“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” he said quietly. “But every time we think we are free, Fades and Trollocs find us again. I don’t know if there is anyplace we could hide from them. I don’t like it much, but we need Moiraine.”
“I don’t understand then, Perrin. Where do we go?”
He blinked in surprise. She was waiting for his answer. Waiting for him to tell her what to do. It had never occurred to him that she would look to him to take the lead. Egwene never liked doing what someone else had planned out, and she never let anybody tell her what to do. Except maybe the Wisdom, and he thought sometimes she balked at that. He smoothed the dirt in front of him with his hand and cleared his throat roughly.
“If this is where we are now, and that is Whitebridge,” he stabbed the ground twice with his finger, “then Caemlyn should be somewhere around here.” He made a third mark, off to the side.
He paused, looking at the three dots in the dirt. His entire plan was based on what he remembered of her father’s old map. Master al’Vere said it was not too accurate, and, anyway, he had never mooned over it as much as Rand and Mat. But Egwene said nothing. When he looked up, she was still watching him with her hands in her lap.
“Caemlyn?” She sounded stunned.
“Caemlyn.” He drew a line in the dirt between two of the dots. “Away from the river, and straight across. Nobody would expect that. We’ll wait for them in Caemlyn.” He dusted his hands and waited. He thought it was a good plan, but surely she would have objections now. He expected she would take charge—she was always bullying him into something—and that was all right with him.
To his surprise, she nodded. “There must be villages. We can ask directions.”
“What worries me,” Perrin said, “is what we do if the Aes Sedai doesn’t find us there. Light, who’d ever have thought I’d worry about something like that? What if she doesn’t come to Caemlyn? Maybe she thinks we’re dead. Maybe she’ll take Rand and Mat straight to Tar Valon.”
“Moiraine Sedai said she could find us,” Egwene said firmly. “If she can find us here, she can find us in Caemlyn, and she will.”
Perrin nodded slowly. “If you say so, but if she doesn’t appear in Caemlyn in a few days, we go on to Tar Valon and put our case before the Amyrlin Seat.” He took a deep breath. Two weeks ago you’d never even seen an Aes Sedai, and now you’re talking about the Amyrlin Seat. Light! “According to Lan, there’s a good road from Caemlyn.” He looked at the oiled paper packet beside Egwene and cleared his throat. “What chance of a little more bread and cheese?”
“This might have to last a long time,” she said, “unless you have better luck with snares than I did last night. At least the fire was easy.” She laughed softly as if she had made a joke, tucking the packet back into her saddlebags.
Apparently there were limits to how much leadership she was willing to accept. His stomach rumbled. “In that case,” he said, standing, “we might as well start now.”
“But you’re still wet,” she protested.
“I’ll walk myself dry,” he said firmly, and began kicking dirt over the fire. If he was the leader, it was time to start leading. The wind from the river was picking up.
CHAPTER
23
Wolfbrother
From the start Perrin knew the journey to Caemlyn was going to be far from comfortable, beginning with Egwene’s insistence that they take turns riding Bela. They did not know how far it was, she said, but it was too far for her to be the only one who rode. Her jaw firmed, and her eyes stared at him unblinking.
“I’m too big to ride Bela,” he said. “I’m used to walking, and I’d rather.”
“And I am not used to walking?” Egwene said sharply.
“That isn’t what I—”
“I’m the only one who’s supposed to get saddlesore, is that it? And when you walk till your feet are ready to fall off, you’ll expect me to look after you.”
“Let it be,” he breathed when she looked like going on. “Anyway, you’ll take the first turn.” Her face turned even more stubborn, but he refused to let her get a word in edgewise. “If you won’t get in the saddle by yourself, I’ll put you there.”
She gave him a startled look, and a small smile curved her lips. “In that case. . . .” She sounded as if she were about to laugh, but she climbed up.
He grumbled to himself as he turned away from the river. Leaders in stories never had to put up with this sort of thing.
