The Shadow Rising

## Chapter 33

#### A New Weave in the Pattern

The lord himself followed almost on the boy’s heels, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his middle years, with a hard, angular face and dark reddish hair white-winged at the temples. There was an arrogant cast to his dark blue eyes, and he certainly looked every inch a nobleman, in a finely cut green coat discreetly embroidered in golden scrolls down the sleeves and gauntlets worked in thread-of-gold. Gold-work wrapped his sword scabbard, as well, and banded the tops of his polished boots. Somehow he made the simple act of striding in through the doorway grand. Perrin despised him on sight.

All the al’Seens and Lewins rushed in a mass to greet the lord, men, women and children crowding around him with smiles and bows and curtsies, babbling all over one another about the honor of his presence, the great honor of a visit from a Hunter for the Horn. They seemed most excited about that. A lord under the same roof might be exciting, but one of those sworn to search for the legendary Horn of Valere—that was the stuff of stories. Perrin did not think he had ever seen Two Rivers folk fawn over anybody, but these came close.

This Lord Luc took it as clearly no more than his due, perhaps less. And tiresome to put up with, at that. The farm folk did not seem to see, or maybe they just did not recognize that slightly weary expression, the slightly condescending smile. Maybe they simply thought that was how lords behaved. True enough, a good many did, but it irked Perrin to watch these people—his people—put up with it.

As the hubbub began to diminish, Jac and Elisa presented their other guests—all but Tam and Abell, who had already met him—to Lord Luc of Chiendelna, saying that he was advising them in ways to defend themselves against the Trollocs, that he encouraged them to stand up to the Whitecloaks, stand up for themselves. Approving murmurs of agreement came from the rest of the room. If the Two Rivers had been choosing a king, Lord Luc would have had the al’Seens and Lewins behind him entire. He knew it, too. His apparent bored complacency did not last long, though.

At his first glimpse of Verin’s smooth-cheeked face, Luc stiffened slightly, eyes flickering to her hands so quickly many would not have noticed. He very nearly dropped his embroidered gloves. Plump and plainly dressed, she might have been another farm wife, but clearly he knew an Aes Sedai’s ageless face, when he saw one. He was not particularly happy to see one here. The corner of his left eye twitched as he listened to Mistress al’Seen name “Mistress Mathwin” “a scholar from outside”.

Verin smiled at him as if half-asleep. “A pleasure,” she murmured. “House Chiendelna. Where is that? It has a Borderland sound.”

“Nothing so grand,” Luc replied quickly, giving her a wary, fractional bow. “Murandy, actually. A minor house, but old.” He seemed uneasy about taking his eyes from her for the rest of the introductions.

Tomas he barely glanced at. He had to know him for “Mistress Mathwin’s” Warder, yet dismissed him out of hand as clearly as if he had shouted it. That was purely strange. However good Luc was with that sword, no one was good enough to dismiss a Warder. Arrogance. The fellow had enough for ten men. He proved it with Faile so far as Perrin was concerned.

The smile Luc offered her was certainly more than self-assured; it was also familiar and decidedly warm. In fact, it was too admiring and too warm by half. He took her hand in both of his to bow over, and peered into her eyes as if trying to see through the back of her head. For an instant Perrin thought she was about to look over at him, but instead she returned the lord’s stare with a red-cheeked pretense to coolness and a slight bow of her head.

“I, too, am a Hunter for the Horn, my Lord,” she said, sounding a touch breathless. “Do you think to find it here?”

Luc blinked and released her hand. “Perhaps, my Lady. Who can say where the Horn might be?” Faile looked a little surprised—maybe disappointed—at his sudden loss of interest.

Perrin kept his expression neutral. If she wanted to smile at Wil al’Seen and blush at fool lords, she could. She could make an idiot of herself any way she wanted, gawking at every man who came along. So Luc wanted to know where the Horn of Valere was? It was hidden away in the White Tower, that was where. He was tempted to tell the man, just to make him grind his teeth in frustration.

If Luc had been surprised to find out who his other fellows in the al’Seen house were, his reaction to Perrin was peculiar to say the least. He gave a start at the sight of Perrin’s face; shock flashed in his eyes. It was all gone in a moment, masked behind lordly haughtiness, except for a wild fluttering at the corner of one eye. The trouble was, it made no sense. It was not his yellow eyes that took Luc aback; he was sure of that. More as if the fellow knew him, somehow, and was surprised to see him here, but he had never met this Luc before in his life. More than that, he would have bet that Luc was afraid of him. No sense at all.

“Lord Luc is the one who suggested the boys go up on the rooftops,” Jac said. “No Trolloc will get close without those lads giving warning.”

“How much warning?” Perrin said dryly. This was an example of the great Lord Luc’s advice? “Trollocs see like cats in the dark. They’ll be on top of you, kicking in the doors, before your boys raise a shout.”

“We do what we can,” Flann barked. “Stop trying to frighten us. There are children listening. Lord Luc at least offers helpful suggestions. He was at my place the day before the Trollocs came, seeing I had everybody placed properly. Blood and ashes! If not for him, the Trollocs would have killed us all.”

Luc did not seem to hear the praise offered him. He was watching Perrin cautiously while fussing with his gauntlets, tucking them behind the golden wolf’s-head buckle of his sword belt. Faile was watching him, too, with a slight frown. He ignored her.

