Knife of Dreams

by Robert Jordan

  Tam walked his horse down the slope to Perrin and sat studying the swelling Shaido ranks below, yet he seemed to hear Perrin's unspoken question. "I asked for volunteers from the Two Rivers men and picked the best bowshots, but those you took in started coming forward in groups. You gave them and their families homes, and they said they were Two Rivers men too, now. Some of those bows won't carry much more than two hundred paces, but the men I chose hit what they aim at."

  Below, the Shaido began beating their spears rhythmically against their bull-hide bucklers. RAT-tat-tat-tat! RAT-tat-tat-tat! RAT-tat-tat-tat! The sound rose like thunder. The flow of veiled shapes running out from the tents slowed to a trickle that dwindled further and then ceased. All of the algai'd'siswai had been drawn out, it seemed. That was the plan, after all. There must have been twenty thousand of them. near enough, all pounding their bucklers. RAT-tat-tat-tat! RAT-tat-tat-tat! RAT-tat-tat-tat!

  "After the Aiel War, I hoped never to hear that again," Tam said loudly, to be heard. That noise could get on a man's nerves. "Will you give the command, Lord Perrin?"

  "You do it." Perrin eased his hammer again, his belt knife. His eyes kept going from the Shaido to the town gates, and the dark mass of the fortress inside the town. Faile was in there.

  "Soon now we will know," Edarra said. About the tea, she meant. If they had not waited long enough, they were all dead. Her voice was calm, though. Aram shifted, up on his toes again, sword upright before him in both hands.

  Perrin could hear Tam calling as he rode along the lines of bowmen, "Longbows, nock! Shortbows, hold till you’re close! Longbows, nock! Shortbows, hold till you're close! Don't draw, you fool! You know better! Longbows . . . !"

  Below, perhaps a quarter of the Shaido turned and began trotting north, paralleling the ridge, still beating their bucklers. Another quarter began trotting south. They intended to sweep around and catch the men on the slope from either side. Flanking, Tylee called it. A ripple passed through those remaining as they began sticking their spears through the harness holding their bowcases, hanging their bucklers on their belts, unlimbering their bows.

  "Very soon," Edarra murmured.

  A fireball larger than a man's head arched out from the tents toward the ridge, then another, twice the size, and more, streams of them. Sailing high, the first turned down. And exploded with loud roars a hundred paces overhead. In rapid succession, the others began exploding harmlessly, too, but more followed, spheres of flame speeding toward the ridge in a continuous flow. Forked silver lightning stabbed down from a cloudless sky and erupted with booming crashes of thunder and great showers of sparks without ever coming near the ground.

  "Perhaps fifteen or twenty Wise Ones escaped the tea," Edarra said, "otherwise more would have joined in by now. I can see only nine women channeling. The rest must be among the tents." She disliked the agreement he had with the Seanchan almost as much as the Aes Sedai did, yet her voice was calm. In her book, the Shaido had violated ji'e'toh to such a degree that it was questionable whether they could be called Aiel any longer. To her, they were something that had to be cut out of the body of the Aiel, and their Wise Ones were the worst of the sickness for allowing it. Masuri drew her arm back, but Edarra laid a hand on her shoulder. "Not yet, Masuri Sokawa. We will tell you when." Masuri nodded obediently, though she smelled of impatience.

  "Well, I for one feel in danger," Annoura said firmly, drawing her arm back. Edarra looked at her levelly. After a moment, the Aes Sedai lowered her arm. Her beaded braids clicked together as she twisted her head away from the Wise One's stare. Her scent was of strong unease. "Perhaps I can wait a little longer," she muttered.

  The fireballs hurtling across the sky continued to explode far above, the lightning jabbed toward the ridge, but the Shaido below were not waiting. With a shout, the main mass began trotting quickly toward the ridge. And singing at the tops of their lungs. Perrin doubted anyone else on the slope could make out more than a roar, but his ears caught words faintly. They were singing in parts.

  Wash the spears . . . . . . while the sun climbs high. Wash the spears . . . . . . while the sun falls low. Wash the spears . . . . . . who fears to die? Wash the spears . . . . . . no one I know!

