Why is there no new information regarding the forthcoming release of the passage from the Wheel of Time?

[MAP3]

It seems to me that the site dedicated to Brandon Sanderson should have at least mentioned his work on this project in News. Not to mention the passage that is laid out for reading.
I do not want to cause negative emotions and blame people, but going to the "official Brandon Sanders fansite" I hope to get complete information about upcoming events.
Your site is doing a great job, and I, like no one else, want a larger number of people to come here for reliable and relevant information. Thanks you.

[Undead Wookiee]

There was information in the latest newsletter he just sent out yesterday I believe it was along with an excerpt from the new short story.

[Snipexe]

Quote

Exclusive Fiction: Perrin

We’ll be publishing a deleted (non-canon) scene from A Memory of Light in the upcoming charity anthology Unfettered 3. Harriet has graciously agreed to let me show you a preview here.

Unfettered 3 should be out early next year. The finished selection for it is a meaty 20k words, and will include an explanation for why I wrote the sequence in the first place, and why we eventually cut it.

The actual excerpt

Spoiler

One

 

Perrin stepped through the gateway into Cairhien, gripping his hammer, looking right and then left down the narrow, cobbled alley. It was night, and the alley was dark—though lantern light through the gateway painted the cobbles golden at his feet.

The city was rank with the smells of men: smoke from nearby chimneys, the lingering aroma of powders and perfumes, even the scent of paint on the wooden boards of the alley—long dried and gone stale. Missing was the scent of rotting food, so commonly associated with cities. Not even the smallest scraps were left to rot in Cairhien these days.

Part of him fixated on the smoke first, then tucked its presence into the back of his mind. Fire was the simplest way—and often the first—for a wolf to know that men were near.

Perrin prowled down the empty alley, waving for his group to follow. The still air was strange, as to Perrin, noise was the other sign of humankind. People were often oblivious to how much noise they made. A man in the woods was usually a thunderous, crunching, snorting, grumbling affair. That cacophony should have magnified many times, here in the city.

And yet, it was still. Unnaturally still. Cairhien should not be a quiet place, even at night.

Perrin reached the mouth of the alley and scouted the larger thoroughfare that it intersected, his eyes piercing the darkness. To his left, across the street, a building flew the lion of Andor beside the rising sun of Cairhien. A few people passed by out here, but they smelled of wine and unwashed bodies.

“Where is everyone?” Arganda asked, slipping up beside him, holding a shielded lantern. First Captain of Alliandre’s guard in Ghealdan, Arganda was a compact man, like a lean and powerful jackrabbit. He was a good one to have along on a hunt.

“Elayne has pressed most of them into one military division or another,” Perrin said softly.

“Farmboys with kitchen knives and hay rakes,” Gallenne said, coming up on Perrin’s other side. He wore his well-polished breastplate and helmet with three plumes, single eye peering down the street. He could be a useful man too, if he could be kept in check. “They’ll be cut to pieces by the first Trolloc they see.”

“I think you’ll find, Gallenne,” Arganda said, “that some farmboys can be dangerous. Particularly if cornered.”

“Quiet, you two,” Perrin growled.

“I mean no offense, Arganda,” Gallenne whispered. “This is not a matter of class, but of training. A well-trained soldier is of equal value to me in battle, farmboy or lord, but pressed armies have no training at all. Queen Elayne should not rely upon them.”

“I don’t think she’s going to,” Perrin said. “But what would you have them do, Gallenne? Sit and hide in their houses? This is the Last Battle. The Shadow will hurl everything it has at us. Better that the people should be armed and ready, if the soldiers fail.”

The man quieted as, behind, the rest of Perrin’s force moved through the gateway. Perrin wished he could still the clanking of armor and fall of boots; if the Dark One discovered what they were up to, they’d find a force of Trollocs waiting for them in the Ways. And yet, to go without at least some troops would have been foolhardy.

