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"What is it, Tam?" Perrin asked as soon as they were far enough away.
Tam rubbed his face; there was gray stubble coming in. Perrin had pushed his men hard these last few days, and there hadnt been time for shaving. Tam wore a simple blue wool coat, and the thick cloth was probably a welcome shield against the mountain breeze.
"The lads are wondering, Perrin," Tam said, a little less formal now that they were alone. "Did you mean what you said about giving up on Manetheren?"
"Aye," Perrin said. "That banner has been nothing but trouble since it first came out. The Seanchan, and everyone else, might as well know. Im no king. "
"You have a queen whos sworn you as her liege. "
He considered Tarns words, working out the best response. Once that kind of behavior had made people think he was slow of thought. Now people assumed his thoughtfulness meant that Perrin was crafty and keen minded. What a difference a few fancy words in front of your name made!
"I think youre right, in what you did," Tam said, surprisingly. "Calling the Two Rivers Manetheren would not only have antagonized the Seanchan, but the Queen of Andor herself. It would imply that you meant to hold more than just the Two Rivers, that perhaps you wanted to conquer all that Manetheren once held. "
Perrin shook his head. "I dont mean to conquer anything, Tam. Light! I dont mean to hold what people say Ive got. The sooner that Elayne takes her throne and sends a proper lord out to the Two Rivers, the better. We can be done with all of this Lord Perrin business and things can go back to normal. "
"And Queen Alliandre?" Tam asked.
"She can swear to Elayne instead," Perrin said stubbornly. "Or maybe directly to Rand. He seems to like scooping up kingdoms. Like a child playing a game of wobbles. "
Tarn smelled concerned. Troubled. Perrin looked away. Things should be simpler. They should be. "What?"
"I just thought you were over this," Tarn said.
"Nothing has changed from the days before Faile was taken," Perrin said. "I still dont like that wolf head banner either. I think maybe its time to take that one down too. "
"The men believe in that banner, Perrin, lad," Tam said quietly. He had a soft way about him, but that made you listen when he spoke. Of course, he also usually spoke sense. "I pulled you aside because I wanted to warn you. If you provide a chance for the lads to return to the Two Rivers, some will go. But not many. Ive heard most swear that theyll follow you to Shayol Ghul. They know the Last Battle is coming—who couldnt know that, with all of the signs lately? They dont intend to be left behind. " He hesitated. "And neither do I, I reckon. " He smelled of determination.
"Well see," Perrin said, frowning. "Well see. "
He sent Tam off with orders to requisition a wagon and take it for those water barrels. The soldiers would listen; Tam was Perrins First Captain, though that seemed backward to Perrin. He didnt know much of the mans past, but Tam had fought in the Aiel War, long ago; hed held a sword before Perrin had been born. And now he followed Perrins orders.
They all did. And they wanted to keep doing so! Hadnt they learned? He rested back against the wall, not walking back to his attendants, standing in the shadow.
Now that he seized upon it, he realized that was a part of what was bothering him. Not the whole of it, but some, tied in with what was troubling him. Even now that Faile had returned.
He hadnt been a good leader lately. Hed never been a model one, of course, not even when Faile had been there to guide him. But during her absence, hed been worse. Far worse. Hed ignored his orders from Rand, ignored everything, all to get her back.
But what else was a man supposed to do? His wife had been kidnapped!
Hed saved her. But in doing so, hed abandoned everyone else. And because of him, men were dead. Good men. Men who had trusted in him.
Standing in that shadow, he remembered a moment—only a day past—when an ally had fallen to Aiel arrows, his heart poisoned by Masema. Aram had been a friend, one that Perrin had discarded in his quest to save Faile. Aram had deserved better.
/ should never have let that Tinker pick up a sword, he thought, but he didnt want to deal with this problem right now. He couldnt. There was too much to do. He moved away from the wall, planning to inspect the last wagon in line.
"Next!" he barked as he began again.
Aravine Carnel stepped forward. The Amadician woman no longer wore her gaishain robes; instead she had on a simple light green dress, not clean, that had been pulled out of the salvage. She was plump but her face still bore a haggard cast from her days as a captive. There was a determination about her. She was surprisingly good at organization, and Perrin suspected she was of noble heritage. She had the scent of it about her: self-confidence, an ease giving commands. It was a wonder those things had survived her captivity.
As he knelt down to look at the first wheel, he figured it was odd that Faile had chosen Aravine to supervise the refugees. Why not one of the youths from Cha Faile? Those dandies could be annoying, but theyd shown a surprising measure of competence.
"My Lord," Aravine said, her practiced curtsy another indication of her background. "I have finished organizing the people for departure. "
"So soon?" Perrin asked, looking up from the wheel.
"It was not so difficult as we expected, my Lord. I commanded them to gather by nationality, then by town of birth. Not surprisingly, the Cairhienin form the largest bulk of them, followed by Altarans, then Amadicians, with some smattering of others. A few Domani, some Taraboners, the occasional Borderlander or Tairen. "
"How many can stand a day or two of marching without a ride in the wagons?"