  He shut the sound out, ignoring it while his eyes drifted beyond the onrushing mass of veiled figures to the gates of Maiden. Iron filings to a lodestone. The shapes below seemed to have slowed half a step, though he knew they had not. Everything seemed to slow down for him at times like this. How long before they came in range? They had covered little more than half the distance to the ridge.

  "Longbows, raise! On my signal!" Tam shouted. "Longbows, raise! On my signal!" Perrin shook his head. It was too soon. Thousands of bowstrings snapped behind him. Arrows arced over his head. The sky seemed black with them. Seconds later another flight followed, then a third. Fireballs burned swathes through them, but it was still thousands of arrows that fell in a deadly hail onto the Shaido. Of course. He had forgotten to factor in the bowmen's elevation. That gave them a little more distance. Trust Tam to see it right away. Not every arrow struck a man, of course. Many plunged into the ground. Perhaps half struck algai'd'siswai, piercing arms or legs, striking bodies. Wounded Shaido hardly slowed, even when they had to struggle up from the ground. They left hundreds lying still, though, and the second flight put down hundreds more, as did the third, with the fourth and fifth already on the way. The Shaido kept coming, leaning forward as if trotting into a driving rain while their Wise Ones' balls of fire and lightnings exploded far overhead. They were no longer singing. Some raised their bows and shot. An arrow grazed Perrin's left arm, but the rest fell short. Not by far, though. Another twenty paces, and—

  The sudden sharp sound of Seanchan horns pulled his gaze north and south just in time to see the ground erupt in fountains of fire among the flanking parties. Spears of lightning stabbed into them. The damane were being kept back in the trees, for the time, but they did deadly work. Again and again, explosions of fire or lightning hurled men like twigs. Those algai'd'siswai could have no idea where the attack was coming from. They began to run toward the trees, toward their killers. Some of the fireballs coming out of the camp began flying toward the forests where the damane were, and lightnings jabbed toward the trees, but with as little effect as they had against the ridge. Tylee claimed damane were used for all sorts of tasks, but the truth was, they were weapons of war, and they and the sul'dam were very good at it.

  "Now," Edarra said, and fireballs began raining down on the Shaido below. The Wise Ones and Aes Sedai made throwing motions with both arms as fast as they could, and every time, a ball of flame seemed to rise from their fingertips. Many of those exploded too soon, of course. The Shaido Wise Ones were working to defend their own. But the algai'd'siswai were much nearer to the ridge, so they had less time to react. Fireballs burst among the Shaido, hurling men aside, flinging severed arms and legs into the air. Silver-blue lightning bolts forked down, and most of those struck, too. The hair on Perrin's arms stirred. The hair on his head tried to stand. The air seemed to crackle with the lightnings' discharges.

  Even as they flung death at the men below, Edarra and the others continued to parry the Shaido Wise Ones' attacks, and all the while, the Two Rivers men worked their bows as fast as they could. A trained man could loose twelve shafts in a minute, and the range was shorter now. The Shaido lacked no more than two hundred paces of reaching the bottom of the ridge. Their arrows still fell short of Perrin, but the Two Rivers arrows were striking home every time at this range. Each bowman was picking his own target, of course, so Perrin saw algai'd-siswai fall pierced by two, three, even four shafts.

  Flesh could only take so much. The Shaido began to fall back. It was not a rout. They did not flee. Many shot arrows back at the ridge despite no hope of making the range. But they turned as if on a command and ran, trying to outpace the Two Rivers shafts and the rain of fire and lightning that pursued them. The flankers were falling back, too, as lancers appeare
d out of the trees forming ranks a thousand horses wide, advancing slowly while fire and lightning harried the Shaido.

  "By ranks," Tam shouted, "advance three paces and loose!"

  "Advance at a walk!" Arganda bellowed.

  "With me!" Masema shouted.

  Perrin was supposed to make that slow advance with the others, but he began to walk down the slope faster and faster. The gates tugged at him. His blood was becoming fire. Elyas claimed it was a natural feeling when you were in danger of your life, but he could not see it. He had almost drowned in the Waterwood once, and he had felt nothing like this thrill that was surging through him now.

