She blinked.
He turned toward her, his yellow eyes thoughtful. "I'm connected to him. He… pulls at me, you see. Anyway, I told myself I was going to be open with you about things like this." He hesitated. "My armies here, they're being herded, Faile. Like sheep being driven to the butcher."
He suddenly remembered his vision from the wolf dream. Sheep running in front of wolves. He'd thought himself one of the wolves. But could he have been wrong?
Light! He had been wrong about that. He knew what it meant, now. "I can feel it on the wind," he said. "The problem with gateways, it's related to something happening in the wolf dream. Somebody wants us to be unable to escape this place."
A cold breeze, odd in the noonday heat, washed over them. "Are you certain?" Faile asked.
"Yes," Perrin said. "Oddly, I am."
"That's where the Maidens are? Scouting?"
"Someone wants to trap us and attack. Makes most sense to let us clash with the Whitecloaks, then kill whoever survives. But that would require an army, of which there is no sign. Just us and the Whitecloaks. I have Elyas hunting out signs of a Waygate in the area, but he hasn't found anything yet. So maybe there's nothing, and I'm just jumping at shadows."
"Lately, husband, it's become likely that those shadows can bite. I trust your instincts."
He looked to her, then smiled deeply. "Thank you."
"So what do we do?"
"We ride to this trial," Perrin said. "And do whatever we can to keep from going to battle with the Whitecloaks. Then tonight, I see if I can stop the thing that is preventing the gateways. We can't just ride far enough away to escape it; the thing can be moved. I saw it in two places. I'll have to destroy it, somehow. After that, we escape."
She nodded, and Perrin gave the call to march. Though the force behind still seemed chaotic—like a rope chat had been tangled—the army began to move. The various groups sorted themselves out, unraveling.
They made the short trip down the Jehannah Road, approaching the field with the pavilion. The Whitecloaks had already arrived; they were in formation. It looked as if they'd brought their entire army as well.
This was going to be a tense afternoon.
Gaul ran beside Perrin's horse, and he didn't seem worried, nor did he have his face veiled. Faile knew he thought it honorable for Perrin to go to trial. Perrin either had to defend himself or admit toh and accept judgment. Aiel had walked freely to their own executions to meet toh.
They rode down to the pavilion. A chair had been set on a low platform at the northern end, its back to the distant forest of leatherleaf. Morgase sat in the elevated chair, looking every inch a monarch, wearing a gown of red and gold that Galad must have found for her. How had Faile ever mistaken this woman for a simple lady's maid?
Chairs had been placed in front of Morgase, and Whitecloaks filled half of them. Galad stood beside her makeshift throne of judgment. His every lock of hair was in place, his uniform without blemish, his cloak falling behind him. Faile glanced to the side and caught Berelain staring at Galad and blushing, looking almost hungry. She had not given up on her attempts to persuade Perrin to let her go make peace with the Whitecloaks.
"Galad Damodred," Perrin called, dismounting before the pavilion. Faile dismounted and walked beside him. "I want you to promise me something before this begins."
"And what would that be?" the young commander called from the open-sided tent.
"Vow not to let this turn to battle," Perrin said.
"I could promise that," Galad said. "But, of course, you'd have to promise me that you're not going to run if the judgment falls against you.
Perrin fell silent. Then he rested his hand upon his hammer.
"Not willing to promise it, I see," Galad said. "I give you this chance because my mother has persuaded me that you should be allowed to speak in your defense. But I would sooner die than allow a man who has murdered Children to walk away unchallenged. If you do not wish this to turn to battle, Perrin Aybara, then present your defense well. Either that, or accept punishment."
Faile glanced at her husband; he was frowning. He looked as if he wanted to speak the requested promise. She laid a hand on his arm.
"I should do it," he said quietly. "How can any man be above the law, Faile? I killed those men in Andor when Morgase was Queen. I should abide by her judgment."
"And your duty to the people of your army?" she asked. "Your duty to Rand and to the Last Battle?" And to me?
Perrin hesitated, then nodded. "You're right." Then, louder, he continued, "Let's be on with this."
