It was Rand’s turn to blush, and scrub a hand through his hair. “Berelain isn’t in the palace. She’s spending the night on that Sea Folk ship anchored in the river, of all things. Annoura didn’t tell me till I was nearly to Berelain’s apartments.”
Perrin tried very hard not to wince. Why did he have to keep saying the woman’s name? “You wanted to talk to me about something else, Rand?” He hoped he had not put too much emphasis in that, yet he hoped Rand caught it. He did not look at Faile, but he tested the air gingerly. No jealousy, not yet. A good deal of anger, however.
For a moment Rand stared at him, looked through him. Listening to something else. Perrin folded his arms to stop from shuddering.
“I need to know,” Rand said finally. “Are you still unwilling to command the army against Illian? I have to know now.”
“I’m no general,” Perrin said raggedly. There would be battles in Illian. Images flashed in his head. Men all around him, and the axe in his hands spinning, hewing his way through. Always more men, however many he cut down, in endless ranks. And in his heart, a seed growing. He could not face that again. He would not. “Besides, I thought I was supposed to stay close to you.” That was what Min had said, from one of her viewings. Twice Perrin had to be there, or Rand would go down to disaster. Once had been Dumai’s Wells, maybe, but there was still another to come.
“We all must take risks.” Rand’s voice was very quiet. And very hard. Min peered around the doorframe again, looking as if she wanted to come to him, but she glanced at Faile and stayed outside.
“Rand, the Aes Sedai . . . ” A smart man would let this lie, probably. He had never claimed to be particularly smart, though. “The Wise Ones are ready to skin them alive, or near enough. You can’t let them be harmed, Rand.” In the corridor, Sulin turned to study him through the doorway.
The man he thought he knew laughed, a wheezing sound. “We all have to take risks,” he repeated.
“I won’t let them be hurt, Rand.”
Cold blue eyes met his gaze. “You won’t let it?”
“I won’t,” Perrin told him levelly. He did not flinch from that stare, either. “They are prisoners, and no threat. They’re women.”
“They are Aes Sedai.” Rand’s voice was so like Aram’s back at Dumai’s Wells that it nearly took Perrin’s breath.
“Rand — “
“I do what I have to do, Perrin.” For a moment he was the old Rand, not liking what was happening. For a moment he looked tired to death. A moment only. Then he was the new Rand again, hard enough to mark steel. “I won’t harm any Aes Sedai who doesn’t deserve it, Perrin. I can’t promise more. Since you don’t want the army, I can use you elsewhere. Just as well, really. I wish I could let you rest longer than a day or two, but I can’t. There’s no time. No time, and we must do what we must. Forgive me for interrupting you.” He sketched a bow, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “Faile.”
Perrin tried to catch his arm, but he was out of the room, the door closing behind him, before Perrin could move. Rand was not really Rand anymore, it seemed. A day or two? Where in the Light did Rand mean him to go, if not to the army gathering down on the Plains of Maredo?
“My husband,” Faile breathed, “you have the courage of three men. And the sense of a child on leading strings. Why is it that as a man’s courage goes up, his sense goes down?”
Perrin grunted indignantly. He refrained from mentioning women who set themselves to spy on people who had committed murders and almost certainly knew they were spying. Women always talked about how logical they were compared to men, but for himself, he had seen precious little of it.
“Well, perhaps I don’t really want the answer even if you know it.” Stretching with her arms over her head, she gave a throaty laugh. “Besides, I don’t mean to let him spoil the mood. I still feel as forward as a farmgirl at — Why are you laughing? Stop laughing at me, Perrin t’Bashere Aybara! Stop it, I say, you uncouth oaf! If you don’t — “
The only way to put an end
to it was to kiss her. In her arms he forgot Rand and Aes Sedai and battles. Where Faile was, was home.
Chapter 7
Pitfalls and Tripwires
* * *
Rand felt the Dragon Scepter in his hand, felt every line of the carved Dragons against his heron-branded palm as clearly as if he were running his fingers over them, yet it seemed someone else’s hand. If a blade cut it off, he would feel the pain — and keep going. It would be another’s pain.
