Selande did not back away from his anger. Her eyes narrowed to slits. Her fingers opened and closed on the hilt of her sword, and she was not alone. "We would die for the Lady Faile!" she spat. "Nothing we have done has put her in danger! We are sworn to her by water oath!" To Faile and not to him, her tone added.
He should apologize. He knew he should. Instead, he said, "You can have your horses if you give me your word you'll do as I say and not try anything rash." "Rash" was not the word for this lot. They were capable of rushing off alone as soon as they learned where Faile was. They were capable of getting Faile killed. "When we find her, I will decide how to rescue her. If your water oath says different, tie a knot in it, or I'll tie you in knots."
Her jaw tightened and her scowl deepened, but finally she said, "I agree!" as though the words were being pried out of her. One of the Tairens, a long-nosed fellow named Carlon, grunted in protest, but Selande raised one finger, and he shut his mouth. With that narrow chin, he probably regretted shaving off his beard. The little woman had the rest of these fools in the palm of her hand, which did not make her any less a fool herself. Water oath, indeed! She did not take her eyes from Perrin's. "We will obey you until the Lady Faile is returned. Then, we are hers again. And she can decide our toh." That last seemed more for the others than him.
"Good enough," he told her. He attempted to moderate his tone, but his voice was still rough. "I know you are loyal to her, all of you. I respect that." That was about all he did respect in them. As an apology it was not very much, and that was just how they took it. A grunt from Selande was the only reply he got, that and glowers from the rest as they stalked off. So be it. As long as they kept their word. The whole bunch had never done an honest day's work between them.
The camp was emptying out. The carts had begun moving south, sliding on their sleds behind the carthorses. The horses left deep tracks, but the sleds made only shallow ruts that the falling snow began to bury immediately. The last of the men from the hill were scrambling into their saddles and joining the others already riding with the carts. Just off to one side, the Wise Ones' party began to pass, even the gai'shain leading the pack animals themselves mounted. However firm Dannil had dared to be, or not as was more likely, apparently it had been enough. The Wise Ones looked particularly awkward on horseback compared to the grace of Seonid and Masuri, though not so bad as the gai'shain. The white-robed men and women had all been riding since the third day in snow, yet they crouched low over the tall pommels of their saddles and clung to neck or mane as if expecting to fall off at the next step. Getting them mounted in the first place had required direct commands from the Wise Ones, and some would still slide down and walk if they were not watched.
Perrin pulled himself up onto Stepper. He was not sure he might not fall off himself. It was time to make this ride he did not want to make, though. He would have killed for a piece of bread. Or some cheese. Or a nice rabbit.
"Aiel coming!" someone shouted from the head of the column, and everything came to a halt. More shouts rang out, passing the word as if everyone had not already heard, and men unlimbered bows from their backs. Cart drivers stood up on their seats, peering ahead, or leaped down to crouch beside the cart. Growling under his breath, Perrin heeled Stepper in the flanks.
At the front of the column, Dannil was still in his saddle, and the two men carrying those bloody banners, but a good thirty were on the ground, coverings stripped from their bowstrings and arrows nocked. The men holding the horses for the dismounted men jostled about, pointing and trying to get a clear view. Grady and Neald were there, as well, peering ahead with intent faces but sitting on their horses calmly. Everyone else reeked of agitation. The Asha'man only smelled… ready.
Perrin could make out what they were staring at through the trees a good deal more clearly than they. Ten veiled Aiel trotting toward them through the falling snow, one leading a tall white horse. A little behind them rode three men, cloaked and hooded. There seemed to be something odd in the way the Aiel moved. And there was a bundle tied to the white's saddle. A fist gripped Perrin's heart until he realized it was not nearly large enough to be a body.
"Put up your bows," he said. "That's Alliandre's gelding. It must be our people. Can't you see the Aiel are all Maidens?" Not a one was tall enough to be an Aielman.
"I can barely make out they're Aiel," Dannil muttered, giving him a sidelong look. They all cook it for granted that his eyes were good, even took pride in it—or used to—but he tried to keep them from knowing how good. Right then, he did not care, though.
"They are ours," he told Dannil. "Everybody stay here."
