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Authors: Robert Jordan

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Perrin sensed Faile tensing, and hastily put a hand on her arm when he realized she was drawing a knife. What did she think she was doing? Cenn was an irascible old fool, but that was no reason for knives. She gave an exasperated toss of her head, but at least she left it at that.
“That is enough, Cenn,” Marin said sharply. “You keep this to yourself. Or have you started running to the Whitecloaks with tales, like Hari and his brother Darl? I’ve my suspicions why the Whitecloaks came rummaging through Bran’s books. They took six off with them, and lectured Bran under his own roof about blasphemy. Blasphemy, of all things! Because they didn’t agree with what was in a book. You’re lucky I don’t make you replace those books for him. They burrowed through the whole inn like weasels. Hunting for more
blasphemous writings
, they said, as if anyone would hide a book. Tumbled all the mattresses from the beds, upset my linen closets. You are lucky I didn’t come haul you back here to put it all to rights again.”
Cenn drew in on himself a little more with each sentence, until he looked to be trying to pull his bony shoulders over his head. “I didn’t tell them anything, Marin,” he protested. “Just because a man mentions—That is, I just happened to say, just in passing—” He shook himself, still avoiding her eye but regaining some of his old manner. “I mean to take this up with the Council, Marin. Him, I mean.” He pointed a gnarled finger at Perrin. “We’re all in danger as long as he’s here. If the Children find out you’re sheltering him, they might blame the rest of us. Upset closets won’t be in it, then.”
“This is Women’s Circle business.” Marin rewrapped her shawl about her shoulders and moved to stand eye to eye with the thatcher. He was a little taller than she, but her sudden air of grave formality gave her the edge. He spluttered, but she rode right over his attempts to slide a word in. “Circle business, Cenn Buie. If you think it isn’t—if you even dare think of calling me a liar—you go flapping your tongue. You breathe a word of Women’s Circle business to anyone, including the Village Council …”
“The Circle has no right interfering in Council affairs,” he shouted.
“ … and see if your wife doesn’t have you sleeping in the barn. And eating what your milk cows leave. You think Council takes precedence over Circle? I’ll send Daise Congar over to convince you different, if you need convincing.”
Cenn flinched, as well he might. If Daise Congar was the Wisdom, she would probably force foul-tasting concoctions down his throat every day for the next year, and Cenn was too scrawny to stop her. Alsbet Luhhan was the only woman in Emond’s Field larger than Daise, and Daise had a mean streak and a temper to go with it. Perrin could not imagine her as Wisdom; Nynaeve would probably have a fit when she found out who had replaced her. Nynaeve had always believed she used sweet reason, herself.
“No need to get nasty, Marin,” Cenn muttered placatingly. “You want me to keep quiet, I’ll keep quiet. But Women’s Circle or no, you’re risking bringing the Children down on all of us.” Marin merely raised her eyebrows, and after a moment he slunk away, grumbling under his breath.
“Well done,” Faile said when Cenn disappeared around the corner of the inn. “I think I need to take lessons from you. I am not half so good at handling Perrin as you are with Master al’Vere and that fellow.” She smiled at Perrin to show she was joking. At least, he hoped that was what it meant.
“You have to know when to rein them short,” the older woman replied absently, “and when there’s nothing to do but give them their head. Letting them have their way when it isn’t important makes it easier to check
them when it is.” She was frowning after Cenn, not really paying attention to what she was saying, except maybe when she added, “And some should be tied in the stall and left there.”
Perrin leaped in hastily. Faile certainly did not need any advice of this sort. “Will he hold his tongue do you think, Mistress al’Vere?”
Hesitating, she said, “I believe he will. Cenn was born with a sore tooth that’s only gotten worse as he ages, but he isn’t like Hari Coplin or that lot.” Still, she had hesitated.
“We had best be moving,” he said. No one argued.
The sun was higher than he had expected, past its midday height already, which meant most people were indoors for their dinner. The few still out, mainly boys minding sheep or cows, were busy eating what they had brought with them wrapped up in a cloth, too absorbed in their food and too far from the cart paths to pay much mind to anyone passing. Still, Loial earned some stares despite the deep hood hiding his face. Even on Stepper Perrin came short of the Ogier’s chest on his tall mount. To the people who saw them from a distance they must have looked like an adult with two children, all on ponies, leading packponies. Certainly not a usual sight, but Perrin hoped that was what they thought they saw. Talk would draw notice. He had to avoid that until he got Mistress Luhhan and the others free. If only Cenn kept his peace. He kept the hood of his own cloak up, too. That might also cause talk, but not as much as if anyone saw his beard and realized he was definitely not a child. At least the day was not particularly warm. It almost felt like spring, not summer, after Tear.
