“I’m not going to have any,” Jaim said stoutly. “Girls are horrible. They laugh at you, and they don’t like to do anything worth doing, and you never understand what they’re saying.”
“I think one day you’ll find out they’re the opposite of horrible. Some of it won’t change, but that will.” Faile.
Jaim looked doubtful, but then he brightened, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Wait till I tell Had Lord Perrin called me cousin!” And he darted away to tell Had, who would have children, too, and all the other boys who would, one day. The sun stood straight overhead. An hour, maybe. It had all taken no more than an hour. It felt like a lifetime.
Stepper moved forward, and he realized he must have dug his heels in. Cheering people made way for the dun, and he hardly heard them. There were great gaps where Trollocs had broken down the stakes with sheer weight of numbers. He rode through one over a mound of dead Trollocs and never noticed. Dead Trollocs bristling with arrows carpeted the open ground, and here and there a pincushioned Fade flailed and thrashed. He saw none of it. He had eyes for only one thing. Faile.
She started out from the Watch Hill men, pausing to stop Bain from following, and rode to meet him. She rode so gracefully, as if the black mare were part of her, slimly erect, guiding Swallow more with her knees than the reins held so casually in one hand. The red marriage ribbon still twined through her hair, the ends dangling past her shoulders. He must find her flowers.
For a moment those tilted eyes studied him, her mouth … . Surely she could not be uncertain, but she smelled it. “I said I would go,” she said finally, holding her head high. Swallow danced sideways, neck arched, and Faile mastered the mare without seeming to notice. “I did not say how far. You cannot say I did.”
He could not say anything. She was so beautiful. He just wanted to look at her, to see her, beautiful, alive, with him. Her scent was clean sweat with just the slightest hint of herbal soap. He was not sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry. Maybe both. He wanted to pull all the smell of her into his lungs.
Frowning, she went on. “They were ready, Perrin. Truly, they were. I barely had to say anything to convince them to come. The Trollocs had hardly bothered them at all, but they could see the smoke. We traveled hard, Bain and I, and reached Watch Hill well before first light, and we started back as soon as the sun rose.” Her frown became a wide smile, eager and proud. Such a beautiful smile. Her dark eyes sparkled. “They followed me, Perrin. They followed me! Even Tenobia has never led men in battle. She wanted to once, when I was eight, but Father had a talk with her alone in her chambers, and when he rode off to the Blight she stayed behind.” With a rueful grin, she added, “I think you and he use the same methods sometimes. Tenobia exiled him, but she was only sixteen, and the Council of Lords managed to change her mind after a few weeks. She will be blue with envy when I tell her.” Again she paused, this time drawing a deep breath and planting a fist on her hip. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” she demanded impatiently. “Are you just going to sit there like a hairy lump? I did not say I would leave the Two Rivers. You said that, not I. You’ve no right to be angry because I did not do what I never promised! And you trying to send me away because you thought you were going to die! I came back to—”
“I love you.” It was all he could say, but strangely it seemed to be enough. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than she reined Swallow close enough to throw an arm around him and press her face against his chest; she seemed to be trying to squeeze him in two. He stroked her dark hair gently, just feeling the silkiness of it, just feeling her.
“I was so afraid I would be too late,” she said into his coat. “The Watch Hill men marched as fast as they could, but when we arrived, and I saw the Trollocs fighting right in among the houses, so many of them, as if the village were being buried in an avalanche, and I couldn’t see you … .” She drew a shivering breath and let it out slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. Just. “Did the men from Deven Ride come?”
He gave a start, and his hand stopped stroking. “Yes, they did. How did you know? Did you arrange that, too?” She began shaking; it took him a moment to know she was laughing.
“No, my heart, though I would have if I could. When that man came with his message—‘We are coming’—I thought—hoped—that that was what it meant.” Pulling her face back a little, she looked up at him seriously. “I could not tell you, Perrin. I could not raise your hopes when I only suspected. It would have been too cruel if … . Don’t be angry with me, Perrin.”
Laughing, he lifted her out of her saddle and set her sideways in front of his; she laughed her protests, and stretched across the high pommel to put both arms around him. “I will never, ever be angry with you, I sw—” She cut him off with a hand over his mouth.
“Mother says the worst thing Father ever did to her was vow never to be angry with her. It took her a year to force him to take it back, and she says he was hardly fit to live with long before then from holding in. You will be angry with me, Perrin, and I with you. If you want to make me another wedding vow, vow you will not hide it when you are. I cannot deal with what you will not let me see, my husband. My husband,” she repeated in a satisfied tone, snuggling against him. “I do like the sound of that.”
He noticed she did not say she would always let him know when she was angry; on past experience, he would have to discover it the hard way at least half the time. And she made no promises not to keep secrets from him again, either. Right then, it did not matter so long as she was with him. “I will let you know when I’m angry, my wife,” he promised. She gave him a slanted look, as if she was not sure how to take that. You won’t ever come to understand them, Cousin Jaim, but you won’t care.
Abruptly he became aware of the dead Trollocs all around him, like a black field full of feathered weeds, the thrashing Myrddraal still refusing to die finally. Slowly he turned Stepper. A slaughter yard and a shambles of Shadowspawn stretching for hundreds of paces in every direction. Crows hopped across the ground already, and vultures soared overhead in a huge milling cloud. No ravens, though. And the same to the south, according to Jaim; he could see the vultures wheeling beyond the village for proof. Not enough to repay for Deselle or Adora or little Paet or … . Not enough; it would never be enough. Nothing could ever repay for them. He hugged Faile; hard enough to make her grunt, but when he tried to ease up, she put her hands on his arms, gripping just as hard to keep them where they were. She was enough.
