Except instead of fifty dressing dummies, we’ll have a hundred thousand Trollocs, Elayne thought.
“The next tower, you should look at it,” Aludra said, gesturing.
Elayne turned the glass to look at the next tower down the wall. She could see five members of the Band there, dressed in uniforms, waiting with another dragon. Mat was looking in the thing, right down the tube.
“These have trained somewhat on the dragons,” Aludra continued. “But they do not have the efficiency I would like. They will do for now, yes?”
Elayne lowered her glass as the men pulled the dummy tube back—it was on a set of wheels—and rotated it up a bit toward the sky. One poured some black powder in from his cask, then another stuffed in a wad of something. This was followed by the man with the long pole ramming it down the tube. That wasn’t a chimney brush he held, but some kind of tool used for packing.
“That looks like the powder inside a nightflower,” Birgitte said. She felt wary.
Aludra shot the Warder a glance. “And how do you know what is inside a nightflower, Maerion? You do realize how dangerous it is to open one of those, yes?”
Birgitte shrugged.
Aludra frowned, but got no response, so took a deep breath and calmed herself. “The device, it is perfectly safe. We set up the other dragon to do the firing, so there would be no danger, yes? But there would not be danger anyway. The casting is good and my calculations, they are perfect.”
“Elayne,” Birgitte said, “I still think we’d be better off watching from the wall down below. Even if this one beside us isn’t going to be lit.”
“After all I went through to get up here?” Elayne asked. “No thank you. Aludra, you may proceed.”
She ignored Birgitte’s annoyance. Did Aludra really think she could hit one of those dressing dummies with her iron sphere? That was a long way to go, and the sphere was so small, barely wider than a man’s outstretched palm. Had Elayne invested all of this effort to get something that would work more poorly than a catapult? This dragon sounded as if it could throw its sphere farther, but the boulders tossed by a catapult were many times larger.
The men finished. The remaining man touched a small torch to a fuse sticking out of the sphere and rolled it into the tube; then they turned the tube to face directly outward.
“You see?” Aludra said, patting the dragon. “Three men is best. Four for safety, in case one falls. One could do the work if he had to, but it would be slow.”
The men stepped back as Aludra got out a red flag. She held it up in the air, signaling the other team on the next tower down the wall. Elayne focused on them with the glass. One carried a small torch. Mat watched with a curious expression.
Aludra lowered her flag. The soldier touched his burning torch to the side of the dragon.
The explosive sound that followed was so powerful that it made Elayne jump. The boom was as sharp as a thunderclap, and she heard in the distance what sounded like an echo of the explosion. She raised a hand to her breast, and remembered to draw breath.
A pocket on the hillside exploded in a massive spray of dust and earth. The ground seemed to tremble! It was as if an Aes Sedai had torn up the earth with a weave, but the One Power hadn’t been used at all.
Aludra seemed disappointed. Elayne raised her looking glass to her eye. The blast had missed the dressing dummies by a good twenty paces, but had ripped a hole in the ground five paces wide. Did the ball explode like a nightflower to cause that? This device wasn’t merely an improved catapult or trebuchet; it was something else. Something capable of smashing an iron sphere into the ground with such force that it blew open a hole, then perhaps exploded on its own.
Why, she could line an entire wall with these dragons! With all of them firing together….
Aludra raised her flag again; Elayne watched with her glass as the men on the next tower over cleaned, then reloaded, the tube. Mat was holding his ears and scowling, which gave Elayne a smile. He really should have watched from her tower. The reloading process took a very short time, perhaps three minutes. And Aludra said she intended to see it happen more quickly?
Aludra wrote a set of orders and sent it by messenger to the men. They changed the dragon’s position slightly. She waved her flag; Elayne steeled herself for another explosion, but still jumped when it came.
This time, the blast was dead-on, hitting in the very center of the rank of dressing dummies. Their tattered remnants spun through the air. The blow destroyed five or six, and knocked down a good dozen of them.