  Someone behind shouted his name, but he trotted on, picking up speed. Freeing his hammer from its belt loop, he drew his belt knife with his left hand. Aram was running beside him, he realized, but his own focus was on the gates, on the Shaido who still stood between him and Faile. Fire, lightning and arrows fell among them like hail, and they were no longer turning to fire their own arrows, though they often looked over their shoulders. But many were supporting wounded, men who dragged a leg or clutched a side with a Two Rivers shaft jutting from it, and he was catching up.

  Abruptly, half a dozen veiled men turned back gripping spears and started toward him and Aram at the run. Not using their bows meant they had expended their arrows. He had heard tales of champions, of men who decided the future by single combat between two armies that would abide by the outcome. The Aiel had no such tales. He did not slow down, though. His blood was fire. He was fire.

  A Two Rivers shaft took one Shaido in the middle of his chest, and even as he fell, three more were feathered with at least a dozen arrows each. But now he and Aram were too close to the remaining two. Anyone but the very best bowshots would risk hitting him or Aram if he fired.

  Aram flowed toward one of the Shaido as if dancing, his blade a bright blur, but Perrin had no time to watch anyone else fight if he had wanted to. A veiled man who overtopped him by a head stabbed at him with a short spear held near its base. Blocking the spear with his belt knife, Perrin swung his hammer. The Shaido tried to stop it with his buckler, but he altered the swing slightly, and heard the bones in the man's forearm snap under ten pounds of steel swung by a blacksmith's arm. He was inside the spear, now, and without slowing, he slashed across the man's throat with his knife. Blood gouted, and he was running again while the man was falling.

  He had to reach Faile. Fire in his blood, fire in his heart. Fire in his head. No one and nothing would keep him from Faile.

  CHAPTER 30 Outside the Gates

  Faile tried to estimate the time by the slant of light falling through the gaps in the ruined building overhead; it seemed still short of noon. All that had been cleared was a small space at the very top of the basement stairs. Any of them could have passed through it, if they dared to try climbing the slanting pile of blackened rubble, but that still looked as though it might fall in any moment. The tangled heap still creaked alarmingly at times. The only good thing was that it had not started raining on their heads. How long that would last was a question. She had been hearing thunder for some time, quite a lot of it, and slowly coming closer. The booms were almost continuous. A storm that fierce might be enough to make the building finish collapsing. Light, she was thirsty.

  Rolan suddenly appeared in the opening and lay down on the stone landing. He was not wearing the harness that held his bow case. Carefully he wriggled his way out onto the rubble. The pile groaned softly under his weight. Kinhuin, a green-eyed man a good hand or more shorter than he, knelt to grip his ankles. There were only three of the Brotherless up there, it seemed, but that was three too many.

  Head and shoulders sticking over the edge of the rubble. Rolan lowered one arm. "There is no more time, Faile Bashere. Take my hand."

  "Maighdin first," Faile said thickly, waving away the sun-haired woman's weary protests. Light, but her mouth was coated with grit and too dry to spit any of it out. "Arrela and Lacile next. I'll go last." Alliandre nodded approvingly, but Arrela and Lacile tried to object, too. "Be quiet and do as I say," she told them firmly. Thunder crashed and crashed. The storm that produced that much thunder would bring a deluge, not simple rainfall.

  Rolan laughed. How could the man laugh at a time like this? He only stopped when the charred timbers beneath him groaned again from his shaking. "You still wear white, woman. So be quiet and do as I say." There was a touch of mocking in his tone at that, but not when he added, "No one will be taken out before you." That sounded like cast iron.

  "My Lady," Alliandre said quietly, hoarsely, "I believe he means it. I will send the others out in the order you gave."

  "Stop pouting and give me your hand," Rolan commanded.

  She was not pouting! The man could be as infuriatingly stubborn as her Perrin. Only, in Perrin, it was intriguing, not really infuriating. Raising her right hand as high as it would go, she let Rolan's hand envelope hers. He lifted her easily, till her face was just below his.

  "Catch hold of my coat." There was no hint of strain in his voice despite the awkward angle of his arm. "You will have to climb over me."

  She swung her left hand up and caught a fistful of the rough wool, holding on hard. The pain in her shoulder told her it was bruised as badly as she feared. When he released her other hand, she gasped at the jolt of agony and quickly grabbed his coat with that one, too. Grasping her waist in both hands, he boosted her higher, so she was lying on his broad back. Thunder boomed and boomed without ceasing. The rain must start falling soon. That would make getting the others out more difficult.

