The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  All in all, the arrival created quite a stir. A buzz rose among the Two Rivers men that Perrin could only call anticipatory. The inevitable gathering of Faile’s young fools scratched their heads and stared at the tent, chattering excitedly among themselves. Grady and Neald watched the tent through the trees, too, now and then leaning together to talk though nobody was close enough to hear anything they said.

  “Looks like your visitors are more than casual,” Elyas said quietly. “Watch Gallenne; he could be trouble.”

  “You know him, Elyas? I’d like you to stay, but if you think he might tell one of the sisters who you are. . . .” Perrin shrugged in resignation. “I might be able to stop Seonid and Masuri”—he thought he could—“but I think Annoura will do whatever she wants.” And what did she really think about Masema?

  “Oh, Bertain Gallenne doesn’t know the likes of Elyas Machera,” Elyas replied with a wry grin. “ ‘More fools know Jak Fool than Jak Fool knows.’ I know him, though. He won’t go against you or behind your back, but Berelain has the brains between them. She’s kept Tear out of Mayene by playing the Tairens against the Illianers since she was sixteen. Berelain knows how to maneuver; all Gallenne knows is attack. He’s good at it, but he never sees anything else, and sometimes he doesn’t stop to think.”

  “I’d figured that out about both of them,” Perrin muttered. At least Berelain had brought a messenger from Alliandre. She would not have come rushing in that way with a new maid. The only question was why Alliandre’s reply needed a messenger. “I had best find out whether the news is good, Elyas. Later, we’ll talk about what lies south. And you can meet Faile,” he added before turning away.

  “The Pit of Doom lies south,” the other man called after him, “or as close to it as I expected to see below the Blight.” Perrin imagined he heard that faint thunder in the west again. Now, that would be a pleasant change.

  In the tent, Breane was carrying a silver tray about with a bowl of rose-scented water and cloths for washing faces and hands, curtsying stiffly as she presented it. With even stiffer curtsies, Maighdin was offering a tray holding cups of wine-punch—made with the last of the dried blueberries, by the smell—while Lini folded the newcomer’s dust-cloak. There seemed something odd in the way Faile and Berelain stood to either side of the new woman, and Annoura hovered behind them, all focused on her. Somewhere in her middle years, with a cap of green net gathering dark hair that fell almost to her waist, she might have been pretty if her nose had not been so long. And if she had not carried it so high. Shorter than Faile or Berelain either one, she still managed to look down that nose at Perrin, coolly examining him from hair to boots. She did not blink at sight of his eyes, although nearly everyone did.

  “Majesty,” Berelain pronounced in a formal voice as soon as Perrin entered, “may I present Lord Perrin Aybara of the Two Rivers, in Andor, the personal friend and emissary of the Dragon Reborn.” The long-nosed woman nodded carefully, coolly, and Berelain went on with scarcely a pause. “Lord Aybara, give greetings and welcome to Alliandre Maritha Kigarin, Queen of Ghealdan, Blessed of the Light, Defender of Garen’s Wall, who is pleased to receive you in person.” Gallenne, standing near the tent wall, adjusted his eyepatch and raised his winecup to Perrin with a smile of triumph.

  For some reason Faile shot Berelain a hard look. Perrin’s mouth nearly dropped open. Alliandre herself? He wondered whether he should kneel, then settled for a bow after too long a pause. Light! He had no notion how to deal with a queen. Especially one who turned up out of the blue with no escort, without a jewel in sight. Her dark green riding dress was plain wool, lacking a single stitch of embroidery.

  “After the recent news,” Alliandre said, “I thought I should come to you, Lord Aybara.” Her voice was calm, her face smooth, her eyes aloof. And observant, or he was a Taren Ferry man. Best to step warily till he knew how the path lay. “You may not have heard,” she continued, “but four days ago Illian fell to the Dragon Reborn, blessed be his name in the Light. He has taken the Laurel Crown, though I understand it is now called the Crown of Swords.”

  Faile, taking a cup from Maighdin’s tray, whispered under her breath, “And seven days gone, the Seanchan took Ebou Dar.” Even Maighdin did not notice.

