The Dragon Reborn twot-3

by Robert Jordan

  He no longer thought of the greater battle. There was only the Trolloc he and the wolves — the brothers — cut off from the rest and brought down. Then there would be another, and another, and another, until none were left. None here, none anywhere. He felt the urge to hurl the axe aside and use his teeth, to run on all fours as his brothers did. Run through the high mountain passes. Run belly-deep in powdery snow pursuing deer. Run, with the cold wind ruffling his fur. He snarled with his brothers, and Trollocs howled with fear at his yellow-eyed gaze even more than they did at the other wolves.

  Abruptly he realized there were no more Trollocs standing anywhere in the bowl, though he could feel his brothers pursuing others as they fled. A pack of seven had a different prey, somewhere out there in the darkness. One of the Neverborn ran for its hard-footed four-legs — its horse, a distant part of him said — and his brothers followed, noses filled with its scent, its essence of death. Inside his head, he was with them, seeing with their eyes. As they closed in, the Neverborn turned, cursing, black blade and black-clad Neverborn like part of the night. But night was where his brothers and sisters hunted.

  Young Bull snarled as the first brother died, its death pain lancing him, yet the others closed in and more brothers and sisters died, but snapping jaws dragged the Neverborn down. It fought back with its own teeth now, ripping out throats, slashing with fingernails that sliced skin and flesh like the hard claws the two-legs carried, but brothers savaged it even as they died. Finally a lone sister heaved herself out of the still-twitching pile and staggered to one side. Morning Mist, she was called, but as with all their names, it was more than that: a frosty morning with the bite of snows yet to come already in the air, and the mist curling thick across the valley, swirling with the sharp breeze that carried the promise of good hunting. Raising her head, Morning Mist howled to the cloud-hidden moon, mourning her dead.

  Young Bull threw back his head and howled with her, mourned with her.

  When he lowered his head, Min was staring at him. "Are you all right, Perrin?" she asked hesitantly. There was a bruise on her cheek, and a sleeve half torn from her coat. She had a cudgel in one hand and a dagger in the other, and there was blood and hair on both.

  They were all staring at him, he saw, all those who were still on their feet. Loial, leaning wearily on his tall staff. Shienarans, who had been carrying their fallen down to where Moiraine crouched over one of their number with Lan standing at her side. Even the Aes Sedai was looking his way. The burning trees, like huge torches, cast a wavering light. Dead Trollocs lay everywhere. There were more Shienarans down than standing, and the bodies of his brothers were scattered among them. So many…

  Perrin realized he wanted to howl again. Frantically he walled himself off from contact with the wolves. Images seeped through, emotions, as he tried to stop them. Finally, though, he could no longer feel them, feel their pain, or their anger, or the desire to hunt the Twisted Ones, or to run… He gave himself a shake. The wound on his back burned like fire, and his torn shoulder felt as if it had been hammered on an anvil. His bare feet, scraped and bruised, throbbed with his pain. The smell of blood was everywhere. The smell of Trollocs, and death.

  "I… I'm all right, Min."

  "You fought well, blacksmith," Lan said. The Warder raised his still-bloody sword above his head. "Tai'shar Manetheren! Tai'shar Andor!" True Blood of Manetheren. True Blood of Andor.

  The Shienarans still standing — so few — lifted their blades and joined him. "Tai'shar Manetheren! Tai'shar Andor!"

  Loial nodded. "Ta'veren," he added.

  Perrin lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Lan had saved him from the questions he did not want to answer, but had given him an honor he did not deserve. The others did not understand. He wondered what they would say if they knew the truth. Min moved closer, and he muttered, "Leya's dead. I couldn't… I almost reached her in time."

  "It wouldn't have made any difference," she said softly. "You know that." She leaned to look at his back, and winced. "Moiraine will take care of that for you. She's Healing those she can."

  Perrin nodded. His back felt sticky with drying blood all the way to his waist, but despite the pain he hardly noticed it. Light, I almost didn't come back that time. I can't let that happen again. I won't. Never again!

  But when he was with the wolves, it was all so different. He did not have to worry about strangers being afraid of him just because he was big, then. There was no one thinking he was slow-witted just because he tried to be careful. Wolves knew each other even if they had never met before, and with them he was just another wolf.

