"There are three," Galad said, standing. "The first two are the unlawful
murder of Child Lathin and the unlawful murder of Child Yamwick. Ay-bara 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 1ast 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 going 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 int to 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 Chid 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 ocasional 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 ma
dman, 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 Dark-friend, 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 re-alized 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."
"I saw Goldeneyes there," Byar said, gesturing toward Perrin. "Fighting alongside ghostly apparitions! Creatures of evil!"
"The Heroes of the Horn, Byar," Perrin said. "Couldn't you see that we where fighting alongside the Whitecloaks?"
"You seemed to be," Byar said wildly. "Just as you seemed to be defending the people in the Two Rivers. But I saw through you, Shadowspawn! I saw through you the moment I met you!"
"Is that why you told me to escape?" Perrin said softly. "When I was confined in the elder Lord Bornhald's tent, following my capture. You gave
me a sharp rock to cut my bonds and told me that if I ran, nobody would
chase me."
Byar froze. He seemed to have forgotten that until this moment.
"You wanted me to try to get away," Perrin said, "so that you could kill me. You wanted Egwene and me dead very badly."
"Is this true, Child Byar?" Galad asked.
Byar stumbled. "Of course ... of course not. I. . . ." Suddenly, he spun and turned to Morgase atop her simple throne of judgment. "This trial is not about me, but him! You have heard both sides. What is your answer? Judge, woman!"
"You should not speak to my mother so," Galad said quietly. His face was impassive, but Perrin smelled danger on him. Bornhald, looking very troubled, had sat back down and was holding his head with his hand.
"No, it is all right," Morgase said. "He is right. This trial is about Perrin Aybara." She turned from Byar to regard Perrin. He looked back calmly. She smelled ... as if she were curious about something. "Lord Aybara. Do you feel you have spoken adequately for yourself?"
"I was protecting myself and my friends," Perrin said. "The White-cloaks had no authority to do as they did, ordering us out, threatening us. You know their reputation as well as any, I suspect. We had good reason to be wary of them and disobey their orders. It wasn't murder. I was just defending myself."
Morgase nodded. "I will make my decision, then."
"What of having others speak for Perrin?" Faile demanded, standing.
"That won't be needed, Lady Faile," Morgase said. "So far as I can tell, the only other person we could interview would be Egwene al'Vere, which doesn't seem within the reasonable bounds of this trial."
"But—"
It is enough," Morgase interrupted, voice growing cold. "We could have a dozen Children name him Darkfriend and two dozen of his follow-ers laud his virtues. Neither would serve this trial. We are speaking of specific events, on a specific day."
Faile fell silent, though she smelled furious. She took Perrin's arm, not sitting back down. Perrin felt . . . regretful. He had presented the truth. But he wasn't satisfied.
He hadn't wanted to kill those Whitecioaks, but he had. And he'd done it in a frenzy, without control. He could blame the wolves, he could blame the Whitecioaks, but the honest truth was that he had lost control When he'd awoken, he'd barely remembered what he had done.
"You know my answer, Perrin," Morgase said. "I can see it in your eyes "
"Do what you must," Perrin said.
"Perrin Aybara, I pronounce you guilty."
"No!" Faile screamed. "How dare you! He took you in!"
Perrin put a hand on her shoulder. She'd been reaching for her sleeve by reflex, aiming for the knives there.
"This has nothing to do with how I personally feel about Perrin," Morgase said. "This is a trial by Andoran law. Well, the law is very clear. Perrin may feel that the wolves were his friends, but the law states that a man's hound or livestock is worth a certain price. Slaying them is unlawful, but killing a man in retribution is even more so. I can quote the very statutes to you if you wish."
The pavilion was silent. Neald had risen halfway from his chair, but Perrin met his eyes and shook his head. The Aes Sedai and Wise Ones wore faces that betrayed nothing. Berelain looked resigned, and sun-haired Alliandre had one hand to her mouth.
Dannil and Azi al'Thone moved up to Perrin and Faile, and Perrin did not force them to bac
k down.
"What does this matter?" Byar demanded. "He's not going to abide by the judgment!"
Other Whitecioaks stood, and this time Perrin couldn't stare down all those on his side who did likewise.
"I have not passed sentence yet," Morgase said, voice crisp.
"What other sentence could there be?" Byar asked. "You said he's guilty.
"Yes," Morgase said. "Though I believe there are further circumstances relevant to the sentencing." Her face was still hard, and she smelled determined. What was she doing?
"The Whitecioaks were an unauthorized military group within the confines of my realm," Morgase said. "By this light, while I do rule Per-rin guilty of killing your men, I rule the incident subject to the Kainec protocol."
"Is that the law that governs mercenaries?" Galad asked.
"Indeed."
"What is this?" Perrin asked.
Galad turned to him. "She has ruled that our altercation was a brawl between unemployed mercenary groups. Essentially, the ruling states there were no innocents in the clash—you are not, therefore, charged with murder. Instead, you have killed illegally."
"There's a difference?" Dannil asked, frowning.
"One of semantics," Galad said, hands still clasped behind his back, Perrin caught his scent; it was curious. "Yes, this is a good ruling, Mother. But the punishment is still death, I believe."
"It can be," Morgase said. "The code is much more lenient, depending on the circumstances."
"Then what do you rule?" Perrin asked.
"I do not," Morgase said. "Galad, you are the one responsible for the men killed, or the closest we have. I will pass sentencing on to you. I have given the ruling and the legal definitions. You decide the punishment."
Galad and Perrin locked eyes across the pavilion. "I see," Galad said. "A strange choice, Your Grace. Aybara, it must be asked again. Will you abide by the decisions of this trial that you yourself suggested? Or must this be settled with conflict?"
Faile tensed at his side. Perrin could hear his army moving behind him, men loosening swords in their sheaths, muttering. The word passed through them as a low hum. Lord Perrin, named guilty. They're going to try to take him. We won't let it happen, will we?
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