“You were injured, Loial? Moiraine could Heal you. I’m sure she will.”
“Oh, I can get around with no trouble. And there were so many who truly needed her help. I would not want to bother her. It certainly is not enough to hamper me in my work.” Loial glanced at the table where a large cloth-bound book—large for Perrin, but it would fit in one of the Ogier’s coat pockets—lay open beside an uncorked ink bottle. “I hope I wrote it all down correctly. I did not see very much last night until it was done.”
“Loial,” Faile said, standing up from behind one of the banks of flowers with a book in her hands, “is a hero.”
Perrin jumped; the flowers had masked her scent completely. Loial made shushing noises, his ears twitching with embarrassment, and waved his big hands at her, but she went on, her voice cool but her eyes hot on Perrin’s face.
“He gathered as many children as he could—and some of their mothers—into a large room, and held the door alone against Trollocs and Myrddraal through the entire fight. These flowers are from the women of the Stone, tokens to honor his steadfast courage, his faithfulness.” She made “steadfast” and “faithfulness” crack like whips.
Perrin managed not to flinch, but only just. What he had done was right, but he could not expect her to see it. Even if she knew why, she would not see it. It was the right thing. It was. He only wished he felt better about the entire matter. It was hardly fair that he could be right and still feel in the wrong.
“It was nothing.” Loial’s ears twitched wildly. “It is just that the children could not defend themselves. That’s all. Not a hero. No.”
“Nonsense.” Faile marked her place in the book with a finger and moved closer to the Ogier. She did not come up to his chest. “There is not a woman in the Stone who would not marry you, if you were human, and some would anyway. Loial well named, for your nature is loyalty. Any woman could love that.”
The Ogier’s ears went stiff with shock, and Perrin grinned. She had obviously been feeding Loial honey and butter all morning in hope the Ogier would agree to take her along no matter what Perrin wanted, but in trying to prick him she had just fed Loial a stone without knowing it. “Have you heard from your mother, Loial?” he asked.
“No.” Loial managed to sound relieved and worried at the same time. “But I saw Laefar in the city yesterday. He was as surprised to see me as I to see him; we are not a common sight in Tear. He came from Stedding Shangtai to negotiate repairs on some Ogier stonework in one of the palaces. I have no doubt the first words out of his mouth when he returns to the stedding will be ‘Loial is in Tear.’ ”
“That is worrying,” Perrin said, and Loial nodded dejectedly.
“Laefar says the Elders have named me a runaway and my mother has promised to have me married and settled. She even has someone chosen. Laefar did not know who. At least, he said he did not. He thinks such things are funny. She could be here in a month’s time.”
Faile’s face was a picture of confusion that almost made Perrin grin again. She thought she knew so much more than he did about the world—well, she did, in truth—but she did not know Loial. Stedding Shangtai was Loial’s home, in the Spine of the World, and since he was barely past ninety, he was not old enough to have left on his own. Ogier lived a very long time; by their standards, Loial was no older than Perrin, maybe younger. But Loial had gone anyway, to see the world, and his greatest fear was that his mother would find him and drag back to the stedding to marry, never to leave again.
While Faile was trying to figure out what was going on, Perrin stepped into the silence. “I need to go back to the Two Rivers, Loial. Your mother won’t find you there.”
“Yes. That is true.” The Ogier gave an uncomfortable shrug. “But my book. Rand’s story. And yours, and Mat’s. I have so many notes already, but . . . .” He moved around behind the table, peering down at the open book, the pages filled with his neat script. “I will be the one to write the true story of the Dragon Reborn, Perrin. The only book by someone who traveled with him, who actually saw it unfold. The Dragon Reborn, by Loial, son of Arent son of Halan, of Stedding Shangtai.” Frowning, he bent over the book, dipping his pen in the ink bottle. “That is not quite right. It was more—”
Perrin put a hand on the page where Loial was going to write. “You’ll write no book if your mother finds you. Not about Rand, at least. And I need you, Loial.”
“Need, Perrin? I do not understand.”
“There are Whitecloaks in the Two Rivers. Hunting me.”
“Hunting you? But why?” Loial looked almost as confused as Faile had. Faile, on the other hand, had donned a complacent smugness that was worrisome. Perrin went on anyway.
