Unfettered III

by Shawn Speakman (ed)

  As they reached the end of each ramp or bridge, the Aiel scouted forward to check for signs of Trollocs. None but the Aiel volunteered for the duty, but Perrin did not let them scout far. He remembered Loial’s cautious warnings, imagining how easily even a careful scout might get lost in this darkness. Perrin would be forced to abandon them in such a case, and so leave them to wander alone in the darkness until thirst—or madness—took them.

  Near the end of the first day of marching, they encountered a problem that Perrin had been dreading: a broken bridge.

  He stepped up to the gap, joining the Aiel scouts at the edge. The decomposing stonework here had given way, dumping a ten-foot or longer chunk of stone into the abyss. Perrin knelt at the edge, feeling at the jagged, broken stone remaining. He could see the other side of the bridge, at the very limit of their light, where it presumably continued until it touched the next Island over.

  Below lay only blackness. Would a man who fell drop until he starved, or would he hit one of the other Islands first?

  “I think I could jump that,” said Aviellin—one of the Maidens.

  “A long jump indeed,” Sulin said. “The wetlanders could not make it, that is for certain. No offense to you, Perrin Aybara.”

  “None taken,” he said, shivering at the thought of even trying. He turned, asking for Edarra and the Aes Sedai. They approached, Saerin and Edarra pointedly ignoring one another. Perhaps Saerin had heard of how Seonid had been treated. Of course, Seonid was also one of the women who had sworn to Rand, so maybe . . .

  Perrin hesitated. No colors. Usually, when he thought of Rand, colors spun in his vision, showing an image of the man wherever he was. Not this time. Were the Ways, in some manner, related to the wolf dream? He didn’t see the visions there either.

  The group gathered with him a few steps away from the crumbled end of the bridge. “I’ve encountered broken bridges before,” Perrin said. “I was hoping that, by using a mapped-out path, we’d avoid the problem. This break must be more recent.”

  “What did you do last time?” Seonid asked.

  “Loial took us around another way,” Perrin said.

  Together, they looked at Saerin. She displayed quintessential Aes Sedai composure as she met Perrin’s eyes, then shook her head. “One measure of a woman’s strength is her willingness to accept her limits. I do not think I can navigate in this place on my own. I would be willing to try, if pressed, but I barely know enough to determine we’re going in the right direction with these instructions.”

  Perrin chewed on that, considering. “Make us a bridge.”

  “With what stone?” Saerin asked, amused.

  “No stone,” Perrin said. “Air. I know it can be done.”

  Saerin didn’t respond at first. “That’s a wide gap, Goldeneyes. It might be too wide for me.”

  “Edarra can help.”

  “It’s not simply a matter of strength. The size of a bridge made of Air has strict limits. With that landing on the other side . . . well, it may be possible, but dangerous. Not only because the One Power is tainted in this place. I will be required to anchor Air against the broken stone on both sides. The bridge could crumble further, and dump everyone on it.”

  Perrin nodded, rubbing at his beard. “See if you can make the bridge first,” he said. “If it holds, we’ll send people across one at a time.”

  The others seemed to take this decision as reasonable. Saerin spoke with Seonid and Edarra in hushed tones, and then all three adopted a look of concentration. Though it had been happening for a while, it still surprised Perrin sometimes when people—including Aes Sedai and Wise Ones—did what he said.

  “This is not a pleasant experience,” Saerin said to him. “But perhaps I can see it as a useful one. Is this really how men used to feel while channeling?”

  “Worse,” Grady said from beside Perrin.

  “The bridge is in place,” Saerin said. “We will need someone to test to see if it holds.”

  Before any of the Aiel could volunteer, Perrin stepped out into the gap.

  A couple of the Wolf Guard gasped, but Perrin’s foot fell on something hard. He couldn’t see it, but it felt as firm as stone under his boot. Eyes forward, he told himself, and took the next step. He kept his hand on his hammer as he walked—the warmth inside the metal was comforting—and tried not to think about the expansive nothingness beneath him. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face.