Egwene did insist on him taking his turns, and whenever he tried to avoid it, she bullied him into the saddle. Blacksmithing did not lend itself to a slender build, and Bela was not very large as horses went. Every time he put his foot in the stirrup the shaggy mare looked at him with what he was sure was reproach. Small things, perhaps, but they irritated. Soon he flinched whenever Egwene announced, “It’s your turn, Perrin.”
In stories leaders seldom flinched, and they were never bullied. But, he reflected, they never had to deal with Egwene, either.
There were only short rations of bread and cheese to begin with, and what there was gave out by the end of the first day. Perrin set snares along likely rabbit runs—they looked old, but it was worth a chance—while Egwene began laying a fire. When he was done, he decided to try his hand with his sling before the light failed altogether. They had not seen a sign of anything at all alive, but. . . . To his surprise, he jumped a scrawny rabbit almost at once. He was so surprised when it burst from under a bush right beneath his feet that it almost got away, but he fetched it at forty paces, just as it was darting around a tree.
When he came back to the camp with the rabbit, Egwene had broken limbs all laid for the fire, but she was kneeling beside the pile with her eyes closed. “What are you doing? You can’t wish a fire.”
Egwene gave a jump at his first words, and twisted around to stare at him with a hand to her throat. “You . . . you startled me.”
“I was lucky,” he said, holding up the rabbit. “Get your flint and steel. We eat well tonight, at least.”
“I don’t have a flint,” she said slowly. “It was in my pocket, and I lost it in the river.”
“Then how . . . ?”
“It was so easy back there on the riverbank, Perrin. Just the way Moiraine Sedai showed me. I just reached out, and. . . .” She gestured as if grasping for something, then let her hand fall with a sigh. “I can’t find it, now.”
Perrin licked his lips uneasily. “The . . . the Power?” She nodded, and he stared at her. “Are you crazy? I mean . . . the One Power! You can’t just play around with something like that.”
“It was so easy, Perrin. I can do it. I can channel the Power.”
He took a deep breath. “I’ll make a firebow, Egwene. Promise you won’t try this . . . this . . . thing again.”
“I will not.” Her jaw firmed in a way that made him sigh. “Would you give up that axe of yours, Perrin Aybara? Would you walk around with one hand tied behind your back? I won’t do it!”
“I’ll make the firebow,” he said wearily. “At least, don’t try it again tonight? Please?”
She acquiesced grudgingly, and even after the rabbit was roasting on a spit over the flames, he had the feeling she felt she could have done it better. She would not give up trying, either, every night, though the best she ever did was a trickle of smoke that vanished almost immediately. Her eyes dared him to say a word, and he wisely kept his mouth shut.
After that one hot meal, they subsisted on coarse wild tubers and a few young shoots. With still no sign of spring, none of it was plentiful, and none of it tasty, either. Neither complained, but not a meal passed without one or the other sighing regretfully, and they both knew it was for the tang of a bit of cheese, or even the smell of bread. A find of mushrooms—Queen’s Crowns, the best—one afternoon in a shady part of the forest was enough to seem a great treat. They gobbled them down, laughing and telling stories from back in Emond’s Field, stories that began, “Do you remember wh
en—” but the mushrooms did not last long, and neither did the laughter. There was little mirth in hunger.
Whichever was walking carried a sling, ready to let fly at the sight of a rabbit or squirrel, but the only time either hurled a stone was in frustration. The snares they set so carefully each evening yielded nothing at dawn, and they did not dare stay a day in one place to leave the snares out. Neither of them knew how far it was to Caemlyn, and neither would feel safe until they got there, if then. Perrin began to wonder if his stomach could shrink enough to make a hole all the way through his middle.
They made good time, as he saw it, but as they got farther and farther from the Arinelle without seeing a village, or even a farmhouse where they could ask directions, his doubts about his own plan grew. Egwene continued to appear outwardly as confident as when they set out, but he was sure that sooner or later she would say it would have been better to risk the Trollocs than to wander around lost for the rest of their lives. She never did, but he kept expecting it.
