The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “That’s changed?”

  “My Lord, the taint is gone. I’m not going to go mad. That means…well, I always had a reason to fight. But now I’ve got a reason to live, too.”

  Looking into the man’s eyes, Perrin understood. What must it have been like? Knowing that you’d eventually go mad and need to be executed. Likely by your friends, who would call it a mercy.

  That was what Perrin had sensed in the Asha’man all along, the reason they held themselves apart, often seeming so somber. Everyone else fought for life. The Asha’man…they’d fought to die.

  That’s how Rand feels, Perrin thought, watching the colors swirl again and his friend appear. He was riding his large black horse through a city with muddy streets, speaking with Nynaeve, who rode beside him.

  Perrin shook his head and banished the image. “We’ll get you home, Grady,” he promised. “You’ll have some time with her before the end comes.”

  Grady nodded, glancing at the sky as a low rumble of thunder came from the north. “I just want to talk to her, you know? And I need to see little Gadren again. I won’t recognize the lad.”

  “I’m sure he’s a handsome child, Grady.”

  Grady laughed. It felt odd, but good, to hear that from the man. “Handsome? Gadren? No, my Lord, he might be big for his age, but he’s about as pretty as a stump. Still, I love him something fierce.” He shook his head, amused. “But I should be off learning this trick with Neald. Thank you, my Lord.”

  Perrin smiled, watching him go as a Maiden came hurrying into camp. She reported to the Wise Ones, but spoke loud enough to let Perrin hear. “There is a stranger riding along the road toward camp. He flies a flag of peace, but he wears the clothing of these Children of the Light.”

  Perrin nodded, gathering his guards. As he hastened toward the front of the camp, Tam appeared and fell in beside him. They arrived just as the Whitecloak approached the first guard posts. The man rode a brilliant white gelding, and he carried a long pole with a white banner. His white clothing—mail with a tabard under the cloak—bore a yellow sunburst on the breast.

  Perrin felt a sharp sinking feeling. He recognized this man. Dain Bornhald.

  “I come to speak with the criminal Perrin Aybara,” Bornhald announced in a loud voice, pulling to a stop.

  “I’m here, Bornhald,” Perrin called, stepping out.

  Bornhald looked at him. “It is you. The Light has delivered you to us.”

  “Unless it has also delivered you an army three or four times the size of the one you have now,” Perrin called, “then I doubt very much that it will matter.”

  “We have in our possession people who claim fealty to you, Aybara.”

  “Well, you can let them ride on back to our camp, and we’ll be on our way.”

  The young Whitecloak turned his mount to the side, scowling. “We have unfinished business, Darkfriend.”

  “No need for this to turn nasty, Bornhald,” Perrin said. “The way I see it, we can still each go our own way.”

  “The Children would rather die than leave justice undone,” Dain said, then spat to the side. “But I will leave that for the Lord Captain Commander to explain. He wishes to see you for himself. I have been ordered to come and tell you that he is waiting beside the road a short ride ahead. He would like you to meet with him.”

  “You think I’m going to walk into such an obvious trap?” Perrin asked.

  Bornhald shrugged. “Come or do not. My Lord Captain Commander is a man of honor, and swears by oath you will return safely—which is more than I’d have given a Darkfriend. You may bring your Aes Sedai, if you have them, for safety.” With that, Bornhald turned his mount and galloped away.

  Perrin stood thoughtfully, watching him retreat.

  “You’re not really thinking of going, are you, son?” Tam asked.

  “I’d rather know for certain who I’m facing,” Perrin said. “And we did ask for parley. Maybe bargain for our people back. Burn me, Tam. I have to at least try before attacking them.”

  Tam sighed, but nodded.

  “He mentioned Aes Sedai,” Perrin said, “but not Asha’man. I’ll bet he doesn’t know much about them. Go have Grady dress like a Two Rivers man and tell him to report to me, along with Gaul and Sulin. Ask Edarra if she’ll join us too. But don’t tell my wife about this. We five will go on ahead and see if the Whitecloaks will really meet with us peacefully. If something goes wrong, we’ll have Grady ready to get us out by gateway.”