"Most of them, my Lord," she said. "The sick and elderly were expelled from the city when the Shaido took it. The people here are accustomed to being worked hard. Theyre exhausted, Lord, but none too eager to be waiting here with those other Shaido camped not half a days march away. "
"All right," Perrin said. "Start them marching immediately. "
"Immediately?" Aravine asked with surprise.
He nodded. "I want them on that road, marching northward, as soon as you can get them going. Ill send Alliandre and her guard to lead the way. " That ought to keep Arganda from complaining, and it would get the refugees out of the way. The Maidens would be far better, and far more efficient, at gathering supplies alone. The scavenging was nearly finished anyway. His people would have to survive on the road for only a few weeks. After that, they could jump via gateway to someplace more secure. Andor, perhaps, or Cairhien.
Those Shaido behind had him anxious. They could decide to attack at any time. Better to get away and remove the temptation.
Aravine curtsied and hurried away to make preparations, and Perrin thanked the Light for someone else who didnt see a need to question or second-guess him. He sent a boy to inform Arganda of the impending march, then finished his inspection of the wagon. After that, he stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers. "Next!" he said.
Nobody stepped forward. The only people remaining around him were guards, messenger boys and a few wagoneers waiting to hitch up their oxen and move the wagons off for loading. The Maidens had made a large pile of foodstuffs and supplies in the middle of the former camp, and Perrin could make out Faile there working to organize it.
Perrin sent the ring of attendants with him over to help her, then found himself alone. With nothing to do.
Just what hed wanted to avoid.
The wind blew past again, carrying that awful stench of death. It also carried memories. The fury of the battle, the passion and thrill of each swing. Aiel were excellent warriors—the best the land knew. Each exchange had been close, and Perrin had earned his share of cuts and bruises, though those had since been Healed.
Fighting the Aiel had made him feel alive. Each one hed slain had been an expert with the spears; each one could have killed him. But hed won. During those moments of fighting, hed
felt a driving passion. The passion of finally doing something. After two months of waiting, each blow had meant a step closer to finding Faile.
No more talking. No more planning. Hed found purpose. And now it was gone.
He felt hollow. It was like . . . like the time when his father had promised him something special as a gift for Winternight. Perrin had waited months, eager, doing his chores to earn the unknown gift. When hed finally received the small wooden horse, hed been excited for a moment. But the next day, hed been shockingly melancholy. Not because of the gift, but because there had no longer been anything to strive for. The excitement was gone, and only then had he realized how much more precious hed found that anticipation than the gift itself.
Soon after that hed begun visiting Master Luhhans forge, eventually becoming his apprentice.
He was glad to have Faile back. He rejoiced. And yet, now what was there for him? These blasted men saw him as their leader. Some even thought of him as their king! Hed never asked for that. Hed had them put away the banners every time they put them out, up until Faile had persuaded him that using them would be an advantage. He still didnt believe that the wolfhead banner belonged there, flapping insolently above his camp.
But could he take it down? The men did look to it. He could smell pride on them every time they passed it. He couldnt turn them away. Rand would need their aid—hed need everyones aid—at the Last Battle.
The Last Battle. Could a man like him, a man who didnt want to be in charge, lead these forces to the most important moment in their lives?
The colors swirled, showing him Rand, sitting in what appeared to be a stone Tairen home. Perrins old friend had a dark cast to his expression, like a man troubled by weighty thoughts. Even sitting like that, Rand looked regal. He was what a king was supposed to be, with that rich red coat, that noble bearing. Perrin was just a blacksmith.
He sighed, shaking his head and dispelling the image. He needed to seek out Rand. He could feel something tugging at him, pulling him.
Rand needed him. That had to be his focus now.
CHAPTER 10
The Last of the Tabac
Rodel Ituralde puffed quietly on his pipe, smoke curling from it like the sinuous coils of a snake. The smoke tendrils wrapped around themselves, pooling at the ceiling above him, then leaking out through cracks in the roof of the ramshackle shed. The boards in the walls were warped from age, opening slits to the outside, and the gray wood was cracked and splintering. A brazier burned in the corner and winds whistled through the cracks in the walls. Ituralde faintly worried those winds would blow over the entire building.
He sat on a stool, several maps on the table before him. At the corner of the table, his tabac pouch weighed down a wrinkled piece of paper. The small square was weathered and folded from being carried in his inside coat pocket.
"Well?" Rajabi asked. Thick of neck and determined of attitude, he was brown-eyed, with a wide nose and a bulbous chin. He was completely bald now, and faintly resembled a large boulder. He tended to act like a boulder, too. It could take a lot of work to get him rolling, but once you did, he was bloody hard to stop. He had been one of the first to join Ituraldes cause, for all the fact that he had been poised to rebel against the king just a short time before.
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