A Memory Of Light: Wheel of Time Book 14 by Robert Jordan, Brandon Sanderson

enemy. His force had to crawl through
     alleyways and lanes so twisted that even Guybon and the others from Caemlyn had difficulty following their intended direction.
    Their path skirted portions of the city that burned with a heat sostrong, it was probably melting cobblestones. Talmanes stared at these flames until his eyes felt dry, then led his men in
     further detours.
    Inch by inch, they approached Aludra’s warehouse. Twice they encountered Trollocs prowling for refugees to kill. They finished
     these off, the remaining crossbowmen felling over half of each group before they had time to respond.
    Talmanes stood to watch, but did not trust himself to fight any longer. That wound had left him too weak. Light, why had he
     left his horse behind? Fool move, that. Well, the Trollocs would have chased it off anyway.
    My thoughts are starting to go in circles.
He pointed with his sword down a crossing alley. The scouts scurried on ahead and looked in both directions before giving
     the all clear.
I can barely think. Not much longer now before the darkness takes me.
    He would see the dragons protected first. He had to.
    Talmanes stumbled out of the alley onto a familiar street. They were close. On one side of the street, structures burned.
     The statues there looked like poor souls trapped in the flames. The fires raged around them, and their white marble was slowly
     being overcome with black.
    The other side of the street was silent, nothing there burning. Shadows thrown by the statues danced and played, like revelers
     watching their enemies burn. The air smelled oppressively of smoke. Those shadows—and the burning statues—seemed to move,
     to Talmanes’ fuzzy mind. Dancing creatures of shadow. Dying beauties, consumed by a sickness upon the skin, darkening it,
     feasting upon it, killing the soul…
    “We’re close now!” Talmanes said. He pushed himself forward into a shambling run. He couldn’t afford to slow them down.
If that fire reaches the warehouse…
    They arrived at a burned-out patch of ground; the fire had been here, and gone, apparently. A large wooden warehouse had stood
     here once, but it had fallen in. Now the timbers only smoldered, and were heaped with rubble and half-burned Trolloc corpses.
    The men gathered around him, silent. The only sound was that of crackling flames. Cold sweat dripped down Talmanes’ face.
    “We were too late,” Melten whispered. “They took them, didn’t they? The dragons would have made explosions if they’d burned.
     The Shadowspawn arrived, took the dragons and burned the place down.”
    Around Talmanes, exhausted members of the Band sank down to their knees.
I’m sorry, Mat,
Talmanes thought.
We tried. We
—
    A sudden sound like thunder cracked through the city. It shook Talmanes to his bones, and the men looked up.
    “Light,” Guybon said. “The Shadowspawn are using the dragons?”
    “Maybe not,” Talmanes said. Strength surged through him, and he broke into a run again. His men filled in around him.
    Each footfall sent a jolt of agony up his side. He passed down the street with the statues, flames to his right, cold stillness
     to his left.
    BOOM
.
    Those explosions didn’t sound loud enough to be dragons. Dared he hope for an Aes Sedai? Jesamyn seemed to have perked up
     at the sounds, and was running in her skirts alongside the men. The group barreled around a corner two streets from the warehouse
     and came up on the back ranks of a snarling force of Shadowspawn.
    Talmanes bellowed with a startling ferocity and raised his sword in two hands. The fire of his wound had spread through his
     entire body; even his fingers burned with it. He felt as if he’d become one of those statues, consigned to burn with the city.
    He beheaded a Trolloc before it knew he was there, then threw himself at the next creature in line. It drew back with an almost
     liquid grace, turning a face on him that had no eyes, a cloak that did not stir in the wind. Pale lips drew