"Speak," Galad said.
"I have more news about the army, my Lord Captain Commander," Byar said. "They are near where the captives said they would be, a few days from us."
Galad nodded. "They fly the flag of Ghealdan?"
"Alongside the flag of Mayene." That flame of zeal glinted in Byar's eyes. "And the wolfhead, though reports say they took that down late yesterday. Goldeneyes is there. Our scouts are sure of it."
"Did he really kill Bornhald's father?"
"Yes, my Lord Captain Commander. I have a familiarity with this creature. He and his troops come from a place called the Two Rivers."
"The Two Rivers?" Galad said. "Curious, how often I seem to hear of that place, these days. Is that not where al'Thor is from?"
"So it is said," Byar replied.
Galad rubbed his chin. "They grow good tabac there, Child Byar, but I have not heard of them growing armies."
"It is a dark place, my Lord Captain Commander. Child Bornhald and I spent some time there last year; it is festering with Darkfriends."
Galad sighed. "You sound like a Questioner."
"My Lord Captain Commander," Byar earnestly continued, "my Lord, please believe me. I am not simply speculating. This is different."
Galad frowned. Then he gestured toward the other stool beside his table. Byar took it.
"Explain yourself," Galad said. "And tell me everything you know of this Perrin Goldeneyes."
Perrin could remember a time when simple breakfasts of bread and cheese had satisfied him. That was no longer the case. Perhaps it was due to his relationship with the wolves, or maybe his tastes had changed over time. These days he craved meat, especially in the morning. He couldn't always have it, and that was fine. But generally he didn't have to ask.
That was the case this day. He'd risen, washed his face, and found a servant entering with a large chop of ham, steaming and succulent. No beans, no vegetables. No gravy. Just the ham, rubbed with salt and seared over the fire, with a pair of boiled eggs. The serving woman set them on his table, then withdrew.
Perrin wiped his hands, crossing the rug of his tent and taking in the ham's scent. Part of him felt he should turn it away, but he couldn't. Not when it was right there. He sat down, took up fork and knife and dug in.
"I still don't see how you can eat that for breakfast," Faile noted, leaving the washing chamber of their tent, wiping her hands on a cloth. Their large tent had several curtained divisions to it. She wore one of her unobtrusive gray dresses. Perfect, because it didn't distract from her beauty. It was accented by a sturdy black belt—she had sent away all of her golden belts, no matter how fine. He'd suggested finding her one that was more to her liking, and she'd looked sick.
"It's food," Perrin said.
"I can see," she said with a snort, looking herself over in the mirror. "What did you think I assumed it was? A rock?"
"I meant," Perrin said between bites, "that food is food. Why should I care what I eat for breakfast and what I eat for a different meal?"
"Because it's strange," she said, clasping on a cord holding a small blue stone. She regarded herself in the mirror, then turned, the loose sleeves of her Saldaean-cut dress swishing. She paused beside his plate, grimacing. "I'm having breakfast with Alliandre. Send for me if there is news."
He nodded, swallowing. Why should a person have meat at midday, but refuse it for breakfast? It didn't make sense.
He'd decided to remain camped beside the Jehannah Road. What else was he to do, with an army of Whitecloaks directly ahead, between him and Lugard? His scouts needed time to assess the danger. He'd spent much time thinking about the strange visions he'd seen, the wolves chasing sheep toward a beast and Faile walking toward a cliff. He hadn't been able to make sense of them, but could they have something to do with the Whitecloaks? Their appearance bothered him more than he wanted to admit, but he harbored a tiny hope that they would prove insignificant and not slow him too much.
"Perrin Aybara," a voice called from outside his tent. "Do you give me leave to enter?"
"Come in, Gaul," he called. "My shade is yours."
The tall Aiel strode in. "Thank you, Perrin Aybara," he said, glancing at the ham. "Quite a feast. Do you celebrate?"
"Nothing besides breakfast."
"A mighty victory," Gaul said, laughing.