“I thought it was Whitecloaks saved you, Master Lewin. I thought a Whitecloak patrol arrived in the nick of time and drove the Trollocs off.”

“Well, they did.” Flann scrubbed a hand through his gray hair. “But Lord Luc . . . If the Whitecloaks hadn’t come we could have . . . At least he doesn’t try to frighten us.” he muttered.

“So he doesn’t frighten you,” Perrin said. “Trollocs frighten me. And the Whitecloaks keep the Trollocs back for you. When they can.”

“You want to credit the Whitecloaks?” Luc fixed Perrin with a cold stare, as if pouncing on a weakness. “Who do you think is responsible for the Dragon’s Fang scribbled on people’s doors? Oh, their hands never hold charcoal, but they are behind it. They stalk into these good people’s homes, asking questions and demanding answers as if it were their own roof overhead. I say these people are their own masters, not dogs for the Whitecloaks to call to heel. Let them patrol the country side—well and good—but meet them at the door and tell them whose land they are on. That is what I say. If you want to be a Whitecloak dog, be so, but do not begrudge these good people their freedom.”

Perrin met Luc’s eyes stare for stare. “I hold no affection for Whitecloaks. They want to hang me, or hadn’t you heard?”

The tall lord blinked as though he had not, or maybe had forgotten in his eagerness to spring. “Exactly what is it you do propose, then?”

Perrin turned his back on the man and went to stand in front of the fireplace. He did not mean to argue with Luc. Let everyone listen. They were certainly all looking at him. He would say what he thought and be done with it. “You have to depend on the Whitecloaks, have to hope they’ll keep the Trollocs down, hope they’ll come in time if the Trollocs attack. Why? Because every man tries to hang on to his farm, if he can, or to stay as close to it as possible if he can’t. You’re in a hundred little clusters, like grapes ripe for picking. As long as you are, as long as you have to pray the Whitecloaks can keep the Trollocs from stomping you into wine, you’ve no choice but to let them ask any questions they want, demand any answers they want. You have to stand by and watch innocent people hauled off. Or does anyone here think Haral and Alsbet Luhhan are Darkfriends? Natti Cauthon? Bodewhin and Eldrin?” Abell’s stare around the room dared anyone to hint at a yes, but there was no need. Even Adine Lewin’s attention was on Perrin. Luc frowned at him between studying the reactions of the people crowding the room.

“I know they shouldn’t have arrested Natti and Alsbet and all,” Wit said, “but that’s over.” He rubbed a hand across his bald head, and gave Abell a troubled look. “Except for getting them to let everybody go, I mean. They haven’t arrested anyone since, that I’ve heard. ”

“You think that means it’s done?” Perrin said. “Do you really think they’ll be satisfied with the Cauthons and the Luhhans? With two farms burned? Which of you will be next? Maybe because you said the wrong thing, or just to make an example. It could be Whitecloaks putting a torch to this house instead of Trollocs. Or maybe it’ll be the Dragon’s Fang scrawled on your door some night. There are always folk who believe that kind of thing.” A number of eyes darted to Adine, who shifted her feet and hunched her shoulders. “Even if all it means is having to tug your forelock to every Whitecloak who comes along, do you want to live that way? Your children? You’re at the mercy of the Trollocs, the mercy of the Whitecloaks, and the mercy of anybody with a grudge. As long as one has a hold on you, all three do. You’re hiding in the cellar, hoping one rabid dog will protect you from another, hoping the rats don’t sneak out in the dark and bite you.”

Jac exchanged worried looks with Flann and Wit, with the other men in the room, then. said slowly, “If you think we’re doing wrong, what is it you suggest?”

Perrin was not expecting the question—he had been sure they would get angry—but he went right on telling them what he thought. “Gather your people. Gather your sheep and your cows, your chickens, everything. Gather them up and take them where they might be safe. Go to Emond’s Field. Or Watch Hill, since it’s closer, thought that will put you right under the Whitecloaks’ eyes. As long as it’s twenty people here and fifty there, you are game for Trolloc taking. If there are hundreds of you together, you have a chance, and one that doesn’t depend on bowing your necks for the Whitecloaks.” That brought the explosion he expected.

“Abandon my farm completely!” Flann shouted right on top of Wit’s “You’re mad!” Words poured out on top of one another, from them, and from brothers and cousins.

“Go off to Emond’s Field? I’m too far away to do more than check the fields every day right now!”

“The weeds will take everything!”

“I don’t know how I’m going to harvest as it is!”

“ . . . if the rains come . . . !”

“ . . . trying to rebuild . . . !”

“ . . . tabac will rot . . . !”

“ . . . have to leave the clip . . . !”

Perrin’s fist smacking the lintel of the fireplace cut them short. “I haven’t seen a field trampled or fired, or a house or barn burned, unless there were people there. It’s people the Trollocs come for. And if they burn it anyway? A new crop can be planted. Stone and mortar and wood can be rebuilt. Can you rebuild that?” He pointed at Laila’s baby, and she clutched the child to her breast, glaring at him as though he had threatened the babe himself. The looks she gave her husband and Flann were frightened, though. An uneasy murmur rose.

“Leave,” Jac muttered, shaking his head. “I don’t know, Perrin.”

“It is your choice, Master al’Seen. The land will still be here when you come back. Trollocs can’t carry that off. Think whether the same can be said for your family.”

