Towers of midnight wot-13

by Robert Jordan

  It was a sight that would have made Bukama cry. He had thought the Malkieri gone as a people, broken, shattered, absorbed by other nations. Yet here they were, gathering at the faintest whisper of a call to arms. Many were older—Lan had been but a babe when his kingdom fell, and those who remembered that day as men would now be in their seventh or eighth decade. They had gray hair, but they were still warriors, and they'd brought their sons and grandsons.

  "Tai'shar Malkier!" a man cried as Lan's group passed. The call went up a dozen, two dozen times as they saw his hadori. None seemed to recognize him for who he was. They assumed that he had come for the reason they had come.

  The Last Battle comes, Lan thought. Must I deny them the right to fight alongside me?

  Yes, he must. Best he passed unnoticed and unrecognized. He kept his eyes forward, his hand on his sword, his mouth closed. But each call of Tai'shar Malkier made him want to sit up straighter. Each seemed to strengthen him, push him forward.

  The gates between the two fortress keeps were open, though soldiers checked every man who went through. Lan halted Mandarb, and his people stopped behind him. Could the Arafellin have orders to watch for him? What other choice did he have but to go forward? Going around would take weeks. His caravan waited its turn, then stepped up to the guard post.

  "Purpose?" asked the uniformed Arafellin, hair in braids.

  "Traveling to Fal Moran," Lan said. "Because of the Last Battle."

  "You're not going to wait here like the rest?" the guard said, waving a gauntleted hand at the gathered Malkieri. "For your king?"

  "I have no king," Lan said softly.

  The soldier nodded slowly, rubbing his chin. Then he waved for some soldiers to inspect the goods in the wagons. "There will be a tariff on that."

  "I plan to give it to Shienarans to fight in the Last Battle," Lan said. "No price asked."

  The guard raised an eyebrow.

  "You have my oath on it," Lan said softly, meeting the man's eyes.

  "No tariff, then. Tai'shar Malkier, friend."

  "Tai'shar Arafel." Lan kicked his horse forward. He hated riding through the Silverwalls; they made him feel as though a thousand archers were drawing on him. The Trollocs would not easily get through here, if the Arafellin were forced to retreat back this far. There were times that had happened, and they had held here each time, as in the days of Yakobin the Undaunted.

  Lan practically held his breath the entire way. He reached the other side gratefully, and urged Mandarb out onto the roadway to the northeast.

  "Al'Lan Mandragoran?" a voice yelled, sounding distant.

  Lan froze. That call had come from above. He turned, looking back at the leftmost keep. A head was sticking from a window there.

  "Light be praised, it is you!" the voice called. The head ducked back inside.

  Lan felt like bolting. But if he did, this person would surely call back to the others. He waited. The figure came running out one of the fortress doorways. Lan recognized him: a boy not yet grown into a man wearing red, with a rich blue cloak. Kaisei Noramaga, grandson of the Queen of Kandor.

  "Lord Mandragoran," the youth said, trotting up. "You came! When I heard that the Golden Crane was raised—"

  "I have not raised it, Prince Kaisei. My plan was to ride alone."

  "Of course. I would like to ride alone with you. May I?"

  "This is not a wise choice, Your Highness," Lan said. "Your grandmother is in the South; I assume your father rules in Kandor. You should be with him. What are you doing here?"

  "Prince Kendral invited me," Kaisei said. "And my father bade me come. We both plan to ride with you!"

  "Kendral, too?" Lan asked, aghast. The grandson of the Arafellin king? "Your places are with your people!"

  "Our ancestors swore an oath," the young man said. "An oath to protect, to defend. That oath is stronger than blood, Lord Mandragoran. It is stronger than will or choice. Your wife told us to wait here for you; she said that you might try to pass without greeting us."

  "How did you notice me?" Lan asked, containing his anger.

  "The horse," Kaisei said, nodding to Mandarb. "She said you might disguise yourself. But you would never leave the horse."

  Burn that woman, Lan thought as he heard a call being raised through the fortress. He'd been outmaneuvered. Curse Nynaeve. And bless her, too. He tried to send a sense of love and frustration through the bond to her.

