Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13)

Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13) Page 54

Perrin growled to himself. His booted feet stuck a little in the sodden ground. He hated the scent of that trampled, stagnant mud mixed with rotting dead plants. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the Blight disease, but it seemed to him the whole land was only a few steps away from that.

They approached a guard post. Two men—Hu Barran and Darl Coplin—stood watch here. There would be additional scouts, of course: Two Rivers men in trees, Maidens patrolling the ground. But Perrin had learned that a few men given posts around the camp lent everyone inside a sense of order.

The guards saluted him, though Darl’s salute was sloppy. They gave off an odd mixture of scents—regret, frustration, disappointment. And embarrassment. That last one was faint, but still there. Perrin’s supposed dalliance with Berelain was still recent in their minds, and Faile’s return seemed to increase their discomfort. In the Two Rivers, one did not easily live down a reputation for infidelity.

Perrin nodded to them, then continued on. He didn’t do much formal inspecting. If the men knew he would walk by sometime each day, they’d keep themselves in order. For the most part. Last night, he had needed to prod sleeping Berin Thane awake with his boot, and he was always careful to watch for the scent of strong drink among them. He wouldn’t put it past Jori Congar to sneak a nip or two while on guard.

“All right,” Perrin said. “The Whitecloaks have our people and our supplies.” He grimaced, thinking of the grain purchased in So Habor going to fill Whitecloak bellies. “Could we sneak in and free them?”

“I don’t see the need for sneaking,” Grady said from behind. “Pardon, my Lord, but you seem to be making this a larger problem than it is.”

Perrin looked back at the leathery man. “They’re Whitecloaks, Grady. They’re always a large problem.”

“They won’t have anyone who can channel the One Power.” Grady shrugged, hands clasped behind his back as he walked. With the black coat, the pin and the increasingly soldierlike attitude, he was looking less and less like a farmer. “Neald is feeling better. He and I could pound those Children down until they give us what we want.”

Perrin nodded. He hated the idea of letting the Asha’man loose with impunity. The scent of burned flesh in the air, the earth ripped apart and broken. The scents of Dumai’s Wells. However, he couldn’t afford another distraction like Malden. If there were no other choice, he’d give the order.

Not yet, though. There are no coincidences with ta’veren. The wolves, the Whitecloaks. Things he had been outrunning for some time were returning to hunt him. He’d pushed the Children out of the Two Rivers. Many of the men who had been with him then now followed him here.

“Perhaps it will come to that,” Perrin said to Grady, still walking. “But maybe not. We’ve got a larger force than they do, and with that blasted wolfhead banner finally taken down, they may not realize who we are. We fly the banner of the Queen of Ghealdan, and they’re passing through Alliandre’s territory. Likely they saw the supplies in our people’s carts and decided to ‘protect them.’ Some discussion, perhaps a little intimidation, may be enough to persuade them to return our people.”

Elyas nodded, and Grady seemed to agree, though Perrin wasn’t convinced by his own words. The Whitecloaks had haunted him since his early days out of the Two Rivers. Dealing with them had never been simple.

It felt like the time had come. Time to make an end to his troubles with them, one way or another.

He continued his rounds, arriving at the Aiel section of the camp. He nodded at a pair of Maidens lounging on guard with relaxed alertness. They didn’t stand up or salute—which suited him fine—though they did nod. He’d apparently gained great ji in their eyes by the way he’d planned, then accomplished, the attack on the Shaido.

The Aiel maintained their own guard posts, and he had no reason to inspect them. But he included them in his rounds anyway. It seemed that if he was going to visit the other sections of camp, he should do it here, too.

Grady stopped suddenly and spun toward the Wise Ones’ tents.

“What?” Perrin asked urgently, scanning the camp. He couldn’t see anything unusual.

Grady smiled. “I think they’ve managed it.” He started into the Aiel camp, ignoring the glares several Maidens gave him. They might very well have tossed him out, Asha’man or no, if Perrin hadn’t been there.

Neald, Perrin thought. He’s been working with the Aes Sedai to figure out circles. If Grady had seen something in the weaves…

Perrin followed, and soon they reached a ring of Wise One tents in the center of the Aiel camp, the area between them dried—perhaps by weaves—and the ground packed down. Neald, Edarra and Masuri sat there. Fager Neald was a young Murandian with a mustache that curled to points. He wore no pins on the collar of his black coat, though he’d likely be promoted as soon as the group returned from their excursion. He’d grown in Power since they’d begun.

He was still pale from the snakebites he’d taken, but looked much better than he had only a few days back. He was smiling, staring at the air in front of him, and he smelled exuberant.

A large gateway split the air. Perrin grunted. It appeared to lead back to a place where they’d camped several weeks ago—an open field of no real note.

“It’s working?” Grady said, kneeling down beside Neald.

“It’s beautiful, Jur,” Neald said softly. His voice bore no hint of the bravado he often displayed. “I can feel saidar. It’s like I’m more complete now.”

“You’re channeling it?” Perrin asked.

“No. I don’t need to. I can use it.”

“Use it how?” Grady asked, eager.

“I…It’s hard to explain. The weaves are saidin, but I seem to be able to strengthen them with saidar. So long as I can make a gateway on my own, it appears that I can increase the Power—and size—with what the women lend me. Light! It’s wonderful. We should have done this months ago.”

Perrin glanced at the two women, Masuri and Edarra. Neither seemed as exultant as Neald. Masuri looked a little sick, and she smelled of fear. Edarra smelled curious and wary. Grady had mentioned that creating a circle this way seemed to require the men to gain control over the women.

“We’ll send the scouting group through to Cairhien soon, then,” Perrin said, fingering the blacksmith’s puzzle in his pocket. “Grady, arrange with the Aiel about that mission, set up the gat