Knife of Dreams by Robert Jordan
"My Lady,'' Aravine called anxiously, and Faile turned to find the plump-faced woman kneeling on the paving stones and lifting Maighdin's head onto her lap. Maighdin's eyelids fluttered but never came more than half open. Her lips moved weakly, but only mumbles emerged.
"What happened?" Faile said, hurrying to kneel beside them.
"I don't know, my Lady. She was drinking as if she intended to empty the skin, and suddenly she staggered. The next I knew, she just collapsed." Aravine's hands fluttered like falling leaves.
"She must be very tired," Faile said, smoothing her maid's hair and trying not to think of how they were to get the woman out of the camp if she could not walk. It would be done if they had to carry her. Light, she felt a touch wobbly herself. "She saved us, Aravine." The Amadician woman nodded gravely.
"I will hide you somewhere safe until tonight, Faile Bashere," Rolan said, fastening the last buckles of his bow case harness. His brown shoufa was already wrapped around his head. "Then I will take you to the forest." Taking three short spears from Jhoradin, he thrust them up through the harness behind so the long spearpoints, glinting in the sun, stuck up above his head.
Faile almost collapsed beside Maighdin with relief. There would be no need to conceal anything from Perrin. But she could not afford weakness, not now. "Our supplies." she began, and as if the sound of her voice were the last straw, the building gave a squealing groan and fell in with a crash that drowned out the explosions for a moment.
"I will see that you have what you need," Rolan told her, raising the black veil across his face. Jhoradin handed him another spear and his buckler, which he hung on his belt knife before seizing her right arm and drawing her to her feet. "'We must move quickly. I do not know who we are dancing the spears with, but the Mera'din will dance today."
"Aldin, will you carry Maighdin?" was all she managed to get out before Rolan strode away pulling her with him.
She looked over her shoulder to see Aldin lifting a limp Maighdin in his arms. Jhoradin had Lacile by her arm as firmly as Rolan had her. The three Brotherless were leading a parade of white-garbed men and women. And one boy. Theril wore a grim expression. Fumbling in her sleeve, no easy matter with Rolan's big hand on her arm, she closed her fingers around the ridged hilt of her dagger. Whatever was happening outside the walls, she might have need of that blade before nightfall.
Perrin ran along the winding street through the tents. No one moved in his sight, but through the roar of exploding fireballs and lightnings, he could hear other sounds of battle. Steel clashing on steel. Men shouting, as they killed or died. Men screaming. Blood ran down the left side of his face from a gash in his scalp, and he could feel it oozing down his right side from where a spear had grazed him, oozing down his left thigh from a spear that had bitten deeper. Not all of the blood on him was his own.
A face appeared at the opening to a low, dark tent and drew back hurriedly. A child's face, and frightened, not the first he had seen. The Shaido were being pressed so hard that a good many children had been left behind. They would be a problem for later, though. Over the tents, he could see the gates little more than a hundred paces ahead. Beyond them lay the fortress and Faile.
Two veiled Shaido darted out from beside a dirty brown wall-tent, spears at the ready. But not for him. They were looking at something off to the left. Without slowing, he ran into them. Both were larger than he, but the force of his rush carried them all to the ground, and he fell already fighting. His hammer smashed into the bottom of one man's chin while he stabbed and stabbed at the other man, blade biting deep. The hammer rose and crushed the first man's face, splashing blood, rose and fell again while he stabbed. The man with the ruined face twitched once as Perrin rose. The other lay staring at the sky.
A hint of motion at the corner of his left eye made him throw himself to the right. A sword whisked through the air where his neck would have been. Aram's sword. The onetime Tinker had taken wounds, too. Blood coated half his face like a strange mask, there were blood-wet rents in his red-striped coat, and his eyes looked almost glazed, like those of a corpse, but he still seemed to be dancing with that blade in his hands. His scent was the scent of death, a death he sought.
"Have you gone mad?'' Perrin growled. Steel rang against steel as he blocked that sword away with the head of his hammer. "What are you doing?" He blocked another slice of the blade, tried to grapple the other man, and barely danced back in time to get away with only a gash across his ribs.