  If Perrin had not already taken hold of himself, he truly would have gaped. Why did Faile tell him this way instead of waiting for it to come from the woman who must have told her? In a voice that everyone could hear, he repeated her words. A hard voice, but that was the only way to keep it from shaking. Ebou Dar, too? Light! And seven days ago? The day Grady and the others had seen the One Power in the sky. Coincidence, maybe. But would he rather it had been the Forsaken?

  Annoura frowned over her cup, pursing her lips, before he finished speaking, and Berelain gave him a startled look that vanished quickly. They knew he had not known about Ebou Dar when they rode into Bethal.

  Alliandre merely nodded, every bit as self-possessed as the Gray. “You seem remarkably well informed,” she said, coming closer to him. “I doubt the first rumors are reaching Jehannah with the river trade, yet. I myself learned of it only a few days ago. Several of the merchants keep me abreast of events. I believe,” she added dryly, “that they hope I can intercede for them with the Prophet of the Lord Dragon, if such becomes necessary.”

  At last he could pick out her scent, and his opinion of her changed, though not for the worse. Outwardly, the Queen was all cool reserve, but uncertainty shot through with fear filled the smell of her. He did not believe he could have held his face so calm had he felt that.

  “Always best to know as much as you can,” he told her, half distracted. Burn me, he thought, I have to let Rand know about this!

  “In Saldaea we find merchants useful for information, too,” Faile said. Implying that was how Perrin knew about Ebou Dar. “They seem to learn what happened a thousand miles off weeks before the rumors begin.”

  She did not look at Perrin, but he knew she spoke to him as much as Alliandre. Rand knew, she was saying. And anyway, there was no way to get word to him in secret. Could Faile really want him to . . . ? No, it was unthinkable. Blinking, he realized he had missed something Alliandre had said. “Your pardon, Alliandre,” he said politely. “I was thinking about Rand—the Dragon Reborn.” Of course it was unthinkable!

  Everyone stared at him, even Lini and Maighdin and Breane. Annoura’s eyes had gone wide, and Gallenne’s mouth hung open. Then it hit him. He had just called the Queen by name. He took a cup from Maighdin’s tray, and she rose from her curtsy so quickly that she nearly knocked it from his hand. Waving her away absently, he wiped his damp hand on his coat. He had to concentrate here, not let his mind wander in nine directions. No matter what Elyas thought he knew, Faile would never. . . . No! Concentrate!

  Alliandre recovered her equilibrium quickly. In truth, she had appeared the least surprised of anyone, and her scent never wavered. “I was saying that coming to you in secret seemed the wisest course, Lord Aybara,” she said in that cool voice. “Lord Telabin believes I am keeping private in his gardens, which I left by a seldom-used gate. Passing out of the city, I was Annoura Sedai’s maid.” Brushing fingertips across one skirt of her riding dress, she gave a small laugh. Even that about her was cool, so at odds with what his nose told him. “A number of my own soldiers saw me, but with the hood of my cloak pulled up, none knew me.”

  “Times being what they are, that probably was wisest,” Perrin said carefully. “But you will have to come into the open sooner or later. One way or another.” Polite and to the point, that was the thing. A queen would not want to waste time with a man who blathered. And he did not want to disappoint Faile by acting the hayfoot again. “Why come at all? All you had to do was send a letter, or just tell Berelain your answer. Will you declare for Rand or not? Either way, have no fear about getting back to Bethal safely.” A good point, that. Whatever else frightened her, being here alone must.

  Faile was watching him, pretending not to, sippin
g her punch and directing her smiles at Alliandre, but he caught the quick flickers of her eyes in his direction. Berelain made no pretense, watching quite openly, eyes slightly narrowed and never leaving his face. Annoura was just as intent, just as thoughtful. Did they all believe he was going to trip over his own tongue again?

  Instead of answering the important question, Alliandre said, “The First told me a great deal about you, Lord Aybara, and about the Lord Dragon Reborn, blessed be his name in the Light.” That last sounded by rote, an addition she no longer had to think about. “I cannot see him before I make my decision, so I wished to see you, to take a measure of you. It’s possible to tell much about a man by those he chooses to speak for him.” Tilting her face down toward the cup in her hands, she peered at him through her lashes. From Berelain, that would have been flirtatious, but Alliandre was cautiously watching a wolf sure as he was standing in front of her. “I also saw your banners,” she said quietly. “The First did not mention them.”