Perrin strode into the pavilion, joined immediately by Neald, Dannil and Grady. Their presence made Perrin feel like a coward; the way the four stood made it obvious that they had no intention of letting Perrin be taken.
What was a trial, if Perrin would not abide by its determination? Nothing more than a sham.
The Whitecloaks watched tensely, their officers standing in the shade of the pavilion, their army at parade rest. They looked as if they had no intention of standing down during the proceedings. Perrin's own forces—larger, but less orderly—responded by standing at the ready opposite the Whitecloaks.
Perrin nodded, and Rowan Hum moved off to make certain Galad had released the captives. Perrin walked to the front of the pavilion, stopping just before Morgase's elevated seat. Faile stayed by his side. There were chairs for him here, and he sat. Several steps to his left was Morgase's stand. To his right, the people sat to watch the trial. His back was toward his army.
Faile—smelling wary—sat next to him. Others filed in. Berelain and Alliandre sat with their guards near him; the Aes Sedai and Wise Ones stood at the back, refusing seats. The last few seats were taken by a few of the Two Rivers men and some of the senior former refugees.
The Whitecloak officers sat down opposite them, facing Faile and Perrin. Bornhald and Byar at the front. There were about thirty chairs, likely taken from Perrin's supplies that the Whitecloaks had appropriated.
"Perrin," Morgase said from her seat. "Are you certain you want to go through with this?"
"I am," he said.
"Very well," she said, her face impassive, though she smelled hesitant. "I formally begin this trial. The accused is Perrin Aybara, known as Perrin Goldeneyes." She hesitated. "Lord of the Two Rivers," she added. "Galad, you will present the charges."
"There are three," Galad said, standing. "The first two are the unlawful murder of Child Lathin and the unlawful murder of Child Yamwick. Aybara is also accused of being a Darkfriend and of bringing Trollocs into the Two Rivers."
There were angry murmurs from the Two Rivers men at that last charge. Those Trollocs had killed Perrin's own family.
Galad continued, "The last charge cannot be substantiated yet, as my men were forced out of the Two Rivers before they could gather proof, As to the first two charges, Aybara has already admitted his guilt."
"Is this so, Lord Aybara?" Morgase asked.
"I killed those men, sure enough," Perrin said. "But it wasn't murder."
"Then this is what the court will determine," Morgase said formally. "And this is the dispute."
Morgase seemed a completely different person from Maighdin. Was this how people expected Perrin to act when they came to him for judgment? He had to admit, she did lend the proceedings a measure of needed formality. After all, the trial was happening in a tent on a field with the judge's chair elevated by what appeared to be a small stack of boxes with a rug thrown over them.
"Galad," Morgase said. "Your men may tell their side of the story."
Galad nodded to Byar. He stood, and another Whitecloak—a young man with a completely bald head—stepped forward to join him. Bornhald remained seated.
"Your Grace," Byar said, "it happened about two years ago. During the spring. An unnaturally cold spring, I remember. We were on our way back from important business at the command of the Lord Captain Commander, and we were passing through the wilderness of central Andor. We were g
oing to camp for the night at an abandoned Ogier stedding, at the base of what was once an enormous statue. The kind of place you assume will be safe."
Perrin remembered that night. A chill east wind blowing across him, ruffling his cloak as he stood by a pool of fresh water. He remembered the sun dying silently in the west. He remembered staring at the pool in the waning light, watching the wind ruffle its surface, holding the axe in his hands.
That blasted axe. He should have thrown it away right then. Elyas had persuaded him to keep it.
"When we arrived," Byar continued, "we found that the campsite had been used recently. That concerned us; few people knew of the stedding. We determined, from the single firepit, that there were not many of these mysterious wayfarers."