  Tam nodded and hurried away. Perrin waited nervously until Tam returned with Gaul, Sulin and Edarra. Grady came a few minutes later, wearing a brown wool cloak and brown and green clothing borrowed from one of the Two Rivers men. He carried a longbow, but walked like a soldier, with his back straight, his eyes keen as he looked about him. There was a particular air of danger to him that no common villager would bear. Hopefully, it wouldn’t spoil the disguise.

  The six of them broke away from camp, and blessedly, Faile didn’t seem to have heard what was happening. Perrin would bring her if there was a longer parley or discussion, but he intended this trip to be quick, and he needed to be able to move without worrying about her.

  They went on foot, and found the Whitecloaks a short distance ahead down the road. There looked to be only about a dozen of them, standing near a small tent that had been set up beside the road. They were upwind, which relaxed Perrin a little. He caught scents of anger and disgust, but it didn’t feel like a trap to him.

  As he and the others neared, someone stepped from the small tent, wearing white. The tall man had fine features and short, dark hair. Most women would probably call him handsome. He smelled…better than the other Whitecloaks. They had a wild scent to them, like that of a rabid animal. This leader of theirs smelled calm, and not sickly at all.

  Perrin glanced toward his companions.

  “I do not like this, Perrin Aybara,” Edarra said, looking from side to side. “These Children have a sense of wrongness about them.”

  “Archers could hit us from those trees,” Tam said with a grunt, nodding to a stand in the distance.

  “Grady, you’re holding the Power?” Perrin asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Be ready, just in case,” Perrin said, then stepped forward toward the small group of Whitecloaks. Their leader studied Perrin with hands clasped behind his back. “Golden eyes,” the man said. “So it is true.”

  “You’re the Lord Captain Commander?” Perrin asked.

  “I am.”

  “What will it take for you to release the people of mine you’re holding?”

  “My men tell me they tried such an exchange once,” the Whitecloak leader said. “And that you deceived them and betrayed them.”

  “They had kidnapped innocents,” Perrin said. “And demanded my life in return. Well, I took my people back. Don’t force me to do the same thing here.”

  The Whitecloak leader narrowed his eyes. He smelled thoughtful. “I will do what is right, Goldeneyes. The cost is irrelevant. My men tell me you murdered several Children a few years back, and have never known justice for it. That you lead Trollocs to attack villages.”

  “Your men are not very reliable,” Perrin said with a growl. “I want a more formal parley, where we can sit down and discuss. Not something improvised like this.”

  “I doubt that will be needed,” the Whitecloak leader said. “I am not here to bargain. I merely wanted to see you for myself. You wish your people freed? Meet my army on the field of battle. Do this, and I will release the captives, regardless of the outcome. They are obviously not soldiers. I will let them go.”

  “And if I refuse?” Perrin asked.

  “Then it will not bode…well for their health.”

  Perrin ground his teeth.

  “Your force will face ours under the Light,” the Whitecloak leader said. “Those are our terms.”

  Perrin glanced to the side. Grady met his eyes, and there was an obvious question in them. He could take t
he Whitecloak leader captive right here, with barely a thought.

  Perrin was tempted. But they had come under the Whitecloak’s oath of safety. He would not break the peace. Instead, he turned, and led his people back toward his camp.

  Galad watched Aybara withdraw. Those golden eyes were unsettling. He had discounted Byar’s insistence that this man was not merely a Darkfriend, but Shadowspawn. However, looking into those eyes, Galad was no longer certain he could dismiss those claims.

  To the side, Bornhald let out a breath. “I can’t believe you wanted to do this. What if he had brought Aes Sedai? We couldn’t have stopped the One Power.”

  “They would not have harmed me,” Galad said. “And besides, if Aybara had the ability to assassinate me here with the One Power, he could have done the same to me in my camp. But if he is as you and Child Byar say, then he worries greatly about his image. He didn’t lead Trollocs against the Two Rivers directly. He pretended to defend them.” Such a man would act with subtlety. Galad had been safe.