  And then, with a deep sigh, he gave in. "The Golden Crane flies for Tarmon Gai'don," Lan said softly. "Let any man or woman who wishes to follow join it and fight."

  He closed his eyes as the call went up. It soon became a cheer. Then a roar.

  CHAPTER 43

  Some Tea

  "And these Asha'man claim they are free of the taint?" Galad asked, as he and Perrin Aybara picked their way through the aftermath of the battle.

  "They do," Perrin said. "And I've a mind to trust them. Why would they lie?"

  Galad raised an eyebrow. "Insanity?"

  Perrin nodded at that. This Perrin Aybara was an interesting man. Others often responded with anger when Galad said what he thought, but he was coming to realize that he didn't need to hold himself back with Perrin. This man responded well to honesty. If he was a Darkfriend or Shadowspawn, he was a very odd sort.

  The horizon was starting to grow brighter. Light, had night already passed? Bodies littered the ground, most of them Trollocs. The stench was of burned flesh and fur, nauseating as it mixed with that of blood and mud. Galad felt exhausted.

  He'd allowed an Aes Sedai to Heal him. "Once you've committed your reserves, there's no use holding back your scouts," Gareth Bryne was fond of saying. If he was going to let Aes Sedai save his men, then he might as well accept their Healing. Once, accepting Aes Sedai Healing hadn't bothered him nearly so much.

  "Perhaps," Perrin said. "Perhaps the Asha'man are mad, and the taint isn't cleansed. But they've served me well, and I figure they've earned the right to be trusted until they show me otherwise. You and your men might well owe your lives to Grady and Neald."

  "And they have my thanks," Galad said, stepping over the hulking body of a Trolloc with a bear's snout. "Though few of my men will express that emotion. They aren't certain what to think of your intervention here, Aybara."

  "Still think I set them up somehow?"

  "Perhaps," Galad said. "Either you are a Darkfriend of unsurpassed cunning, or you really did as you said—coming to save my men despite your treatment at our hands. In that case, you are a man of honor. Letting die would have made your life much easier, I believe."

  "No," Perrin said. "Every sword is needed at the Last Battle, Galad.

  "Every one."

  Galad grunted, kneeling beside a soldier with a red cloak and turning him over. It wasn't a red cloak; it was a white one soaked in blood. Ranun Sinah would not see the Last Battle. Galad closed the young man's eyes, breathing a prayer to the Light in his name.

  "So what now for you and yours?" Perrin asked.

  "We continue on," Galad said, rising. "North, to my estates in Andor to prepare."

  "You could—" Perrin froze. Then he turned, trotting across the battlefield.

  Galad hurried after him. Perrin reached a heap of Trollocs, then began pushing bodies aside. Galad heard a very faint sound. Moaning. He helped move a dead hawk-headed beast, its too-human eyes staring lifelessly.

  Beneath it, a young man looked up, blinking. It was Jerum Nus, one of the Children.

  "Oh, Light," the young man croaked. "It hurts. I thought I was dead. Dead…"

  His side was cut open. Perrin knelt hastily, lifting the boy's head, giving him a drink of water as Galad took a bandage from the bag he carried and used it to wrap the wound. That cut was bad. The unfortunate youth would die for certain. He— No, Galad realized. We have Aes Sedai. It was hard to get used to thinking that way.

  Jerum was crying with joy, holding to Perrin's arm. The boy looked delusional. He didn't seem to care one bit about thos
e golden eyes.

  "Drink, son," Perrin said, voice soothing. Kindly. "It's all right. We found you. You're going to be fine."

  "It seemed like I yelled for hours," the youth said. "But I was so weak, and they were on top of me. How… how did you find me?"

  "I have good ears," Perrin said. He nodded to Galad, and together they lifted the youth, Perrin beneath the arms, Galad taking the legs. They carefully carried him across the battlefield. The youth continued mumbling, consciousness slipping.

  At the side of the battlefield, the Aes Sedai and Aiel Wise Ones were Healing the wounded. As Galad and Perrin arrived, a light-haired Wise One—a woman who looked not a day older than Galad, but spoke with the authority of an aged matron—hustled over. She began chastising them for moving the lad as she reached out to touch his head.

