Towers of Midnight

by Robert Jordan; Brandon Sanderson

  and assumed he had a terrible temper. That was good, so long as they also thought of him as honorable and kind. Protective of his people, yet filled with rage at those who crossed him.

  She rose from the stool, handing the ledgers to one of the men, curly-haired and with ink stains on his fingers and jerkin. She smiled at Bavin, then made het way out of the supply ring. She noted with displeasure that the bunch oPwild scallions beside the pathway had spoiled in the moments since she'd seen them last, their stalks melted and runny, as if they'd been rotting in the sun for weeks. These spoilings had begun only recently inside of camp, but by reports, it happened far more frequently out in the countryside.

  It was hard to tell the hour with the sky so full of clouds, but it seemed from the darkening horizon that her time to meet with Perrin had come. Faile smiled. Her mother had warned her what would happen to her, had told her what was expected of her, and Faile had worried that she would feel trapped by life.

  But what Deira hadn't mentioned was how fulfilling it would be. Perrin made the difference. It was no trap at all to be caught with him.

  Perrin stood with one foot up on the stump of a felled tree, facing north. The hilltop let him look out over the plains toward the cliffs of Garens Wall rising like the knuckles of a slumbering giant.

  He opened his mind, questing out for wolves. There were some in the distance, almost too faint to feel. Wolves stayed away from large gatherings of men.

  The camp spread out behind him, watchfires fluttering at its boundaries.

  This hillside was far enough away to be secluded, but not so distant as to be solitary He wasn't certain why Faile had asked him to meet her here at dusk,

  she'd smelled excited, so he hadn't pried. Women liked their secrets.

  He heard Faile coming up the side of the hill, stepping softly on the

  wet grass. She was good at being quiet—not nearly as good as Elyas or one

  of the Aiel, but better than one might think of her. But he could smell her

  cent, soap with lavender. She used that particular soap only on days she

  deemed special.

  She stepped atop the hillside, beautiful, impressive. She wore a violet vest over a long silk blouse of a lighter shade. Where had she gotten the clothing? He hadn't seen her in this fine outfit before.

  "My husband," she said, stepping up to him. He could faintly hear oth-' ers near the foot of the hill—probably Cha Faile. She'd left them behind. "You look concerned."

  "It's my fault that Gill and the others were captured, Faile," he said. "My failures continue to mount. It's a wonder anyone follows me."

  "Perrin," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "We've spoken of this. You mustn't say such things."

  "Why?"

  "Because I've never known you to be a liar," she said with a softly chiding tone.

  He looked at her. It was growing dark, though he could still make out details. She'd have a harder time seeing them.

  "Why do you continue to fight this?" she asked. "You are a good leader, Perrin."

  "I wouldn't have given myself up for them," he said.

  She frowned. "What does that have to—"

  "Back in the Two Rivers," Perrin said, turning away from her, looking north again, "I was ready to do it. When the Whitecloaks had Mat's family and the Luhhans, I'd have given myself up. This time, I wouldn't have. Even when I spoke to their leader, asking his price, I knew I wouldn't give myself up."

  You're becoming a better leader."

  How can you say that? I'm growing callous, Faile. If you knew the things I did to get you back, the things I would have done . . ." He fingered the hammer at his side. The tooth or the claw, Young Bull, it matters not. He'd thrown away the axe, but could he blame it for his brutality? It was only a tool. He could use the hammer to do the same terrible things.

  Its not callous," Faile said, "or selfish. You're a lord now, and you can't let it be known that capturing your subjects will undermine your rule. Do

  you think Queen Morgase would abdicate to tyrants who kidnapped her subjects? No leader could rule that way. Your inability to stop evil men does not make you evil yourself."

  "I don't want this mantle, Faile. I never have."

  "I know."

  "Sometimes I wish I'd never left the Two Rivers. I wish I'd let Ran run off to his destiny, leaving regular folk behind to live their lives."

  He caught a scent of annoyance from her.