  "I like feeling your weight on me, Faile Bashere, but maybe you could climb a little faster so I can bring the others out." He pinched her bottom, and she laughed in spite of herself. The man just would not stop trying!

  The climb over him was slower than she could have hoped for. She did not believe anything was broken in her shoulder, but it hurt. Once, she thought she kicked Rolan in the head. Pinch her, would he?

  At last she was outside and past Kinhuin, on her feet under the sky once more. Her first sight of the building from outside made her swallow, and then cough vigorously as bits of grit entered her throat. The charred timbers were tilting to an alarming degree, ready to crash into the basement. The third Brotherless, Jhoradin, a blue-eyed man with red-gold hair and a face that fell not far short of prettiness, was watching Kinhuin and Rolan, but every so often he glanced at the building as if expecting to see it fall. He was squat for an Aiel, not quite as tall as Perrin but half again as wide. There must have been at least a hundred of her people in the street, staring at her anxiously, some of their white robes stained with soot from their efforts at digging her out. A hundred! She could not find it in her heart to upbraid them, however. Especially after Aravine thrust a plump waterskin into her hands. The first mouthful went to wash away grit and dust, though she wanted desperately to swallow it anyway, but after that, she held up the skin and all but poured water down her throat. Her bruised shoulder protested. She ignored it and drank and drank.

  Suddenly she became aware of lightning striking outside the town to the west and lowered the waterskin to stare. Close outside the town. Out of a cloudless sky. And sometimes not striking. Many of those forked silvery bolts erupted with thunderous roars far above the ground. Balls of fire hurtled across the sky, sometimes bursting in air with a boom like thunder.

  Someone was fighting a battle with the Power! But who? Could Perrin have found enough Aes Sedai or Asha'-man to attack the camp?

  But something was very odd. She knew how many Wise Ones in the camp could channel, and there did not seem to be enough lightning or fireballs. Perhaps it was not Perrin after all. There were factions among the Wse Ones. Not just between those supporting or opposing Sevanna, but between septs with old alliances or animosities. Maybe one of those factions was fighting another. That seemed highly unlikely, but less so than Perrin finding enough Aes Sedai to attack and the Wise Ones not fighting back with everything they
could muster.

  "When the lightnings started, Rolan said there was a battle," Aravine said when Faile asked her. "That's all. Nobody wanted to go find out more until we knew you were safe."

  Faile ground her teeth in frustration. Even if she did not have to deal with Rolan, whatever was going on outside the walls might make escaping that much more difficult. If only she knew what it was, she might be able to see how to avoid it. Or use it. "No one is to go anywhere, Aravine. It might be dangerous." And they might inadvertently lead Shaido back when they returned. Light, what was going on?

  Maighdin staggered out past Kinhuin rubbing her hip. "He pinched me!" Her voice was thick, but indignation came through. Faile felt a stab of. . . . Not jealousy. Certainly not that. The bloody man could pinch any woman he wanted to. He was not Perrin.

  Grimacing, she handed the sun-haired woman the waterskin, and Maighdin washed out her mouth hurriedly before beginning to gulp thirstily. She was not so sun-haired at the moment, her curls all sweat-matted and as coated with dust as her sweaty face. She was not even pretty at the moment.

  Arrela came out of the ruin rubbing her bottom and looking grim as death, but she eagerly took the waterskin that Aldin offered. The tall young Amadician, a square-shouldered fellow who looked more a soldier than the bookkeeper he was, gazed at her avidly as she drank. Arrela did not like men that way, but Aldin refused to accept that he could not convince her to marry him. Lacile appeared—rubbing her bottom!—and Jhoradin handed her another waterskin, drawing a finger down her dirty cheek. She smiled up at him before beginning to drink. Already preparing her way back into his blankets if Rolan proved obstinate. At least, Faile thought that was what she was doing.

  At last Alliandre stalked past Kinhuin, and if she was not rubbing herself, her expression of frosty ire told the tale plainly enough. Kinhuin backed out of the opening and stood while Rolan began working his way back across the dangerous pile of timbers.