"Banner-General Khirgan's compliments, my Lord, my Lady First. Morat'raken report those bands of Aiel are moving faster than expected. They will arrive some time today, possibly as soon as noon. The group to the west is perhaps twenty-five or thirty thousand, the one to the east larger by a third. About half of them are wearing white, and there will be children, of course, but that is still a lot of spears to have behind you. The Banner-General wishes to know if you would like to discuss altering the deployments. She suggests moving a few thousand of the Altaran lancers to join you."
Perrin grimaced. There would be at least three or four thousand algai'd'shwai with each of those bands. A lot of spears to have at his back for certain sure. Neald yawned. "How are you feeling, Neald?"
"Oh, I'm ready to do whatever needs doing, I am, my Lord," the man said with just a hint of his usual jauntiness.
Perrin shook his head. The Asha'man could not be asked to make one gateway more than necessary. He prayed that they would not fall one short. "By noon, we'll be done here. Tell the Banner-General we go ahead as planned." And pray that nothing else went amiss. He did not add that aloud, though.
Out in the fog, wolves howled, an eerie cry that rose all around Maiden. It was truly begun, now.
"You're doing wonderfully, Maighdin," Faile croaked. She felt lightheaded, and her throat was dry from encouraging the woman. Everyone's throat was dry. By the slant of the light coming through the gaps overhead, it was near midmorning, and they had been talking without cease for most of that. They had tried tapping the unbroken barrels, but the wine inside was too rancid even for wetting lips. Now they were taking turns with the encouragement. She was sitting alongside her sun-haired maid while the others rested against the back wall, as far from that leaning jumble of boards and timbers as they could get. "You're going to save us, Maighdin."
Above them, the red scarf was just visible through that narrow gap in the tangle. It had hung limply for some time, now, except when the breeze caught it. Maighdin stared at it fixedly. Her dirty face glistened with sweat, and she breathed as if she had been running hard. Suddenly the scarf went taut and began to swing, once, twice, three times. Then the breeze sent it fluttering, and it fell. Maighdin continued to stare.
"That was beautiful," Faile said hoarsely. The other woman was getting tired. More time was passing between each success, and the successes were lasting a shorter time. "It was—"
Abruptly a face appeared beside the scarf, one hand gripping the length of red. For a moment, she thought she must be imagining it. Aravine's face framed by her white cowl.
"I see her!" the woman said excitedly. "I see the Lady Faile and Maighdin! They're alive!" Voices raised a cheer, quickly stilled.
Maighdin swayed as if she might fall over, but a beautiful smile wreathed her face. Faile heard weeping behind her, and wanted to weep with joy herself. Friends had found them, not Shaido. They might escape yet.
Pushing herself to her feet, she moved closer to the leaning pile of charred rubble. She tried to work moisture into her mouth, but it was thick. "We're all alive," she managed in husky voice. "How in the Light did you find us?"
"It was Theril, my Lady," Aravine replied. "The scamp followed you despite your orders, and the Light bless him for it. He saw Galina leave, and the building fall in, and he thought you were dead. He sat down and cried." A voice protested in rough Amadician accents, and Aravine turned her head for a moment. "I know someone who's been crying when I see him, boy. You just be thankful you stopped to cry. When he saw the scarf move, my Lady, he came running for help."
"You tell him there's no shame in tears," Faile said. "Tell him I've seen my husband cry when tears were called for."
"My Lady," Aravine said hesitantly, "he said Galina pulled on a timber when she came out. It was set like a lever, he said. He said she made the building collapse."
"Why would she do that?" Alliandre demanded. She had helped Maighdin to her feet and half supported her to reach Faile's side. Lacile and Arrela joined them, alternating between tears and laughter. Alliandre s face was a thunderhead.
Faile grimaced. How often in the last few hours had she wished she had that slap back? Galina had promised. Could the woman be Black Ajah? "That doesn't matter now. One way or another, I'll see her repaid." How was another matter. Galina was Aes Sedai, after all. "Aravine, how many people did you bring? Can you—?"