Slowly he rode out to meet the returning party. The Maidens began unveiling as he approached. In one of the deep cowls on the mounted men, he made out Furen Alharra's black face. The three Warders, then; they would have come back together. Their horses looked as tired as he felt, near exhaustion. He wanted to force Stepper to run, to hear what they had to report. He dreaded hearing. Ravens would have been at the bodies, and foxes, badgers maybe, and the Light alone knew what besides. Maybe they thought they were sparing him by not bringing back what they had found. No! Faile had to be alive. He tried to fix that thought in his head, but it hurt like gripping a sharp blade bare-handed.
Dismounting in front of them, he stumbled and had to hold on to the saddle to keep from falling. He felt numb around the bright pain of holding on to that one thought. She had to be alive. Little details loomed large, for some reason. Not one bundle fastened to the elaborately tooled saddle, but a number of small bundles that looked like gathered rags. The Maidens wore snow-shoes, rough-made of vines and supple pine branches with the needles still on. That was why they seemed to be moving oddly. Jondyn must have shown them how to make them. He tried to focus. He thought his heart was going to pound through his ribs.
Gripping spears and buckler in her left hand, Sulin took one of the small bundles of cloth from the saddle before she came to him. The pink scar running down her leathery cheek twisted as she smiled. "Good news, Perrin Aybara," she said softly, handing him the dark blue cloth. "Your wife lives." Alharra exchanged glances with Seonid's other Warder, Teryl Wynter, who frowned. Masuri's man, Rovair Kirklin, stared straight ahead stonily. It was as plain as Wynter's curled mustaches that they were not sure it was good news. "The others press on to see what more they can find," she went on. "Though we already have found oddities enough."
Perrin let the bundle fall open in his hands. It was Faile's dress, sliced down the front and along the arms. He inhaled deeply, pulling Faile's scent into him, a faint trace of her flowery soap, a touch other sweet perfume, but most of all, the smell that was her. And no hint of blood. The rest of the Maidens gathered around him, mostly older women with hard faces, though not as hard as Sulin's. The Warders climbed down, showing no sign that they had been all night in the saddle, but they held back behind the Maidens.
"All of the men were killed," the wiry woman said, "but by the garments we found, Alliandre Kigarin, Maighdin Dorlain, Lacile Aldorwin, Arrela Shiego, and two more also were made gai'shain." The other two must have been Bain and Chiad; mentioning them by name, that they had been taken, would have shamed them. He had learned a little about Aiel. "This goes against custom, but it protects them." Wynter frowned in doubt, then tried to hide it by adjusting his hood.
The neat cuts were like those made skinning an animal. It hit Perrin suddenly. Someone had cut Faile's clothes off! His voice shook. "They only took women?"
A round-faced young Maiden named Briain shook her head. "Three men would have been made gai'shain, I think, but they fought too hard and were killed with knife or spear. All the rest died by arrow."
"It is not like that, Perrin Aybara," Elienda said hurriedly, sounding shocked. A tall woman with wide shoulders, she managed to look almost motherly, though he had seen her knock a man down with her fist. "Harming a gai'shain is like harming a child, or a blacksmith. It was wrong to take wetlanders, but I cannot believe they wil
l break custom that far. I am sure they will not even be punished, if they can be meek until they are recovered. There are others who will show them." Others; Bain and Chiad again.
"What direction did they go?" he asked. Could Faile be meek? He could not picture her that way. At least let her try, till he could find her.
"Almost south," Sulin replied. "Much nearer south than east. After the snow hid their tracks, Jondyn Barran saw other traces. What the others are following. I believe him. He sees as much as Elyas Machera. There is much to see." Thrusting her spears behind the bow case on her back, she hung her buckler from the hilt of her heavy belt knife. Her fingers flashed handtalk, and Elienda unfastened a second, larger bundle and handed it to her. "Many people are moving out there, Perrin Aybara, and strange things. This you must see first, I think." Sulin unfolded another cut dress, this one green. He thought he remembered it on Alliandre. "These, we recovered where your wife was taken." Inside, forty or fifty Aiel arrows shifted in a heap. There were dark stains on the shafts, and he caught the scent of dried blood.