Perrin shook his head. Aiel humor. He'd stopped trying to make sense of it. Gaul settled himself on the ground and Perrin sighed inwardly before picking up his plate and moving to sit on the rug across from Gaul. Perrin placed the meal in his lap and continued to eat.
"You need not sit on the floor because of me," Gaul said.
"I'm not doing it because I need to, Gaul."
Gaul nodded.
Perrin cut off another bite. This would be so much easier if he grabbed the whole thing in his fingers and started ripping off chunks. Eating was simpler for wolves. Utensils. What was the point?
Thoughts like that gave him pause. He was not a wolf, and didn't want to think like one. Maybe he should start having fruit for a proper breakfast, as Faile said. He frowned, then turned back to his meat.
"We fought Trollocs in the Two Rivers," Byar said, lowering his voice. Galad's porridge cooled, forgotten on the table. "Several dozen men in our camp can confirm it. I killed several of the beasts with my own sword."
"Trollocs in the Two Rivers?" Galad said. "That's hundreds of leagues from the Borderlands!"
"They were there nonetheless," Byar said. "Lord Captain Commander Niall must have suspected it. We were sent to the place on his orders. You know that Pedron Niall would not have simply jumped at nothing."
"Yes. I agree. But the Two Rivers?"
"It is full of Darkfriends," Byar said. "Bornhald told you of Goldeneyes. In the Two Rivers, this Perrin Aybara was raising the flag of ancient Manetheren and gathering an army from among the farmers. Trained soldiers may scoff at farmers pressed into service, but get enough of them together, and they can be a danger. Some are skilled with the staff or the bow."
"I am aware," Galad said flatly, recalling a particularly embarrassing lesson he'd once been given.
"That man, this Perrin Aybara," Byar continued. "He's Shadowspawn, as plain as day. They call him Goldeneyes because his eyes are golden, no shade that any person has ever known. We were certain that Aybara was bringing the Trollocs in, using them to force the people of the Two Rivers to join his army. He eventually ran us out of the place. Now he's here, before us." A coincidence, or something more?
Byar was obviously thinking along the same lines. "My Lord Captain Commander, perhaps I should have mentioned this earlier, but the Two Rivers wasn't my first experience with this creature Aybara. He killed two of the Children on a forgotten road in Andor some two years ago. I was traveling with Bornhald's father. We met Aybara in a campsite off a main road. He was running with wolves like a wildman! He killed two men before we could subdue him, then escaped into the night after we had him captured. My Lord, he was to be hanged."
"There are others who can confirm this?" Galad asked.
"Child Oratar can. And Child Bornhald can confirm what we saw in the Two Rivers. Goldeneyes was at Falme, too. For what he did there alone he should be brought to justice. It is clear. The Light has delivered him to us."
"You're certain our people are among the Whitecloaks?" Perrin asked.
"I could not see faces," Gaul said, "but Elyas Machera's eyes are very keen. He says he's certain he saw Basel Gill."
Perrin nodded. Elyas' golden eyes would be as good as Perrin's own.
"Sulin and her scouts have similar reports," Gaul said, accepting a cup of ale poured from Perrin's pitcher. "The Whitecloak army has a large number of carts, much like the ones we sent ahead. She discovered this early in the morning, but asked me to pass these words to you once you awoke, as she knows that wetlanders are temperamental when disturbed in the morning."
Gaul obviously had no idea that he might be giving offense. Perrin was a wetland
er. Wetlanders were temperamental, at least in the opinion of the Aiel. So Gaul was stating an accepted fact. Perrin shook his head, trying one of the eggs. Overcooked, but edible. "Did Sulin spot anyone she recognized?"
"No, though she saw some gai'shain." Gaul said. "However, Sulin is a Maiden, so perhaps we should send someone to confirm what she said—someone who won't demand the opportunity to wash our smallclothes."
"Trouble with Bain and Chiad?" Perrin asked.
Gaul grimaced. "I swear, those women will drive the mind from me. What man should be expected to suffer such things? Almost better to have Sightblinder himself as a gai'shain than those two."
Perrin chuckled.