Large hands took Aravine by the shoulders and moved her aside. "Enough talk." Rolan's face appeared in the gap, shoufa around his neck and veil hanging onto his chest. Rolan! "We cannot clear anything with you standing there, Faile Bashere. This thing may fall in when we start. Go to the other end and huddle against the far wall."
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
The man chuckled. He chuckled! "You still wear white, woman. Do as you are told, or when I have you out of there, I will smack your bottom soundly. And then maybe we will soothe your tears with a kissing game."
She showed him her teeth, hoping he did not take it for a grin. But he was right about them needing to move away, so she led her companions across the board-strewn stone floor to the far end of the basement where they crouched against the wall. She could hear voices muttering outside, likely discussing exactly how to go about clearing a path without making the rest of the building collapse on her head.
"All this for nothing," Alliandre said bitterly. "How many Shaido do you suppose are up there?''
Wood scraped loudly, and with a groan, the leaning pile of rubble leaned inward a little more. The voices began again.
"I haven't any idea," Faile told her. "But they must all be Mera'dhi, not Shaido." The Shaido did not mingle with the Brotherless. "There might be some hope in that." Surely Rolan would let her go once he learned about Dairaine. Of course, he would. And if he remained stubborn. ... In that case, she would do whatever was necessary to convince him. Perrin would never have to find out.
Wood scraped on wood again, and once more the heap of burned timbers and boards tilted inward a little further.
The fog hid the sun, but Perrin estimated it must be near midmorning. Grady would be coming soon. He should have been there by now. If the man had grown too tired to make another gateway. . . . No. Grady would come. Soon. But his shoulders were as tight as if he had been working a forge for a full day and longer.
"I tell you, I don't like this one bit," Gallenne muttered. In the thick mist, his red eyepatch was just another shadow. His heavy-chested bay nosed his back, impatient to be moving, and he patted the animal's neck absently. "If Masema really wants to kill the Lady First, I say we finish him now. We outnumber him. We can overwhelm his bodyguard in minutes."
"Fool,'' Arganda growled, glancing off to his right as if he could see Masema and his men through the curling grayness. Unlike the Mayener, he had put on his silvered helmet with its three fat white plumes. It and his breastplate, worked in gold and silver, glistened with condensation. Fog or no fog, his armor seemed almost to glow. "You think we can kill two hundred men without making a sound? Shouts will be heard the other side of this ridge. You have your ruler where you can surround her with nine hundred men and maybe get her away. Alliandre is still in that bloody town, and surrounded by Shaido."
Gallenne bristled, hand going to his sword hilt, as though he might practice on Arganda before moving on to Masema.
"We're not killing anybody but Shaido today," Perrin said firmly. Gallenne grunted, but he did not try to argue. He stank of discontent, though. Protecting Berelain would keep the Winged Guards out of the fighting.
Off to the left, a bluish flash appeared, dimmed by the thick mist, and the tightness in Perrin's shoulders loosened. Grady appeared in the fog, peering about him. His step picked up when he saw Perrin, but it was unsteady. Another man was with him, leading a tall, dark horse. Perrin smiled for the first time in a long while. "It's good to see you, Tam,'' he said.
"Good to see you, too, my Lord." Tam al'Thor was still a blocky man who looked ready to work fr
om sunup to sundown without slacking, but the hair on his head had gone completely gray since Perrin had seen him last, and he had a few more lines on his bluff face. He took in Arganda and Gallenne with a steady gaze. Fancy armor did not impress him.
"How are you holding up, Grady?" Perrin asked.
"I'm holding up, my Lord." The weathered man's voice sounded bone weary. Shadowed by the fog as it was, his face still looked older than Tarn's.
"Well, as soon as you're done here, join Mishima. I want somebody keeping an eye on him. Somebody who makes him too nervous to think they can change what they agreed to." He would have liked to tell Grady to tie off this gateway. It would make a short path to take Faile back to the Two Rivers. But if things went wrong today, it would make a short path for the Shaido, too.
"Don't know as I could make a cat nervous right now, my Lord, but I'll do what I can.''