  No! His hands tightened on the haft of his axe. No! He gave a start as Masema suddenly spoke up.

  "It was a sign," the Shienaran said, turning in a circle to address everyone. There was blood on his arms and his chest — he had fought in nothing but his breeches — and he moved with a limp, but the light in his eyes was as fervent as it had ever been. More fervent. "A sign to confirm our faith. Even wolves came to fight for the Dragon Reborn. In the Last Battle, the Lord Dragon will summon even the beasts of the forest to fight at our sides. It is a sign for us to go forth. Only Darkfriends will fail to join us." Two of the Shienarans nodded.

  "You shut your bloody mouth, Masema!" Uno snapped. He seemed untouched, but then Uno had been fighting Trollocs since before Perrin was born. Yet he sagged with weariness; only the painted eye on his eyepatch seemed fresh. "We'll flaming go forth when the Lord Dragon bloody well tells us, and not before! You sheep-headed farmers flaming remember that!" The one-eyed man looked at the growing row of men being tended by Moiraine — few were able to as much as sit up, even after she was done with them — and shook his head. "At least we'll have plenty of flaming wolf hides to keep the wounded warm."

  "No!" The Shienarans seemed surprised at the vehemence in Perrin's voice. "They fought for us, and we'll bury them with our dead."

  Uno frowned, and opened his mouth as if to argue, but Perrin fixed him with a steady, yellow-eyed stare. It was the Shienaran who dropped his gaze first, and nodded.

  Perrin cleared his throat, embarrassed all over again as Uno gave orders for the Shienarans who were fit to gather the dead wolves. Min was squinting at him the way she did when she saw things. "Where's Rand?" he asked her.

  "Out there in the dark," she said, nodding upslope without taking her eyes off him. "He will not talk to anyone. He just sits there, snapping at anyone who comes near him."

  "He will talk to me," Perrin said. She followed him, protesting all the while that he ought to wait until Moiraine had seen to his injuries. Light, what does she see when she looks at me? I don't want to know.

  Rand was seated on the ground just beyond the light of the burning trees, with his back against the trunk of a stunted oak. Staring at nothing, he had his arms wrapped around himself, hands under his red coat, as if feeling the cold. He did not appear to notice their approach. Min sat down beside him, but he did not move even when she laid a hand on his arm. Even here Perrin smelled blood, and not only his own.

  "Rand," Perrin began, but Rand cut him off.

  "Do you know what I did during the fight?" Still staring into the distance, Rand addressed the night. "Nothing! Nothing useful. At first, when I reached out for the True Source, I couldn't touch it, couldn't grasp it. It kept sliding away. Then, when I finally had hold of it, I was going to burn them all, burn all the Trollocs and Fades. And all I could do was set fire to some trees." He shook with silent laughter, then stopped with a pained grimace. "Saidin filled me till I thought I'd explode like fireworks. I had to channel it somewhere, get rid of it before it burned me up, and I found myself thinking about pulling the mountain down and burying the Trollocs. I almost tried. That was my fight. Not against the Trollocs. Against myself. To keep from burying us all under the mountain."

  Min gave Perrin a pained look, as if asking for help.

  "We… dealt with them, Rand," Perrin said. He shivered, thinking of all the wounded men down below.
And the dead. Better that than the mountain down on top of us. "We didn't need you."

  Rand's head fell back against the tree and his eyes closed. "I felt them coming," he said, nearly whispering. "I didn't know what it was, though. They feel like the taint on saidin. And saidin is always there, calling to me, singing to me. By the time I knew the difference, Lan was already shouting his warning. If I could only control it, I could have given warning before they were even close. But half the time when I actually manage to touch saidin, I don't know what I am doing at all. The flow of it just sweeps me along. I could have given warning, though."

  Perrin shifted his bruised feet uncomfortably. "We had warning enough." He knew he sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. I could have given warning, too, if I'd talked with the wolves. They knew there were Trollocs and Fades in the mountains. They were trying to tell me. But he wondered: If he did not keep the wolves out of his mind, might he not be running with them now? There had been a man, Elyas Machera, who also could talk to wolves. Elyas ran with the wolves all the time, yet seemed able to remember he was a man. But he had never told Perrin how he did it, and Perrin had not seen him in a long time.