With the ability to fire every two minutes, hit so far away, and deal such destruction, these weapons would be deadly. As deadly as damane, perhaps. Birgitte was still looking through her looking glass, and while her face was impassive, Elayne could feel the woman’s amazement.
“The weapon, you find it pleasing?” Aludra asked.
“I find it pleasing, Aludra,” Elayne said, smiling. “I find it pleasing indeed. The resources of the entire city are yours, the resources of all Andor. There are several more bellfounders in Andor.” She glanced at the Illuminator. “But you must keep the plans and designs a secret. I will send Guards with you. We can’t afford to let any of the bellfounders consider the value of leaving home and selling information to our enemies.”
“So long as they don’t reach the Seanchan,” Aludra said, “I care not.”
“Well, I do,” Elayne said. “And I’m the one who will see these things used properly. I’ll need an oath out of you, Aludra.”
The woman sighed, but gave it. Elayne had no intention of turning them against anyone other than Trollocs and Seanchan. But she would feel much more secure about her nation knowing that she had these at her disposal.
She smiled as she considered it, and found it difficult to contain her excitement. Birgitte finally lowered her glass. She felt…solemn.
“What?” Elayne asked as the Guards took turns with her glass, inspecting the devastation. She felt some odd indigestion. Had she eaten something bad for lunch?
“The world just changed, Elayne,” Birgitte said, shaking her head, long braid swinging slightly. “It just changed in a very large way. I have a terrible feeling that it’s only the beginning.”
Chapter 30
Men Dream Here
“These Whitecloaks are a tight-lipped group, my Lady,” Lacile said with a smug smile, “but they’re still men. Men who haven’t seen a woman in a while, I think. That always makes them lose what few brains they have.”
Faile walked the horselines, the sky dark, lantern held before her. Perrin was asleep; he’d retired early these last few days, seeking the wolf dream. The Whitecloaks had reluctantly agreed to delay the trial, but Perrin still should have been preparing his words to speak there. He grumbled that he already knew what he was going to say. Knowing him, he’d just tell Morgase what had happened, straightforward as usual.
Lacile and Selande walked on either side of Faile. Other members of Cha Faile walked behind, keeping careful watch for anyone close enough to be within earshot.
“I think the Whitecloaks knew we were there to spy,” Selande said. The short, pale woman walked with hand on her sword. The stance didn’t seem as awkward as it once had; Selande had taken her sword training seriously.
“No, I doubt they guessed,” Lacile replied. She still wore a simple tan blouse and darker brown skirt. Selande had changed back to breeches and sword immediately upon returning—she still bore a cut on her arm from where that sword had tried to kill her—but Lacile seemed to be savoring her time in the skirt.
“They barely said anything of use,” Selande said.
“Yes,” Lacile replied, “but I think they’re merely in that habit. Our excuse of checking on Maighdin and the others was a reasonable one, my Lady. We were able to deliver your note, then do a little chatting with the men. I teased out enough to be of some use.”
Faile raised an eyebrow, though Lacile fell quiet as they passed a groom working late, brushing down on
e of the horses.
“The Whitecloaks respect Galad,” Lacile said once out of the groom’s earshot. “Though some grumble about the things he’s been telling them.”
“What things?” Faile asked.
“He wants them to ally with the Aes Sedai for the Last Battle,” Lacile explained.
“Anyone could have told you they would dislike that idea,” Selande said. “They’re Whitecloaks!”
“Yes,” Faile said, “but it means that this Galad is more reasonable than his men. A useful tip, Lacile.”
The young woman swelled, brushing her short hair back in a modest gesture, throwing back the red ribbons she had tied there. She’d taken to wearing twice as many now, since her Shaido captivity.
Up ahead, a lanky figure stepped between two of the horses. He had a thick mustache, Taraboner style, and though he was young, he had the air of one who had seen much in his life. Dannil Lewin, the man in charge of the Two Rivers men now that Tam had mysteriously decided to depart. Light send that Tam was safe, wherever he’d gone.
“Why, Dannil,” Faile said, “what an odd coincidence to see you here.”