It was a careful balance. Enough men to take care of trouble, if encountered—but not so many as to draw their own trouble. He’d settled on fifty. Was that the right number? He’d stayed up nights, carefully going over this plan a hundred times, and was confident in it—but this mission still had him constantly second-guessing his decisions.

The Ways were no careless jaunt through the forest. He suspected he knew that better than anyone.

Last through the gateway, crowding the alleyway, were six pack mules laden with supplies. In addition, each soldier carried a kit with extra water and food. Gallenne had questioned the need for so many supplies, but Perrin had been firm. Yes, the pathway they’d planned looked like it would take only a few days, but he was taking no chances. While he couldn’t plan for everything, he’d not have the mission fail because of something as simple as supply problems.

That said, other than the pack animals, he’d brought no horses. Bridges in the Ways could be narrow, particularly when broken or worn. It was better to rely on feet.

That suited the Aiel just fine. Perrin had brought ten of them, including Sulin and Gaul. Ten Ghealdanin, ten Mayeners, ten Whitecloaks, and ten Two Rivers men put him at exactly fifty soldiers. On top of that, he’d added Grady, Neald, Saerin, Edarra, Seonid, and her two Warders.

Five channelers. Light send he didn’t need them.

“Do you sense anything, Goldeneyes?” Seonid asked. Fair skinned and dark haired, the Cairhienin woman reminded him of Moiraine—though she was more severe. Though...he’d thought of Moiraine as severe too, when he’d traveled with her. Odd that he’d look back now, and imagine her smelling of fondness when she spoke to him. Perhaps he was just remembering the past as he wanted to, like old Cenn Buie claiming the pies at Bel Tine had tasted better when he’d been young.

Either way, Perrin trusted Seonid most out of the Aes Sedai who had traveled with him in the south. At least she hadn’t gone to meet with Masema behind his back.

Perrin peered at the street, smelling scents on the air and listening for anything out of place. Finally, he shook his head in answer to Seonid’s question. He placed two men as scouts as the mouth of the street and alleyway, but then joined Seonid in walking back through the alleyway, her two Warders following.

Their goal wasn’t the street, but the dead end of the alley where it intersected a large wall surrounding what had once been the palace of Lord Barthanes Damodred—a Darkfriend, and coincidentally a cousin to Moiraine.

His palace was now Rand’s school. Perrin had never been to the place, but he found the back gate into the grounds just where it had been described. He knocked softly, and a stocky, gray-haired woman pulled the gate open.

“Idrien Tarsin?” Perrin asked.

The woman nodded, smelling of worry as she ushered them in. She was headmistress of the school, and had been told to expect their arrival. Perrin waited as the others entered, counting off his men and women—one more time, for good measure.

Finally, all accounted for, he pulled the gate closed behind him, then hurried along the line of soldiers to the front. Here Idrien hissed at them to be quiet, then glanced at the sky and pulled open the back door to the school proper.

Perrin stepped through it, and into a place full of odd scents. Something acrid he couldn’t place mixed with the scents of flowers that had been crushed. Odd scents that he associated with baking—the sodas and yeasts—but none of the comfortable scents, like those of baking bread, that should accompany them.

As the others of his group entered, he stepped forward, smelling at a room that reeked of a tannery. What was happening in this strange place, and why did he smell old bones from that room across the hall?

He would have expected the scholars to be sleeping, but as the headmistress led them down the broad hall, Perrin passed several rooms with lights burning. In one, an extremely tall man with long hair and fingers worked beside a...well, a contraption of some sort. It had wires and coils and pieces growing out of the floor like some kind of metal tree. Lights burned on the table in front of the scholar inside of little glass globes. They were steady lights that didn’t flicker at all.

“Is that an Asha’man?” Galad asked, stepping up beside Perrin.

“I see no weaves,” Grady whispered, joining them as Arganda moved his troops through the hall behind.

“Then...he’s figured out how to harness the One Power using only metal and coils?” Galad asked, smelling worried. He seemed to consider that idea to be very disturbing.