He had no trouble finding the split oak, the two halves leaning apart in a wide fork with the inner surface black and hardened like iron, the ground beneath the thick spreading branches clear. Merely crossing the village was much shorter than going around, so Mistress al’Vere was already waiting, shifting her shawl a trifle impatiently. The Aiel were there, too, squatting on the mulch of old oak leaves and squirrel-chewed acorn hulls, Gaul apart from the two women. The Maidens and Gaul watched each other almost as closely as the surrounding woods. Perrin had no doubt they had managed to reach this spot unobserved. He wished he had that ability; he could stalk fairly well in the woods, but the Aiel did not seem to care if it was forest or farmland or city. When they did not want to be seen, they found a way not to be seen.
Mistress al’Vere insisted they go the rest of the way afoot, claiming the way was too overgrown for riding. Perrin did not agree, but he dismounted anyway. No doubt it would not be comfortable leading folk on horseback
while on foot. In any case, his head was full of plans. He needed a look at the Whitecloak camp up at Watch Hill before deciding how to rescue Mistress Luhhan and the others. And where were Tam and Abell hiding? Neither Bran nor Mistress al’Vere had said; perhaps they did not know. If Tam and Abell had not brought the prisoners out already, it was not an easy task. He had to do it somehow, though. Then he could turn his attention to Trollocs.
No one from the village had come this way in years, and the path had vanished, yet tall trees kept the undergrowth down to a large extent. The Aiel slipped along silently with everyone else, acceding to Mistress al’Vere’s insistence that they all stay together. Loial murmured approvingly at great oaks or particularly tall fir trees and leatherleaf. Occasionally a mocker or redbreast sang in the trees, and once Perrin smelled a fox watching them pass.
Suddenly he caught man scent that had not been there a moment before, heard a faint rustle. The Aiel tensed, crouching with spears ready. Perrin reached to his quiver.
“Be at ease,” Mistress al’Vere said urgently, motioning for weapons to be lowered. “Please, be at ease.”
Abruptly there were two men standing ahead, one tall and dark and slender to the left, the other short, stocky and graying to the right. Both held bows with arrows nocked, ready to raise and draw, with quivers balancing the swords on their hips. Both wore cloaks that seemed to fade into the surrounding foliage.
“Warders!” Perrin exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell us there are Aes Sedai here, Mistress al’Vere? Master al’Vere never mentioned it either. Why?”
“Because he doesn’t know,” she said hurriedly. “I did not lie when I said this is Women’s Circle business.” She turned her attention to the two Warders, neither of whom had relaxed an inch. “Tomas, Ihvon, you know me. Put those bows down. You know I’d not bring anyone here if they meant harm.”
“An Ogier,” the gray-haired man said, “Aiel, a yellow-eyed man—the one the Whitecloaks seek, of course—and a fierce young woman with a knife.” Perrin glanced at Faile; she held a blade ready to throw. He agreed with her this time. These might be Warders, but they showed no sign of lowering their bows yet; their faces might as well have been carved from anvils. The Aiel looked ready to begin dancing the spears without waiting to veil themselves. “A strange group, Mistress al’Vere,” the older Warder went on. “We shall see. Ihvon?” The slender man nodded and melted into
the undergrowth; Perrin could barely hear the fellow’s going. Warders moved like death itself when they wanted to.
“What do you mean, Women’s Circle business?” he demanded. “I know Whitecloaks would cause trouble if they knew about Aes Sedai, so you wouldn’t want to tell Hari Coplin, but why keep it secret from the Mayor? And us?”
“Because we agreed to,” Mistress al’Vere said irritably. The irritation seemed meant in equal parts for Perrin and the Warder still guarding them—there was no other word for it—with maybe a bit left over for the Aes Sedai. “They were at Watch Hill when the Whitecloaks came. No one there knew who they were except the Circle there, who passed them on to us to hide. From everyone, Perrin. It’s the best way to keep a secret, if only a few know. Light preserve me, I know two women who have stopped sharing their husbands’ beds for fear they might talk in their sleep. We agreed to keep it secret.”