“The reasons don’t matter. The fact is that they are. They may hurt people, my family, looking for me. Knowing Whitecloaks, they will. I can stop it, if I can get there quickly, but it must be quickly. The Light only knows what they’ve done already. I need you to take me there, Loial, by the Ways. You told me once there was a Waygate here, and I know there was one at Manetheren. It must still be there, in the mountains above Emond’s Field. Nothing can destroy a Waygate, you said. I need you, Loial.”
“Well, of course I will help,” Loial said. “The Ways.” He exhaled noisily, and his ears wilted a bit. “I want to write of adventures, not have them. But I suppose one more time will not hurt. The Light send it so,” he finished fervently.
Faile cleared her throat delicately. “Are you not forgetting something, Loial? You promised to take me into the Ways whenever I asked, and before you took anyone else.”
“I did promise you a look at a Waygate,” Loial said, “and what it is like inside. You can have that when Perrin and I go. You could come with us, I suppose, but the Ways are not traveled lightly, Faile. I would not enter them myself if Perrin did not have need.”
“Faile will not be coming,” Perrin said firmly. “Just you and me, Loial.”
Ignoring him, Faile smiled up at Loial as if he were teasing her. “You promised more than a look, Loial. To take me wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and before anyone else. You swore to it.”
“I did,” Loial protested, “but only because you refused to believe I would show you. You said you would not believe unless I swore. I will do as I promised, but surely you do not want to step ahead of Perrin’s need.”
“You swore,” Faile said calmly. “By your mother, and your mother’s mother, and your mother’s mother’s mother.”
“Yes, I did, Faile, but Perrin—”
“You swore, Loial. Do you mean to break your oath?”
The Ogier looked like misery stacked on misery. His shoulders slumped and his ears drooped, the corners of his wide mouth turned down and the ends of his long eyebrows draggled onto his cheeks.
“She tricked you, Loial.” Perrin wondered if they could hear his teeth grinding. “She deliberately tricked you.”
Red stained Faile’s cheeks, but she still had the nerve to say, “Only because I had to, Loial. Only because a fool man thinks he can order my life to suit himself. I’d not have done it, otherwise. You must believe that.”
“Doesn’t it make any difference that she tricked you?” Perrin demanded, and Loial shook his massive head sadly.
“Ogier keep their word,” Faile said. “And Loial is going to take me to the Two Rivers. Or to the Waygate at Manetheren, at least. I have a wish to see the Two Rivers.”
Loial stood up straight, “But that means I can help Perrin after all. Faile, why did you drag this out? Even Laefar would not think this funny.” There was a touch of anger in his voice; it took a good bit to make an Ogier angry.
“If he asks,” she said determinedly. “That was part of it, Loial. No one but you and me, unless they asked me. He has to ask me.”
“No,” Perrin told her while Loial was still opening his mouth. “No, I won’t ask. I will ride to Emond’s Field first. I’ll walk! So you might as well give up this foolishness. Tricking Loial. Trying to force yourself in
where . . . where you aren’t wanted.”
Her calm dropped away in anger. “And by the time you reach there, Loial and I will have done for the Whitecloaks. It will all be over. Ask, you anvil-headed blacksmith. Just ask and you can come with us.”
Perrin took hold of himself. There was no way to argue her around to his way of thinking, but he would not ask. She was right—he would need weeks to reach the Two Rivers on his horse; they could be there in two days, perhaps, through the Ways—but he would not ask. Not after she tricked Loial and tried to bully me! “Then I’ll travel the Ways to Manetheren alone. I’ll follow you two. If I stay far enough back not to be part of your party, I won’t be breaking Loial’s oath. You can’t stop me following.”
“That is dangerous, Perrin,” Loial said worriedly. “The Ways are dark. If you miss a turning, or take the wrong bridge by accident, you could be lost forever. Or until Machin Shin catches you. Ask her, Perrin. She said you can come if you do. Ask her.”