“Coincidence?” he asked, scratching at his head. He held his bow in one hand, staff-like, though he kept glancing at it, wary. A lot of people did that with their weapons now. “You asked me to come here.”
“It must be a coincidence nonetheless,” Faile said, “in case anyone asks. Particularly if that somebody is my husband.”
“I don’t like keeping things from Lord Perrin,” Dannil said, falling into step with her.
“And you’d prefer to risk letting him be beheaded by a group of rabid Whitecloaks?”
“No. None of the men do.”
“You’ve done what I asked, then?”
Dannil nodded. “I spoke to Grady and Neald. Lord Perrin has already ordered them to stay nearby, but we talked. Grady said he’d have weaves of Air ready, and will grab Lord Perrin and get out if things get ugly, Neald covering the retreat. I’ve talked to the men from the Two Rivers. A group of archers in the trees will be ready to provide a distraction.”
Faile nodded. Neither Asha’man had been wounded in this bubble of evil, fortunately. Each had been carrying a knife, but reports said they’d looked at the floating weapons, then nonchalantly waved hands and blasted them from the air. When messengers with news of Faile’s earth-throwing trick had reached the section of camp the Asha’man had been in, they’d found this area in much less chaos, Grady and Neald striding through camp and felling weapons wherever they saw them.
Part of the reason for the delay before the trial was to take care of Healing. But another large reason was because Perrin wanted to give time to the camp’s smiths and craftsmen to make replacement weapons for those who had lost theirs, just in case the trial turned to a battle. And Faile was increasingly certain that it would.
“Lord Perrin won’t like being pulled away from fighting,” Dannil said. “Not one bit.”
“That tent could turn into a death trap,” Faile said. “Perrin can lead the battle if he wants, but from a safer position. You will get him out.”
Dannil sighed, but nodded. “Yes, my Lady.”
Perrin was learning not to fear Young Bull.
Step by step, he learned balance. The wolf when the wolf was needed; the man when the man was needed. He let himself be drawn into the hunt, but kept Faile—his home—in his mind. He walked the edge of the sword, but each step made him more confident.
Today, he hunted Hopper, wily and experienced prey. But Young Bull was quick to learn, and having the mind of a man gave him advantages. He could think like something, or someone, that he was not.
Was this how Noam had begun? Where would this path of understanding lead? There was a secret to this, a secret Young Bull had to find for himself.
He could not fail. He had to learn. It seemed that—somehow—the more confident he became in the wolf dream, the more comfortable he became with himself in the waking world.
Young Bull charged through an unfamiliar forest. No, a jungle, with hanging vines and wide-fronded ferns. The underbrush was so thick that a rat would have trouble squeezing through. But Young Bull demanded that the world open before him. Vines pulled back. Shrubs bent. Ferns retracted, like mothers pulling their children out of the way of a galloping horse.
He caught glimpses of Hopper bounding ahead. His prey vanished. Young Bull didn’t break pace, charging through that spot and catching the scent of Hopper’s destination. Young Bull shifted onto an open plain with no trees and an unfamiliar scrub patching the ground. His prey was a series of streaking blurs in the distance. Young Bull followed, each bound carrying him hundreds of paces.
Within seconds, they approached an enormous plateau. His prey ran directly up the side of the stone shelf. Young Bull followed, ignoring what was “right.” He ran with the ground far below at his back, nose toward that boiling sea of black clouds. He leaped over clefts in the rock, ricocheting between two sides of a rift, cresting the top of the plateau.
Hopper attacked. Young Bull was ready. He rolled, coming up on all fours as his prey leaped over his head, passed over the cliff’s edge, but then vanished in a flash and was back standing on the lip of the cliff.
Young Bull became Perrin holding a hammer made of soft wood. Such things were possible in the wolf dream; if the hammer hit, it would not harm.
Perrin swung, the air cracking with the sudden speed of his motion. But Hopper was equally fast, dodging out of the way. He rolled, then leaped at Perrin’s back, fangs glistening. Perrin growled and shifted so that he was standing a few feet from where he had been. Hopper’s jaws snapped open air, and Perrin swung his hammer again.