Two days from the river the land changed to thickly forested hills, as gripped by the tail end of winter as everywhere else, and a day after that the hills flattened out again, the dense forest broken by glades, often a mile or more across. Snow still lay in hidden hollows, and the air was brisk of a morning, and the wind cold always. Nowhere did they see a road, or a plowed field, or chimney smoke in the distance, or any other sign of human habitation—at least, none where men still dwelt.
Once the remains of tall stone ramparts encircled a hilltop. Parts of roofless stone houses stood inside the fallen circle. The forest had long swallowed it; trees grew right through everything, and spiderwebs of old creeper enveloped the big stone blocks. Another time they came on a stone tower, broken-topped and brown with old moss, leaning on the huge oak whose thick roots were slowly toppling it. But they found no place where men had breathed in living remembrance. Memories of Shadar Logoth kept them away from the ruins and hurried their footsteps until they were once more deep in places that seemed never to have known a human footstep.
Dreams plagued Perrin’s sleep, fearful dreams. Ba’alzamon was in them, chasing him through mazes, hunting him, but Perrin never met him face-to-face, so far as he remembered. And their journey had been enough to bring a few bad dreams. Egwene complained of nightmares about Shadar Logoth, especially the two nights after they found the ruined fort and the abandoned tower. Perrin kept his own counsel even when he woke sweating and shaking in the dark. She was looking to him to lead them safely to Caemlyn, not share worries about which they could do nothing.
He was walking at Bela’s head, wondering if they would find anything to eat this evening, when he first caught the smell. The mare flared her nostrils and swung her head in the next moment. He seized her bridle before she could whicker.
“That’s smoke,” Egwene said excitedly. She leaned forward in the saddle, drew a deep breath. “A cookfire. Somebody is roasting dinner. Rabbit.”
“Maybe,” Perrin said cautiously, and her eager smile faded. He exchanged his sling for the wicked half-moon of the axe. His hands opened and closed uncertainly on the thick haft. It was a weapon, but neither his hidden practice behind the forge nor Lan’s teachings had really prepared him to use it as one. Even the battle before Shadar Logoth was too vague in his mind to give him any confidence. He could never quite manage that void that Rand and the Warder talked about, either.
Sunlight slanted through the trees behind them, and the forest was a still mass of dappled shadows. The faint smell of woodsmoke drifted around them, tinged with the aroma of cooking meat. It could be rabbit, he thought, and his stomach grumbled. And it could be something else, he reminded himself. He looked at Egwene; she was watching him. There were responsibilities to being leader.
“Wait here,” he said softly. She frowned, but he cut her off as she opened her mouth. “And be quiet! We don’t know who it is, yet.” She nodded. Reluctantly, but she did it. Perrin wondered why that did not work when he was trying to make her take his turn riding. Drawing a deep breath, he started for the source of the smoke.
He had not spent as much time in the forests around Emond’s Field as Rand or Mat, but still he had done his share of hunting rabbits. He crept from tree to tree without so much as snapping a twig. It was not long before he was peering around the bole of a tall oak with spreading, serpentine limbs that bent to touch the ground then rose again. Beyond lay a campfire, and a lean, sun-browned man was leaning against one of the limbs not far from the flames.
At least he was not a Trolloc, but he was the strangest fellow Perrin had ever seen. For one thing, his clothes all seemed to be made from animal skins, with the fur still on, even his boots and the odd, flat-topped round cap on his head. His cloak was a crazy quilt of rabbit and squirrel; his trousers appeared to be made from the long-haired hide of a brown and white goat. Gathered at the back of his neck with a cord, his graying brown hair hung to his waist. A thick beard fanned across half his chest. A long knife hung at his belt, almost a sword, and a bow and quiver stood propped against a limb close to hand.
The man leaned back with his eyes closed, apparently asleep, but Perrin did not stir from his concealment. Six sticks slanted over the fellow’s fire, and on each stick a rabbit was skewered, roasted brown and now and then dripping juice that hissed in the flames. The smell of them, so close, made his mouth water.
“You done drooling?” The man opened one eye and cocked it at Perrin’s hiding place. “You and your friend might as well sit and have a bite. I haven’t seen you eat much the last couple of days.”