"Taardad," Sulin said, picking out an arrow and immediately throwing it to the ground. "Miagoma." She tossed two more aside. "Goshien." Those brought a grimace to her face; she was Goshien. Clan by clan, she named them all except the Shaido, dropping arrows until just over half lay scattered around her. She held up the cut dress holding the remainder in both hands, then spilled them. "Shaido," she said significantly.
Clutching Faile's dress to his chest—her scent eased the pain in his heart, and made it worse at the same time—Perrin frowned at the arrows jumbled on the snow. Already, some were half buried in the fresh fall. "Too many Shaido," he said at last. They should all be bottled up in Kinslayer's Dagger, five hundred leagues distant. But if some of their Wise Ones had learned to Travel… Maybe even one of the Forsaken… Light, he was rambling like a fool—what would the Forsaken have to do with this?—rambling when he had to think. His brain felt as weary as the rest of him. "The others are men who wouldn't accept Rand as the car'a'carn." Those cursed colors flashed in his head. He had no time for anything but Faile. "They joined the Shaido." Some of the Maidens averted their eyes. Elienda glared at him. They knew that some had done what he said, but it was one of those things they did not like to hear said aloud. "How many altogether, do you reckon? Not the whole clan, surely?" If the Shaido were here in a body, there would be more than rumors of distant raids. Even among all the other troubles, all of Amadicia would know.
"Near enough to be going on with, I'm thinking," Wynter muttered under his breath. Perrin was not meant to hear.
Reaching in among the bundles tied to the ornate saddle, Sulin drew out a rag doll dressed in cadin'sor. "Elyas Machera found this just before we turned back, about forty miles from here." She shook her head, and for a moment her voice and scent became… startled. "He said he smelled it beneath the snow. He and Jondyn Barran found scrapes on the trees they said were caused by carts. Very many carts. If there are children… I think it may be a whole sept, Perrin Aybara. Perhaps more than one. Even a single sept will have at least a thousand spears, and more at need. Every man but the blacksmiths will pick up a spear at need. They are days south of us. Perhaps more days than I think, in this snow. But I believe those who took your wife are going to meet them."
"This blacksmith has picked up a spear," Perrin murmured. A thousand, maybe more. He had over two thousand, counting the Winged Guards and Arganda's men. Against Aiel, though, the numbers would favor the Shaido. He fingered the doll in Sulin's sinewy hand. Was a Shaido child weeping over the loss of her doll? "We go south."
He was turning to mount Stepper when Sulin touched his arm to stop him. "I told you we saw other things. Twice, Elyas Machera found horse droppings and campfires under the snow. Many horses, and many campfires."
"Thousands," Alharra put in. His black eyes met Perrin's lev-elly, and his voice was matter-of-fact. He was simply reporting what was. "Five, maybe ten or more; it's hard to tell. But soldiers' camps. The same men both places, I think. Machera and Barran agree. Whoever it is, they're heading near enough south, too. Maybe they have nothing to do with the Aiel, but they could be following."
Sulin gave the Warder an impatient frown and continued with barely a pause for his interruption. "Three times we saw flying creatures like those you say the Seanchan use, huge things with ribbed wings and people riding their backs. And twice we saw tracks like this." Bending, she picked up one of the arrows and drew a rounded shape a little like a large bear's paw in the snow, but with six toes longer than a man's fingers. "Sometimes it shows claws," she said, marking them, longer even than one of the big bears in the Mountains of Mist. "It has a long stride. I think it runs very fast. Do you know what it is?"
He did not—he had never heard of anything with six toes except the cats in the Two Rivers; he had been surprised to find cats elsewhere only had five—but he could make a safe guess. "Another Seanchan animal." So there were Seanchan to the south as well as Shaido, and—what?—Whitecloaks, or a Seanchan army. It could not be anyone else. He trusted Balwer's information. "We still go south." The Maidens stared at him as if he had told them it was snowing.