The murmur grew to a buzz. A number of women were confronting their husbands, mostly those with a child or two in tow. None of the men seemed to be arguing.

“An interesting plan,” Luc said, studying Perrin. From his face there was no telling whether he approved of it. “I shall watch to see how it turns out. And now, Master al’Seen, I must be on my way. I only stopped to see how you were doing.” Jac and Elisa saw him to the door, but the others were too busy with their own discussions to pay much attention. Luc left tight-mouthed. Perrin had the feeling his departures were usually as grand as his arrivals.

Jac came straight from the door to Perrin. “It’s a bold plan you have. I will admit I’m not keen on abandoning my farm, but you talk sense. I don’t know what the Children will make of it, though. They seem a suspicious lot, to me. They might think we’re all plotting something against them if we gather together.”

“Let them think it,” Perrin said. “A village full of people can take Luc’s advice and tell them to be about their business elsewhere. Or do you think it’s better to stay vulnerable just to hold the Whitecloaks’ goodwill, such as it is?”

“No. No, I see your point. You’ve convinced me. And everybody else, too, it seems.”

It did appear to be true. The murmur of discussion was dying down, but only because everyone looked to be in agreement. Even Adine, who was marshaling her daughters with loud orders for packing immediately. She actually gave Perrin a grudgingly approving nod.

“When do you mean to go?” Perrin asked Jac.

“As soon as I can get everybody ready. We can make Jon Gaelin’s place on the North Road before sunset. I’ll tell Jon what you say, and everybody down to Emond’s Field. Better there than Watch Hill. If we mean to be out from under the Whitecloaks’ thumb as well as the Trollocs’, best not to sit under their noses. “Jac scratched his narrow fringe of hair with one finger. “Perrin, I don’t think the Children would actually hurt Natti Cauthon and the girls, or the Luhhans, but it worries me. If they do think we’re plotting, who’s to say?”

“I mean to get them free as soon as I can, Master al’Seen. And anybody else the Whitecloaks arrest, for that matter.”

“A bold plan,” Jac repeated. “Well, I had better get people moving if I’m going to have us to Jon’s by sundown. Go with the Light, Perrin.”

“A very bold plan,” Verin said, coming up as Master al’Seen hurried off calling orders for wagons to be hauled out and people to pack what they could carry. She studied Perrin interestedly, head tilted to one side, but no less so than Faile, at her side. Faile looked as though she had never seen him before.

“I don’t know why everybody keeps calling it that,” he said. “A plan, I mean. That Luc was talking nonsense. Defying Whitecloaks in the door. Boys on the roof to watch for Trollocs. A couple of open gates to disaster. All I did was point it out. They should have been doing this from the start. That man . . . ” He stopped himself from saying Luc irritated him. Not with Faile there. She might misunderstand.

“Of course,” Verin said smoothly. “I have not had the opportunity to see it work before this. Or perhaps I have and did not know it.”

“What are you talking about? See what work?”

“Perrin, when we arrived these people were ready to hold on here at all costs. You gave them good sense and strong emotion, but do you think the same from me would have shifted them, or from Tam, or Abell? Of any of us, you should know how stubborn Two Rivers people can be. You have altered the course events would have followed in the Two Rivers without you. With a few words spoken in . . . irritation? Ta’veren truly do pull other people’s lives into their own pattern. Fascinating. I do hope I have an opportunity to observe Rand again.”

“Whatever it is,” Perrin muttered, “it’s to the good. The more people together in one place, the safer.”

“Of course. Rand does have the sword, I take it?”

He frowned, but there was no reason not to tell her. She knew about Rand, and she knew what Tear had to mean. “He does.”

“Watch yourself with Alanna, Perrin.”

“What?” The Aes Sedai’s quick changes of topic were beginning to confuse him. Especially when she started telling him to do what he had already thought of, and thought to keep secret from her. “Why?”

Verin’s face did not change, but her dark eyes were suddenly bird bright and sharp. “There are many . . . designs in the White Tower. Not all are malignant, by far, but sometimes it is difficult to say until it is too late. And even the most benevolent often allow for a few threads snapped in the weaving, a few reeds broken and discarded in making a basket. A ta’veren would make a useful reed in any number of possible plans.” Just as suddenly she was looking a little confused by the bustle around her, more at home in a book or her own thoughts than in the real world. “Oh, my. Master al’Seen is not wasting any time, is he? I’ll just see if he can spare someone to fetch our horses.”

Faile shivered as the Brown sister moved away. “Sometimes Aes Sedai make me . . . uneasy,” she murmured.

“Uneasy?” Perrin said. “Most of the time they scare me half to death.”

She laughed softly and began playing with a button on his coat, peering at it intently. “Perrin, I . . . have . . . been a fool.”

“What do you mean?” She glanced up at him—she was about to twist the button right off—and he hastily added, “You are one of the least foolish people I know.” He clamped his teeth shut before he could add “most of the time,” and was glad he had when she smiled.

“That is very nice of you to say, but I was.” She patted the coat button and began adjusting his coat—which it did not need—and smoothing his lapels—which they did not need. “You were so silly,” she said,. speaking too fast, “just because that young man looked at me—really, he is much too boyish; not at all like you—that I thought I would make you jealous—just a little—by pretending—just pretending—to be attracted to Lord Luc. I should not have done it. Will you forgive me?”