  "Do you give permission, Galad Damodred? she asked. "This one is too far gone to speak for himself."

  Galad had insisted that each Child be given the choice to refuse Healing, regardless of the nature of their wound. The Aes Sedai and Wise Ones hadn't liked it, but Perrin had repeated the order. They seemed to listen to him. Odd. Galad had rarely met Aes Sedai who would listen to the orders, or even opinions, of a man.

  "Yes," Galad said. "Heal him."

  The Wise One turned to her work. Most Children had refused Healing, though some had changed their minds once Galad himself accepted it. The youth's breathing steadied, his wound closing. The Wise One didn't Heal him completely—only far enough that he'd survive the day. When she opened her eyes, she looked haggard, even more tired than Galad felt.

  The channelers had fought all night, followed by performing Healings. Galad and Perrin moved back onto the field. They weren't the only ones searching for wounded, of course. Perrin himself could have gone back to camp to rest. But he hadn't.

  "I can offer you another option," Perrin said as they walked. "As opposed to staying here, in Ghealdan, weeks from your destination. I could have you in Andor tonight."

  "My men would not trust this Traveling."

  "They'd go if you ordered them," Perrin said. "You've said that you'll fight alongside Aes Sedai. Well, I don't see anything different between that and this. Come with me."

  "You'd let us join you, then?"

  Perrin nodded. "I'd need an oath from you, though."

  "What manner of oath?"

  "I'll be frank with you, Galad. I don't think we have much time left. A few weeks, maybe. Well, I fancy we'll need you, but Rand won't like the idea of Whitecloaks in the battle lines unsupervised. So, I want you to swear you'll accept me as your commander until the battle is through."

  Galad hesitated. Dawn was close now; in fact, it might have arrived, behind those clouds. "Do you realize what an audacious suggestion you make? The Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light obeying the orders of any man would be remarkable. But to you, a man I just recently saw judged a killer? A man most of the Children are convinced is a Darkfriend?"

  Perrin turned to him. "You come with me now, and I'll get you to the Last Battle. Without me, who knows what will happen?"

  "You said every sword was needed," Galad replied. "You'd leave us?"

  "Yes. If I don't have that oath, I will. Rand may come back for you himself, though. In me, you know what you're getting. I'll be fair to you. All I'll ask is that your men stay in line, then fight where they're told when the battle comes. Rand… well, you can say no to me. You'll find it much harder to say it to him. And I doubt you'll like the result half as much, either, once you end up saying yes."

  Galad frowned. "You're an oddly compelling man, Perrin Aybara."

  "We have a bargain?" Perrin held out a hand.

  Galad took it. It wasn't the threat that did it; it was remembering Perrin's voice when he'd found Jerum wounded. That compassion. No Darkfriend could feign that.

  "You have my oath," Galad said. "To accept you as my military commander until the end of the Last Battle," He suddenly felt weaker than he had before, and he released a breath, then sat on a nearby rock.

  "And you have my oath," Perrin said. "I'll see your men cared for like the others. Sit here and rest a spell; I'll search that patch over there. The weakness will pass soon."

  "Weakness?"

  Perrin nodded. "I know what it's like to be caught up in the needs of a ta'veren. Light, but I do." He eyed Galad. "You ever wonder why we ended up here, in this same place?"

  "My men and I assumed it was because the Light had placed you before us," Galad said. "So we could punish you."

  Perrin shook his head. "That's not it at all. Truth is, Galad, I apparently needed you. And that's why you ended up here." With that, he headed off.

  Alliandre carefully folded the bandage, then passed it to a waiting gai'shain. His fingers were thick and callused, his face hidden beneath the hood of his robe. She thought it might be Niagen, the Brotherless that Lacile had been taking after. That still irked Faile, but Alliandre couldn't fathom why. An Aiel man would probably match Lacile well.

  Alliandre began rolling another bandage. She sat with other women in a small clearing near the battlefield, surrounded by scraggly scatterhead and stands of leatherleaf. The cool air was quiet save for the nearby groan of the wounded.

  She cut another length of cloth in the morning light. The cloth had been a shirt. Now it was bandages. Not a great loss; it hadn't been a very good shirt, by the looks of it.