  The crunch of boots on rock announced two people coming, and a swirl of air carried their scents to Perrin. He was careful not to speak names, though, until Lan and Moiraine were close enough for even ordinary eyes to make them out. The Warder had a hand under the Aes Sedai's arm, as if trying to support her without letting her know it. Moiraine's eyes were haggard, and she carried a small, age-dark ivory carving of a woman in one hand. Perrin knew it for an angreal, a remnant from the Age of Legends that allowed an Aes Sedai to safely channel more of the Power than she could alone. It was a measure of her tiredness that she was using it for Healing.

  Min got to her feet to help Moiraine, but the Aes Sedai motioned her away. "Everyone else is seen to," she told Min. "When I am done here, I can rest." She shook off Lan as well, and a look of concentration appeared on her face as she traced a cool hand across Perrin's bleeding shoulder, then along the wound on his back. Her touch made his skin tingle. "This is not too bad," she said. "The bruising of your shoulder goes deep, but the gashes are shallow. Brace yourself. This will not hurt, but…"

  He had never found it easy being near someone he knew was channeling the One Power, and still less if it actually involved him. Yet there had been one or two of those times, and he thought he had some idea what the channeling entailed, but those Healings had been minor, simply washing away tiredness when Moiraine could not afford to have him weary. They had been nothing like this.

  The Aes Sedai's eyes suddenly seemed to be seeing inside him, seeing through him. He gasped and almost dropped his axe. He could feel the skin on his back crawling, muscles writhing as they knit back together. His shoulder quivered uncontrollably, and everything blurred. Cold seared him to the bone, then deeper still. He had the impression of moving, falling, flying; he could not tell which, but he felt as if he were rushing somewhere, somehow at great speed, forever. After an eternity the world came into focus again. Moiraine was stepping back, half staggering until Lan caught her arm.

  Gaping, Perrin looked down at his shoulder. The gashes and bruises were gone, not so much as a twinge remained. He twisted carefully, but the pain in his back had vanished as well. And his feet no longer hurt; he did not need to look to know all the bruises and scrapes were gone. His stomach rumbled loudly.

  "You should eat as soon as you can," Moiraine told him. "A good bit of the strength for that came from you. You need to replace it."

  Hunger — and images of food — were already filling Perrin's head. Blood rare beef, and venison, and mutton, and… With an effort he made himself stop thinking of meat. He would find some of those roots that smelled like turnips when they were roasted. His stomach growled in protest.

  "There's barely even a scar, blacksmith," Lan said behind him.

  "Most of the wolves who were hurt made their own way to the forest," Moiraine said, knuckling her back and stretching, "but I Healed those I could find." Perrin gave her a sharp look, yet she seemed to be just making conversation. "Perhaps they came for their own reasons, yet we would likely all be dead without them." Perrin shifted uneasily and dropped his eyes.

  The Aes Sedai reached toward the bruise on Min's cheek, but Min stepped back, saying, "I'm not really hurt, and you're tired. I've had worse falling over my own feet."

  Moiraine smiled and let her hand fall. Lan took her arm; she swayed in his grip. "Very well. And what of you, Rand? Did you take any hurt? Even a nick from a Myrddraal's blade can be deadly, and some Trolloc blades are almost as bad."

  Perrin noticed something for the first time. "Rand, your coat is wet."

  Rand pulled his right hand from under his coat, a hand covered in blood. "Not a Myrddraal," he said absently, peering at his hand. "Not even a Trolloc. The wound I took at Falme broke open."

  Moiraine hissed and jerked her arm free from Lan, half fell to her knees beside Rand. Pulling back the side of his coat, she studied his wound. Perrin could not see it, for her head was in the way, but the smell of blood was stronger, now. Moiraine's hands moved, and Rand grimaced in pain. "'The blood of the Dragon Reborn on the rocks of Shayol Ghul will free mankind from the Shadow.' Isn't that what the Prophecies of the Dragon say?"

  "Who told you that?" Moiraine said sharply.

