The Eye of the World
Read The Eye of the World Online
Authors: Robert Jordan
“
The Eye of the World
is the best of its genre.”
—
The Ottawa Citizen
“A splendid tale of heroic fantasy, vast in scope, colorful in detail, and convincing in its presentation of human character and personality.”
—L. Sprague De Camp
“This richly detailed fantasy presents fully realized, complex adventure. Recommended.”
—
Library Journal
“This one is as solid as a steel blade and glowing with the true magic. Robert Jordan deserves congratulations.”
—Fred Saberhagen
“One hell of a story. [It] kept me up past my bedtime for three nights running—and it’s been a long time since a novel’s done
that.
”
—Baird Searles,
Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine
“A future collector’s item. Jordan has brought out a completely new allegory in a fantasy concept that goes even beyond this massive story, working with an artist’s eye and the sense of responsibility of a serious historian.”
—Gordon R. Dickson
“Classic oppositions are brought into play: initiates versus innocents, good versus evil, the spiritual power of women versus that of men. The travelers themselves are full of subtleties and shadows—ordinary villagers who, thrust into cosmic conflict, are unable to abandon their simple human desires and fears.
“This intricate allegorical fantasy recalls the works of Tolkien because of its intensity and warmth.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“Robert Jordan has come to dominate the world Tolkien began to reveal.”
—
The New York Times
“This has magic and pacing and detail and human involvement, with a certain subtlety of presentation and a grand central vision. Robert Jordan . . . is a lot of writer!”
—Piers Anthony
“An exciting story; the reader is drawn in early and kept there until the last page. There is adventure and mystery and dark things that move in the night—a combination of Robin Hood and Stephen King that is hard to resist. . . . Jordan makes the reader care about these characters as though they were old friends; so much so that the reader will put down the book regretting the wait for the next title in the series.”
—
Milwaukee Sentinel
“A classic fantasy tale of the struggle between light and darkness, good and evil, death and life. Goodness, life, and light are always in retreat, always about to be defeated, but never quite! Don’t miss it!”
—Andrew M. Greeley
“Certainly a title I want to add to my permanent collection and I shall be eagerly awaiting the sequel which is promised at the end.”
—Andre Norton
HE
E
YE
OF THE
W
ORLD
ROBERT JORDAN
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.
us.macmillanusa.com/piracy
.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE EYE OF THE WORLD
Copyright © 1990 by The Bandersnatch Group, Inc.
The phrases "The Wheel of Time
®
” and “The Dragon Reborn
™
,” and the snake-wheel symbol, are trademarks of Robert Jordan.
All rights reserved.
Frontispiece by David Grove
Maps by Ellisa Mitchell and Thomas Canty
Interior illustrations by Matthew C. Nielsen
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-1-4299-5981-0
First Edition: February 1990
First E-book Edition: October 2009
Manufactured in the United States of America
To Harriet
Heart of my heart,
Light of my life,
Forever.
41 Old Friends and New Threats
52 There Is Neither Beginning Nor End
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 the snow-white lace at his throat and the silverwork on the turned-down tops of his thigh-high boots. He stepped carefully, handling his cloak fastidiously to avoid brushing the dead. The floor trembled with aftershocks, but his attention was fixed on the man staring into the mirror and laughing.
“Lord of the Morning,” he said, “I have come for you.”
The laughter cut off as if it had never been, and Lews Therin turned, seeming unsurprised. “Ah, a guest. Have you the Voice, stranger? It will soon be time for the Singing, and here all are welcome to take part. Ilyena, my love, we have a guest. Ilyena, where are you?”
The black-clad man’s eyes widened, darted to the body of the golden-haired woman, then back to Lews Therin. “Shai’tan take you, does the taint already have you so far in its grip?”
“That name. Shai—” Lews Therin shuddered and raised a hand as though to ward off something. “You mustn’t say that name. It is dangerous.”
“So you remember that much, at least. Dangerous for you, fool, not for me. What else do you remember? Remember, you Light-blinded idiot! I will not let it end with you swaddled in unawareness! Remember!”
For a moment Lews Therin stared at his raised hand, fascinated by the patterns of grime. Then he wiped his hand on his even dirtier coat and turned his attention back to the other man. “Who are you? What do you want?”
