“But that was the extent of what we can do,” Faile said.
“They don’t know that.” Perrin grinned. “It would be stupid of us to commit everything we have in a warning blast like that.”
Arganda held his tongue, though he obviously was thinking that very thing. He was a soldier to the bone. An axe. There was nothing wrong with that, but Perrin had to be the hammer. When he pointed, men like Arganda killed.
“Grady,” Perrin said. “My voice, please? I wouldn’t mind if our army could hear what I say, too.”
“I can manage that,” Grady said.
Perrin took a deep breath, then spoke. “I am Perrin Aybara!” his voice boomed across the plain. “I am friend to the Dragon Reborn, and I serve here at his command. I am marching to the Last Battle. Lord Captain Commander, you demanded I meet with you on your terms before, and I came. I ask you to return the honor here, and meet as I request. If you are determined to kill me before I ride against the Shadow, at least do me the service of giving me one last chance to prevent spilling blood this day!”
He nodded to Grady, and the man released his weave. “Do we have a pavilion we could set up for parley?”
“Back at the camp,” Faile said.
“I can try a gateway,” Neald said, knuckling his mustache—or, at least, the thin bit of fur on his face that he called a mustache, waxed to points.
“Try it.”
He concentrated. Nothing happened. The young man blushed furiously. “Doesn’t work. Not Traveling or Skimming.”
“I see,” Perrin said. “Well, let’s send a rider back. We should be able to have the tent set up here in minutes. I don’t know if they’ll agree to meet, but I want to get ready, in case they do. Bring Berelain and Alliandre back as well, and perhaps someone with drinks and the chairs and table from my tent.”
The proper orders were given, and a Two Rivers man—Robb Solter—rode off, Maidens trailing after him. The Whitecloaks seemed to be considering his proposition. Good.
Arganda and most of the others spread out to pass the word about what was happening, though they couldn’t possibly have missed Perrin’s announcement. Everyone seemed to be doing what they should, so Perrin sat back in his saddle to wait.
Faile sidled her horse up to him. She smelled intrigued.
“What?” Perrin asked.
“Something’s changed about you. I’m trying to figure out what.”
“I’m stalling,” Perrin said. “I haven’t made any decisions yet. But I don’t want to kill these men. Not yet. Not unless I have to.”
“They’re not going to give any ground, husband,” Faile said. “They’ve already judged you.”
“We’ll see,” he said. He looked up at the sky, thinking of the strange scent and the fact that the Asha’man gateways weren’t working. Slayer was prowling this area in the wolf dream and there was that wall of glass. Something felt very wrong on the wind, and his senses itched at him. Be wary. Be prepared.
The hammer could kill or create. He didn’t know which situation this was yet. He didn’t intend to strike until he did.
Galad sat on the grassy plain that should have been a field of battle, looking at the trench torn in the ground, bristling with hundreds of arrows.
He was prepared for Aes Sedai. An Aes Sedai could not hurt someone unless she or her Warder was in danger, and Galad had given very specific orders to his people not to engage—or even go near—Aes Sedai. If the Children saw Aes Sedai, they were to stop and nod their heads, turning their weapons away. If his men showed plainly that they would not harm Aes Sedai, then the sisters should be useless in battle.
Many of the Children did not believe this. They called the stories of the Three Oaths deliberate fabrications. They hadn’t lived in the White Tower. Galad didn’t like most Aes Sedai, and he certainly didn’t trust them, but he knew that the oaths did hold.
Galad’s men moved back into line, muttering. He raised his looking glass, inspecting Aybara’s front line. Men in black coats. Several Aiel women, including one of those who had come with Aybara to their first meetings. A channeler, no doubt. He imagined the ground exploding beneath his charging forces, knocking the cavalry into the air, others falling into the trench while the later lines stalled in confusion, prey to those impressive longbows.
Bornhald rode up to Galad, his face angry. “We aren’t really going to parley, are we?”
Galad lowered his looking glass. “Yes. I think we are.”
“But we already met with him!” Bornhald said. “You said you wanted to see those eyes, as proof he was Shadowspawn, and you saw them. What more do you need?”
Byar nudged his mount closer. He often acted as a guard to Galad, these days. “He can’t be trusted, my Lord Captain Commander.”
Galad nodded at the trench. “He could have destroyed us with that attack.”
“I agree with Byar,” Bornhald said. “He wants to draw you out, then kill you to demoralize us.”
Galad nodded slowly. “That’s possible.” He turned to Lord Captain Harnesh, who rode nearby. “If I die, I want you to take command and charge. Attack without mercy; I repeal my order to avoid Aes Sedai. Kill anyone who seems to be channeling. Make it a priority. It’s possible that we do not understand what is happening here.”
“But you’re still going?” Bornhald asked.
“Yes,” Galad said. He had let Bornhald and Byar goad him into battle, but now he wondered if he’d been too hasty. He had seen those eyes, and had heard the testimonies of both his Children and some of those who had ridden with Aybara. It had seemed clear that attacking was the thing to do.