"The Prophet explained it to me," Aram sounded in a daze, yet his sword moved with liquid ease, blows barely diverted with hammer or belt knife as Perrin backed away. All he could do was hope he did not trip over a tent rope or come up against a tent. "Your eyes. You're really Shadowspawn. It was you who brought the Trollocs to the Two Rivers. He explained it all. Those eyes. I should have known the first time I saw you. You and Elyas with those Shadowspawn eyes. I have to rescue the Lady Faile from you."
Perrin gathered himself. He could not keep moving ten pounds of steel as quickly as Aram moved a sword that weighed a third of that. Somehow, he had to get close, get beyond that blade blurring with the speed of its motion. He could not do so without getting cut, and likely badly, but if he waited much longer, the man was going to kill him. Something caught his heel, and he staggered backward, nearly falling.
Aram darted in, sword chopping down. Suddenly, he stiffened, eyes going wide, and the blade dropped from his hands. He toppled forward to lie on his face, two arrows jutting from his back. Thirty paces beyond him, a pair of veiled Shaido already had arrows nocked and drawn again. Perrin leaped sideways, behind a green, peaked tent, rolling to his feet quickly. At the corner of the tent, an arrow poked through the canvas, still quivering. Crouching, he made his way past the green tent and then a faded blue one, a low tent of dingy brown, hammer in one hand, knife in the other. This was not the first time he had played this game today.
Cautiously, he peeked around the edge of the brown tent. The two Shaido were nowhere to be seen. They might be stalking him in turn, or off hunting someone else already. The game had turned both ways before. He could see Aram, lying where he had fallen. A scrap of breeze ruffled the dark fletchings on the arrows sticking up from his back. Elyas had been right. He should never have let Aram pick up that sword. He should have sent him away with the carts, or made him go back to the Tinkers. So many things he should have done. Too late, now.
The gates called to him. He glanced over his shoulder. So close, now. Still crouching, he began to run again along those twisting streets, wary of those two Shaido or any others that might be lurking. The sounds of battle were ahead of him, now, coming from north and south, but that did not mean there would be no stragglers.
Rounding a corner only a few paces from the wide-open gates, he found them filled with people. Most were garbed in dirty white robes, but three were veiled algai'd'siswai, one of them a hulking fellow who would have dwarfed Lamgwin. That one had Faile's arm in his fist. She looked as if she had been rolled in the dirt.
With a roar, Perrin rushed forward raising his hammer, and the huge man flung Faile back and ran toward him, spear coming up as he plucked his buckler from his belt.
"Perrin!" Faile screamed.
The big Shaido seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat, and Perrin took advantage of it. His hammer hit the side of the man's head so hard that his feet left the ground as he fell. Another was right behind him, though, spear ready to stab. Suddenly the man grunted, surprise in the green eyes above his black veil, and dropped to his knees peering over his shoulder at Faile, who stood close. Slowly he fell forward, revealing a ridged steel hilt rising from his back. Perrin looked hastily for the third, and found him also lying on his face, with two wooden knife hilts sticking out of his back. Lacile was leaning against Arrela, weeping. No doubt she had found actually killing someone not so easy as she had supposed.
Alliandre was at the front of the crowd, too, and Maighdin right behind her, carried by a tall you
"I have, too," she said against his chest, hugging him hard. Her scent was full of joy, but she was trembling.
"Did they hurt you?" he asked gently.
"No. They. . . . No, Perrin, they didn't hurt me." There were other smells mixed in with her joy, though, laced through it inextricably. The dull, aching scent of sadness and the greasy aroma of guilt. Shame, like thousands of hair-fine needles pricking. Well, the man was dead, and a woman had the right to keep her secrets if she wanted.
"All that matters is that you're alive, and we're together again," he told her. "That's all that matters in the world."
"All that matters," she agreed, hugging him even harder. Hard enough that she actually groaned with the effort. But the next instant, she had pushed back and was examining his wounds, fingering open tears in his coat to look at them. "These don't look too bad." she said briskly, though all of those emotions still lay tangled in her joy. She reached up to part his hair and tugged until he bent his head so she could examine the slash along his scalp. "You'll need Healing, of course. How many Aes Sedai did you bring? How did you—? No, that's of no matter right now. There are enough of them to defeat the Shaido, and that is what's important."