He tried to sort through the jumbled words. It was good she thought Wil was boyish—if he tried to grow a beard it would probably be straggly—but she had not mentioned the way she returned Wil’s look. And if she had been pretending to be attracted to Luc, why had she blushed that way? “Of course I forgive you,” he said. A dangerous light appeared in her eyes. “I mean, there’s nothing to forgive.” If anything, the light sparkled hotter. What did she want him to say? “Will you forgive me? When I was trying to chase you away, I said things I shouldn’t have. Will you forgive me that?”

“You said some things that need forgiving?” she said sweetly, and he knew he was in trouble. “I cannot think what, but I will take it into consideration.”

Into consideration? She sounded very much the noblewoman there; maybe her father worked for some lord, so she could study the way ladies talked. He had no idea what she meant. Whenever he found out would be too soon, he was certain.

It was a relief to climb back into Stepper’s saddle amid the confusion of wagon teams being hitched and people arguing over what they could or could not take and children chasing down chickens and geese and tying their feet for loading. Boys were already driving the cattle eastward, and others herding the sheep out of the cote.

Faile made no reference to what had been said inside. Indeed, she smiled at him, and compared the keeping of sheep here to in Saldaea, and when one of the girls brought her a bunch of small red flowers, heartsblush, she tried to thread some of them into his beard, laughing at his efforts to stop her. In short, she had him jumping out of his skin. He needed another talk with Master Cauthon.

“Go with the Light,” Master al’Seen told him again just as they were ready to ride out, “and look after the boys.”

Four of the young men had decided to go with them, on rough-coated horses not nearly as good as those Tam and Abell rode. Perrin was not sure why he was the one who was supposed to look after them. They were all older than he, if not by much. Wil al’Seen was one, with his cousin Ban, one of Jac’s sons, who had gotten all the nose in that family, and a pair of the Lewins, Tell and Dannil, who looked so much like Flann that they could have been his sons instead of his nephews. Perrin had tried to talk them out of it, especially when they all made it plain that they wanted to help rescue the Cauthons and the Luhhans from the Whitecloaks. They seemed to think it was a matter of riding into the Children’s camp and demanding everybody’s return. Casting down our defiance, Tell called it, which nearly made Perrin’s hair stand on end. Too many gleeman’s tales. Too much listening to fools like Luc. He suspected that Wil had another reason, though he tried to pretend Faile did not exist, but the others were bad enough.

No one else made any objections. Tam and Abell only seemed concerned that they all knew how to use the bows they carried and could stay on a horse, and Verin merely observed, making notes in her little book. Tomas looked amused, and Faile busied herself plaiting a crown from the heartsblush, which turned out to be for Perrin. Sighing, he draped the flowers across the pommel of his saddle. “I will take care of them the best I can, Master al’Seen,” he promised.

A mile from the al’Seen farm, he thought he might lose one or two right there, when Gaul and Bain and Chiad suddenly appeared out of a thicket, loping to join them. Lose them to Aiel spears. Wil and his friends took one look at the Aiel and hastily began nocking arrows; without breaking stride the Aiel had spears ready to cast and their faces veiled. It took some minutes to straighten out. Gaul and the two Maidens seemed to think it a huge joke when they understood, laughing uproariously, and that unsettled the Lewins and al’Seens as much as finding out that the three were Aiel, and two of them women. Wil essayed a smile at Bain and Chiad, and they exchanged looks and brief nods. Perrin did not know what was going on there, but he decided to let it alone unless Wil looked to get his throat cut. Time enough to stop it if one of the Aiel women actually took her knife out. Might teach Wil a thing or two about smiling.

He intended that they should push on to Watch Hill as quickly as they could, but a mile or so north of the al’Seen place he saw one of the farms that produced those scattered plumes of chimney smoke. Tam was keeping them far enough away that the people around the farmhouse were only shapes. Except to Perrin’s eyes; he could see children in the yard. And Jac al’Seen was the nearest neighbor. Had been, until today. He hesitated, then reined Stepper toward the farm. Not that it was likely to do any good, but he had to try.

“What are you doing?” Tam asked, frowning.

“Giving them the same advice I gave Master al’Seen. It won’t take a minute.”

Tam nodded, and the others turned with him. Verin was studying Perrin thoughtfully. The Aiel peeled away short of the farm to wait to the north, Gaul running a little apart from the Maidens.

Perrin did not know the Torfinns nor they him, yet to his surprise, once the excitement of strangers was past, the staring at Tomas and Verin and Faile, they listened and began hitching horses to two wagons and a pair of high-wheeled carts before he and the others rode on.

Three more times he stopped when their route took them near to farmhouses, once at a cluster of five close together. It was always the same. The people protested they could not just leave their farms, but each time he left behind a bustle of packing and a gathering of farm animals.

Something else happened, too. He could not stop Wil and his cousin, or the Lewins, from talking with the young men on the farms. Their party grew by thirteen, Torfinns and al’Dais, Ahans and Marwins, armed with bows and riding an ill-matched assortment of ponies and plow horses, all eager to rescue the prisoners from the Whitecloaks.

It was not as smooth as that, of course. Wil and the others from the al’Seen farm thought it unfair that he warned the newcomers about the Aiel, spoiling the fun they hoped to have seeing them jump. They jumped more than enough to suit Perrin, and the way they peered at every bush, much less every stand of trees, made it clear that they thought there must be more Aiel about no matter what he said. At first Wil tried lording it over the Torfinns and the rest on the grounds that he had been the first to join Perrin—one of the first, at least, he admitted when Ban and the Lewins glared at him—while they were latecomers.