  Perrin scowled before he could stop himself. Berelain had told her a great deal about him? What had she said? “The banners are meant to be seen.” Anger put a roughness in his voice that required some effort to force down. Now, Berelain was a woman who needed shouting at. “Believe me, there are no plans to set up Manetheren again.” There; his tone was as cool as Alliandre’s. “What is your decision? Rand can have ten thousand soldiers, a hundred thousand, here in the blink of an eye, or near enough.” And he might have to. The Seanchan in Amador and Ebou Dar? Light, how many were they?

  Alliandre sipped delicately at her wine-punch before speaking, and again she dodged the question. “There are a thousand rumors, as you must know, and even the wildest is believable when the Dragon is Reborn, strangers appear claiming to be Artur Hawkwing’s armies returned, and the Tower itself is broken by rebellion.”

  “A matter for Aes Sedai,” Annoura said sharply. “It concerns no one else.” Berelain flashed an exasperated look at her, which she affected not to notice.

  Alliandre flinched and turned her shoulder to the sister. Queen or not, no one wanted to hear that tone from an Aes Sedai. “The world is turned upside down, Lord Aybara. Why, I’ve even had reports of Aiel sacking a village right here in Ghealdan.” Abruptly Perrin realized there was more here than anxiety over offending Aes Sedai. Alliandre watched him, waiting. But for what? Reassurance?

  “The only Aiel in Ghealdan are with me,” he told her. “The Seanchan may be descendants of Artur Hawkwing’s army, but Hawkwing is a thousand years dead. Rand dealt with them once already, and he will again.” He remembered Falme as clearly as Dumai’s Wells, though he had tried forgetting. Surely there had not been enough of them there to take Amador and Ebou Dar, even with their damane. Balwer claimed they had Taraboner soldiers, too. “And it might cheer you to hear that those rebel Aes Sedai support Rand. They will, soon, at least.” That was what Rand said, a handful of Aes Sedai with nowhere to go except to him. Perrin was not so sure. Rumor in Ghealdan put an army with those sisters. Of course, the same rumors counted more Aes Sedai in that handful than there were in the world, but still. . . . Light, he wished someone would reassure him! “Why don’t we sit,” he said. “I’ll answer any questions you have, to help you make your decision, but we might as well be comfortable.” Drawing one of the folding chairs to him, he remembered at the last instant not to just drop into it, but it creaked under him just the same.

  Lini and the other two servants rushed about, pulling chairs into a circle with his, but none of the other women moved toward them. Alliandre stood looking at him, and the rest looked at her. Except for Gallenne, who merely poured himself another cup of punch from the silver pitcher.

  It came to Perrin that Faile had not opened her mouth since speaking of the merchants. He was as grateful for Berelain’s silence as he was that she had not decided to flutter her lashes at him in front of the Queen, but he could have used some help from Faile right then. A little advice. Light, she knew ten times what he did about what he should say and do here.

  Wondering whether he should stand with the others, he set his wine-punch on one of the small tables and asked her to speak to Alliandre. “If anyone can make her see the right way to go, you can,” he said. Faile gave him a pleased smile, but held her tongue.

  Abruptly Alliandre put out her cup to one side without looking, as if expecting a tray to be there. One was, barely in time to catch the cup, and Maighdin, who held it, muttered something Perrin hoped Faile had not heard. Faile was death on servants using that sort of language. He started to rise as Alliandre approached him, but to his shock, she knelt gracefully in front of him, catching his hands with hers. Before he knew what she was doing, she twisted so her hands were back-to-back between his palms. She clung so hard her hands must have hurt; for sure, he was not certain he could loose himself without hurting her.

  “Under the Light,” she said firmly, looking up at him, “I, Alliandre Maritha Kigarin, pledge my fealty and service to Lord Perrin Aybara of the Two Rivers, now and for all time, save that he chooses to release me of his own will. My lands and throne are his, and I yield them to his hand. So I do swear.”

  For an instant there was a silence broken only by Gallenne’s gasp and the muted thud of his winecup hitting the rug.

  Then Perrin heard Faile, once more whispering so softly no one next to her could have made out her words. “Under the Light, I do accept your pledge and will defend and protect you and yours through battle’s wrack and winter’s blast and all that time may bring. The lands and throne of Ghealdan, I give to you as my faithful vassal. Under the Light, I do accept. . . .” That must have been the Saldaean manner of accepting. Thank the Light she was too busy concentrating on him to see Berelain nodding at him furiously, urging the same. The pair of them looked almost as if they had expected this! Annoura, though, with her mouth hanging open, appeared as stunned as he, like a fish who had just seen the water vanish.