His voice was precise, his description methodical. That wasn't how Perrin remembered the night. No, he remembered the hiss of the flames, sparks fluttering angrily into the air as Elyas dumped the teapots contents into firepit. He remembered a hasty sending from the wolves flooding his mind, confusing him. The wolves' wariness had made it hard to separate himself from them. He remembered the smell of fear on Egwene, the way he fumbled with Bela's saddle as he cinched it. And he remembered hundreds of men who smelled wrong. Like the Whitecloaks in the pavilion. They smelled like sick wolves who snapped at anything that got too close. "The Lord Captain was worried," Byar continued. He was obviously not mentioning the captain's name, perhaps to spare Bornhald. The young Whitecloak captain sat perfectly still, staring at Byar as if he didn't trust himself to look at Perrin. "He thought that maybe the camp had been used by brigands. Who else would douse their fire and vanish the moment someone else approached? That's when we saw the first wolf."
Hiding, breath coming in quick short gasps, Egwene huddled beside him in the dark. The scent of campfire smoke rising from her clothing and from his. Bela breathing in the darkness. The sheltering confines of an enormous stone hand, the hand of Artur Hawkwing's statue, which had broken free long before.
Dapple, angry and worried. Images of men in white with flaming torches. Wind, darting between the trees.
"The Lord Captain thought the wolves were a bad sign. Everyone knows they serve the Dark One. He sent us to scout. My team searched to the east, looking through the rock formations and shards of the enormous broken statue."
Pain. Men shouting. Perrin? Will you dance with me at Sunday? If we're home by then…
"The wolves started to attack us," Byar said, voice growing hard. "It was obvious that they were no ordinary creatures. There was too much coordination to their assaults. There seemed to be dozens of them, moving through the shadows. There were men among them, striking and killing our mounts."
Perrin had watched it with two sets of eyes. His own, from the vantage of the hand. And the eyes of the wolves, who only wanted to be left alone. They had been wounded earlier by an enormous flock of ravens. They'd tried to drive the men away. Scare them.
So much fear. Both the fear of the men and the fear of the wolves. It had ruled that night, controlling both sides. He could remember fighting to remain himself, bewildered by the sendings.
"That night stretched long," Byar said, voice growing softer, yet full of anger. "We passed a hillside with a massive flat rock at the top, and Child Lathin said he thought he saw something in the shadows there. We stopped, holding forward our lights, and saw the legs of a horse beneath the overhang. I gave Lathin a nod, and he stepped forward to order whoever was in there down to identify themselves.
"Well, that man—Aybara—came out of the darkness with a young woman. He was carrying a wicked axe, and he walked calmly right up to Lathin, ignoring the lance pointed at his chest. And then…"
And then the wolves took over. It was the first time it had happened to Perrin. Their sendings had been so strong that Perrin had lost himself. He could remember crushing Lathin's neck with his teeth, the warm blood bursting into his mouth as if he'd bitten into a fruit. That memory had been Hoppers, but Perrin couldn't separate himself from the wolf for the moments of that fight.
"And then?" Morgase prompted.
"And then there was a fight," Byar said. "Wolves leaped from the shadow and Aybara attacked us. He didn't move like a man, but like a beast, growling. We subdued him and killed one of the wolves, but not before Aybara had managed to kill two of the Children."
Byar sat down. Morgase asked no questions. She turned to the other Whitecloak who had stood with Byar.
"I have little to lend," the man said. "I was there, and I remember it exactly the same way. I want to point out that when we took Aybara into custody, he was already judged guilty. We were going to—"
"That judgment is of no concern to this trial," Morgase said coldly.
"Well, then, allow my voice to be the testimony of a second witness. I saw it all, too." The bald Whitecloak sat down.
Morgase turned to Perrin. "You may speak."
Perrin stood up slowly. "Those two spoke truly, Morgase. That's about how it happened."
"About?" Morgase asked.
"He's nearly right."
"Your guilt or innocence hangs on his 'nearly,' Lord Aybara. It is the measure by which you will be judged."
Perrin nodded. "That it does. Tell me something, Your Grace. When you judge someone like this, do you try to understand their different pieces?"
She frowned. "What?"
"My master, the man who trained me as a blacksmith, taught me an important lesson. To create something, you have to understand it. And to understand something, you have to know what it is made of." A cool breeze blew through the pavilion, ruffling cloaks. That matched the quiet sounds from the plains outside—men shifting in armor and horses stamping, coughs and occasional whispers as his words were passed through the ranks.