  Never had he been so glad to touch stone as he was when he took that last step. Perrin let out a deep breath and turned to see Gaul coming next. The man could have been taking a nice evening stroll. He stopped and tapped his foot on the side of the invisible bridge, then leaned out over the darkness.

  Crazy Aiel, Perrin thought. He was showing off, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

  The Maidens came next, one at a time, and though a few repeated Gaul’s feat, none fell off. Perrin sent Gaul and the Maidens on to inspect the next Island—with cautions to remain close—but he wanted to wait until every person had crossed.

  He all but held his breath the entire time. He could stomach men dying in battle under his leadership. He didn’t like it, but he could stomach it. Having one fall off here, though . . . well, that would haunt him all his days. He knew it as sure as he knew his own name.

  Eventually, only the channelers and the Whitecloaks remained. Grady and Neald came one at a time, as steady as the Aiel had been, though Perrin could smell their nervousness. That left Galad and his men.

  Perrin could see their hesitation from across the gap, though he couldn’t smell it. Some members of the Whitecloak army had refused Healing by Aes Sedai on previous occasions.

  “Well?” Perrin called. “You demanded to come with me into this place. Cross now, or be left in the darkness.”

  Galad came first. Perrin nodded to him as he arrived; for once, the man smelled anxious.

  “What was it you said?” Perrin asked. “The One Power is merely another tool?”

  “Perhaps the ‘merely’ was said in haste,” Galad said, looking back at the bridge of Air as Bornhald began to cross. “It is a tool, yes. But so is fire, and I would not much like to walk a similar distance with it underfoot.”

  Perrin grunted. “Well, so long as—”

  Something cracked near Perrin’s feet.

  Perrin didn’t hesitate. He swung an arm out, lunging toward Bornhald—who had nearly arrived. The young man stared at his feet in horror as the stonework nearest Perrin crumbled away, dumping Bornhald and the bridge into the darkness.

  Perrin caught Bornhald by the collar of his shirt, but the move left him precariously standing with one foot halfway over the broken edge of the bridge, tipping. He grunted, holding tight as Bornhald screamed, flinging his arms up. He took hold of Perrin’s arm, overbalancing him.

  Perrin met the young man’s eyes. And held on.

  “Light!” Galad said, grabbing Perrin from behind and pulling him upright. Bornhald swung, dangling over the divide. The force of his swinging almost pulled all three of them over, but after what seemed an eternal moment, something seized them all—something unseen—and pushed them back onto the stone bridge.

  The three tumbled into a heap, Bornhald gasping, nearly crying. Galad sat up and rubbed the elbow he’d struck when he fell. Perrin took a deep breath, then sat up. He started to call thanks to the Aes Sedai and Wise One for the threads of Air that had saved them.

  Then he saw Neald standing just a short distance away, hand out. “Blood and bloody ashes, Lord Perrin!” he said. “Light, I’m sorry! I almost missed you. I didn’t hear a thing until Bornhald screamed!”

  “You did well, Fager,” Perrin said, dusting himself off as he stood—mostly because he wanted to be moving to keep himself from shaking. “You saved our lives.”

  “You reacted quickly, Aybara,” Galad said as Perrin helped him to his feet. “How did you do it?”

  “I heard the stone cracking,” Perrin said. “That’s all.”

&nb
sp; “I heard no cracking,” Galad said, shaking his head. “Those wolf’s ears of yours . . . Is it a thing another man can learn, do you suppose?”

  Perrin found himself gaping. “You? You’d want to learn it?”

  “Studying your talents would help me determine whether they serve the Light or not,” Galad said, sounding perfectly rational. “I have accepted that wolves are not of the Dark One; at least, if they are, I have no evidence of it. I see no problem—yet—in a man learning what you do.”

  “I doubt the wolves would like you,” Perrin said, then found himself chuckling despite the darkness, despite the near fall. He’d been cursed, hunted, and feared because of his eyes. But never, never had someone asked if it would be possible to emulate him. Now the question came, and from a Whitecloak no less!

  Galad crouched beside Bornhald. “Are you well, Dain?”