The Ogier’s deep voice trembled speaking the name of Machin Shin, and a shiver ran down Perrin’s back, too. Machin Shin. The Black Wind. Not even Aes Sedai knew whether it was Shadowspawn or something that had grown out of the Ways’ corruption. Machin Shin was why traveling the Ways meant risking death; that was what Aes Sedai said. The Black Wind ate souls; that Perrin knew for truth. But he kept his voice steady and his face straight. I’ll be burned if I let her think I am weakening. “I can’t, Loial. Or anyway, I won’t.”
Loial grimaced. “Faile, it will be dangerous for him, trying to follow us. Please relent and let him—” She cut him off sharply.
“No. If he is too stiff-necked to ask, why should I? Why should I even care if he does get lost?” She turned to Perrin. “You can travel close to us. As close as you need to, so long as it’s plain you are following. You will trail after me like a puppy until you ask. Why won’t you just ask?”
“Stubborn humans,” the Ogier muttered. “Hasty and stubborn, even when haste lands you in a hornet nest.”
“I would like to leave today, Loial,” Perrin said, not looking at Faile.
“Best to go quickly,” Loial agreed with a regretful look at the book on the table. “I can tidy my notes on the journey, I suppose. The Light knows what I will miss, being away from Rand.”
“Did you hear me, Perrin?” Faile demanded.
“I will get my horse and a few supplies, Loial. We can be on our way by midmorning.”
“Burn you, Perrin Aybara, answer me!”
Loial eyed her worriedly. “Perrin, are you certain you could not—”
“No,” Perrin interrupted gently. “She is muleheaded, and she likes playing tricks. I won’t dance so she can laugh.” He ignored the sound coming from deep in Faile’s throat, like a cat staring at a strange dog and ready to attack. “I will let you know as soon as I am ready.” He started for the door, and she called after him furiously.
“ ‘When’ is my decision, Perrin Aybara. Mine and Loial’s. Do you hear me? You had better be ready in two hours, or we’ll leave you behind. You can meet us at the Dragonwall Gate stable, if you’re coming. Do you hear me?”
He sensed her moving and shut the door behind him just as something thumped into it heavily. A book, he thought. Loial would give her fits about that. Better to hit Loial on the head than harm one of his books.
For a moment he leaned against the door, despairing. All he had done, all he had gone through, making her hate him, and she was going to be there to see him die anyway. The best thing he could say was that she might enjoy it now. Stubborn, muleheaded woman!
When he turned to go, one of the Aiel was approaching, a tall man with reddish hair and green eyes who could have been Rand’s older cousin, or a young uncle. He knew the man, and liked him, if only because Gaul had never given even a flicker of notice to his yellow eyes. “May you find shade this morning, Perrin. The majhere told me you had come this way, though I think she itched to put a broom in my hands. As hard as a Wise One, that woman.”
“May you find shade this morning, Gaul. Women are all hardheaded, if you ask me.”
“Perhaps so, if you do not know how to get ’round them. I hear you are journeying to the Two Rivers.”
“Light!” Perrin growled before the Aiel could say more. “Does the whole Stone know?” If Moiraine knew—
Gaul shook his head. “Rand al’Thor took me aside and spoke to me, asking me to tell no one. I think he spoke to others, too, but I do not know how many will want to go with you. We have been on this side of the Dragonwall for a long time, and many ache for the Three-fold Land.”
“Come with me?” Perrin felt stunned. If he had Aiel with him . . . . There were possibilities he had not dared consider before. “Rand asked you to come with me? To the Two Rivers?”
Gaul shook his head again. “He said only that you were going, and that there were men who might try to kill you. I mean to accompany you, though, if you will have me.”
“Will I?” Perrin almost laughed. “I will that. We will be into the Ways in a few hours.”
“The Ways?” Gaul’s expression did not change, but he blinked.
“Does that make a difference?”
“Death comes for all men, Perrin.” It was hardly a comforting answer.
“I cannot believe Rand is that cruel,” Egwene said, and Nynaeve added, “At least he did not try to stop you.” Seated on Nynaeve’s bed, they were finishing the division of the gold Moiraine had provided. Four fat purses apiece to be carried in pockets sewn under Elayne’s and Nynaeve’s skirts, and another each, not so large as to attract unwanted attention, to carry at the belt. Egwene had taken a lesser amount, there being less use for gold in the Waste.