Perrin put an end to it by dividing them into two groups of about the same size and putting Dannil and Ban each in charge of one, though there was some grumbling over that, too, in the beginning. The al’Dais thought the leaders should be chosen according to age—Bili al’Dai being the eldest by a year—while others put forward Hu Marwin as the best tracker, and Jairn Torfinn as the best shot, while Kenley Ahan had been to Watch Hill often before the Whitecloaks came and would know his way around the village. They all seemed to think it a lark. Tell’s phrase about casting defiance was repeated more than once.

Finally Perrin rounded on them in cold anger, forcing everyone to halt in the grass between two copses. “This is not a game, and it isn’t a Bel Tine dance. You do what you’re told, or else go back home. I don’t know what use you are anyway, and I’ve no intention of getting killed because you think you know what you are doing. Now line up and shut up. You sound like the Women’s Circle meeting in a wardrobe.”

They did it, stringing themselves out in two columns behind Ban and Dannil. Wil and Bili wore disgruntled frowns, but they held whatever objections they had. Faile gave Perrin an approving nod, and so did Tomas. Verin watched it all with a smooth, unreadable face, no doubt thinking she was seeing a ta’veren at work. Perrin saw no need to tell her he had just tried to think of what a Shienaran he knew, a soldier named Uno, would have said, though no doubt Uno would have put it in harsher words.

Farms began to appear more frequently as they approached Watch Hill, coming in clumps closer together until they ran on continuously the way they did near Emond’s Field, a patchwork of hedged or stone-walled fields separated by narrow lanes, footways and wagon paths. Even with their pauses at the four farms, there was still some daylight left, still men working their crops, and boys driving sheep and cattle in from pasture for the night. No one would be leaving their animals out these days.

Tam suggested Perrin cease warning people, and he reluctantly agreed. They would all head for Watch Hill here, alerting the Whitecloaks. Twenty-odd people riding together by the back ways attracted enough eyes, though most people appeared too busy to do more than glance. It would have to be done sooner or later, though, and the sooner the better. So long as people remained in the countryside, needing Whitecloak protection, then the Whitecloaks had a foothold in the Two Rivers they might not want to give up.

Perrin kept a sharp eye out for any sign of Whitecloak patrols, but except for one dust cloud over toward the North Road, heading south, he saw none. After a time Tam suggested they dismount and lead their horses. Afoot there was less chance of being spotted, and the hedges and even the low stone walls shielded them a little.

Tam and Abell knew a thicket that gave a good view of the Whitecloak camp, a tangle of oak and sourgum and leatherleaf that covered three or four hides little more than a mile south and west of Watch Hill over an open stretch of ground. They entered from the south, hurrying. Perrin hoped no one had seen them go in, no one to wonder why they did not come out and comment on it.

“Stay here,” he told Wil and the other young men while they were tying their horses to branches. “Keep your bows handy, and be ready to run if you hear a shout. But don’t move unless you hear me shout. And if anybody makes any noise, I’ll pound his head like an anvil. We’re here to look, not pull the Whitecloaks down on us by tramping around like blind bulls.” Fingering their bows nervously, they nodded. Perhaps it was beginning to dawn on them just what they were doing. The Children of the Light might not take kindly to finding Two Rivers folk riding about in an armed bunch.

“Were you ever a soldier?” Faile asked quizzically in a low voice. “Some of my father’s . . . guards talk that way.”

“I’m a blacksmith.” Perrin laughed. “I’ve just heard soldiers talk. It seems to work, though.” Even Wil and Bili were peering about uneasily and hardly daring to move.

Creeping from tree to tree, he and Faile followed Tam and Abell to where the Aiel were already crouching near the thicket’s north edge. Verin was there, too, and Tomas, of course. The brush made a thin screen of leaves, enough to hide them but no hindrance to observation.

The Whitecloak encampment stretched out at the foot of Watch Hill like a village itself. Hundreds of men, some armored, moved among long, straight rows of white tents, with lines of horses, five deep, staked out to east and west. Animals being unsaddled and curried indicated patrols finishing their day, while a double column of maybe a hundred mounted men, pristine and precise, trailed off toward the Waterwood at a brisk walk, lances all at the same angle. At intervals around the encampment white-cloaked guards marched up and down, lances shouldered like spears, burnished helmets flashing in the sinking sun.

A rumble came to Perrin’s ears. Well to the west twenty horsemen appeared, galloping from the direction of Emond’s Field, hurrying toward the tents. From the direction he and the others had come. A few minutes slower, and they would have been seen for sure. A horn sounded, and men began moving to the cook fires.

Off to one side lay a much smaller camp, its tents set haphazardly. Some sagged against their guy ropes. Whoever stayed there, most were gone now. Only a few horses flicking their tails against flies along a short picket rope indicated that anyone was there at all. Not Whitecloaks. The Children of the Light were too rigidly tidy for that camp.

Between the thicket and the two sets of tents was an expanse of grass and wildflowers. Very likely the local farmers used to use it for pasture. Not now, however, It was fairly flat ground. Whitecloaks galloping like that patrol could cover it in a minute.