  "But if I'd stayed," he added hastily, "I'd never have met you. So I'm glad I left. I'm just saying I'll be glad when this is all through and finished and I can go back to someplace simple."

  "You think the Two Rivers will ever go back to being the way you remember it?"

  He hesitated. She was right—when they'd gone, it had already been showing signs of change. Refugees from across the mountains moving in, the villages swelling. Now, with so many men joining him in war, getting ideas into their heads about having a lord . . .

  "I could find someplace else," he said, feeling stubborn. "There are other villages. They won't all change."

  "And you'd drag me off to one of these villages, Perrin Aybara?" she said.

  "I . . ." What would happen if Faile, his beautiful Faile, were confined to a sleepy village? He always insisted that he was only a blacksmith. But was Faile a blacksmith's wife? "I would never force you to do anything, Faile," he said, cupping her face in his hand. He always felt awkward when touching her satin cheeks with his thick, callused fingers.

  "I'd go, if you really wanted me to," she replied. That was odd. He'd normally expect a snap from her at his awkward tongue. "But is it what you want? Is it really?"

  "I don't know what I want," he said frankly. No, he didn't want to drag Faile off to a village. "Maybe . . . life as a blacksmith in a city, somewhere?

  "If you wish it," she repeated. "Of course, that would leave the Two Rivers without a lord. They'd have to find someone else."

  "No. They don't need a lord. That's why I have to stop them treating me like one."

  "And you think they'd give up on the idea that quickly?" Faile asked, smelling amused. "After they've seen how everyone else does it? After the way they fawned over that fool Luc? After welcoming in all of those people from Almoth Plain, who are used to lords?"

  What would the Two Rivers folk do if he stepped down as their lord.

  In a sinking moment of realization, he knew that Faile was right. Surely they'd pick someone who'd do a better job of it than me, he thought. Maybe Master

  al'Vere.

  But could Perrin trust that? Men like Master al'Vere or Tarn might

  down the position. Might they end up picking someone like old Cenn Buie? Would they have a choice? If Perrin stepped aside, might some person who figured himself highborn seize power?

  pon't be a fool, Perrin Aybara, he thought. Almost anyone would be better

  than you.

  Still, the thought of someone else taking control—someone else being lord-filled him with intense anxiety. And a surprising amount of sadness.

  "Now," Faile said, "stop your brooding. I have grand intentions for this evening." She clapped her hands loudly three times, and movements began below. Soon, servants crested the hillside. Perrin recognized them as people she'd appropriated from among the refugees, a group as loyal to her as Cha Faile.

  They carried canvas, which they spread on the ground. Then they covered that with a blanket. And what was that he smelled coming up from below? Ham?

  "What is this, Faile?" he asked.

  "At first," she said, "I assumed that you had something special planned for our shanna'har. I grew nervous when you didn't mention it, however, and so I asked. It appears that you do not celebrate it in the Two Rivers, odd though that is."

  "Shanna'har?" Perrin asked, scratching his head.

  "In the coming weeks," Faile said, "we will have been married one year. This is our first shanna'har, our marriage celebration." She folded her arms, watching as her serva
nts arranged a meal on the blanket. "In Saldaea, we celebrate the shanna'har each year in the early summer. It is a festival to mark another year together, another year with neither husband nor wife fallen to the Trollocs. Young couples are told to savor their first shanna'har, much as one savors the first taste of a succulent meal. Our marriage will only be new to us once." The servants laid out a meal, including several glass bowls with candles in them. Faile dismissed the servants with a smile and a wave, and they retreated down the side of the hill. Faile had obviously taken care to make the meal look lavish. The blanket was embroidered, perhaps taken from Shaido spoils. The meal was served on silver plates and platters, ham a bed of boiled barley and capers across the top. There was even wine. Faile stepped closer to him. "I realize that there has been much, this year, that is not worth savoring. Maiden, the Prophet, that harsh winter. But if these things are the cost for being with you, Perrin, then I would pay them freely a dozen times over.

  "If all were well, we would spend this next month giving gifts to on another, affirming our love, celebrating our first summer as husband and wife. I doubt we will have the month of ease that is our right, but at least we should spend and enjoy this evening together."