  He’d wanted to see Aybara himself, and he was glad he had. Those eyes…they were almost a condemnation by themselves. And Aybara had reacted to the mention of the murdered Whitecloaks, stiffening. Beyond that, there was the talk his people gave of him in alliance with the Seanchan and having with him men who could channel.

  Yes, this Aybara was a dangerous man. Galad had been worried about committing his forces to fighting here, but the Light would see them through it. Better to defeat this Aybara now, than to wait and face him at the Last Battle. As quickly as that, he made his decision. The right decision. They would fight.

  “Come,” Galad said, waving to his men. “Let’s get back to camp.”

  Chapter 11

  An Unexpected Letter

  “They can’t possibly think I’ll sign this,” Elayne said, tossing the sheaf of papers onto the floor beside her chair.

  “It’s unlikely that they do,” Dyelin said. Her golden hair was pristine, her firm face controlled, her slim body poised. The woman was perfect! It was unfair that she should look so pristine while Elayne felt like a sow, fattened up and ripe for the slaughter.

  The hearth in Elayne’s sitting room crackled warmly. Wine sat in a pitcher on one of the wall’s sideboards, but of course she wasn’t allowed any of that. If one more person tried to offer her bloody goat’s milk…

  Birgitte lounged near the far wall, golden braid hanging over her right shoulder, contrasting with her white-collared red coat and sky-blue trousers. She’d poured herself a cup of tea, and smiled over it, amused by Elayne’s annoyance. Elayne could feel the emotion through the bond!

  They were the only ones in the room. Elayne had retired to the sitting room after accepting the proposal from Ellorien’s messenger, explaining that she would like to “consider” the offer in private. Well, she’d consider it! Consider it trash, for that was all it was!

  “This is an insult,” she said, sweeping her hand toward the pages.

  “Do you intend to keep them imprisoned forever, Elayne?” Dyelin asked, raising an eyebrow. “They can’t afford to pay a ransom, not after what they spent funding their Succession bid. That leaves you with a decision.”

  “They can rot,” Elayne said, folding her arms. “They raised armies against me and besieged Caemlyn!”

  “Yes,” Dyelin said flatly. “I believe I was there.”

  Elayne cursed softly to herself, then stood up and began to pace. Birgitte eyed her; they both knew that Melfane had suggested that Elayne avoid taxing herself. Elayne met the Warder’s eyes stubbornly, then continued her pacing. Burn her, and burn that bloody midwife! Walking wasn’t taxing.

  Ellorien was one of the last vocal holdouts to Elayne’s rule, and was the most problematic—save, perhaps, for Jarid Sarand. These months marked the beginning of a long period of testing for Elayne. How would she stand on certain issues? How easily would she be pushed? How much did she take after her mother?

  They should know that she wouldn’t be easily intimidated. But the unfortunate truth was that she stood atop a precarious perch made of teacups, stacked high. Each of those cups was an Andoran House; some had supported her willingly, others grudgingly. Very few of them were as sturdy as she would have liked.

  “The captive nobles are a resource,” Elayne said. “They should be viewed as such.”

  Dyelin nodded. The noblewoman had a way of goading Elayne, forcing her to stretch for the answers they both knew she needed to find. “A resource is meaningless unless eventually expended,” Dyelin noted. She held a cup of wine. Blasted woman.

  “Yes,” Elayne said, “but to sell a resource short would be to establish a reputation for carelessness.”

  “Unless you sell something just before its value plummets,” Dyelin said. “Many a merchant has been called foolish for trading ice peppers at a discount, only to be called wise when prices fall even further.”

  “And these captives? You see their value falling soon?”

  “Their Houses have been compromised,” Dyelin said. “The stronger your position becomes, Elayne, the less valuable these political captives grow. You shouldn’t squander the advantage, but neither should you lock it away until nobody cares anymore.”

  “You could execute them,” Birgitte said.

  They both stared at her.

  “What?” Birgitte said. “It’s what they deserve, and it would establish a hardfisted reputation.”

  “It’s not right,” Elayne said. “They should not be killed for supporting someone else for the throne. There can be no treason where there is no Queen.”