“Why did you decide to change that?” the gray-haired Warder asked in a hard voice.
“For what I consider good and sufficient reasons, Tomas.” From the way she shifted her shawl, Perrin suspected she was hoping the Circle—and the Aes Sedai—thought so, too. Rumor had it the Circle could be even harder on each other than they were on the rest of the village. “Where better to hide you, Perrin, than with Aes Sedai? Surely you aren’t afraid of them, not after leaving here with one. And … . You will find out soon enough. You just have to trust me.”
“There are Aes Sedai and Aes Sedai,” Perrin told her. But those he considered the worst, the Red Ajah, did not bond Warders; the Red Ajah did not like men very much at all. This Tomas had dark unwavering eyes. They might rush him, or better simply leave, but the Warder would surely put an arrow through the first one to do something he did not like, and Perrin was ready to bet the man had more shafts handy for easy nocking. The Aiel seemed to agree; they still looked ready to spring in any direction at any moment, but they looked as if they could stand where they were until the sun froze, too. Perrin patted Faile on the shoulder. “It will be all right,” he said.
“Of course it will,” she replied, smiling. She had put the knife away. “If Mistress al’Vere says it, I trust her.”
Perrin hoped she was right. He did not trust as many people as he once had. Not Aes Sedai. And maybe not even Marin al’Vere. But maybe these Aes Sedai would help him fight Trollocs. He would trust anyone who did
that. But how far could he rely on Aes Sedai? They did what they did for their own reasons; the Two Rivers was home, to him, but to them it might be a stone on a stone’s board. Faile and Marin al’Vere appeared to be trusting, though, and the Aiel waited. For the moment, it seemed he had little choice.
Assurances
I
n a few minutes Ihvon returned. “You can go ahead, Mistress al’Vere” was all he said before he and Tomas both vanished into the brush again without so much as the rustle of a leaf.
“They are very good,” Gaul muttered, still staring around suspiciously. “A child could hide in this,” Chiad told him, slapping a redberry branch. But she watched the undergrowth as closely as Gaul did.
None of the Aiel appeared eager to go on. Not reluctant, precisely, and certainly not afraid, but definitely not eager. One day Perrin hoped to figure out what it was Aiel did feel toward Aes Sedai. One day. He was not particularly enthusiastic himself, today.
“Let’s go meet these Aes Sedai of yours,” he told Mistress al’Vere gruffly.
The old sickhouse was even more ramshackle than he remembered, a sprawling single story that leaned drunkenly, half the rooms open to the sky, a forty-foot sourgum tree poking up from one. The forest closed in on every side. A thick net of vines and briars snaked up the walls, covered the remaining thatch with green; he thought they might be all that was holding the building up. The front door was cleared, though. He smelled horses, and a faint aroma of beans and ham, but oddly, no woodsmoke.
Tying their animals to low branches, they followed Mistress al’Vere inside, where vine-shrouded windows admitted only a dim light. The front
room was large and bare of furnishings, with dirt in the corners and a few cobwebs that had escaped an obviously hasty cleaning. Four blanket rolls were laid out on the floor, with saddles and saddlebags and neatly tied bundles against the wall, and a small kettle on the stone hearth gave off the cooking smells despite the lack of any fire. A smaller kettle seemed to be water for tea, almost at the boil. Two Aes Sedai awaited them. Marin al’Vere curtsied hastily and launched into an anxious cascade of introductions and explanations.
Perrin leaned his chin against his bow. He recognized the Aes Sedai. Verin Mathwin, plump and square-faced, gray streaking her brown hair despite her smooth-cheeked Aes Sedai agelessness, was Brown Ajah, and like all Browns seemingly lost half the time in the search for knowledge, whether old and lost or new. But sometimes her dark eyes belied that vague dreamy expression, as now, looking past Marin at him sharp as tacks. She was one of two Aes Sedai besides Moiraine he was certain knew about Rand, and he suspected she knew more about himself than she let on. Her eyes took on that slight vagueness again as she listened to Marin, but for an instant they had weighed him on scales, factored him into her own plans. He would have to be very careful around her.