Abell directed Perrin’s attention to the large camp. “You see that tent near the middle, with a. man standing watch at either end? Can you make it out?” Perrin nodded. The low sun was slanting sharp shadows eastward, but he could see well enough. “That’s where Natti and the girls are. And the Luhhans. I’ve seen them come out and go in. One at a time, and always with a guard, even to the latrines.”

“We have tried to sneak in at night three times,” Tam said, “but they keep a tight watch over the perimeter of the camp. We barely got away the last time.”

It would be like trying to stick your hand into an anthill without being stung. Perrin sat down at the base of a tall leatherleaf with his bow across his knees. “I want to think on this awhile. Master al’Thor, will you settle Wil and that lot down? See none of them takes it into his head to run for home. Like as not they’d ride straight for the North Road, not thinking, and we’d have half a hundred of those Whitecloaks over here to investigate. If any of them thought to bring food, you could see they get something to eat. If we have to run, we may spend the rest of the night in the saddle.”

Abruptly he realized he was giving orders, but when he tried to apologize, Tam grinned and said, “Perrin, you took charge back at Jac’s place. This isn’t the first time I’ve followed a younger man who could see what had to be done.”

“You are doing good, Perrin,” Abell said before the two older men slipped back into the trees.

Perplexed, Perrin scratched his heard. He had taken charge? Now that he thought of it, neither Tam nor Abell had really made a decision since leaving the al’Seen farm, only offered suggestions and left it to him. Neither had called him “lad” since then, either.

“Interesting,” Verin said. She had her small book out. He wished he could have a chance to read what she had written.

“You going to caution me about being foolish again?” he said.

Instead of answering, she said in a meditative voice, “It will be even more interesting to see what you do next. I cannot say you are shifting the world on its foundations, as Rand al’Thor is, but the Two Rivers is surely moving. I wonder if you have a clue as to where you are moving it.”

“I mean to free the Luhhans and the Cauthons,” he told her angrily. “That’s all!” Except for the Trollocs. He let his head drop back against the bole of the leatherleaf and closed his eyes. “All I’m doing is what I have to do. The Two Rivers will stay right where it always has.”

“Of course,” Verin said.

He heard her moving away, her and Tomas, slipper and boots alike soft on ground strewn with last year’s leaves. He opened his eyes. Faile was staring after the pair, and not best pleased.

“She will not leave you alone,” she muttered. The plaited crown of heartsblush he had left on his saddle dangled from her hand.

“Aes Sedai never do,” he told her.

She turned on him with a challenging look. “I suppose you mean to try bringing them out tonight?”

It had to be done now. Because he had been passing his warning about, and folks knew who had told them. Maybe the Whitecloaks would not hurt their prisoners. Maybe. He trusted Whitecloak mercy as far as he could throw a horse. He glanced at Gaul, who nodded.

“Tam al’Thor and Abell Cauthon move well for wetlanders, but these Whitecloaks are too stiff to see everything that moves in the dark, I think. I think they expect their enemies to come in numbers, and where they can be seen.”

Chiad turned amused gray eyes on the Aielman. “Do you mean to move like wind then, Stone Dog? It will be diverting to see a Stone Dog try to move lightly. When my spear-sister and I have rescued the prisoners, perhaps we will go back for you, if you are too old to find your own way.” Bain touched her arm, and she looked at the flame-haired woman in surprise. After a moment, she flushed slightly under her tan. Both women shifted their eyes to Faile, who was still watching Perrin, her head up and her arms crossed now.

He took a long breath. If he told her he did not want her to come, Bain and Chiad almost certainly would not, either. They were still making a point of being with her, not him. Maybe Faile was, too. Perhaps he and Gaul could do it alone, but he could not see how to make her stay if she did not want to. Faile being Faile, she would just as likely sneak after them. “You will stay close to me,” he said firmly. “I want to rescue prisoners, not leave another behind.”

Laughing, she dropped down beside him, snuggling her shoulder under his arm. “Staying close to you sounds a fine idea.” She flipped the crown of red flowers onto his head, and Bain chuckled.

He rolled his eyes up; he could just see the edge of the thing hanging over his forehead. He must look a fool. He left it there, though.

The sun slid down as slowly as a bead in honey. Abell brought some bread and cheese—over half those would-be heroes had not brought anything to eat after all—and they ate and waited. Night came, lit by a moon already high but obscured by scurrying clouds. Perrin waited. Lights vanished in the Whitecloak camp, and in Watch Hill, too, leaving a sprinkling of glowing windows across the otherwise dark mound, and he gathered Tam and Faile and the Aiel around him. Everyone’s face was clear, to him. Verin stood close enough to listen. Abell and Tomas were with the other Two Rivers folk, keeping them quiet.

He felt a little odd giving instructions, so kept them simple. Tam was to have everyone ready to ride the moment Perrin returned with the prisoners. The Whitecloaks would be after them as soon as they discovered what was up, so a place to hide was needed. Tam knew one, an empty farmhouse in the edge of the Westwood.

“Try not to kill anybody, if you can manage it,” Perrin cautioned the Aiel. “The Whitecloaks will be hot enough at losing their prisoners. They’ll set the sun afire if they lose men, too.” Gaul and the Maidens nodded as if they looked forward to it. Strange people. They vanished into the night.

“Have a care,” Verin told him softly as he slung his bow across his back. “Ta’veren does not mean immortal.”

“Tomas might be a help, you know.”