  “Why?” he asked gently, ignoring Faile’s frustrated hiss and Berelain’s exasperated grunt alike. Burn me, he thought, I’m a bloody blacksmith! Nobody swore fealty to blacksmiths. Queens did not swear fealty to anyone! “I’ve been told I’m ta’veren; you might want to reconsider this in an hour.”

  “I hope you are ta’veren, my Lord.” Alliandre laughed, but not in amusement, and gripped his hands even more tightly, as though fearful he might pull away. “With all my heart, I hope it. I fear nothing less will save Ghealdan. I all but reached this decision as soon as the First told me why you are here, and meeting you only confirmed me in it. Ghealdan needs protection I cannot give, so duty demands I find it. You can give it, my Lord, you and the Lord Dragon Reborn, blessed be his name in the Light. In truth, I would swear directly to him if he were here, but you are his man. Swearing to you, I also swear to him.” Drawing a deep breath, she forced out another word. “Please.” She smelled desperate, now, and her eyes shone with fear.

  Still, he hesitated. This was everything Rand could want and more, but Perrin Aybara was just a blacksmith. He was! Could he still tell himself that if he did this thing? Alliandre stared up at him pleadingly. Did ta’veren work on themselves, he wondered. “Under the Light, I, Perrin Aybara, accept your pledge. . . .” His throat was dry by the time he finished the words Faile had whispered. Too late to stop and think now.

  With a gasp of relief, Alliandre kissed his hands. Perrin did not think he had ever been so embarrassed in his life. Standing hurriedly, he drew her to her feet. And realized he did not know what to do next. A proudly beaming Faile whispered no further hints. Berelain smiled, too, relief so strong on her face she might have just been pulled from a fire.

  He was sure Annoura would speak—Aes Sedai always had plenty to say, especially when it gave an opportunity to take charge—but the Gray sister was holding out a winecup for Maighdin to refill. Annoura watched him with an unreadable expression, and for that matter, so did Maighdin, so much so that she continued tilting her pitcher until punch slopped over onto th
e Aes Sedai’s wrist. At which Annoura gave a start, staring at the cup in her hand as though she had forgotten it was there. Faile frowned, and Lini frowned even harder, and Maighdin scurried for a cloth to dry the sister’s hand, all the while muttering under her breath again. Faile was going to have fits if she ever heard those mutters.

  Perrin knew he was taking too long. Alliandre licked her lips anxiously; she expected more, but what? “Now that we’re done here, I have to find the Prophet next,” he said, and winced. Too abrupt. He had no feel for dealing with nobles, much less queens. “I suppose you’ll want to get back to Bethal before anyone learns you’re gone.”

  “The last I heard,” Alliandre told him, “the Prophet of the Lord Dragon was in Abila. That’s a largish town in Amadicia, perhaps forty leagues south of here.”

  In spite of himself, Perrin frowned, though he smoothed his brow quickly. So Balwer had been right. Right in one thing did not mean right in all, but it might be worthwhile hearing what the man had to say about the Whitecloaks. And the Seanchan. How many Taraboners?

  Faile glided to his side, laying a hand on his arm and directing a warm smile at Alliandre. “You cannot mean to send her away now, my heart. Not when she has just arrived. Leave us to talk here out of the sun before she must face the ride back. I know you have important matters to see to.”

  He managed not to stare, with a little effort. What could be more important than the Queen of Ghealdan? Certain sure, nothing anyone would let him lay hand to. Clearly she wanted to talk with Alliandre without him. With luck, she would tell him why later. With luck, she would tell him all of it. Elyas might think he knew Saldaeans, but Perrin had learned on his own that only a fool tried to root out all of his wife’s secrets. Or let her know about those he had unearthed already.

  Leaving Alliandre should no doubt involve as much ceremony as meeting her, but he managed a credible leg and made his bow, asking her pardon for going off, and she curtsied deeply, murmuring that he honored her too much, and that was that. Except for jerking his head at Gallenne to follow him. He doubted that Faile would send him off and want that one to stay. What did she want to talk about alone?