The Shadow Rising (The Wheel of Time 4)

unt of the Horn? Lord Luc thinks the Horn of Valere is somewhere in the Mountains of Mist above the Two Rivers. But he gave over his hunt because of our problems. Lord Luc is a great gentleman, with the finest manners.” Smoothing her hair, she gave an approving smile; Bran looked at her sideways and grunted sourly.

Hunters of the Horn. Trollocs. Whitecloaks. The Two Rivers hardly seemed the same place he had left. “Faile is a Hunter of the Horn, too. Do you know this Lord Luc, Faile?”

“I have had enough,” she announced. Perrin frowned as she stood and came around the table to him. Seizing his head, she pulled his face into her midriff. “Your mother is dead,” she said quietly. “Your father is dead. Your sisters are dead, and your brother. Your family is dead, and you cannot change it. Certainly not by dying yourself. Let yourself grieve. Don’t hold it inside where it can fester.”

He took her by the arms, meaning to move her, but for some reason his hands tightened till that grip was the only thing holding him up. It was only then that he realized he was crying, sobbing into her dress like a baby. What must she think of him? He opened his mouth to tell her he was all right, to apologize for breaking down, but what came out was, “I couldn’t get here any faster. I couldn’t—I—” He gritted his teeth to shut himself off.

“I know,” she murmured, stroking his hair for all the world as if he were a child. “I know.”

He wanted to stop, but the more she whispered understanding, the more he wept, as though her hands soft on his head were smoothing the tears out of him.

CHAPTER 30

Beyond the Oak

With Faile holding his head beneath her breasts, Perrin lost track of how long he cried. Images of his family flashed in his thoughts, his father smiling as he showed him how to hold a bow, his mother singing while she spun wool, Adora and Deselle teasing him when he shaved the first time, Paet wide-eyed at a gleeman during Sunday long ago. Pictures of graves, cold and lonely in a row. He wept until there were no more tears in him. When he finally pulled back, the two of them were alone except for Scratch, washing himself atop the ale barrel. He was glad the others had not remained to watch him. Faile was bad enough. In a way he was glad she had stayed; he only wished she had not seen or heard.

Taking his hands in hers, Faile sat in the next chair. She was so beautiful, with her slightly tilted eyes, large and dark, and her high cheekbones. He did not know how he was going to be able to make up to her for the way he had treated her these last few days. No doubt she would find a means to make him pay for it.

“Have you given up the notion of surrendering to the Whitecloaks?” she asked. There was no hint in her voice that she had just watched him cry like a baby.

“It seems it wouldn’t do any good. They’ll be after Rand’s father, and Mat’s, whatever I do. My family … .” He quickly loosened his grip on her hands, but she smiled instead of wincing. “I have to get Master Luhhan and his wife free, if I can. And Mat’s mother and sisters; I promised him I would look after them. And do what I can about the Trollocs.” Maybe this Lord Luc had some ideas. At least the Waygate was blocked; no more would come through the Ways. He especially wanted to do something about the Trollocs. “I can’t manage any of that if I let them hang me.”

“I am very glad you see that,” she told him dryly. “Any more fool notions about sending me away?”

“No.” He braced himself for the storm, but she simply nodded as if the one word were what she expected and all she wanted. A small thing, nothing worth arguing over. She was going to make him pay large.

“We are five, Perrin, six if Loial is willing. And if we can find Tam al’Thor and Abell Cauthon … . Are they as good with a bow as you?”

“Better,” he said truthfully. “Much better.”

She gave him a slight, disbelieving nod. “That will make eight. A beginning. Maybe others will join us. And then there’s Lord Luc. He will probably want to take charge, but if he’s not a crackbrain, it won’t matter. Not everyone who took the Hunter’s Oath is sensible, though. I’ve met some who think they know everything, and are stubborn as mules besides.”

“I know.” She looked at him sharply, and he managed to keep the smile off his face. “That you’ve met some like that, I mean. I saw a pair of them once, remember.”

“Oh, them. Well, we can hope Lord Luc is not a boasting liar.” Her eyes became intent, and her grip tightened on his hands, not uncomfortably, but as though she was trying to add her strength to his. “You will want to visit your family’s farm, your home. I will come with you, if you will let me.”

“When I can, Faile.” Not now, though. Not yet. If he looked at those graves below the apple trees now … . It was strange. He had always taken his own strength for granted, and now it turned out that he was not strong at all. Well, he was done with weeping like a babe. It was past time to be doing something. “First things first. Finding Tam and Abell, I suppose.”

Master al’Vere put his head into the common room, and came the rest of the way when he saw them sitting apart. “There is an Ogier in the kitchen,” he told Perrin with a bemused look. “An Ogier. Drinking tea. The biggest cup looks … .” He held two fingers as though gripping a thimble. “Maybe Marin could pretend Aiel walk in here every day, but she nearly fainted when she saw this Loial. I gave her a double tot of brandy, and she tossed it down like water. Nearly coughed herself to death; she doesn’t take more than wine, usually. I think she’d have drunk another, if I’d given it to her.” He pursed his lips and affected an interest in a nonexistent spot on his long white apron. “Are you all right now, my boy?”

“I’m fine, sir,” Perrin said hastily. “Master al’Vere, we cannot remain here much longer. Someone might tell the Whitecloaks you sheltered me.”

“Oh, there are not many would do that. Not all the Coplins, and not some of the Congars, even.” But he did not suggest they stay.

“Do you know where I can find Master al’Thor and Master Cauthon?”

“In the Westwood somewhere, usually,” Bran said slowly. “That’s all I know for sure. They move about.” Locking his fingers over his broad belly, he tilted his gray-fringed head to one side. “You aren’t leaving, are you? Well. I told Marin you would not, but she doesn’t believe me. She thinks it best for you to go away—best for you—and like most women she’s sure you will see things her way if she talks long enough.”

“Why, Master al’Vere,” Faile said sweetly, “I for one have always found men to be sensible creatures who only need to be shown the wisest path once to choose it.”

The Mayor favored her with an amused smile. “You will be talking Perrin into going then, I take it? Marin’s right; that is wisest, if he wants to avoid a noose. The only reason to stay is that sometimes a man can’t run. No? Well, no doubt you know best.” He ignored her sour look. “Come along, my boy. Let’s tell Marin the good news. Set your teeth and hold on to your intentions, because she won’t give up trying to shift you.”

In the kitchen, Loial and the Aiel were cross-legged on the floor. There was certainly no chair in the inn big enough for the Ogier. He sat with an arm resting on the kitchen table, tall enough sitting to look Marin al’Vere in the eye. Bran had exaggerated the smallness of the cup in Loial’s hands, though on second glance Perrin saw it was a white-glazed soup bowl.

Mistress al’Vere was still doing her best to pretend Aiel and Ogier were normal, bustling about with a tray of bread and cheese and pickles, making sure everyone ate, but her eyes did widen each time they landed on Loial, though he tried to put her at ease with compliments for her baking. His tufted ears twitched nervously whenever she looked at him, and she gave a little jump every time they did, then shook her head, the thick graying braid swaying vigorously. Given a few hours, they might send each other to bed with the shakes.

Loial heaved a deep bass sigh of relief at the sight of Perrin and set his cup—bowl—of tea on the table, but the next instant his broad face sagged sadly. “I am sorry to hear your loss, Perrin. I share