“Do you think one more would make a difference?” she said musingly. “Besides, I have other uses for him.”

Shaking his head, he moved out from the thicket, going to elbows and knees, almost flat to the ground, as soon as he was beyond the brush. Faile imitated him at his side. The grass and wildflowers stood high enough to screen them. He was glad she could not see his face. He was desperately afraid. Not for himself, but if anything happened to her . . .

Like two more shifting moonshadows they crawled across the open ground, stopping at Perrin’s signal about ten paces from where guards paced up and down, cloaks gleaming in the moonlight, a little way out from the first row of tents. Two came face-to-face almost in front of them, stomping to a halt.

“All is well with the night,” one announced. “The Light illumine us, and protect us from the Shadow.”

“All is well with the night,” the other replied. “The Light illumine us, and protect us from the Shadow.

Turning on their heels, they marched away, looking neither left nor right.

Perrin let each take a dozen paces, then touched Faile’s shoulder and rose, barely letting himself breathe. He could hardly hear her breathing, either. Almost tiptoeing, they hurried in among the tents, dropping low again as soon as they were past the first. Men snored inside, or muttered in their sleep. Except for that, the camp was silent. The tramp of the guards’ boots was plainly audible. The smell of doused cook fires hung in the air, the scents of canvas and horses and men.

Silently he motioned for Faile to follow him. Tent ropes made snares for unwary feet in the darkness. They were clear to him, though, and he wove a path through for them.

He had the location of the prisoners’ tent marked in his head, and he started toward it cautiously. Near the center of the camp. A long way there, and a long way back.

The crunch of boots on the ground and a grunt from Faile spun him around just in time to be knocked down by the rush of a big shape in a white cloak, a man as thick as Master Luhhan himself. Iron fingers dug into his throat as the two of them rolled. Perrin seized the man’s chin with one hand, forcing his head back, trying to push him off. Prying at the grip on his throat, he pounded at the fellow’s ribs with his fist, producing grunts and no other effect he could tell. Blood roared in his ears; his vision narrowed, black creeping in from the sides. He fumbled for his axe, but his fingers felt numb.

Suddenly the man jerked and collapsed atop him. Perrin pushed the limp form off himself and drew in deep lungfuls of sweet night air.

Faile tossed aside a chunk of firewood and rubbed the side of her head. “He did not think I was worth worrying about, beyond knocking down,” she whispered.

“A fool,” Perrin whispered back. “But a strong one.” He was going to have the feel of those fingers at his neck for days. “Are you all right?”

“Of course. I am not a porcelain figurine.”

He supposed she was not, at that.

Hastily dragging the unconscious man up against the side of a tent where he hoped no one would find him soon, he stripped off the fellow’s white cloak and bound his hands and feet with spare bowstrings. A kerchief found in the fellow’s pocket served for a gag. Not very clean, but that was his own fault. Lifting his bow over his head, Perrin settled the cloak around his shoulders. If anyone else saw them, maybe they would mistake him for one of their own. The cloak had a golden knot of rank beneath the flaring sunburst. An officer. Even better.

He walked between the tents openly now, and quickly. Hidden or not, that fellow could be found any moment and the alarm raised. Faile scudded along beside him like his shadow, scanning the camp for signs of life as alertly as he did. Shifting moonshadows obscured the spaces between the tents even for his eyes.

Approaching the prison tent, he slowed, so as not to excite the guards; a white-cloaked man stood at this end, and the gleaming lance point of another rose above the tent’s peaked roof.

Suddenly that lance point vanished. There was no sound. It simply fell.

A heartbeat later, two patches of darkness abruptly became veiled Aiel, neither tall enough for Gaul. Before the guard could move, one of them leaped into the air, kicking him in the face. He staggered to his knees, and the other Maiden spun, adding her own kick. The guard dropped bonelessly. Crouching, the Maidens looked around, spears ready, to see if they had roused anyone.

At the sight of Perrin in a white cloak, they nearly went for him, until they saw Faile. One shook her head and whispered to the other, who appeared to laugh silently.

Perrin told himself he should not feel disgruntled, but first Faile saved him from being strangled, and now she saved him from a spear through his liver. For somebody who was supposedly leading a rescue, he was making a fine showing so far.

Tossing the tent flap aside, he put his head into the interior, which was even darker than outside. Master Luhhan lay asleep across the tent’s entrance, with the women huddled together toward the back. Perrin put a hand over Haral Luhhan’s mouth and, when his eyes popped open, laid a finger across his own lips. “Wake the others,” Perrin said in a low voice. “Quietly. We are taking you out of here.” Recognition dawned in Master Luhhan’s eyes, and he nodded.

Backing out of the tent, Perrin stripped the cloak from the downed guard. The man was still breathing—hoarsely, and bubbling through a thoroughly broken nose—but being manhandled did not wake him. They had to hurry now. Gaul was there, with the cloak from the other guard. The three Aiel watched the other tents cautiously. Faile practically danced with impatience.

When Master Luhhan brought his wife and the other women out, all of them peering about nervously in the moonlight, Perrin hurriedly put one of the cloaks around the blacksmith. It was a poor fit—Haral Luhhan seemed to be made from tree trunks—but it had to do. The other went around Alsbet Luhhan. She was not so large as her husband, but still as big as most men. Her round face looked surprised at first, but then she nodded; pulling the fallen guard’s conical helmet from his head, she stuck it on her own, squashing it down atop her thick braid. The two guards they bound and gagged with strips of blanket and laid inside the tent.