  "I don't know if I can, Faile," he said. "The Whitecloaks, the sky Light! The Last Battle itself is almost here. The Last Battle, Faile! How can I feast while my people are being held under threat of execution and while the world itself may die?"

  "If the world itself is going to die," Faile said, "is this not the time when a man must take time to appreciate what he has? Before it is all taken?"

  Perrin hesitated. She laid a hand on his arm, her touch so soft. She hadn't raised her voice. Did she want him to yell? It was so hard to tell when she wanted an argument and when she didn't. Maybe Elyas would have advice for him.

  "Please," she said softly. "Try to relax for one evening. For me."

  "All right," he said, laying his hand on hers.

  She led him to the blanket and they settled down, side by side before the array of silver dishes. Faile lit more candles off of the lit ones the servants had left. The night was chilly—the clouds seemed to draw summer warmth away. "Why do this outside?" Perrin said. "And not in our tent?"

  "I asked Tarn what you do in the Two Rivers for shannahar" she said. "And as I feared, I learned that you don't celebrate it. That is really quite backward, you realize—we'll need to change the custom, once things settle down. Regardless, Tam said that the closest they had was something he and his wife did. Once a year, they would pack up a full meal—as extravagant as they could afford—and hike to a new place in the woods. They would dine there and spend the day with one another." She snuggled up against him. "Our wedding was done in the Two Rivers fashion, so I wished this day to be after that fashion as well."

  He smiled. Despite his earlier objections his tension was easing. The food smelled good, and his stomach growled, prompting Faile to sit up and take his plate and hand it to him.

  He dug in. He tried to keep his manners, but the food was excellent, and it had been a long day. He found himself ripping into the ham with ferocity, though he tried to take care not to drip on the fancy blanket.

  Faile ate more slowly, the scent of amusement mixing with that of her soap.

  "What?" Perrin asked, wiping his mouth. She was lit only by the can-dles that the sun was fully down. "There's much of the wolf in you, my husband."

  He froze, noticing that he'd been licking his fingers. He growled at self wiping them instead on a napkin. As much as he liked wolves, he woudn't invite them to the dinner table with him. "Too much of the wolf

  in me," he said.

  "You are what you are, my husband. And I happen to love what you

  are, so that is well."

  He continued to chew on his cut of the ham. The night was quiet, the servants having retreated far enough away that he couldn't smell or hear them. Likely Faile had left orders that they weren't to be disturbed, and with the trees at the base of the hillside, they wouldn't have to worry about being observed.

  "Faile," he said softy, "you need to know what I did while you were captive. I did things I worried would turn me into someone you would no longer want. It wasn't only the deal with the Seanchan. There were people in a city, So Habor, that I can't stop thinking of. People that maybe I should have helped. And there was a Shaido, with his hand—"

  "I heard about that. It seems that you did what you had to."

  "I'd have gone much farther," Perrin admitted. "Hating myself all the way. You spoke of a lord being strong enough to resist letting himself be manipulated. Well, I'll never be that strong. Not if you're taken."

  "We shall have to make certain I don't get taken."

  "It could ruin me, Faile," he said softly. "Anything else, I think I could handle. But if you are used against me, nothing will matter. I'd do anything to protect you, Faile. Anything."

  "Perhaps you should wrap me up in soft cloth, then," she said dryly, and tuck me away in a locked room." Oddly, her scent was not offended.

  "I wouldn't do that," Perrin said. "You know I wouldn't. But this means I have a weakness, a terrible one. The type a leader can't have."

  She snorted. "You think other leaders don't have weaknesses, Perrin? every King or Queen of Saldaea has had their own. Nikiol Dianatkhah was a drunkard, despite being known as one of our greatest kings, and Belairah married and put her husband away four times. Her heart always did lead her to trouble. Jonasim had a son whose gambling ways nearly brought her House to ruin, and Lyonford couldn't keep his temper if challenged. Each and every one was a great monarch. And all had their share of Weaknesses."