Hopper was suddenly shrouded in a deep mist. Perrin’s hammer slammed down through it, hitting the ground. It bounced off. He cursed, spinning. In the fog, he couldn’t see, couldn’t catch Hopper’s scent.
A shadow moved in the mist and Perrin lunged, but it was only a pattern in the air. He spun and found shadows moving all around him. The shapes of wolves, men, and other creatures he couldn’t see.
Make the world yours, Young Bull, Hopper sent.
Perrin focused, thinking of dry air. Of the musty scent of dust. That was what the air should be like, in an arid landscape like this.
No. It wasn’t what the air should be like. It was how the air was! His mind, his will, his feelings slammed against something else. He pushed through.
The mists vanished, evaporating in the heat. Hopper sat on his haunches a short distance away. Good, the wolf sent. You learn. He glanced sideways, looking toward the north, seeming distracted by something. Then he was gone.
Perrin caught his scent and followed to the Jehannah Road. Hopper dashed along outside the strange violet dome. They jumped back to this place frequently to see if the dome ever vanished. So far, it had not.
Perrin continued the chase. Was the dome meant to trap wolves inside? But if that was the case, why had Slayer not sprung his trap at Dragonmount, where so many wolves had for some reason gathered?
Perhaps the dome had another purpose. Perrin memorized a few notable rock formations along the perimeter of the dome, then followed Hopper to a low shelf of rock. The wolf leaped from it, vanishing in midair, and Perrin followed.
He caught the scent of Hopper’s destination in midjump, then took himself there, still in motion. He appeared about two feet above a shimmering blue expanse. Stunned, he fell and splashed into the water.
He swam frantically, dropping his hammer. Hopper stood on top of the water, bearing a wolfish expression of disapproval. Not good, the wolf added. You still need to learn.
Perrin sputtered.
The sea grew tempestuous, but Hopper sat placidly upon the rolling waves. Again he glanced northward, but then turned back to Perrin. Water troubles you, Young Bull.
“I was just surprised,” Perrin said, swimming hard.
Why?
“Because I didn’t expect this!”
Why
expect? Hopper sent. When you follow another, you could end up anywhere.
“I know.” Perrin spat out a mouthful of water. He gritted his teeth, then imagined himself standing on the water like Hopper. Blessedly, he rose out of the sea to stand atop its surface. It was a strange sensation, the sea undulating beneath him.
You will not defeat Slayer like this, Hopper sent.
“Then I will keep learning,” Perrin said.
There is little time.
“I will learn more quickly.”
Can you?
“We have no other choice.”
You could choose not to fight him.
Perrin shook his head. “Do we run from our prey? If we do, they’ll hunt us instead. I will face him, and I need to be prepared.”
There is a way. The wolf smelled of worry.
“I’ll do what I have to.”
Follow. Hopper vanished, and Perrin caught an unexpected scent: refuse and mud, burning wood and coal. People.
Perrin shifted and found himself atop a building in Caemlyn. He had visited this city only twice, and briefly, and seeing the beautiful Inner City before him—ancient buildings, domes and spires rising atop the hill like majestic pines atop a crowned mountain—gave him pause. He was near the old wall, beyond which spread the New City.
Hopper sat at his side, looking over the beautiful city. Much of the city itself was said to be Ogier-built, and Perrin could believe it, with that marvelous beauty. Tar Valon was said to be more grand than Caemlyn. Perrin had trouble believing that was possible.
“Why are we here?” Perrin asked.
Men dream here, Hopper replied.
In the real world, they did. Here, the place was empty. It was light enough to be day, despite that storm overhead, and Perrin felt there should be people crowding the streets. Women, going to and from market. Nobles atop horses. Wagons bearing barrels of ale and sacks of grain. Children scampering, slipfingers searching for marks, workers replacing paving stones, enterprising hawkers offering meat pies to them all.
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