“What about her jealousy?” Loial asked, and it was Perrin’s turn to choke. “Are wives all like that?”
“Jealousy?” Perrin said stoutly. “Faile is not jealous. Where did you get that idea? She is perfect.”
“Of course she is,” Loial said faintly, peering into his pipe bowl. “Do you have any more Two Rivers tabac? All I have after this is some sharp Cairhienin leaf.”
Had it all been like that, the journey would have been peaceful in a way, as much as such a chase could be. The land rolled by without another soul in sight. If the sun was molten gold, turning the air to an oven, hawks often wheeled in the cloudless blue sky. The wolves, not wanting humans coming out where they were, drove deer toward the road in such numbers that there were more than even such a large group needed, and it was not unusual to see a proud buck with a tall forked rack and his does and a few spike-horns standing in plain sight as the column passed. But there was an old saying. “The only man completely at peace is a man without a navel.”
The Cairhienin were not easy with the Aiel, of course, frequently frowning at them, or sneering openly. More than once Dobraine muttered about being outnumbered twelve to one. He respected their fighting abilities, but in the way you respected the dangerous qualities of a pack of rabid leopards. The Aiel did not glare or sneer; they just made it plain the Cairhienin were beneath notice. Perrin would not have been surprised to see one of them try to walk through a Cairhienin for refusing to admit he was there. Rhuarc said there would be no trouble, so long as the treekillers started none. Dobraine said there would be no trouble, so long as the savages kept out of his way. Perrin wished he could be certain they would not start killing one another before they even saw the Aes Sedai holding Rand.
He had some hope the Mayeners might be a bridge between the two, though at times he found himself regretting it. The men in red breastplates got on well with the shorter men in plain armor — there had never been a war between Mayene and Cairhien — and the Mayeners also got on with the Aiel. Except for the Aiel War, Mayeners had never fought Aiel. Dobraine was quite friendly with Nurelle, often sharing the evening meal, and Nurelle took to smoking a pipe with various of the Aiel. Especially Gaul. That was where the regret came from.
“I have been talking with Gaul,” Nurelle said diffidently. It was the fourth day on the road, and he had come up from the Mayeners to ride beside Perrin at the head of the column. Perrin was only half-listening; Wildfire had allowed one of the younger males in her pack to creep close soon after the Aes Sedai began moving that morning, and he had not smelled Rand. Every wolf knew the scent of Shadowkiller, it seemed. Still, for all the sketchiness of what Morning Clouds had seen, every wagon but one appeared to have a canvas cover on hoops. Rand was probably inside one of the others, and a good deal more comfortable out of the sun than Perrin was, with sweat rolling down his neck. “He was telling me of the Battle of Emond’s Field,” Nurelle went on, “and your Two Rivers Campaign. Lord Aybara, it would honor me greatly to hear of your battles from yourself.”
Abruptly Perrin sat up stiff in his saddle, staring at the boy. No, not a boy, despite those pink cheeks and that open face. Nurelle was surely as old as he himself. But the man’s scent, all bright and quivering slightly . . . Perrin very nearly groaned. He had smelled that from young boys back home, but to be hero-worshiped by a man his own age was almost more than he could take.
If that had been the worst of it, though, he would hardly have minded. He expected the Aiel and the Cairhienin not to like one another. He should have expected a young man who had never seen a battle to look up to one who had fought Trollocs. It was the things he could not have foreseen that frayed his nerves. The unforeseen could bite you on the ankle when you least expected it and could least afford to be distracted.
Except for Gaul and Rhuarc, every Aielman wore a strip of crimson cloth tied around his temples, with that black-and-white disc above his brows. Perrin had seen them in Cairhien, and in Caemlyn, but now when he asked Gaul, and then Rhuarc, if that marked them as this siswai’aman Rhuarc had spoken of, both men tried to pretend they did not know what he was talking about, as if they could not see red headbands on five thousand men. Perrin even asked the man who seemed to be in charge under Rhuarc, Urien, a Two Spires Reyn whom Perrin had met long ago, but Urien seemed not to understand either. Well, Rhuarc had said he could only bring siswai’aman, so that was how Perrin thought of them, even if he did not know what it meant.
What he did know was there might be trouble between the siswai’aman and the Maidens. When some of those men looked at the Maidens, Perrin caught a whiff of jealousy. When some of the Maidens looked at the siswai’aman, their scent made him think of a wolf hunkering over the carcass of a deer, not meaning to let any other of the pack have a bite if she choked to death swallowing it all. He could not begin to fathom why, but there it was, and sharp.
That was a “maybe” though, some time to come. Other things were not. For the first two days after leaving the city, Sulin and Nandera both put themselves forward whenever Rhuarc said anything concerning the Maidens; every time Sulin backed away, blushing, but she was right there the next time, every time. The second evening, when camp was made, they tried to kill each other with their bare hands.
At least, that was what it looked like to Perrin, kicking each other, hitting with fists, tossing each other to the ground, bending arms so that he was sure bones must break — until whoever was at a disadvantage managed to free herself with a twist or a blow. Rhuarc stopped him when he tried to interfere, and looked surprised that he wanted to. A good many of the Cairhienin and Mayeners gathered around to watch and place bets, but no Aiel so much as glanced at the fight, not even the Wise Ones.