"Regardless, the captives look unharmed and healthy. There is more to the report. One of the Maidens saw a flag flying over the camp that looked distinctive, so she copied it down for your secretary, Sebban Balwer. He says that it means the Lord Captain Commander himself rides with this army."
Perrin looked down at the last chunk of ham. That was not good news. He'd never met the Lord Captain Commander, but he had met one of the Whitecloak Lords Captain once. That had been the night when Hopper had died, a night that had haunted Perrin for two years.
That had been the night when he had killed for the first time.
"What more do you need?" Byar leaned in close, sunken eyes alight with zeal. "We have witnesses who saw this man murder two of our own! Do we let him march by, as if innocent?"
"No," Galad said. "No, by the Light, if what you say is true then we cannot turn our backs on this man. Our duty is to bring justice to the wronged."
Byar smiled, looking eager. "The prisoners revealed that the Queen of Ghealdan has sworn fealty to him."
"That could present a problem."
"Or an opportunity. Perhaps Ghealdan is precisely what the Children need. A new home, a place to rebuild. You speak of Andor, my Lord Captain Commander, but how long will they suffer us? You speak of the Last Battle, but it could be months away. What if we were to free an entire nation from the grip of a terrible Darkfriend? Surely the Queen—or her successor—would feel indebted to us."
"Assuming we can defeat this Aybara."
"We can. Our forces are smaller than his, but many of his soldiers are farmers."
"Farmers you just pointed out can be dangerous," Galad said. "They should not be underestimated."
"Yes, but I know we can defeat them. They can be dangerous, yes, but they will break before the might of the Children. This time, finally, Goldeneyes won't be able to hide behind his little village fortifications or his ragtag allies. No more excuses."
Was this part of being ta'veren? Could Perrin not escape that night, years ago? He set his plate aside, feeling sick.
"Are you well, Perrin Aybara?" Gaul said.
"Just thinking." The Whitecloaks would not leave him alone, and the Pattern—burn it!—was going to keep looping them into his path until he dealt with them.
"How large is their army?" Perrin asked.
"There are twenty thousand soldiers among them," Gaul replied. "There are several thousand others who have likely never held a spear."
Servants and camp followers. Gaul kept the amusement from his voice, but Perrin could smell it on him. Among the Aiel, nearly every man—all but blacksmiths—would pick up a spear if they were attacked. The fact that many wetlanders were incapable of defending themselves either befuddled or infuriated the Aiel.
"Their force is large," Gaul continued, "but ours is larger. And they have no algai'd'siswai nor Asha'man, nor channelers of any type, if Sebban Balwer's word is not in error. He seems to know much of these Whitecloaks."
"He's right. Whitecloaks hate Aes Sedai and think anyone who can use the One Power is a Darkfriend."
"We move against him, then?" Byar asked.
Galad stood. "We have no choice. The Light has delivered him into our hands. But we need more information. Perhaps I should go to this Aybara and let him know that we hold his allies, and then ask his army to meet with us on the field of battle. I'd rather draw him out to make use of my cavalry."
"What do you want, Perrin Aybara?" Gaul asked.
What did he want? He wished he could answer that.
Send more scouts," Perrin said. "Find us a better place to camp. We'll want to offer parley, but there's no way under the Light I'm leaving. Gill and the others in the hands of the Whitecloaks. We'll give the Children chance to return our people. If they don't… well, then we'll see…"
CHAPTER 8
The Seven-Striped Lass
Mat sat on a worn stool, his arms leaning against a dark wooden bar counter. The air smelled good—of ale, smoke, and of the washcloth that had recently wiped the counter. He liked that. There was something calming about a good, rowdy tavern that was also kept clean. Well, clean as was reasonable, anyway. Nobody liked a tavern that was too clean. That made a place feel new. Like a coat that had never been worn or a pipe that had never been smoked.
Mat flipped a folded letter between two fingers of his right hand. That letter, on thick paper, was sealed with a glob of blood-red wax. He had been carrying it only a short time, but it was already a source of as much aggravation to him as any woman. Well, maybe not an Aes Sedai, but most any other woman. That was saying a lot.