  "The battle is through?" Berelain said softly. She and Faile worked nearby, sitting on stools across from one another as they cut.

  "Yes, it appears that it is," Faile replied.

  Both fell silent. Alliandre raised an eyebrow, but did not say anything. Something was going on between those two. Why suddenly start pretending they were the greatest of friends? The act seemed to fool many of the men in camp, but Alliandre could see the truth in the way their lips tightened when they saw one another. It had lessened after Faile had saved Berelain's life, but not vanished entirely.

  "You were right about him," Berelain said.

  "You sound surprised."

  "I am not often wrong when it comes to men."

  "My husband is not like other men. It—" Faile cut off. She looked toward Alliandre, eyes narrowing.

  Bloody ashes, Alliandre thought. She'd sat too far away, which made her strain, turning to eavesdrop. That was suspicious.

  The two of them fell silent again, and Alliandre held up a hand, as if inspecting her nails. Yes, she thought. Ignore me. I don't matter, I'm just a woman in over her head and struggling to keep up. Faile and Berelain didn't think that, of course, any more than the Two Rivers men had ever thought Perrin had been unfaithful. If you sat them down and asked them—really made them think about it—they'd come to the conclusion that something else must have happened.

  But things like superstition and bias ran deeper than mere thoughts. What the other two thought about Alliandre and what they instinctively felt were different. Besides, Alliandre really was a woman who was in over her head and struggling to keep up.

  Best to know what your strengths were.

  Alliandre turned back to cutting bandages. Faile and Berelain had insisted on staying to help; Alliandre couldn't go. Not with the two of them acting so bloody fascinating lately. Besides, she didn't mind the work. Compared to their captivity by the Aiel, this was really quite pleasant. Unfortunately, the two didn't go back to their conversation. In fact, Berelain rose, looking frustrated, and walked toward the other side of the clearing.

  Alliandre could practically feel the frost coming off the woman. Berelain stopped over where others were rolling the strips of cloth. Alliandre stood up, carrying her stool, scissors and cloths over to Faile. "I don't believe I've ever seen her this unsettled," Alliandre said.

  "She's not fond of being wrong," Faile noted. She took a deep breath, then shook her head. "She sees the world as a network of half-truths and inferences, ascribing complex motivations to the simplest of men. I suspect it makes her very good at court p
olitics. But I wouldn't want to live that way."

  "She's very wise," Alliandre said. "She does see things, Faile. She understands the world, she merely has a few blind spots, like most of us."

  Faile nodded absently. "The thing I pity most is the fact that, despite all of this, I don't believe she was ever in love with Perrin. She chased him for sport, for political advantage, and for Mayene. In the end, it was more the challenge than anything else. She may be fond of him, but nothing more. I could, perhaps, understand her if it had been for love."

  Alliandre kept her tongue after that, cutting bandages. She ran across a fine blue silk shirt in the pile. Surely there could be something better done with that! She stuffed it between two others and set those beside her, as if in a pile she intended to cut.

  Perrin eventually tramped into the clearing, followed by some workers in bloodied clothing. He made instantly for Faile, sitting down on Berelain's stool, setting his marvelous hammer down in the weeds beside him. He looked exhausted. Faile got him something to drink and then rubbed his shoulder.

  Alliandre excused herself, leaving Perrin and his wife. She made her way over to where Berelain stood at the edge of the clearing, sipping a cup of tea taken from the pot on the fire. Berelain eyed her.

  Alliandre poured herself a cup of tea, then blew on it for a moment. "They are good for one another, Berelain," she said. "I cannot say I'm sorry to see this result."

  "Every relationship deserves to be challenged," Berelain replied. "And if she had fallen in Maiden—an outcome all too possible—he would have needed someone. It is not a great loss to me, however, to take my eyes off Perrin Aybara. I would have liked to make a connection to the Dragon Reborn through him, but there will be other opportunities." She seemed far less frustrated now than she had moments ago. In fact, she seemed to have returned to her calculating self.

  Alliandre smiled. Clever woman. Faile needed to see her rival completely beaten down, so that she would consider rhe threat passed. This was why Berelain let some of her frustration show, more than she normally would have.