  "If you could get me to Shayol Ghul now," Rand said drowsily, "by Waygate or Portal Stone, there could be an end to it. No more dying. No more dreams. No more."

  "If it were as simple as that," Moiraine said grimly, "I would, one way or another, but not all in The Karaethon Cycle can be taken at its face. For everything it says straight out, there are ten that could mean a hundred different things. Do not think you know anything at all of what must be, even if someone has told you the whole of the Prophecies." She paused, as if gathering strength. Her grip tightened on the angreal, and her free hand slid along Rand's side as if it were not covered in blood. "Brace yourself."

  Suddenly Rand's eyes opened wide, and he sat straight up, gasping and staring and shivering. Perrin had thought, when she Healed him, that it went on forever, but in moments she was easing Rand back against the oak.

  "I have… done as much as I can," she said faintly. "As much as I can. You must be careful. It could break open again if…" As her voice trailed off, she fell.

  Rand caught her, but Lan was there in an instant to scoop her up. As the Warder did so, a look passed across his face, a look as close to tenderness as Perrin ever expected to see from Lan.

  "Exhausted," the Warder said. "She has cared for everyone else, but there's no one to take her fatigue. I will put her to bed."

  "There's Rand," Min said slowly, but the Warder shook his head.

  "It isn't that I do not think you would try, sheepherder," he said, "but you know so little you might as soon kill her as help her."

  "That's right," Rand said bitterly. "I'm not to be trusted. Lews Therin Kinslayer killed everyone close to him. Maybe I'll do the same before I am done."

  "Pull yourself together, sheepherder," Lan said harshly. "The whole world rides on your shoulders. Remember you're a man, and do what needs to be done."

  Rand looked up at the Warder, and surprisingly, all of his bitterness seemed to be gone. "I will fight the best I can," he said. "Because there's no one else, and it has to be done, and the duty is mine. I'll fight, but I do not have to like what I've become." He closed his eyes as if going to sleep. "I will fight. Dreams…"

  Lan stared down at him a moment, then nodded. He raised his head to look across Moiraine at Perrin and Min. "Get him to his bed, then see to some sleep yourselves. We have plans to make, and the Light alone knows what happens next."

  Chapter 6

  (Serpent and Wheel)

  The Hunt Begins

  Perrin did not expect to sleep, but a stomach stuffed with cold stew — his resolve about the roots had lasted until the smells of supper's leftovers hit his
nose — and bone weariness pulled him down on his bed. If he dreamed, he did not remember. He awoke to Lan shaking his shoulders, dawn through the open door turning the Warder to a shadow haloed with light.

  "Rand is gone," was all Lan said before he left at a run, but it was more than enough.

  Perrin dragged himself up yawning and dressed quickly in the early chill. Outside, only a handful of Shienarans were in sight, using their horses to drag Trolloc bodies into the woods, and most of those moved as if they should be in a sickbed. A body took time to build back the strength that being Healed took.

  Perrin's stomach muttered at him, and his nose tested the breeze in the hope that someone had already started cooking. He was ready to eat those turnip-like roots, raw if need be. There were only the lingering stench of slain Myrddraal, the smells of dead Trollocs and men, alive and dead, of horses and the trees. And dead wolves.

  Moiraine's hut, high on the other side of the bowl, seemed a center of activity. Min hurried inside, and moments later Masema came out, then Uno. At a trot the one-eyed man vanished into the trees, toward the sheer rock wall beyond the hut, while the other Shienaran limped down the slope.

  Perrin started toward the hut. As he splashed across the shallow stream, he met Masema. The Shienaran's face was haggard, the scar on his cheek prominent, and his eyes even more sunken than usual. In the middle of the stream, he raised his head suddenly and caught Perrin's coat sleeve.

  "You're from his village," Masema said hoarsely. "You must know. Why did the Lord Dragon abandon us? What sin did we commit?"

  "Sin? What are you talking about? Wherever Rand went, it was nothing you did or didn't do." Masema did not appear satisfied; he kept his grip on Perrin's sleeve, peering into his face as if there were answers there. Icy water began to seep into Perrin's left boot. "Masema," he said carefully, "whatever the Lord Dragon did, it was according to his plan. The Lord Dragon would not abandon us." Or would he? If I were in his place, would I?