The other, a dark, slender woman in a deep green silk riding dress that contrasted sharply with Verin’s plain brown, ink-stained at the cuffs, he had never met, and only seen once. Alanna Mosvani was Green Ajah, if he remembered correctly, a beautiful woman with long black hair and penetrating dark eyes. Those eyes sought him, too, while she listened to Marin. Something Egwene had said came back to him.
Some Aes Sedai who shouldn’t know about Rand show too much interest in him. Elaida, for instance, and Alanna Mosvani. I don’t think I trust either of them.
Perhaps it would be best to be guided by Egwene until he found out differently.
His ears perked up when Marin said, still apprehensive, “You were asking about him, Verin Sedai. Perrin, I mean. All three boys, but Perrin among them. It seemed the easiest way to keep him from getting himself killed was to bring him to you. There just wasn’t any time to ask first. Do say you under—”
“It is quite all right, Mistress al’Vere,” Verin interrupted in a soothing tone. “You did exactly the correct thing. Perrin is in the right hands, now. Also I will enjoy the chance to learn more about the Aiel, and it is always a pleasure to talk with an Ogier. I will pick your brain, Loial. I have found some fascinating things in Ogier books.”
Loial gave her a pleased smile; anything to do with books seemed to please him. Gaul, on the other hand, exchanged guarded looks with Bain and Chiad.
“It is all right as long as you do not do it again,” Alanna said firmly. “Unless … . You are alone?” she asked Perrin in a voice that required an answer, and right now. “Did the other two return as well?”
“Why are you here?” he demanded right back.
“Perrin!” Mistress al’Vere said sharply. “Mind your manners! You may have picked up some rough ways out in the world, but you can just lose them again now that you are home.”
“Do not trouble yourself,” Verin told her. “Perrin and I are old friends now. I understand him.” Her dark eyes glittered at him for a moment.
“We will take care of him.” Alanna’s cool words seemed open to interpretation.
Verin smiled and patted Marin’s shoulder. “You had better go on back to the village. We don’t want anyone wondering why you are walking in the woods.”
Mistress al’Vere nodded. Pausing by Perrin, she put a hand on his arm. “You know you have my sympathy,” she said gently. “Just remember that getting yourself killed won’t help anything. Do what the Aes Sedai tell you.” He mumbled something noncommittal, but it seemed to satisfy her.
When Mistress al’Vere had gone, Verin said, “You have our sympathy as well, Perrin. If there was anything we could have done, we would have.”
He did not want to think of his family now. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Perrin!” Faile managed to copy Mistress al’Vere’s tone almost exactly, but he paid it no mind.
“Why are you here? It seems awfully coincidental. Whitecloaks and Trollocs, and the two of you just happen to be here at the same time.”
“Not coincidental at all,” Verin replied. “Ah, the tea water is ready.” The water subsided from a boil as she began to bustle about, tossing a handful of leaves into the kettle, directing Faile to find metal cups in one of the bundles against the wall. Alanna, with her arms folded beneath her breasts, never took her eyes off Perrin, their heat conflicting with the coolness of her face. “Year by year,” Verin continued, “we find fewer and fewer girls who can be taught to channel. Sheriam believes we may have spent the last three thousand years culling the ability out of humankind by gentling every man who can channel we find. The proof of it, she says, is how
very few men we do find. Why, even a hundred years ago the records say there were two or three a year, and five hundred years—”
Alanna harrumphed. “What else can we do, Verin? Let them go insane? Follow the Whites’ mad plan?”
“I think not,” Verin replied calmly. “Even if we could find women willing to bear children by gentled men, there is no guarantee the children would be able to channel, or would be girls. I did suggest that if they wanted to increase the stock, Aes Sedai should be the ones to have the children; themselves, in fact, since they put it forward in the first place. Alvia-rin was not amused.”
“She would not be,” Alanna laughed. The sudden flash of delight, breaking her fiery, dark-eyed stare, was startling. “I wish I could have seen her face.”
“Her expression was … interesting,” the Brown sister said musingly. “Calm yourself, Perrin. I will give you the rest of your answer. Tea?”
Trying to wipe the glare from his face, somehow he found himself seated on the floor; his bow beside him and a metal cup full of strong tea in his hand. Everyone sat in a circle in the middle of the room. Alanna took up the explanation of their presence, perhaps to forestall the other Aes Sedai’s tendency to ramble.