Perrin hesitated, then stood slowly, still gripping his axe tightly. “You’ve been watching me for two days?”
The man chuckled deep in his throat. “Yes, I been watching you. And that pretty girl. Pushes you around like a bantam rooster, doesn’t she? Heard you, mostly. The horse is the only one of you doesn’t trample around loud enough to be heard five miles off. You going to ask her in, or are you intending to eat all the rabbit yourself?”
Perrin bristled; he knew he did not make much noise. You could not get close enough to a rabbit in the Waterwood to fetch it with a sling if you made noise. But the smell of rabbit made him remember that Egwene was hungry, too, not to mention waiting to discover if it was a Trolloc fire they had smelled.
He slipped the haft of his axe through the belt loop and raised his voice. “Egwene! It’s all right! It is rabbit!” Offering his hand, he added in a more normal tone, “My name is Perrin. Perrin Aybara.”
The man considered his hand before taking it awkwardly, as if unused to shaking hands. “I’m called Elyas,” he said, looking up. “Elyas Machera.”
Perrin gasped, and nearly dropped Elyas’s hand. The man’s eyes were yellow, like bright, polished gold. Some memory tickled at the back of Perrin’s mind, then fled. All he could think of right then was that all of the Trollocs’ eyes he had seen had been almost black.
Egwene appeared, cautiously leading Bela. She tied the mare’s reins to one of the smaller branches of the oak, and made polite sounds when Perrin introduced her to Elyas, but her eyes kept drifting to the rabbits. She did not seem to notice the man’s eyes. When Elyas motioned them to the food, she fell to with a will. Perrin hesitated only a minute longer before joining her.
Elyas waited silently while they ate. Perrin was so hungry he tore off pieces of meat so hot he had to juggle them from hand to hand before he could hold them in his mouth. Even Egwene showed little of her usual neatness; greasy juice ran down her chin. Day faded into twilight before they began to slow down, moonless darkness closing in around the fire, and then Elyas spoke.
“What are you doing out here? There isn’t a house inside fifty miles in any direction.”
“We’re going to Caemlyn,” Egwene said. “Perhaps you could—” Her eyebrows lifted coolly as Elyas threw back his head and roared with laughter. Perrin stared at him, a rabbit leg half raised to his mouth.
“Caemlyn?” Elyas wheezed when he co
uld talk again. “The path you’re following, the line you’ve taken the last two days, you’ll pass a hundred miles or more north of Caemlyn.”
“We were going to ask directions,” Egwene said defensively. “We just haven’t found any villages or farms, yet.”
“And none you will,” Elyas said, chuckling. “The way you’re going, you can travel all the way to the Spine of the World without seeing another human. Of course, if you managed to climb the Spine—it can be done, some places—you could find people in the Aiel Waste, but you wouldn’t like it there. You’d broil by day, and freeze by night, and die of thirst anytime. It takes an Aielman to find water in the Waste, and they don’t like strangers much. No, not much, I’d say.” He set off into another, more furious, burst of laughter, this time actually rolling on the ground. “Not much at all,” he managed.
Perrin shifted uneasily. Are we eating with a madman?
Egwene frowned, but she waited until Elyas’s mirth faded a little, then said, “Perhaps you could show us the way. You seem to know a good deal more about where places are than we do.”
Elyas stopped laughing. Raising his head, he replaced his round fur cap, which had fallen off while he was rolling about, and stared at her from under lowered brows. “I don’t much like people,” he said in a flat voice. “Cities are full of people. I don’t go near villages, or even farms, very often. Villagers, farmers, they don’t like my friends. I wouldn’t even have helped you if you hadn’t been stumbling around as helpless and innocent as newborn cubs.”
“But at least you can tell us which way to go,” she insisted. “If you direct us to the nearest village, even if it’s fifty miles away, surely they’ll give us directions to Caemlyn.”
“Be still,” Elyas said. “My friends are coming.”
Bela suddenly whinnied in fear, and began jerking to pull her reins free. Perrin half rose as shapes appeared all around them in the darkening forest. Bela reared and twisted, screaming.
The Eye of the World Page 39
