. Beside her stood that really old lady who had been Elayne's nurse who followed Morgase like seagulls followed a fishing boat. Frick, what was her name again?

…

"Uh..." the Creator was hammering his head against a wall, trying to remember her name. This was not good. The Creator was losing track of things. He referred to his gigantic pile of notes.

…

"No, my queen is not dead," the nurse, Lini, replied. "The chickens come back to roost," she said in a voice one used when trying to quote someone.

"Rand's totally nailing your daughter," Perrin muttered. Morgase didn't hear, but the Lini.

"Young people these days," Lini rolled her eyes. "The glass turtle does not drive race cars," she said in that same I'm-quoting-someone-and-being-wise voice.

"Huh?" asked Egwene, but was stopped as someone else came in. "Lanfear?" Egwene asked as a man named Aran'gar (who was clearly the dead Forsaken in a new body) came in. "You're dead!"

"I cannot die," Aran'gar hissed.

Another person came in.

"Asmodean?" asked Egwene. "You're dead. Rahvin killed you!"

"But Rand balefired him," Asmodean replied. "I came back."

Another person came in.

"Aginor?" asked Perrin, "YOU'RE dead!"

"Brought back by the shadow, biyatch" said the Forsaken, now in a woman's body named Oran'gar.

Another person walked in.

"Tassadar?" asked Perrin. "YOU'RE dead!"

"I've never tasted death," said the protoss hero.

Another person walked in.

"Captain Hector Barbossa!" cried Aviendha, "YOU'RE dead!"

"Where's the Black Pearl? YArrrrrr!" Barbossa asked.

Another person walked in.

"Gandalf!" cried Egwene, "YOU'RE dead!"

"I hath passed through fire and death battling the balrog of Morgoth," Gandalf replied.

Another person walked in.

"Darth Maul?" cried Aviendha, "YOU'RE dead!"

"I survived, narrowly. Now I am driven by rage," Darth Maul hissed.

Another person walked in.

"Bobby Ewing?" cried Perrin. "YOU'RE DEAD!"

"It was all a dream. I'm right here," Bobby said as he stood in the shower.

Another person walked in

"STOP!" cried Egwene, "STOP! Stop! Stop! Just, stop." All but Aran'gar and Oran'gar faded like mist. "No more bringing people back to life en mass. It's giving me a headache." She stormed outside, her friends and the two forsaken following her. She pushed past the throngs of people, all crying to her about their problems.

"Egwene! The whitecloaks are in Two Rivers!"

"Egwene! There's four armies marching on Camylin."

"Egwene! There's civil war in…"

"…rebellion in…"

It was overwhelming. Someone obviously didn't want them to be here in the White Tower.

"Wait a minute," Egwene turned around. Oran'gar and Aran'gar were still there.

"The shadow has reached Tar Valon," hissed Oran'gar. "Tar Valon will burn! HAHAHAHAH!" Egwene kept walking. "Hey, where ya going?"

"Off to fight the shadow." Aran'gar stomped his…her…his/her foot.

"We're the chosen, hello?"

"I can't be bothered to have another pushover with the failsaken," Egwene said over her shoulder.

…

Shai'tan grinned as he led his army out of the Ways. At long last, here they were, outside of Tar Valon. Beside him, the dreadlords rode their horses. All around him marched a bazillion-gajillion shadowspawn. The fades just ended a session of their blindness support group and were now heading out to take command of their troops. In the sky flew squadrons of drakghar, who made ominous droning sounds and painted iron crosses on their wings and swastikas on their tails.

Shai'tan looked at the screen of the Laptop of Doom. He had his browser open to his Facebook profile, which used his nickname "the Dark One".

"My supporters are numerous," Shai'tan said as he regarded his lengthy friends list. Yes, the dark friends were legion. When the shadow attacked, he could use them. He noticed the status of one of his dark friends.

"Dargle Donitz is being eaten by trollocs," it read.

Okay, he'd better hurry up.

"So saidin is cleansed," Shai'tan began to his dreadlords, "not to worry though. We can still win this."

"What is it now?" asked one of the dreadlords.

"We need to wait for my dark friends on the inside to undermine Tar Valon's defenses. Once they're down, we storm in."

"Agreed."

"The dark friends will open the gate. The first wave of trollocs will storm in through the gate, engage the defenders, and get slaughtered. Then, the draghkar squadrons will drop their bombs on the White Tower and get blown out of the sky. If all goes well, our assaults on the walls will be repelled with heavy casualties." When fighting for the evil faction in a swords and sorcery fantasy setting, such results were the best one could hope for.

"Very well. You thought of that? Death rages. I hunger. Die." the dreadlords said. Shai'tan snarled.

"Don't you dreadlords ever make sense?" asked Shai'tan.