Finally Sulin had Nandera facedown with an arm doubled painfully behind her; seizing Nandera’s hair, she slammed the other woman’s head against the ground until she lay limp. For a long time the older woman stood looking down at the one she had beaten. Then Sulin heaved the unconscious Nandera up onto her shoulders and staggered away with
her.
Perrin assumed that Sulin would do the talking from then on, but such was not the case at all. She was still always there, but a bruised Nandera answered Rhuarc’s questions and took his commands while an equally bruised Sulin kept silent, and when Nandera asked Sulin to do something, she did it without hesitation. Perrin could only scratch his head and wonder whether he actually had seen the fight end as he thought it had.
The Wise Ones always walked alongside the road in groups that varied in size and seemed to shift members constantly. By the end of the first day Perrin realized that all that shifting really centered around two women, Sorilea and Amys. By the end of the second, he was sure the two were urging very different viewpoints; there were too many glares and frowns. Now and then Perrin heard Aes Sedai mentioned; he caught snatches about “custom” and “battle,” but never enough to understand. Amys began backing down more slowly, and blushing considerably less. Sometimes Rhuarc smelled faintly anxious when he looked at his wife, but that was the only sign he saw anything. By the third camp out of the city, Perrin half-expected to see Sulin and Nandera’s fight repeated between Wise Ones.
Instead, the two women took a waterskin and went off a little distance, where they sat by themselves on the ground and removed their folded scarves so their long hair hung loose. He watched them into moonlit darkness, keeping far enough back that he would not eavesdrop even by accident, until he went to his own bed, but all they did was drink cups of water and talk. The next morning, the rest of the Wise Ones still shifted from group to group, but before the long column had covered three miles, Perrin realized that all centered on Sorilea now. Now and then she and Amys went off to one side of the road by themselves to talk, but there were no more glares. Had they been wolves, Perrin would have said a challenge to the pack leader had been defeated, but by their scents, Sorilea accepted Amys as almost an equal now, which did not fit wolves at all.
The seventh day out of Cairhien, riding beneath a broiling morning sun, he was worrying about what sort of surprise the Aiel were going to give him next, worrying about whether the Aiel and Cairhienin would stay away from each others’ throats another day, about what he was going to do when he caught the Aes Sedai in another three or four days.
All of that vanished at a sending from Half Tail. There was a large party of men — and women maybe; wolves sometimes had difficulty telling male humans from female — only a few miles to the west, and riding hard in the same direction Perrin was heading. It was the sketchy image of the two banners they rode behind that drew Perrin up.
He was surrounded quickly, by Dobraine and Nurelle, Rhuarc and Urien, Nandera and Sulin, Sorilea and Amys. “Keep on,” he told them, turning Stayer west. “We may have a few friends to join us, but we don’t want to lose any time.”
They did keep on as he rode away, but they did not let him go alone. Before he covered a quarter of a mile he was trailed by a dozen of the Winged Guards and as many Cairhienin, at least twenty Maidens led by Sulin and an equal number of siswai’aman behind a gray-haired man with green eyes and a face that appeared to have been used to break stone. Perrin was only surprised there was not a Wise One or two.
“Friends,” Sulin murmured to herself, trotting at his stirrup. “Friends who appear suddenly, with no warning, and he suddenly just knows they are there.” Looking up at him, she spoke louder. “I would not like to see you trip over a pillow and fall on your nose again.”
Perrin shook his head, wondering what other cudgels he had given her while she masqueraded as a servant. Aiel were strange.
By the sun he rode for nearly an hour, guided by the wolves, as surely as arrow to target, and when he topped a low rise, he was not surprised by what he saw perhaps two miles ahead, mounted men in a long column of twos, Two Rivers men with his own Red Wolfhead banner at their head streaming on a light breeze. What did surprise him was that there really were women with them — nine, he counted — and a number of men he was sure were not Two Rivers folk. What tightened his jaw was the second banner. The Red Eagle of Manetheren. He could not say how many times he had told them not to take one of those out of the Two Rivers; one of the few things he had not been able to stop back home just by suggesting was the flying of that flag. Still, the wolves’ imperfect sending of the banners had prepared him.
They saw him and his companions quickly, of course. There were good eyes in that band. They drew up, waiting, and some unlimbered bows from their backs, the great Two Rivers bows that could kill a man at three hundred paces and more.
“No one get in front of me,” Perrin said. “They’ll not shoot if they recognize me.”
“It seems yellow eyes see far,” Sulin said flatly. A number of the others were looking at him oddly.
“Just stay behind me,” Perrin sighed.
As he rode closer at the head of his strange party, bows that had been raised were lowered and arrows un-nocked. They had Stepper, he saw with delight, and with less delight, Swallow. Faile would never forgive him if he let her black mare be injured. It would be good to be back on his dun, but maybe he would keep Stayer as well; a lord could have two horses. Even a lord who might not have more than another four days to live.