But Aybara was right. He had come to meet with Galad when asked. Perhaps there was a way to prevent bloodshed. Galad did not believe it, but if there was even a chance, then delaying was the right thing. It was as simple as that.
Bornhald did not seem pleased. His anger at the man who had killed his father was understandable, but it could not be allowed to guide the Children. “You may come with me,” Galad said, nudging his horse forward. “That goes for you as well, Child Byar. The Lords Captain should remain behind, scattered through the men, lest Aybara leave us without leaders.”
Harnesh saluted. Bornhald reluctantly fell into place beside Galad, as did Byar, whose eyes burned with a wild zeal that matched Bornhald’s anger. Both had experienced defeat and indignity at the hands of this Perrin Aybara. Galad also took fifty Children as guards, riding in formation behind him.
A pavilion was set up by the time they arrived. Flat topped and simple, it had four poles stretching the brownish gray canvas. There was a small square table under it, accompanied by two chairs.
Aybara sat on one side of the table. He stood up as Galad approached; today, the large man wore a green coat and brown trousers—both well crafted but plain—and had that hammer slung at his waist. The clothes had an earthy sensibility to them. No, this was not a man of palaces, but a man of fields and forests. A woodsman who had risen to be a lord.
A pair of Two Rivers men stood at the back of the pavilion, holding powerful Two Rivers longbows. They were said to be independent farmers and herdsmen of old, sturdy stock. And they had chosen this Perrin Aybara to lead them.
Galad walked toward the pavilion. Byar and Bornhald joined him, though the other fifty remained mounted outside.
Unlike their last meeting, there were Aes Sedai here, three whom he could spot. A short Cairhienin woman; a slim, pleasant-looking woman in a simple dress; a stocky woman whose numerous braids meant she was likely from Tarabon. They stood with the group of Aiel women in shawls, guarded by a handful of Maidens of the Spear. Well, those Aiel did give credence to the claim that Aybara had been sent by the Dragon Reborn.
Galad rested his hand casually on the pommel of his sword, looking over the pavilion’s other occupants.
And then he froze. A strikingly beautiful woman stood behind Aybara’s chair. No, not beautiful, gorgeous. Lustrous black hair streamed down past her neck; it seemed to shine. She wore a red gown, thin enough to accentuate her form and deeply cut enough to expose swelling bosom.
And those eyes. So dark, with long beautiful lashes. He seemed…pulled toward them. Why hadn’t this woman come last time?
“You appear surprised,” Aybara said as he sat back down. He had a gruff voice. “The Lady First is here at the Lord Dragon’s command, as I am. Didn’t you notice the flag of Mayene above my forces?”
“I…” Galad snapped his mouth closed, executing a bow to the woman. Berelain sur Paendrag Paeron? She was said to be a marvelous beauty, but those tales did her little justice. Galad tore his eyes from her and forced himself to take the seat opposite Aybara. He had to concentrate on his foe.
Those golden eyes were as unsettling as he remembered. So strange to look into. Yes, this man couldn’t be anything other than Shadowspawn. Why would so many follow such a creature? Why would she follow such a creature?
“Thank you for coming,” Aybara said. “Our last meeting was hasty. We’ll do it proper, this time. You should be made aware that this woman beside me is Alliandre Maritha Kigarin, Queen of Ghealdan, Blessed of the Light, Defender of Garen’s Wall.” So, that stately, dark-haired woman was the current Queen of Ghealdan. Of course, with the unrest here lately, there were probably a half-dozen people trying to claim the throne. She was pretty, but completely overshadowed by Berelain.
Perrin nodded toward a third woman. “This is Faile ni Bashere t’Aybara, my wife and cousin to the Queen of Saldaea.” Aybara’s wife regarded Galad with suspicion. Yes, she was obviously Saldaean, by that nose. Bornhald and Byar hadn’t known of her royal connections.
Two monarchs in the tent, and both behind Aybara. Galad rose from his seat and gave a bow to Alliandre to match the one he’d given Berelain. “Your Majesty.”
“You’re very polite, Lord Captain Commander,” Berelain said. “And those were elegant bows. Tell me, where did you receive such training?”
Her voice was like music. “In the court of Andor, my Lady. I am Galad Damodred, stepson of the departed Queen Morgase and half-brother of Elayne Trakand, the rightful Queen.”
“Ah,” Perrin said. “About time I put a name to you. Wish you’d said that last time.”
Berelain stared into his eyes, and she smiled, looking as if she wanted to step forward. She caught herself, however. “Galad Damodred. Yes, I thought I recognized something in your face. How is your sister?”
“I hope she is well,” Galad said. “I have not seen her in some time.”
“Elayne’s fine,” Perrin said gruffly. “Last I heard—which was only a few days back—she’d secured her claim to the throne. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s looking to marry Rand by now. If she can pull him away from whatever realm he’s conquering.”
Behind Galad, Byar hissed softly. Had Aybara intended insult by indicating a relationship between Elayne and the Dragon Reborn? Unfortunately, Galad knew his sister all too well. She was impulsive, and she had shown an unseemly fascination with young al’Thor.