Perrin shook his head, and ushered the other two forward, worried about drawing the scholar’s attention. The man didn’t even look up, however—as if oblivious to the footfalls and hushed conversations outside.

Perrin hurried on himself, passing underneath a model hanging from the ceiling—it looked like a wooden man with wings attached to his arms, as if they were intended to make him fly. Another room smelled of old dust, and was filled entirely with bones—but not from any animals Perrin recognized.

Eventually, Idrien Tarsin led them through a very small door—perhaps a servant’s door—out into the mansion’s gardens. Perrin knew what to expect, as Loial had explained—at length, of course—about his trip in here with Rand. The Waygate was inside its own walled enclosure within the gardens. There was a balding fellow sitting on the ground with a heap of star charts, staring up at the sky. What he expected to see through the cloud cover was beyond Perrin.

“I thought you were told to keep everyone away,” Perrin said, hurrying up to the headmistress.

“Oh, don’t mind Gavil,” she said. She had a musical voice. “He’s not right in the head. He...well, we let him study the Ways, you see...”

“You let someone in?” Perrin demanded.

“We are here to study and learn,” she replied, voice hardening. “He knew the risks. And he...well, he only stuck his head in for a brief moment. That was enough. When we pulled him back out, he was staring and mumbling. Now he rants about a sky with no stars and draws star charts all day. But they’re nonsense—at least, he charts a sky that I’ve never seen.”

She glanced at Perrin, then—smelling of shame—looked away. “We’ve never opened it again, not since that Ogier showed up and chastised us for what we’d done. Of course, we couldn’t have opened it on our own anyway, as he took the key with him when he left.”

Perrin said nothing. He led his group into the small enclosure, and there was the Waygate, a portal of stone worked with incredibly intricate vines and leaf patterns. Perrin hadn’t done much work in stone—the closest was some fanciful attempts at silver molds, at which Master Luhhan had laughed. As if there would ever be enough silver in the Two Rivers to waste on an apprentice’s practice molds.

Still, the masterwork sculpting on the Waygates had always struck Perrin. The creators had made this stonework look almost as if it were alive.

“Thank you, Mistress Tarsin,” Perrin said. “This will get me to the Two Rivers quietly, without anyone knowing where we’ve gone.”

Perrin glanced at Galad—who blessedly didn’t say anything. The man could be perniciously honest at times, and hadn’t liked the idea of lying about their destination. But Perrin figured he should do anything he could to point the Shadow the wrong direction—even mentioning deliberately wrong rumors.

“You may go,” Perrin told the headmistress. “But forbid anyone from even entering this garden—barricade the doors, and don’t worry about us. Remember the warning you got earlier. The Shadow might very well be planning to send troops in through this portal. It might feel quiet here in the city, but you’re actually sitting right on the front lines of the war.”

She nodded, and didn’t smell as concerned as she probably should have. Well, perhaps she was just good at controlling her fear of this place—they’d long known that the Shadow was using the Waygate, and Rand had stationed guards here during most of the school’s existence.

A few guards wouldn’t do much more than a locked door, unfortunately. This Waygate needed channelers who could Travel watching it permanently—something Rand would send once he could spare them.

Or...well, if he could spare them.

Mistress Tarsin retreated out the door, locking it behind her. Not that a door lock would do much to stop Trollocs—indeed, far stronger precautions had proven useless. The Waygate in Caemlyn had been locked tight like this one, behind the wall of stone that protected the entrance.

Perrin moved his soldier back, leaving only the channelers and his attendants near the Waygate itself. Then he jogged back over, and nodded toward Grady. “All right, Grady,” he said. “Bring it down.”

Saerin folded her arms, and Perrin braced himself for another objection. The Aes Sedai hadn’t liked this part of the plan—Saerin in particular. The fierce Brown sister had objected at the destruction of such an ancient relic.

Fortunately, she said nothing as Grady stepped up and adopted a look of concentration. Apparently Perrin’s explanations had suited her: This barrier had meant nothing to the enemy in Caemlyn. It might as well not be there, for all the good it had done the people there.