"This lot of Shaido," he said, straightening to look down at her. Light, dirt or no dirt, she was so beautiful. "There'll be another six or seven thousand spears here in . . ." he glanced at the sun; it seemed it should be higher, "less than two hours, maybe. We need to finish up here and be moving before then, if we can. What's wrong with Maighdin?" She was limp as a feather pillow against the young man's chest. Her eyelids were fluttering without opening fully.
"She tired herself out saving our lives," Faile said, abandoning his injuries and turning to the other people in white. "Aravine, all of you, start gathering up gai'shain. Not just those sworn to me. Everybody in white. We leave no one we can reach behind. Perrin, what direction is safest?"
"North," he told her. "North is safe."
"Start them moving north," Faile went on. "Gather carts, wagons, packhorses, and load them with whatever you think we'll need. Hurry!" People started moving. Running. "No, you stay here, Aldin. Maighdin still needs to be carried. You stay, too, Alliandre. And Arrela. Lacile needs a shoulder to cry on for a while."
Perrin grinned. Put his wife down in the middle of a house engulfed in flames, and she would calmly set about putting the fire out. She would put it out, too.
Bending, he cleaned his belt knife on the green-eyed man's coat before sheathing it. His hammer needed a good wiping, too. He tried not to think about what he was smearing on the man's coat. The fire was fading from his blood. There was no thrill remaining, only tiredness. His wounds were beginning to throb.
"Will you send someone to the fortress to let Ban and Seonid know they can come out now?" he said as he slipped the hammer's haft back through the loop on his belt.
Faile stared at him in amazement. "They're in the fortress? How? Why?"
"Alyse didn't tell you?" He had always been slow to anger until Faile was taken. Now, he felt fury bubbling up in him. Bubbles like white-hot iron. "She said she was taking you with her when she left, but she promised to tell you to go to the fortress when you saw fog on the ridges and heard wolves howl by daylight. I'd swear she said it straight out. Burn me, you can't trust Aes Sedai an inch!”
Faile glanced toward the western ridge, where the fog still clung thickly, and grimaced. "Not Alyse, Perrin. Galina. If that wasn't a lie, too. It has to be her. And she has to be Black Ajah. Oh, how I wish I knew her real name." She moved her left arm and winced. She had been hurt. Perrin found himself wanting to kill the big Shaido all over again. Faile did not let her injury slow her, though. "Theril, come out from there. I see you peeking around the gate."
A skinny young man edged shyly around the corner of the gate. "My father told me to stay and keep an eye on you, my Lady," he said in an accent so rough that Perrin could barely understand.
"That's as may be," Faile said firmly, "but you run to the fortress as fast as you can and tell whoever you find there that Lord Perrin says they're to come. Run, now." The boy knuckled his forehead and ran.
In a quarter of an hour or so he reappeared, still running, followed by Seonid and Ban and all the others. Ban made a leg to Faile and murmured smoothly how pleased he was to see her again before ordering the Two Rivers men to set up a guard ring around the gate, bows at the ready and halberds stuck in the ground. He used his normal voice for that. He was another who was trying to acquire polish. Selande and Faile's other hangers-on rushed around her, all babbling with excitement and saying how worried they had been when she failed to appear after the wolves howled.
"I'm going to Masuri," Kirklin announced in tones that dared challenge. He did not wait for one, though, simply drawing his sword and running off along the wall to the north.
Tallanvor gave a cry when he saw Maighdin being held by the tall young man and had to be convinced that she was only exhausted. He still took her away from the fellow and held her against his own chest, whispering to her.
"Where is Chiad?" Gaul demanded. On learning that she had never been with them, he lifted the veil across his face. "The Maidens tricked me," he said grimly, "but I will find her before them."
Perrin caught his arm. "There are a lot of men out there who'll take you for a Shaido."
"I have to find her first, Perrin Aybara." There was something in the Aiel's voice, something in his scent, that Perrin could only call heartache. He understood the sorrow of thinking the woman you loved might be lost to you forever. He let go of Gaul's sleeve, and the man darted through the line of bowmen, spear and buckler in hand.