Frowning, Tam watched Grady vanish into the gray murk. "I could wish I'd had some other way to get here," he said. "Fellows like him visited the Two Rivers a while back. One called himself Mazrim Taim, a name we'd all heard. A false Dragon. Only now he wears a black coat with fancy embroidery and calls himself the M'Hael. They talked everywhere about teaching men to channel, about this Black Tower." He freighted the words with sourness. "The Village Councils tried to put a stop to it, and the Women's Circles, but they ended up taking above forty men and boys with them. Thank the Light some listened to sense, or I think they'd have had ten times that." His gaze shifted to Perrin. "Taim said Rand sent him. He said Rand is the Dragon Reborn." There was a touch of questioning in that, perhaps a hope for denial, perhaps a demand to know why Perrin had kept silent.
Those hues whirled in Perrin's head, but he batted them away and answered by not answering. What was, was. "Nothing to be done about it now, Tam." According to Grady and Neald, the Black Tower did not just let men go once they signed on.
Sadness entered Tam 's scent, though he let nothing show on his face. He knew the fate of men who could channel. Grady and Neald claimed the male half of the Source was clean, now, but Perrin could not see how that could be. What was, was. You did the job you were given, followed the road you had to follow, and that was that. There was no point complaining about blisters, or rocks underfoot.
Perrin went on. "This is Bertain Gallenne, Lord Captain of the Winged Guards, and Gerard Arganda, First Captain of the Legion of the Wall." Arganda shrugged uncomfortably. That name carried political weight in Ghealdan, and apparently Alliandre had not felt strong enough to announce that she was reconstituting the Legion. Balwer had a nose for sniffing out secrets, though. This one made sure Arganda would not go wild trying to reach his queen. "Gallenne, Arganda, this is Tam al'Thor. He's my First Captain. You studied the map, Tam, and my plan?"
"I studied them, my Lord," Tam said dryly. Of course he would have. "It looks a good plan to me. As good as any till the arrows start flying."
Arganda put a booted foot in his roan's stirrup. "So long as he's your First Captain, my Lord, I have no objections." He had offered plenty earlier. Neither he nor Gallenne had been pleased that Perrin was putting someone over them.
From up the slope came a black-winged mocker's shrill cry of alarm. Only one. If it had been a real bird, the call would have been repeated.
Perrin scrambled up the slope as fast he could. Arganda and Gallenne passed him on their mounts, but they divided to ride to their men, disappearing into the thick gray haze. Perrin continued to the top and beyond. Dannil was standing almost at the edge of the fog, peering toward the Shaido encampment. He pointed, but the reason for the alarm was obvious. A large group of algai'd'siswai was leaving the tents, maybe four hundred or more. The Shaido sent out raiding parties frequently, but this one was aimed straight at Perrin. They were just walking, but it would not take them long to reach the ridge.
"It's time to let them see us, Dannil," he said, unpinning his cloak and draping it over a low bush. He would come back for it later. If he could. It would only get in his way, now.
Dannil sketched a bow before hurrying back into the trees as Aram appeared, sword already in hand. He smelled eager. The cloak pin Perrin put into his pocket carefully. Faile had given him that. He did not want to lose it. His fingers found the leather cord he had knotted for every day of her captivity. Pulling it out, he let it fall to the ground without glancing at it. This morning had seen the last knot.
Tucking his thumbs behind the wide belt that supported his hammer and belt knife, he strolled out of the fog. Aram advanced up on his toes, already in one of those sword stances. Perrin just walked. The morning sun, indeed halfway to its noon peak, was in his eyes. He had considered taking the eastern ridge and putting Masema's men here, but it would have meant that much farther to reach the town gates. A foolish reason, yet those gates drew him as a lodestone drew iron filings. He eased his heavy hammer in its loop on his belt, eased his belt knife. That had a blade as long as his hand.
The appearance of two men, apparently walking idly toward them, was enough to halt the Shaido. Well, perhaps not so idly, considering Aram's sword. They would have to be blind to miss the sun glinting off his long blade. They must have been wondering whether they were watching madmen.
Halfway down the slope, he stopped. "Relax," he told Aram. "You're going to tire yourself out that way."
The other man nodded without taking his eyes from the Shaido and planted his feet firmly. His scent was that of a hunter after dangerous quarry and determined to pull it down.