"I've come to see something lately," Perrin said. "Men are made up of a lot of different pieces. Who they are depends on what situation you put them in. I had a hand in killing those two men. But to understand, you have to see the pieces of me."
He met Galad's eyes. The young Whitecloak captain stood with a straight back, hands clasped behind his back. Perrin wished he could catch the man's scent.
Perrin turned back to Morgase. "I can speak with wolves. I hear their voices in my mind. I know that sounds like the admission of a madman, but I suspect that many in my camp who hear it won't be surprised. Given time, I could prove it to you, with the cooperation of some local wolves."
"That won't be necessary," Morgase said. She smelled of fear. The whispers from the armies grew louder. He caught Faile's scent. Worry.
"This thing I can do," Perrin said. "It's a piece of me, just as forging iron is. Just as leading men is. If you're going to pass judgment on me because of it, you should understand it."
"You dig your own grave, Aybara," Bornhald said, rising and pointing. "Our Lord Captain Commander said he could not prove you were a Darkfriend, and yet here you make the case for us!"
"This doesn't make me a Darkfriend," Perrin said.
"The purpose of this court," Morgase said firmly, "is not to judge that allegation. We will determine Aybara's culpability for the deaths of those two men, and nothing else. You may sit, Child Bornhald."
Bornhald sat angrily.
"I have yet to hear your defense, Lord Aybara," Morgase said.
"The reason I told you what I am—what I do—is to show you that the wolves were my friends." He took a deep breath. "That night in Andor… it was terrible, as Byar said. We were scared, all of us. The Whitecloaks were scared of the wolves, the wolves were scared of the fire and the threatening motions the men made, and I was plain scared of the world around me. I'd never been out of the Two Rivers before, and didn't understand why I heard wolves in my head. Well, none of that is an excuse, and I don't mean it to be one. I killed those men, but they attacked my friends. When the men went hunting for wolf pelts, the wolves fought back." He stopped. They needed the whole truth. "To be honest, Your Grace, I wasn't in control of myself. I was ready to surrender.
But with the wolves in my head… I felt their pain. Then the Whitecloaks killed a dear friend of mine, and I had to fight. I'd do the same thing to protect a farmer being harassed by soldiers."
"You're a creature of the Shadow!" Bornhald said, rising again. "Your lies insult the dead!"
Perrin turned toward the man, holding his eyes. The tent fell silent, and Perrin could smell the tension hanging in the air. "Have you never realized that some men are different from you, Bornhald?" Perrin asked. "Have you ever tried to think what it must be like to be someone else? If you could see through these golden eyes of mine, you'd find the world a different place."
Bornhald opened his mouth as if to spit out another insult, but licked his lips, as if they had grown dry. "You murdered my father," he finally said.
"The Horn of Valere had been blown," Perrin said, "the Dragon Reborn fought Ishamael in the sky. Artur Hawkwing's armies had returned to these shores to dominate. Yes, I was in Falme. I rode to battle alongside the heroes of the Horn, alongside Hawkwing himself, fighting against the Seanchan. I fought on the same side as your father, Bornhald. I've said that he was a good man, and he was. He charged bravely. He died bravely."
The audience was so still they seemed statues. Not a one moved. Bornhald opened his mouth to object again, but then closed it.
"I swear to you," Perrin said, "under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, that I did not kill your father. Nor had I anything to do with his death."
Bornhald searched Perrin's eyes, and looked troubled.
"Don't listen to him, Dain," Byar said. The scent of him was strong, stronger than any other in the pavilion. Frenzied, like rotten meat. "He did kill your father."
Galad still stood, watching the exchange. "I've never understood how you know this, Child Byar. What did you see? Perhaps this should be the trial we hold."
"It is not what I saw, Lord Captain," Byar said. "But what I know. How else can you explain how he survived, yet the legion did not! Your father was a valiant warrior, Bornhald. He would never have fallen to the Seanchan!"
"That's foolishness," Galad said. "The Seanchan have beaten us over and over again. Even a good man can fall in battle."
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