He floated in the Void, surrounded by emptiness beyond knowing, and saidin filled him, trying to grind him to dust beneath steel-shattering cold and heat where stone would flash to flame, carrying the Dark One’s taint on its flow, forcing corruption into his bones. Into his soul, he feared sometimes. It did not make him feel so sick to his stomach as it once had. He feared that even more. And larded through that torrent of fire, ice and filth — life. That was the best word. Saidin tried to destroy him. Saidin filled him to overflowing with vitality. It threatened to bury him, and it enticed him. The war for survival, the struggle to avoid being consumed, magnified the joy of pure life. So sweet even with the foulness. What would it be like, clean? Beyond imagining. He wanted to draw more, draw all there was.
There lay the deadly seduction. One slip, and the ability to channel would be seared out of him forever. One slip and his mind was gone, if he was not simply destroyed on the spot, and maybe everything around him too. It was not madness, focusing on the fight for existence; it was like highwalking blindfolded over a pit full of sharpened stakes, basking in so pure a sense of life that thinking of giving it up was like thinking of a world forever in shades of gray. Not madness.
His thoughts whirled through his dance with saidin, slid across the Void. Annoura, peering at him with that Aes Sedai gaze. What was Berelain playing at? She had never mentioned an Aes Sedai advisor. And those other Aes Sedai in Cairhien. Where had they come from, and why? The rebels outside the city. What had emboldened them to move? What did they intend now? How could he stop them, or use them? He was becoming good at using people; sometimes he made himself sick. Sevanna and the Shaido. Rhuarc already had scouts on the way to Kinslayer’s Dagger, but at best they could only find out where and when. The Wise Ones who could find out why, would not. There were a lot of why’s connected to Sevanna. Elayne, and Aviendha. No, he would not think of them. No thoughts of them. None. Perrin, and Faile. A fierce woman, falcon by name and nature. Had she really attached herself to Colavaere just to gather evidence? She would try to protect Perrin if the Dragon Reborn fell. Protect him from the Dragon Reborn, should she decide it necessary; her loyalties were to Perrin, but she would decide for herself how to meet them. Faile was no woman to do meekly as her husband told her, if such a woman existed. Golden eyes, staring challenge and defiance. Why was Perrin so vehement about the Aes Sedai? He had been a long time with Kiruna and her companions on the road to Dumai’s Wells. Could Aes Sedai really do with him what everybody feared? Aes Sedai. He shook his head without being aware. Never again. Never! To trust was to be betrayed; trust was pain.
He tried to push that thought away. It came a little too close to raving. Nobody could live without giving trust somewhere. Just not to Aes Sedai. Mat, Perrin. If he could not trust them . . . Min. Never a thought of not trusting Min. He wished she were with him, instead of snugged in her bed. All those days a prisoner, days of worry — more for him than herself, if he knew her — days of being questioned by Galina and ill-treated when her answers failed to please — unconsciously he ground his teeth — all of that, and the strain of being Healed on top of it, had caught up with her at last. She had stayed by his side until her legs gave way, and he had to carry her to her bedchamber, with her sleepily protesting all the way that he needed her with him. No Min here, no comforting presence to make him laugh, make him forget the Dragon Reborn. Only the war with saidin, and the whirlwind of his thoughts, and . . .
They must be done away with. You must do it. Don’t you remember the last time? That place by the wells was a pittance. Cities burned whole out of the earth were nothing. We destroyed the world! DO YOU HEAR ME? THEY HAVE TO BE KILLED, WIPED FROM THE FACE . . .!
Not his, that voice shouting inside his skull. Not Rand al’Thor. Lews Therin Telamon, more than three thousand years dead. And talking in Rand al’Thor’s head. The Power often drew him out of his hiding place in the shadows of Rand’s mind. Sometimes Rand wondered how that could be. He was Lews Therin reborn, the Dragon Reborn, no denying that, but everybody was someone reborn, a hundred someones, a thousand, more. That was how the Pattern worked; everyone died and was reborn, again and again as the Wheel turned, forever without end. But nobody else talked with who they used to be. Nobody else had voices in their heads. Except madmen.