People were streaming out of Emond’s Field, Bran limping and using his spear for a staff, Marin smiling with an arm around him, Daise being hugged by her husband, Wit, and Gaul and Chiad hand in hand with their veils down. Loial’s ears drooped wearily, and Tam had blood on his face, and Flann Lewin was standing only with the help of his wife, Adine; there was blood on nearly everyone, and hasty bandages. But they came out in a widening throng, Elam and Dav, Ewin and Aram, Eward Candwin and Buel Dowtry, Hu and Tad the stablemen from the Winespring Inn, Ban and Tell and the Companions riding with that banner still. This time he did not see the missing faces, only those who were still there. Verin and Alanna on their horses, with Tomas and Ihvon riding close behind. Old Bili Congar waving a jug that surely held ale, or better yet brandy, and Cenn Buie as gnarled as
ever if bruised, and Jac al’Seen with an arm around his wife, and his sons and daughters around him with their wives and husbands. Raen and Ila, still with the babes on their backs. More. Faces he did not know at all; men who must be from Deven Ride and the farms down there. Boys and girls running among them, laughing.
They fanned out to either side, forming a great hollow circle with the Watch Hill men, Faile and him at its center. Everyone avoided the dying Fades, but it was as if they did not see the Shadowspawn lying everywhere, only the pair on Stepper. Silently they watched, until Perrin began to feel nervous. Why doesn’t somebody say something? Why are they staring like that?
The Whitecloaks appeared, riding slowly out of the village in their long gleaming column of fours, Dain Bornhald at their head with Jaret Byar. Every white cloak shone as though freshly laundered; every lance slanted at precisely the same angle. Sullen mutters rose, but people moved aside to let them enter the circle.
Bornhald raised a gauntleted hand, halting the column in a jingle of bridles and creak of saddles, when he faced Perrin. “It is done, Shadowspawn.” Byar’s mouth quivered on the brink of a snarl, but Bornhald’s face never changed, his voice never rose. “The Trollocs are done here. As we agreed, I arrest you now for Darkfriend and murderer.”
“No!” Faile twisted around to stare up at Perrin, eyes angry. “What does he mean, as you agreed?”
Her words were nearly drowned by the roar from every side. “No! No!” and “You will not take him!” and “Goldeneyes!”
Keeping his gaze on Bornhald, Perrin lifted a hand, and silence descended slowly. When all was quiet, he said, “I said I would not resist, if you aided.” Surprising, how calm his voice was; inside he seethed with a slow, cold anger. “If you aided, Whitecloak. Where were you?” The man did not answer.
Daise Congar stepped out from the encircling throng with Wit, who clung to her as if he never intended to let go of her again. For that matter, her stout arm was wrapped around Wit’s shoulders in much the same fashion. They made an odd picture as she planted her pitchfork-polearm firmly, her the taller by a head and holding her considerably smaller husband as though she meant to protect him. “They were on the Green,” she announced loudly, “all lined up and sitting their horses pretty as girls ready for a dance at Sunday. They never stirred. It was that that made us come …” A fierce murmur of agreement rippled from the women. “ … when we saw you were about to be overrun, and they just sat there like bumps on a log!”
Bornhald did not take his eyes from Perrin for an instant; he did not even blink. “Did you think I would trust you?” he sneered. “Your plan only failed because these others arrived—yes?—and you can claim no part in that.” Faile shifted; without looking away from the man, Perrin laid a finger across her lips just as she opened her mouth. She bit him—hard—but she did not say anything. Bornhald’s voice finally began to rise. “I will see you hang, Shadowspawn. I will see you hang, whatever it takes! I will see you dead if the world burns!” The last came as a shout. Byar’s sword slid a hand of bare steel from its scabbard; a massive Whitecloak behind him—Farran, Perrin thought his name was—drew his completely, with a pleased smile rather than Byar’s toothy snarl.
They froze as quivers rattled to arrows being drawn, and bows came up all around the circle, fletchings drawn to ear, every broadhead shaft pointed at a Whitecloak. Up and down the thick column, high-cantled saddles creaked as men shifted uneasily. Bornhald showed no sign of fear, and he did not smell of it, either; his scent was all hate. He ran almost fevered eyes over the Two Rivers folk encircling his men and returned them to Perrin just as hot and hate-filled.
Perrin motioned downward, and tension was let off bowstrings reluctantly, bows lowered slowly. “You would not help.” His voice was cold iron, anvil-hard. “Since you came to the Two Rivers, the help you’ve given has been almost accidental. You never really cared if people were burned out, killed, so long as you could find somebody to call Darkfriend.” Bornhald shivered, though his eyes still burned. “It is time for you to go. Not just from Emond’s Field. It is time for you to gather up your Whitecloaks and leave the Two Rivers. Now, Bornhald. You are going now.”
“I will see you hang one day,” Bornhald said softly. He jerked his hand for the column to follow and booted his horse forward as if he meant to ride Perrin over.
Perrin moved Stepper aside; he wanted these men gone, not more killing. Let the man have a final gesture of defiance.