Elayne frowned at the two neatly tied bundles and the leather scrip lying beside the door. They held all of her clothes and other things. Cased knife and fork, hairbrush and comb, needles, pins, thread, thimble, scissors. A tinder box and a second knife, smaller than the one at her belt. Soap and bath powder and . . . . It was ridiculous to go over the list again. Egwene’s stone ring was snug in her pouch. She was ready to go. There was nothing to hold her back.
“No, he did not.” Elayne was proud of how calm and collected she sounded. He seemed almost relieved! Relieved! And I had to give him that letter, laying my heart open like a stone-blind fool. At least he won’t open it until I am gone. She jumped at the touch of Nynaeve’s hand on her shoulder.
“Did you want him to ask you to stay? You know what your answer would have been. You do, don’t you?”
Elayne compressed her lips. “Of course I do. But he did not have to look happy about it.” She had not meant to say that.
Nynaeve gave her an understanding look. “Men are difficult at the best.”
“I still cannot believe he would be so . . . so . . .” Egwene began in an angry mutter. Elayne never learned what she meant to say, for at that moment the door crashed open so hard that it bounced off the wall.
Elayne embraced saidar before she had stopped flinching, then felt a moment of embarrassment when the rebounding door slapped hard against Lan’s outstretched hand. A moment more, and she decided to hold on to the Source a while longer. The Warder filled the doorway with his broad shoulders, his face a thunderhead; if his blue eyes could really have given off the thunderbolts they threatened, they would have blasted Nynaeve. The glow of saidar surrounded Egwene, too, and did not fade.
Lan did not appear to see anyone but Nynaeve. “You let me believe you were returning to Tar Valon,” he rasped at her.
“You may have believed it,” she said calmly, “but I never said it.”
“Never said it? Never said it! You spoke of leaving today, and always linked your leaving with those Darkfriends being sent to Tar Valon. Always! What did you mean me to think?”
“But I never said—”
“Light, woman!” he roared. “Do not bandy words with me!”
Elayne exchanged worried looks with Egwene. This man had an iron self-control, bu
t he was at a breaking point now. Nynaeve was one who often let her emotions rage, yet she faced him coolly, head high and eyes serene, hands still on her green silk skirts.
Lan took hold of himself with an obvious effort. He appeared as stone-faced as ever, as much in control of himself—and Elayne was sure it was all on the surface. “I’d not have known where you were off to if I had not heard that you had ordered a carriage. To take you to a ship bound for Tanchico. I do not know why the Amyrlin allowed you to leave the Tower in the first place, or why Moiraine involved you in questioning Black sisters, but you three are Accepted. Accepted, not Aes Sedai. Tanchico now is no place for anyone except a full Aes Sedai with a Warder to watch her back. I’ll not let you go into that!”
“So,” Nynaeve said lightly. “You question Moiraine’s decisions, and those of the Amyrlin Seat as well. Perhaps I’ve misunderstood Warders all along. I thought you swore to accept and obey, among other things. Lan, I do understand your concern, and I am grateful—more than grateful—but we all have tasks to perform. We are going; you must resign yourself to the fact.”
“Why? For the love of the Light, at least tell me why! Tanchico!”
“If Moiraine has not told you,” Nynaeve said gently, “perhaps she has her reasons. We must do our tasks, as you must do yours.”
Lan trembled—actually trembled!—and clamped his jaw shut angrily. When he spoke, he was strangely hesitant. “You will need someone to help you in Tanchico. Someone to keep a Taraboner street thief from slipping a knife into your back for your purse. Tanchico was that sort of city before the war began, and everything I’ve heard says it is worse now. I could . . . I could protect you, Nynaeve.”
Elayne’s eyebrows shot up. He could not be suggesting . . . . He just could not be.
Nynaeve gave no sign that he had said anything out of the ordinary. “Your place is with Moiraine.”
“Moiraine.” Sweat beaded on the Warder’s hard face, and he struggled with the words. “I can . . . I must . . . Nynaeve, I . . . I . . . .”
“You will remain with Moiraine,” Nynaeve said sharply, “until she releases you from your bond. You will do as I say.” Pulling a carefully folded paper from her pouch, she thrust it into his hands. He frowned, read, then blinked and read again.
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