Right now, the only chance this city had—like Caemlyn itself—was for Perrin to find a way to shut these Waygates permanently from the other side.

“All right, my Lord,” Grady said. “Brace yourself.”

With that, the Asha’man blasted open the Waygate’s stone covering.

The explosion ripped the barrier into several pieces, though the resulting pop was muted, as if it had come from many paces away. The chunks—rather than spraying chips and stone across the soldiers—hung in the air, then floated down and settled onto the path just in front of the Waygate.

Perrin felt a pang at the destruction, more so because he had ordered it. But no smith could be so attached to a piece that he couldn’t see the need to melt it down, when its time came. Now that the stone covering was gone, Perrin’s breath caught, and he took one of the lanterns, raising it high.

The opening now exposed a glassy surface like a mirror—but one that reflected poorly. A shadowy version of Perrin, holding aloft the lantern, confronted him. Loial had said that once the Waygates had shone like bright mirrors—back when they’d had light of their own within.

The ancient portal rested peacefully as Grady dusted off his hands. Perrin stepped up, listening, looking. Last time that Rand had tried to use this Waygate, something had been waiting for him on the other side. The Black Wind.

Today, however, Perrin heard no calling for blood or death, and felt no assault on his mind. He saw nothing but the shadowy version of himself, golden eyes seeming to glow in the lantern light as he searched for hints of danger. He could spot none. It seemed that Machin Shin was not lurking in wait for them, this time.

He released his held breath as, behind him, Seonid spoke thoughtfully to Grady. “That was well done, with the explosion, Asha’man. Did you use Air to muffle the sound, somehow?”

Grady nodded, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “Been practicing how to do that, lately. Explosions can be handy, but we can’t be shattering everyone’s eardrums with each one, now can we?”

“The noise of the channeling is the one we must fear more,” Saerin said briskly. “We should be quick, just in case.”

“Agreed,” Perrin said. He turned back to the troops, who had watched the display with stoic faces. This lot was as used to channeling as common men ever could be, he supposed. “Arganda and Gallenne?”

“Yes, Lord Goldeneyes?” Gallenne said, alongside a simple “Yes?” from Arganda. Both smelled eager.

“You may enter. Together.”

They didn’t seem to like that, but both stepped up to the glassy surface, as if approaching the versions of themselves from the shadowy realm beyond. With the entire rock face removed, the opening was wide enough for two men, barely. Arganda reached up and tapped the surface, his finger seeming to meld with that of his reflection. He shuddered visibly as his finger stuck into it, rather than meeting something solid. He looked at Gallenne, and the other man nodded, slotted helmet under his arm.

Together, they stepped forward, their faces meeting those of their doppelgangers as they merged with the reflective surface, stepping into the Ways. A moment later, Arganda stepped back out, his top torso breaking from the surface—causing no ripples—and leaning out.

“There is a modestly sized stone field on this side, as described, Lord Goldeneyes. We see no signs of the Shadow, or of this...wind you mentioned.”

“All right,” Perrin said to the others. “In you go. One at a time, and go slowly, understand. I’ll go last.”

Galad stepped up to him as the soldiers began to pile through. He watched the Waygate with troubled eyes. “I’ve been trying to convince the Children that we need not walk in dark paths in order to follow the Light.”

“Sometimes, you must walk a dark path,” Perrin said, “because there is no other way forward. That doesn’t mean you need to let it get inside of you. That’s something the Children never seem to be able to figure out.”

“I am not a fool, Perrin,” Galad said. “I realize that distinction. But if we intend to resist the Shadow without embracing evil methods, how can we justify using this...place?”

“The Ways aren’t evil,” Perrin said. “The fact that the Shadow has corrupted them doesn’t change that they were made for a good purpose. The real corruption is Shadowspawn using it to attack us.”

Galad thought for a time, then nodded. “I will accept that argument. You have a good logic about you, Perrin Aybara.” He stepped up next and—without breaking stride or smelling the least bit worried—passed through the gate.