  “I . . . Yes, Lord Captain Commander. Yes, I think I . . . I think I will be.”

  Bornhald reached for the flask at his belt. Galad allowed him a single pull on it, then gently took it and tossed it over the side of the bridge.

  Dain watched it go, smelling horrified. But Perrin shook his head, still amused. Galad was nothing if not consistent.

  Galad helped Bornhald to his feet. “I’ll see him the rest of the way across. Someone should walk with him. But first . . .” He turned toward the broken bridge, where the remaining Whitecloaks stood with the Aes Sedai and Edarra. “Well?” he called. “Can you make another?”

  “We can,” Edarra called back.

  “Do it,” he shouted, probably for the benefit of his men. “It takes more than a threat of death to unnerve the Children. We will walk in the Light even in this place, Aiel.”

  Galad nodded to Perrin, then moved on, holding a lantern pole in one hand and resting his other hand on the obviously shaken Bornhald’s shoulder.

  Light send we don’t run into any more gaps, Perrin thought as the rest of the Children made their way across the new bridge, one at a time. He doubted they’d coax Bornhald across another.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Touch of the Blacksmith

  “It’s all right to be afraid of something,” Perrin said.

  Bornhald looked up. He had been sitting by himself at the edge of the pool of light.

  Around them, the group made camp for its first “night” in the Ways. This section of stone seemed a little less degraded than others, and Perrin tried to imagine the Ways as Loial had described them: bright and sunlit, a place of life and warmth. When he tried to picture that, the looming darkness always intruded. Just as it seemed to want to intrude upon their camp, lurking outside the light.

  To keep it back, they’d set a ring of lanterns, and within it were laying out bedrolls and getting notes on watch shifts from Arganda. Remarkably, everyone seemed to be taking the mood well, adjusting to the gloom of this place. Though they kept their voices low by Perrin’s orders, some of the Ghealdanin and Mayeners were chuckling together, trading friendly barbs as they arranged themselves for sleep.

  Perrin smiled at that, glad to see those two groups in particular getting along. More remarkably, a few of the Whitecloaks joined in as well, laughing at some joke. Was it possible that even these harsh men could find common ground with the others?

  Not Bornhald, however. The young Taraboner sat alone. He seemed a naturally thin man, but during his time in Perrin’s camp, he’d grown almost skeletal.

  “I’m not frightened,” Bornhald spat, then took a bite of bread.

  Perrin settled down. That earned him a glare.

  “Look,” Perrin said softly. “We have differences, but you’re under my command now. The Last Battle is upon us. There isn’t time for grudges anymore.”

  Bornhald continued eating.

  “Is this about your father?” Perrin asked. “Geofram—”

  “Don’t.” Bornhald stopped, took a deep breath, then continued, “Don’t speak his name. Just . . . Just don’t. Please. This isn’t about him.”

  “Then it’s about Byar.”

  “I don’t want your help, Aybara,” Bornhald said. “I don’t want your sympathy. I’ll control myself. Leave me be.”

  “Fine.” Perrin sighed and stood up. He walked back toward the center of the light, where Galad—hands clasped behind his back—was surveying his men as they made camp.

  “There’s something big troubling Bornhald,” Perrin said. “His near fall shook him.”

  “Dain has been . . . increasingly unreliable lately,” Galad said. “Tell me, Aybara. Does the name Ordeith mean anything to you?”

  Perrin drew in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

  “Dain keeps muttering that name.”

  “Ordeith is a Darkfriend,” Perrin said. “No, he’s something worse. He’s the man who brought Trollocs to the Two Rivers. He’d pretended to join the Children, but was really just toying with them, using them for something. I’m not exactly sure what it was. Probably an attempt to draw Rand’s attention.”

  “Might I note,” Galad said, “that you have been accused of the same things—bringing Trollocs to the Two Rivers—and that you argued lack of evidence sufficient to convict. Do you have any way of proving to me that one of the Children was guilty of this crime?”