After a moment, half a dozen of the Shaido started toward them, slowly. They had not veiled. Likely they were hoping he and Aram would not be frightened into running. Among the tents, people were pointing at the two fools on the slope.
The sound of running boots and hooves and snorting horses made him look over his shoulder. Arganda's Ghealdanin appeared out of the fog first, in their burnished breastplates and helmets, riding behind a rippling red banner that bore the three six-pointed silver stars of Ghealdan, and then the Winged Guards in their red armor behind the golden hawk on a field of blue of Mayene. Between them, Dannil began arraying the Two Rivers men in three ranks. Every man carried a pair of bristling quivers at his belt and also a bundle of shafts that he stuck point down into the slope before slicing the binding cords. They wore their swords and shortswords, but the halberds and other polearms had been left on the carts this morning. One of them had brought along the red wolfhead banner, but the staff was stuck aslant into the ground behind them. No one could be spared to carry the thing. Dannil carried a bow, too.
Masema and his bodyguard of lancers took position on the Winged Guards' right, their poorly handled horses plunging and rearing. Their armor showed patches of speckled brown where rust had been scraped away instead of properly cleaned. Masema himself was out in front, a sword at his hip but helmetless and without a breastplate. No, he did not lack courage. He was glaring at the Mayeners, where Perrin could just make out Berelain in the middle of that forest of lances. He could not get a clear view of her face, but he imagined it was still frosty. She had objected strenuously to her soldiers being held back from the fighting, and he had needed to be very firm to make her see reason. Light, the woman had half suggested she might lead them in a charge!
The Wise Ones and the two Aes Sedai filed down between the Ghealdanin and the Two Rivers men accompanied by the Maidens, each of whom had long strips of red cloth tied around her upper arms and dangling to the wrist. He could not pick out Aviellin, but by their number she must be among them, newly Healed or not. Black veils covered their faces except for their eyes, yet he did not need to see their faces or catch their scents to know they were indignant. The markings were necessary to avoid accidents, but Edarra had had to put her foot down to make them wear the things.
Bracelets of gold and ivory rattled as Edarra adjusted her dark shawl. With smooth sun-dark cheeks that seemed darker because of her pale-yellow hair, she looked little older than Perrin, but her blue eyes held an unshakable calm. H
e suspected she was far older than she appeared. Those eyes had seen a great deal. "I think it will begin soon, Perrin Aybara," she said.
Perrin nodded. The gates called to him.
The appearance of near enough two thousand lancers and two hundred-odd bowmen was sufficient to make the Shaido below raise their veils and spread out while more began rushing from the tents to join them in a thick, lengthening line. Pointing fingers along that line, pointing spears, made him look back again.
Tam was on the slope, now, and more Two Rivers men were pouring out of the fog with longbows in hand. Some tried to mingle with the men who had followed Perrin, to reunite with brothers, sons, nephews, friends, but Tam chivvied them away, trotting his black gelding up and down as he arranged them in three ever-expanding ranks to either side of the horsemen.
Perrin spotted Hu Barran and his equally lanky brother Tad, the stablemen from the Winespring Inn, and square-faced Bar Dowtry, only a few years older than he himself was, who was making a name for himself as a cabinetmaker, and skinny Thad Torfinn, who seldom left his farm except to come into Emond's Field. Oren Dautry, lean and tall, stood between Jon Ayellin, who was hulking and bald, and Kev Barstere, who finally had gotten out from under his mother's thumb if he was here.
There were Marwins and al'-Dais, al'Seens and Coles. Thanes and al'Caars and Crawes, men from every family he knew, men he did not recognize, from down to Deven Ride or up to Watch Hill or Taren Ferry, all grim-faced and burdened with pairs of bristling quivers and extra sheaves of arrows. And among them stood others, men with coppery skins, men with transparent veils across the lower half of their faces, fair-skinned men who just did not have the look of the Two Rivers. They carried shorter bows, of course—it took a lifetime to learn the Two Rivers longbow—but every face he could make out looked as determined as any Two Rivers man. What in the Light were the outlanders doing here? On and on the streams of running men continued until finally those three long lines held at least three thousand men, maybe four.
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