“Complimented by a Whitecloak,” Seonid said to Perrin, waiting as her Warders passed through. “How does that feel?”

“Odd,” Perrin admitted. “Go on in. And remember not to channel once inside.”

“You keep saying this,” Edarra said as she stepped up. The Wise One had pale yellow hair, and seemed young—though of course, that was deceptive when Wise Ones were concerned. She inspected her shadowy reflection with a critical eye. “Why bring five people who can channel, then tell us not to use the One Power?”

“Never swing an axe carelessly, Edarra,” Perrin said. “The Power will be corrupted inside, almost like the taint that was upon saidin. We will probably have to use the Power to pull off this plan, but let’s not be foolhardy about it.”

Edarra finally entered, and though the Wise One didn’t bow her head or betray an anxious step, she did smell distinctly of nervousness.

Seonid, in turn, smelled of...a strange mix of emotions as she watched. Something had happened between the two Aes Sedai and the Wise Ones. Perrin didn’t know exactly what it had been, but it did seem to be over now. And strangely, Seonid seemed more respectful of the Aiel than she did of Egwene or the other senior Aes Sedai.

“Keep that Whitecloak at arm’s length, Lord Aybara,” Seonid said after Edarra passed. “His type turns on a man quickly, once he finds fault. I’ve seen it a dozen times.” She strode into the Waygate, followed by the last of the Aiel—all save Gaul, who waited with Perrin.

“We have a saying in the Three-fold Land,” Gaul noted. “The gango lizard will happily feed on your arm while the asp bites your leg. I think that one’s advice could be applied to herself.”

“I trust them both,” Perrin said. “Seonid can be brusque, but she acts with honesty. And Galad...Galad is straightforward. If he does turn on me, I don’t doubt he’ll explain his reasons completely beforehand. I’d rather have that than a dozen attendants who tell me what I want to hear and scheme behind my back.” Perrin scratched at his beard. “Odd. Rand would always talk like that too, and he ended up with a bunch of scheming sycophants anyway.”

Gaul laughed. “I would not call it odd, Perrin Aybara. Not odd at all.”

After Gaul had passed through, Perrin stepped up, as if confronting himself in the reflective surface. He had entered the Ways only twice. First, so long ago with Moiraine. Then again, when he’d returned with Loial to the Two Rivers.

It felt like an eternity had passed since either of those events. Indeed, it seemed a completely different person who looked back at him from inside the Waygate. A hard man, with a weathered beard—thick like the fur of a wolf whose instincts knew to anticipate a particularly harsh winter. But Perrin could look that man in his golden eyes, and feel at peace with him.

Both man and reflection slid their hammers into the loops at their sides. And both knew that this time, though wary, they would not smell of fear. He stepped forward, touching the surface of the gate, which felt icy, like water washing across him. The moment stretched—indeed, Perrin almost felt as if he were stretching, like a thick piece of tar.

Finally, though, he slid through and stepped firmly on the other side, entering the infinite blackness.

 

[Wyndlerunner]

The site also has a helpful direct feed to Brandon's twitter account, which also is a source for most of the site's news as it is. The admins are usually pretty on top of things, but to err is human. And I can assure you that none of us are Kandra in disguise

[+Ark1002]

14 minutes ago, Wyndlerunner said:

The site also has a helpful direct feed to Brandon's twitter account, which also is a source for most of the site's news as it is. The admins are usually pretty on top of things, but to err is human. And I can assure you that none of us are Kandra in disguise

*Melts into Mistwraith shape*

Yeah, they can't be blamed.

Didn't know about this though, so thanks!

[Embrisk]

On 08/11/2018 at 10:37 AM, Wyndlerunner said:

The site also has a helpful direct feed to Brandon's twitter account, which also is a source for most of the site's news as it is. The admins are usually pretty on top of things, but to err is human. And I can assure you that none of us are Kandra in disguise

But even if we were, the kandra would be pretty good at imitating our tendency to make mistakes.

Even I could be kandra.