"I'll go with him," Elyas grinned. "Maybe I can keep him out of trouble." Drawing the long knife that had given him his name among the wolves, Long Tooth, he went running after the tall Aielman. If the two of them could not make their way safely out there, then no one could.
"If you are done jabbering, perhaps you will stand still for Healing," Seonid told Perrin. "You look as if you need it." Furen and Teryl were heeling her, hands on their sword hilts and eyes trying to watch in every direction. The ring of Two Rivers men were all very well, their attitude seemed to say, but Seonid's safety was their charge. They looked like leopards heeling a house cat. Only she was no house cat.
"See to Faile first," he said. "Her arm is hurt." Faile was talking with Alliandre, both of them so angry they should have had tails to bristle. No doubt angry over Alyse or Galina or whatever her name was.
"I do not see her bleeding like a stuck pig," Seonid lifted her hands to cup his head, and that too familiar chill hit him, like suddenly being immersed in a winter pond on the brink of freezing. He gasped and jerked, arms flailing out of his control, and when she released him, his wounds were gone, if not the blood smeared on his face and staining his coat and breeches. He also felt he could eat a whole deer by himself.
"What was that?" The diminutive Green turned away from him toward Faile. "Did you mention Galina Casban?"
"I don't know her last name," Faile said. "A round-faced Aes Sedai with a plump mouth and black hair and big eyes. Pretty in a way, but an unpleasant woman. Do you know her? I think she must be Black Ajah."
Seonid stiffened, hands knotting in her skirts. "That sounds like Galina. A Red, and decidedly unpleasant. But why would you make such an accusation? It is not a charge to bring against a sister lightly, even against one as disagreeable as Galina."
As Faile explained, beginning with the first meeting with Galina, Perrin's anger grew again. The woman had blackmailed her, threatened her, lied to her, then tried to murder her. His fists clenched so tight that his arms shook. "I'll break her neck when I get my h
"That is not your right," Seonid said sharply. "Galina must be tried before three sisters sitting as a court, and for this charge, they must be Sitters. The entire Hall of the Tower might sit for it. If she is found guilty, she will be stilled and executed, but justice in this lies with Aes Sedai."
"If?" he said incredulously. "You heard what Faile said. Can you have any doubt?" He must have looked threatening, because Furen and Teryl glided in to flank Seonid, their hands resting lightly on sword hilts, their eyes hard on his face.
"She's right, Perrin," Faile said gently. "When Jac Coplin and Len Congar were accused of stealing a cow, you knew they were thieves, but you made Master Thane prove they had stolen it before you let the Village Council have them strapped. It's just as important with Galina."
"The Village Council wouldn't have strapped them without a trial whatever I'd said," he muttered. Faile laughed. She laughed! Light, it was good to hear again. "Oh, all right. Galina belongs to the Aes Sedai. But if they don't take care of her, I will if I ever find her again. I don't like people hurting you."
Seonid sniffed at him, her scent disapproving. "Your arm is injured, my Lady?"
"See to Arrela first, please," Faile said. The Aes Sedai rolled her eyes in exasperation and took Faile's head between her hands. Faile shivered and exhaled, hardly more than a heavy sigh. Not a bad injury, then, and gone now in any case. She thanked Seonid while leading her to Arrela.
Suddenly Perrin realized he could not hear the explosions any longer. In fact, he could not recall hearing one for some time. That had to be good. "I need to find out what's happening. Ban, you keep a close guard on Faile."
Faile protested his going alone, and by the time he finally agreed to take ten of the Two Rivers men, a rider in lacquered armor had appeared rounding the northern corner of the town wall. Three thin blue plumes marked her as Tylee. As she rode closer, he realized she had a nude woman draped across her tall bay in front of the saddle. A woman bound at ankles and knees, wrists and elbows. Her long golden hair almost brushed the ground, and there were jeweled necklaces and ropes of pearls caught in it. A strand of large green stones and gold slid free and fell to the dirt as Tylee reined in. Removing her peculiar helmet with gauntleted hands, she rested it on the woman's upturned bottom.