  “So our soldiers can die, but the nobles bloody walk away?” Birgitte asked. Then she raised a hand before Elayne could protest. “Spare the lecture, Elayne. I understand. I don’t agree, but I understand. It’s always been this way.”

  Elayne returned to her pacing. She did stop, however, to stomp on Ellorien’s proposal as she passed it. That earned her an eye roll from Birgitte, but it felt good. The “proposal” was a list of empty promises that concluded with a demand that Elayne release the captives for “the good of Andor.” Ellorien claimed that since the captives had no funds, the crown should pardon them and release them to help rebuild.

  Truth be told, Elayne had been considering doing so. But now if she released them, the three would see Ellorien as their savior! Any gratitude that Elayne could have gained would instead be given to her rival. Blood and bloody ashes!

  “The Windfinders are beginning to ask after the land you promised them,” Dyelin noted.

  “Already?”

  The older woman nodded. “The request still troubles me. Why do they want a sliver of land like that?”

  “They earned it,” Elayne said.

  “Perhaps. Though this does mean that you’re the first Queen in five generations to cede a portion of Andor—no matter how small—to a foreign entity.”

  Elayne took a deep breath, and oddly found herself calmer. Blasted mood swings! Hadn’t Melfane promised those would grow less pronounced as the pregnancy progressed? Yet at times she still felt her emotions bouncing around like a ball in a children’s game.

  Elayne composed herself and sat. “I cannot allow this. The Houses are all looking for opportunities to shoulder their way into power.”

  “You would be doing the same in their place, I warrant,” Dyelin said.

  “Not if I knew that the Last Battle was approaching,” Elayne snapped. “We need to do something to direct the nobles toward more important matters. Something to unify them behind me, or at least convince them that I’m not to be toyed with.”

  “And you have a means of achieving this?” Dyelin asked.

  “Yes,” Elayne said, glancing eastward. “It’s time to seize Cairhien.”

  Birgitte choked quietly on her tea. Dyelin merely raised an eyebrow. “A bold move.”

  “Bold?” Birgitte asked, wiping her chin. “It’s bloody insane. Elayne, you barely have your fingers on Andor.”

  “That makes th
e timing even better,” Elayne said. “We have momentum. Besides, if we move for Cairhien now, it will show that I mean to be more than a simpering puff of a queen.”

  “I doubt anyone expects that of you,” Birgitte said. “If they do, they probably took one too many knocks to the head during the fighting.”

  “She’s right, however uncouth the presentation,” Dyelin agreed. She glanced at Birgitte, and Elayne could feel a stab of dislike through Birgitte’s bond. Light! What would it take to make the two of them get along? “Nobody doubts your strength as a queen, Elayne. That won’t stop the others from seizing what power they can; they know they’re unlikely to be able to get it later.”

  “I don’t have fifteen years to stabilize my rule, like Mother,” Elayne said. “Look, we all know what Rand kept saying about me taking the Sun Throne. A steward rules there now, waiting for me, and after what happened to Colavaere, nobody dares disobey Rand’s edicts.”

  “By taking that throne,” Dyelin said, “you risk looking as if you’re letting al’Thor hand it to you.”

  “So?” Elayne said. “I had to take Andor on my own, but there is nothing wrong with me accepting his gift of Cairhien. His Aiel were the ones to liberate it. We’d be doing the Cairhienin a favor by preventing a messy Succession. My claim to the throne is strong, at least as strong as anyone else’s, and those loyal to Rand will fall behind me.”

  “And do you not risk overextending yourself?”

  “Possibly,” Elayne said, “but I think it’s worth the risk. In one step I could become one of the most powerful monarchs since Artur Hawkwing.”

  Further argument was cut off by a polite knock at the door. Elayne glanced at Dyelin, and the woman’s thoughtful expression meant she was considering what Elayne had said. Well, Elayne would strike for the Sun Throne, with or without Dyelin’s approval. The woman was becoming increasingly useful to Elayne as an advisor—Light be praised that Dyelin hadn’t wanted the throne herself!—but a queen could not let herself fall into the trap of relying on any one person too much.