Sneaking out again the way they had come in was impossible; Perrin had known that from the start. Even if Master and Mistress Luhhan could have moved quietly enough—which he doubted—Bode and Eldrin were clinging to each other in shocked disbelief at rescue. Only their mother’s soft murmurs kept them from breaking into relieved tears already. He had planned for it. Horses were needed, both for a quick burst of speed away from the camp and to carry everyone afterward. There were horses at the picket lines.

The Aiel ghosting ahead, he followed behind with Faile and the Cauthons behind, Haral and Alsbet bringing up the rear. To a casual glance, at least, they looked to be like three Whitecloaks escorting four women.

The picketed horses were guarded, but only on the side away from the tents. After all, why guard them from the men who rode them? It certainly made Perrin’s job easier. They simply walked up to the line of horses nearest the tents, each secured by a simple rope hackamore, and untied one apiece, except for the Aiel. The hardest part was getting Mistress Luhhan up barebacked; it took Perrin and Master Luhhan both, and she kept trying to push her skirts down to cover her knees. Natti and her girls scrambled up easily, and Faile, of course. The guards supposedly watching the horses continued their measured rounds, calling to each other about all being well with the night.

“When I give the word,” Perrin began, and someone in the camp shouted, then again, more loudly; a horn sounded, and shouting men poured out of the tents. Whether they had found the prisoners gone, or the unconscious man who had attacked him, it made no difference. “Follow me!” Perrin cried, digging his heels into the dark gelding he had chosen. “Ride!”

It was a madcap rush, but he tried to keep an eye on everyone. Master Luhhan was almost as bad a rider as his wife, the pair of them bouncing around, nearly falling as their horses ran. Either Bode or Eldrin was screaming at the top of her lungs, from excitement or terror. Luckily the guards were not expecting trouble from inside the camp. One white-cloaked man peering into the darkness turned just in time to throw himself out of the way of the charging horses with a cry almost as shrill as the Cauthon girl’s. More horns bayed behind them, and shouts with the definite sound of orders hammered the night, well before they reached the cover of the thicket. Not that it was much cover now.

Tam had everyone mounted, as Perrin had asked. Or ordered. He swung straight from the gelding to Stepper. Verin and Tomas were the only ones not all but jumping up and down in their saddles; their horses were the only ones not dancing with their riders’ nervousness. Abell was trying to hug his wife and daughters all three at the same time, all of them laughing and crying. Master Luhhan was trying to shake every hand he could reach. Everybody except the Aiel, Verin and her Warder seemed to be offering everybody else congratulations, as though it were all done.

“Why, Perrin, it is you!” Mistress Luhhan exclaimed. Her round face looked peculiar under the helmet, sitting askew because of her braid. “What is that thing on your face, young man? I am more than grateful to you, but I will not have you at my table looking like a—”

“No time for that,” he told her, ignoring the shock on her face. She was not a woman people cut off, but the Whitecloak horns were sounding something besides an alarm now, a short repetitive cry, sharp and insistent. An order of some kind. “Tam, Abell, take Master Luhhan and the women to that hiding place you know. Gaul, you go with them. And Faile.” That would add Bain and Chiad. “And Hu and Haim.” That should be enough to be safe. “Move quietly. Quiet is better than speed, for a little while anyway. But go now.”

Those he named wound off westward with no argument, though Mistress Luhhan, holding her horse’s mane with both hands, gave him a very level look. It was the lack of argument from Faile that stunned him, enough that it took him a moment to realize he had called Master al’Thor and Master Cauthon by their first names.

Verin and Tomas had stayed behind, and he eyed her sharply. “Any chance of a little help from you?”’

“Not the way you mean, perhaps,” she replied calmly, as though the Whitecloak camp were not in turmoil just a mile off. “My reasons are no different today than yesterday. But I think it might rain in . . . oh . . . half an hour. Maybe less. Quite a downpour, I expect.”

Half an hour. Perrin grunted and turned to the remaining Two Rivers lads. Practically quivering with the desire to run, they held their bows in white-knuckled grips. He hoped they had all remembered to bring spare bowstrings, at least, since it was going to rain. “We,” he told them, “are going to draw the Whitecloaks off so Mistress Cauthon and Mistress Luhhan and the rest can get away safely. We’ll take them south along the North Road until we can lose them in the rain. If anyone wants out, he had best ride now.” A few hands shifted on their reins, but they all sat their saddles looking at him. “All right, then. Shout like you’ve gone mad so they’ll hear us. Shout until we reach the road.”

Bellowing, he wheeled Stepper and galloped for the road. At first he was not really certain they would follow, but their wild howls drowned his roar and the thunder of their hooves. If the Whitecloaks did not hear that, they were deaf.

Not all of them stopped shouting when they reached the hard-packed dirt of the North Road and swung south at a dead run through the night. Some laughed and whooped. Perrin shrugged out of the white cloak and let it fall. The horns sounded again, a little fainter now.

“Perrin,” Wil called, leaning forward on the neck of his horse, “what do we do now? What do we do next?”

“We hunt Trollocs!” Perrin shouted over his shoulder. From the way the laughter redoubled, he did not think they believed him. But he could feel Verin’s eyes drilling into his back. She knew. Thunder in the night sky echoed the horses’ hooves.