“Here in the Two Rivers, where I suspect no Aes Sedai had visited in a thousand years, Moiraine found two women who could not only be taught to channel, but who had the ability born in them, and heard of another who had died because she could not teach herself.”
“Not to mention three
ta’veren,
” Verin murmured into her tea.
“Do you have any idea,” Alanna went on, “how many towns and villages we usually must visit to find three girls with the ability inborn? The only wonder is that it took us so long to come hunting more. The old blood is very strong here in the Two Rivers. We were only in Watch Hill a week before the Children appeared, and were very careful not to reveal who we were to any but the Women’s Circle there, yet even so we found four girls who can be trained, and one child I think has the ability inborn.”
“It was difficult to be sure,” Verin added. “She is only twelve. None have anywhere near the potential of Egwene or Nynaeve, but the number is still nothing less than remarkable. There might be another two or three just around Watch Hill. We have had no chance to examine girls here, or farther south. Taren Ferry was a disappointment, I must say. Too much interchange of bloodlines with the outside, I suppose.”
Perrin had to admit it made sense. But it did not answer all his questions, or settle all his doubts. He shifted, stretching out his leg. The spear wound in his thigh hurt. “I don’t understand why you are hiding here. Whitecloaks arresting innocent people, and here you sit. Trollocs running all over the Two Rivers apparently, and here you sit.” Loial muttered under his breath, a muted rumble. Perrin caught “angering Aes Sedai” and “hornet’s nest,” but he continued to hammer at them. “Why aren’t you doing something? You’re Aes Sedai! Burn me, why aren’t you doing something?”
“Perrin!” Faile hissed before turning an apologetic smile to Verin and Alanna. “Please forgive him. Moiraine Sedai spoiled him. She has an easy manner, I suppose, and she let him get away with things. Please don’t be angry with him. He will do better.” She shot him a sharp look, indicating she meant that for his ears as much as theirs, or more. He gave her a piece of his glower. She had no right interfering in this.
“An easy manner?” Verin said, blinking. “Moiraine? I never noticed.”
Alanna waved Faile to silence. “You certainly do not understand,” the Aes Sedai told Perrin in a tight voice. “You do not understand the restrictions under which we labor. The Three Oaths are not merely words. I brought two Warders with me to this place.” The Greens were the only Ajah to bond more than a single Warder apiece; a few, he had heard, even had three or four. “The Children caught Owein crossing an open field. I felt every arrow that struck him until he died. I felt him die. Had I been there, I could have defended him, and myself, with the Power. But I cannot use it for revenge. The Oaths do not permit it. The Children are very nearly as vile as men can be, short of Darkfriends, but they are not Darkfriends, and for that reason they are safe from the Power except in self-defense. Stretch that as far as we can, it will only stretch so far.”
“As for Trollocs,” Verin added, “we have done for a number of them, and two Myrddraal, but there are limits. Halfmen can sense channeling, after a fashion. If we manage to draw a hundred Trollocs down on ourselves, there is very little we can do except run.”
Perrin scratched at his beard. He should have expected this, should have known. He had seen Moiraine face Trollocs, and he had some idea of what she could do and what not. He realized he had been thinking of how Rand had killed all the Trollocs in the Stone, only Rand was stronger than either of these Aes Sedai, probably stronger than both together. Well, whether they helped him or not, he still meant to finish every Trolloc in
the Two Rivers. After he rescued Mat’s family, and the Luhhans. If he thought about it carefully enough, he had to find a way. His thigh ached miserably.
“You are injured.” Setting her cup on the floor, Alanna came across to kneel beside him and take his head in her hands. A tingle ran through him. “Yes. I see. You did not do this to yourself shaving, it appears.”
“It was the Trollocs, Aes Sedai,” Bain said. “When we came out of the Ways in the mountains.” Chiad touched her arm, and she stopped.
“I locked the Waygate,” Loial added quickly. “No one will use it until it is opened from this side.”
“I thought that must be how they were coming,” Verin murmured, half to herself. “Moiraine did say they were using the Ways. Sooner or later that is going to present us with a real problem.”
Perrin wondered what she thought that was.
“The Ways,” Alanna said, still holding his head. “
Ta’veren!
Young heroes!” She made the words sound approving and close to a curse, both together.
“I am not a hero,” he told her stolidly. “The Ways were the fastest way to get here. That’s all.”

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