"Agreed." Shai'tan had to avert his eyes from the brightness of their vampiric auras.

"Shadowspawn! Attack!" Shai'tan roared.

With a collective roar, the trollocs and fades charged. Ferocious warriors, in the hundred thousand, darkened the fields, throwing dust into the air with their charge. Their weapons waved, their smoky banners flapped, their voices drowned out all other sounds. Their charge was as unstoppable as death.

Shai'tan facepalmed.

"Other way," he murmured.

The shadowspawn stopped and looked over their shoulders…to the walls of Tar Valon.

With a collective roar, the trollocs and fades turned around and charged the city.

…

The Creator cried out as a heap of piled notes fell off his desk and onto him. Struggling under the oceans of notes on what was going on, the Creator fought to keep his head above the surface of the paper ocean.

"So much stuff!" the Creator cried in dismay. The Dark One was already outside Tar Valon, but the heroes were not in the proper places. The Creator had brought too much into the story when he'd tried to stop Nyaneve. Right now, everyone was distracted with Rand, instead of going after Nyaneve. "So much stuff! What's going on?"

The Creator no longer understood his own story. There was just…too…much…TOO…MUCH!

"What have I done!" cried the Creator as he treaded the lake of piled notes that threatened to drown him, trying to escape. It was hopeless. He'd just have to…

"YAH!"

The Creator sent a shockwave of force out from his body that blew the notes off him. The shockwave reverberated through the Great Wheel.

…

"YAH!"

The shockwave knocked Mat onto his back. He shrieked as the boundaries of time grew thin for him and all the memories of his past lives flooded his mind.

…

"YAH!"

Oran'gar was shaken off his feet. Being a failsaken, he fell over and broke his neck. Aran'gar remained alive as the shockwave shook the room.

"Put a lid on in Perrin," Egwene said, trying to keep on her feet as the tower shook.

"I'm not doing it," Perrin replied.

…

"YAH!"

Rand and Elayne crouched together in the storage closet as the building shook. Papers rattled in their binders. The globe that sat atop the table in the closet shook.

"The prophecies of the Dragon mention this?" Elayne asked.

"Yes," Rand replied, "And there shall be a great shaking and the earth shall heave and this shall be the harbinger of the Dragon knocking up the daughter-heir of Andor, Elayne Trakand." Elayne was impressed at his knowledge of the prophecies. Rand smirked on the inside. He made that up as he went along. In fact, the entire prophecy was a fabrication he'd written to get what he wanted.

The ground stopped shaking.

"Now, let's make out," Rand turned around, but his hand accidentally hit the globe on the table. It shook, teetered, fell and exploded into glassy shards on the ground. Elayne groaned.

"Good job Rand, you broke the world," she scolded. Rand hushed her when the sound of Blight war trumpets echoed through the walls. The shadowspawn army was here!

"Right, I gotta do dragon-stuff," Rand said. "Wish I could stay, but that reminded me, I gotta go kick Nyaneve's butt." He left, closing the door behind him. Elayne grumbled and turned the knob to go after him.

CLICK.

The door was locked.

Elayne pounded on the door. Nothing.

"Hello?" she shouted. "Hello?"

…

"Dude?" asked Lan as Mat writhed around on the ground of the white tower archive, eyes closed.

"It certainly sounds like it," Nyaneve replied as she stood over Mat. "Let's hear what battles he was in."

"Into Stalingrad! The communists will burn in their own homes!" Mat cried to no one. He convulsed and shook. "The white man calls that place Rorke's Drift. We will cover it in his blood!" Mat yawned. "The English are outnumbered. We will make Agincourt their graves! Attack!" Mat snorted in his stupor. "Charge! Make it so the world will know our Confederate victory whenever people speak of Pickett's Charge," Mat coughed. "Here at Marathon we will kill the Greeks!" Mat moaned. "Romans! Here at Cannae we defeat Hannibal!" Mat shook, as if being trampled by a s'redit. "The savages are simple, and here at Little Bighorn I, General Custer, will prove it."

"Custer?" asked Nyaneve, "so Mat was a general." So many battles too. Nyaneve wondered in awe the glory and triumph Mat must have won. There were so many. Mat's side must have won at least one of them.

"We counted thirty rebel ships, but they're so small they're evading our turbo lasers," Mat muttered. "Humans are going to invade us. Send all our orcs, ALL OF THEM, to the Black Gate." Mat coughed, then opened his eyes.

"Nyaneve, Lan, where is my Red Band?" Mat asked. "The shadowspawn are coming. Here, in Tar Valon, we will destroy them all. Will you join me?" Knowing the great military triumphs Mat must have had, Nyaneve enthusiastically agreed.

"Hold off the shadow while I find the Black Ajah," she instructed.