He stopped spinning the letter and tapped it on the counter. Burn Verin for doing this to him! She held him by his oath like a fish caught on a hook.
"Well, Master Crimson?" asked the tavernkeeper. That was the name he was using these days. Best to be safe. "You want a refill or not?"
The tavernkeeper leaned down before him, crossing her arms. Melli Craeb was a pretty woman, with a round face and auburn hair that curled quite fetchingly. Mat would have given her his best smile—there was not a woman he had met who did not melt for his best smile—but he was a married man now. He could not go breaking hearts; it would not be right.
Though, leaning as she did showed some ample bosom. She was a short woman, but she kept the area behind the bar raised. Yes, a nice bosom indeed. He figured she would be good for a bit of kissing, perhaps tucked into one of the booths at the back of the tavern. Of course, Mat did not look at women anymore, not like that. He did not think about her for him to kiss. Maybe for Talmanes. He was so stiff, a good kiss and cuddle would do him good.
"Well?" Melli asked.
"What would you do if you were me, Melli?" His empty mug sat beside him, a few suds clinging to the rim.
"Order another round," she said immediately. "For the entire bar. It would be downright charitable of you. People like a charitable fellow."
"I meant about the letter."
"You promised not to open it?" she said.
"Well, not exactly. I promised that if I opened it, I'd do exactly what it said inside."
"Gave an oath, did you?"
He nodded.
She snatched it from his fingers, causing him to yelp. He reached to take it back but she pulled away, turning it over in her fingers. Mat suppressed an urge to reach for it again; he had played more than a few games of take-away, and had no urge to look the buffoon. A woman liked nothing more than to make a man squirm, and if you let her do it, she would only keep going.
Still, he began to sweat. "Now, Melli…"
"I could open it for you," she said, leaning back against the other side of the bar, looking over the letter. Nearby, a man called for another mug of ale, but she waved him down. The red-nosed man looked as if he had had enough anyway. Melli's tavern was popular enough that she had a half-dozen serving girls taking care of the patrons. One would get to him eventually. "I could open it," she continued to Mat, "and could tell you what's inside."
Bloody ashes! If she did that, he would have to do what it said. Whatever it bloody said! All he had to do was wait a few weeks, and he would be free. He could wait that long. Really, he could. "It wouldn't do," Mat said, sitting up with a jerk as she reached her thumb between two sides of the letter, as if to rip it. "I'd still have to do what it sai
d, Melli. Don't you do that, now. Be careful!"
She smiled at him. Her tavern, The Seven-Striped Lass, was one of the best in western Caemlyn. Ale with a robust flavor, games of dice when you wanted them, and not a rat to be seen. They probably did not want to risk running afoul of Melli. Light, but the woman could shame the whiskers off a man's cheeks without much trying. "You never did tell me who it was from," Melli said, turning the letter over. "She's a lover, isn't she? Got you tied up in her strings?"
She had the second part right enough, but a lover? Verin? It was ridiculous enough to make Mat laugh. Kissing Verin would have been about as much fun as kissing a lion. Of the two, he would have chosen the lion. It would have been much less likely to try to bite him.
"I gave my oath, Melli," Mat said, trying not to show his nervousness. "Don't you go opening that, now."
"I didn't give any oath," she said. "Maybe I'll read it, and then not tell you what it says. Just give you hints, now and then, as encouragement."
She eyed him, full lips smiling. Yes, she was a pretty one. Not as pretty as Tuon, though, with her beautiful skin and large eyes. But Melli was still pretty, particularly those lips of hers. Being married meant he could not stare at those lips, but he did give her his best smile. It was called for, this time, though it could break her heart. He could not let her open that letter.
"It's the same thing, Melli," Mat said winningly. "If you open that letter and I don't do what it says, my oath is as good as dishwater." He sighed, realizing there was one way to get the letter back. "The woman who gave it to me was Aes Sedai, Melli. You don't want to anger an Aes Sedai, do you?"
"Aes Sedai?" Melli suddenly looked eager. "I've always fancied going up to Tar Valon, to see if they'll let me join them." She looked at the letter, as if more curious about its contents.
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