  Perrin continued to chew on his food, thoughtful.

  "In the Borderlands," Faile said, "we have a saying. 'A polished sword reflects the truth.' A man can claim to be diligent in his duties, but if his sword isn't polished, you know that he's been idle.

  "Well, your sword is bright, my husband. These last few weeks, you keep saying that you led poorly during my captivity. You'd have me believe that you led the entire camp to ruin and dust! But that's not true at all You kept them focused; you inspired them, maintained a strong presence and kept the air of a lord."

  "Berelain's behind some of that," he said. "I half think the woman would have bathed me herself if I'd gone another day without."

  "I'm certain that wouldn't have been good for the rumors," Faile noted dryly.

  "Faile, I—"

  "I'll deal with Berelain," Faile said. Her voice sounded dangerous. "That's one duty you needn't distract yourself with."

  "But—"

  "I'll deal with her," Faile said, her voice more firm. It was not wise to challenge her when she smelled that way, not unless he wanted to start a full argument. She softened, taking another bite of barley. "When I said you were like a wolf, my husband, I wasn't talking about the way you eat. I was talking about the way you give your attention. You are driven. Given a problem to solve, no matter how grand, and you will see it done.

  "Can't you understand? That's a wonderful trait in a leader- It is exactly what the Two Rivers will need. Assuming, of course, that you have a wife to care for some of the smaller issues." She frowned. "I wish you'd spoken to me about the banner before burning it. It will be difficult to raise it again without looking foolish."

  "I don't want to raise it again," Perrin said. "That's why I had them burn it."

  "But why?"

  He took another bite of his ham, pointedly not watching her. She smelled curious, almost desperately so.

  I can't lead them, he thought. Not until I know if I can master the wolf How could he explain? Explain that he feared the way it took control when he fought, when he wanted something too badly?

  He would not rid himself of the wolves; they had become too much a part of him. But where would he leave his people, where would he leave Faile, if he lost himself to what was inside of him?

  He again remembered a dirty creature, once a man, locked in a cage-There
is nothing left in this one that remembers being a man . . .

  "My husband," Faile said, resting a hand on his arm. "Please." She smelled of pain. That twisted his heart about. "It has to do with those Whitecloaks," Perrin said. "What? Perrin, I thought I said—"

  "It has to do," Perrin said firmly, "with what happened to me the first time I met with them. And what I'd begun to discover in the days before." Faile frowned. "I've told you that I killed two Whitecloaks," he said. "Before I met you."

  "Yes."

  "Settle back," he said. "You need to know the whole story." And so he told her. Hesitantly at first, but the words soon grew easier. He spoke of Shadar Logoth, and of their group being scattered. Of Egwene letting him take the lead, perhaps the first time he'd been forced to do

  that.

  He'd already told her of his meeting with Elyas. She knew much about Perrin, things that he'd never told anyone else, things he'd never even spoken of with Elyas. She knew about the wolf. She knew that he feared he'd lose himself.

  But she didn't know what he felt in battle. She didn't know what it had felt like to kill those Whitecloaks, to taste their blood—either in his own mouth, or through his link with the wolves. She didn't know what it had been like to be consumed by anger, fear and desperation when she'd been taken. These were the things he haltingly explained.

  He told her of the frenzy he'd gone into when searching for her in the wolf dream. He spoke of Noam and what he feared would happen to him. And of how it related to how he acted when he fought.

  Faile listened, sitting quietly atop the hilltop, arms wrapped around her legs, lit by candlelight. Her scents were subdued. Perhaps he should have held some things back. No woman wanted to know what a beast her husband became when he killed, did she? But now that he was speaking, he wanted to be rid of his secrets. He was tired of them.

  Each word spoken made him relax more. It did what the meal— touching though it had been—hadn't been able to. In telling her of his struggles, he felt some of his burden lift.

  He finished by speaking of Hopper. He wasn't certain why he'd saved the wolf for last; Hopper was part of much Perrin had told before—the Whitecloaks, the wolf dream. But it felt right to reserve Hopper until the end, so he did.