  “He’s not one of the Children, Galad,” Perrin said, glancing back at Bornhald. “As for proof, once we’re out of here, I can give you a number of witnesses to the crimes this man has committed. For now . . . Light, did Fain—did Ordeith—give anything to Bornhald?” Bornhald had a little of the same cast to him that Mat had had, back when the dagger had claimed him.

  “I will ask,” Galad said. “And I will speak with the other Children about this Ordeith, to see if any of them have met him.”

  Perrin nodded, accepting a hunk of jerky and some cheese from Tam, who brought it over when he saw Perrin hadn’t eaten anything. At times, the Two Rivers men mothered him as much as any woman might. Still, he was happy to tear into the food as he walked over to the Aiel. He’d just noticed Gaul and Aviellin returning. The group was camping near the Guiding, and he’d reluctantly agreed to allow the two Aiel to go across the next bridge and scout the landing.

  “More signs of Trollocs on the next Island, Perrin Aybara,” Gaul said. “Bones in a pile. Some paintings in red on the ground. Might be blood. A few days old, at least.”

  Light. What did the Shadowspawn do? Bring people with them to eat along the way?

  Is that why they were so focused on taking Kandor? Perrin wondered. To gain prisoners for food? The thought made him sick.

  “We listened into the dark,” Gaul said, “but could hear no sign of them in the distance. But who knows. Trollocs can be quiet, if they are on a tight leash—and this place seems to warp sound in ways I cannot anticipate.”

  “They didn’t destroy the Guiding as you feared,” Aviellin said. “It was kept completely clean, with no Trolloc markings on the ground nearby.”

  Perrin nodded. He’d thought that, with the existence of the notebooks, the Myrddraal might break the Guidings. That wouldn’t much change this mission, but it would be a loss for the future. Anyone else wanting to travel these paths would be prevented from doing so.

  But . . . will there ever be any others? Perrin thought. Apparently cleansing the Source hadn’t had any effect on the taint inside the Ways. What little signs they’d had from the Ogier indicated that they were intent on withdrawing, leaving men to fight on their own as the end approached. Even Loial, among the most adventuresome of his kind, had been terribly frightened of this place, and at a loss as to how to recover it.

  Perhaps Perrin should do the world a favor by destroying access not just to Caemlyn’s Waygate, but to every Waygate he could find—leaving this too-hungry darkness to starve upon its own corpse.

  Once, things grew on the Islands. Loial’s voice—dredged up from Perrin’s memories of another visit to the Ways—seemed to drift across his mind. There was green grass to sleep on, soft as any feather bed. Fruit trees
to spice the food you’d brought with an apple or a pear or a bellfruit . . . Crisp and juicy whatever the time of year outside . . .

  He would have liked to see that. And it seemed a crime of some incalculable nature that such a wonderful place should be abandoned without hope of recovery. Though the powerful and the elite of the world now had access to Traveling to cross distances, the steep requirements for that meant it would never be available to the common traveler. He thought of the Ways, lush and welcoming, providing a method for people all across the land to travel easily and safely. And when the darkness tried to intrude on that imagining, he forced it back.

  For now, though, he needed to concentrate on his mission. One that was, unfortunately, more concerned with destroying parts of the Ways than recovering them. How often his hammer had to fall to break, instead of build, these days. He shook his head, chewing on his jerky and trying to decide if he should give orders to shorten the break for sleep from six hours to four. They’d been seeing more and more signs of Trollocs these last few hours, and he wanted to be out of this place.

  And yet, if they did end up forced into a skirmish with Shadowspawn, he wanted the men rested and ready to fight. He’d rather use the channelers only as a last resort.

  He eventually changed the break to a compromise of five hours, then—after giving the orders—found himself sitting near the perimeter of the ring of light, where he could watch the camp settle down as he took brief reports from the leaders of the various groups. It was remarkable how, after just one day of marching, there were already things that needed his attention. A thrown shoe on one of the pack animals, a soldier with blisters forming from a new set of boots—they might want to risk a dribble of Aes Sedai Healing for that—and a concerning report that one of the water bags had sprung a leak and drained by half with nobody noticing.