Pulling himself up into Stepper's saddle, he turned back toward the column. The Warders walked, leading their weary horses. The Maidens took Alliandre's gelding with them as they trotted to where the Wise Ones were standing. Masuri and Seonid were riding to meet their Warders. He wondered why they all had not come to stick their noses in. Perhaps it was as simple as letting him be alone with his grief if the news turned out bad. Perhaps. In his head, he tried to fit everything together. The Shaido, however many they were. The Seanchan. The mounted army, whether Whitecloak or Seanchan. It was like the puzzles Master Luhhan had taught him to make, intricate twists of metal that slid apart and slipped back togther like a dream, if you knew the trick. Only, his head felt muddled, groping at pieces that would not slide anywhere.
The Two Rivers men were all mounted again when he reached them. Those who had been on the ground with their bows ready looked a little abashed. They all eyed him uneasily, tentatively.
"She's alive," he said, and it was as if every man of them started breathing again. They took the rest of his news with a strange impassiveness, some even nodding as though they had expected no less.
"Won't be the first time we've faced long odds," Dannil said. "What do we do, my Lord?"
Perrin grimaced. The man was still stiff as an oak. "For starters, we're Traveling forty miles due south. After that, I will see. Neald, you go ahead and find Elyas and the others. Tell them what I'm doing. They will be a good deal further on, by this time. And have a care. You can't fight ten or a dozen Wise Ones." A whole sept should have at least that many who could channel. And if it was more than one? A bog he had to cross when he came to it.
Neald nodded before turning his gelding back toward the camp, where he had already memorized the ground. There were only a few more orders to give. Riders had to be sent to find the Mayeners and Ghealdanin, who would be moving apart as they camped apart. Grady thought he could memorize the ground right there before they could join up, so there was no need to turn everything around and follow Neald back. And that left only one thing.
"I need to find Masema, Dannil," Perrin said. "Somebody who can give him a message, anyway. With luck, I won't be long."
"You go among that filth alone, my Lord, and you'll need luck," Dannil replied. "I heard some of them talking about you. Said you're Shadowspawn, because of your eyes." His gaze met Pen-in's golden eyes and slid sideways. "Said you'd been tamed by the Dragon Reborn, but still Shadowspawn. You ought to take a few dozen men to watch your back."
Perrin hesitated, patting Stepper's neck. A few dozen men would not be enough if Masema's people really thought he was Shadowspawn and decided to take matters into their own hands. All the Two Rivers men together might not be enough. Maybe he did not need to tell Masema, just let him learn for himself.
His ears caught a bluetit's tr
ill from the trees to the west, followed a moment later by a second that everyone could hear, and the decision was taken away from him. He was sure of it, and wondered whether this was part of being ta'veren. He reined Stepper around and waited.
The Two Rivers men knew what it meant, hearing that particular bird from back home. Men coming, more than a handful, and not necessarily peaceful. It would have been a crookbill trilling if they were friends, and a mocker's cry of alarm had they been clearly unfriendly. This time, they behaved better. Along the west side of the column, every second man as far as Perrin could see in the snow dismounted and handed his reins to the man next to him, then readied his bow.
The strangers appeared through the scattered trees spread out in a line as if to increase the impression of their numbers. They were perhaps a hundred, with two in advance, but their slow advance did seem ominous. Half carried lances, not couched but held as though ready be tucked under an arm. At a steady walk they came on. Some wore armor, a breastplate or a helmet but rarely both. Still, they were better armed than the general run of Masema's followers. One of the pair out front was Masema himself, his zealot's face staring out of his cloak's cowl like a rabid mountain cat staring out of a cave. How many of those lances had borne a red streamer yesterday morning?
Masema stopped his men with a raised hand only when he was just a few paces from Perrin. Pushing back his hood, he ran his gaze along the dismounted men with their bows. He seemed unaware of the snow hitting his bare scalp. His companion, a bigger man with a sword on his back and another at his saddlebow, kept his cowl up, but Perrin thought his head was shaved, too. That one managed to study the column and watch Masema with equal intensity. His dark eyes burned almost as much as Masema's. Perrin thought about telling them that at this range, a Two Rivers longbow would put a pile shaft right through a breastplate, and out the wearer's back besides. He considered mentioning Seanchan. Discretion, Berelain had counseled. Perhaps it was a fine thing, in the circumstances.
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