“I mean I know as much as there is to know,” Moiraine said sharply. Her dark-eyed gaze chastised Perrin like a whip. “The Pattern weaves finely around ta’veren, and others can follow the shape of those threads if they know where to look. Be careful your tongue does not unravel more than you can know.”
In spite of himself Perrin hunched his shoulders as if she were delivering real blows. “Well, you had better be glad I opened my mouth this time. Simion knows you’re Aes Sedai. He wants you to Heal his brother Noam of some sickness. If I hadn’t talked to him, he would never have worked up nerve enough to ask, but he might have started talking among his friends.”
Lan caught Moiraine’s eye, and for a moment they stared at one another. The Warder had the air about him of a wolf about to leap. Finally, Moiraine shook her head. “No,” she said.
“As you wish. It is your decision.” Lan sounded as if he thought she had made the wrong one, but the tension left him.
Perrin stared at them. “You were thinking of. . . . Simion couldn’t tell anyone if he were dead, could he?”
“He will not die by my actions,” Moiraine said. “But I cannot, and will not, promise that it will always be so. We must find Rand, and I will not fail in that. Is that spoken plainly enough for you?” Caught in her gaze, Perrin could make no answer. She nodded as if his silence were answer enough. “Now take me to Simion.”
The door to Loial’s room stood open, spilling a pool of candlelight into the hall. The two beds inside had been pushed together, and Loial and Simion were seated on the edge of one. The chinless man was staring up at Loial with his mouth open and an expression of wonder on his face.
“Oh, yes, the stedding are wonderful,” Loial was saying. “There is such peace there, under the Great Trees. You humans may have your wars and strife, but nothing ever troubles the stedding. We tend the trees and live in harmony. . . .” He trailed off when he saw Moiraine, with Lan and Perrin behind her.
Simion scrambled to his feet, bowing and backing away until he came up against the far wall. “Uh . . . good mistress. . . . Uh . . . uh. . . .” Even then, he continued bobbing like a toy on a string.
“Show me to your brother,” Moiraine commanded, “and I will do what I can. Perrin, you will come, too, since this good man spoke to you first.” Lan lifted an eyebrow, and she shook her head. “If we all go, we might attract attention. Perrin can give me what protection I need.”
Lan nodded reluctantly, then gave Perrin a hard look. “See that you do, blacksmith. If any harm befalls her. . . .” His cold blue eyes finished the promise.
Simion snatched one of the candles and scurried into the hallway, still bowing so the candlelight made their shadows dance. “This way—uh—good mistress. This way.”
Beyond the door at the end of the hall, outside stairs led down to a cramped alleyway, between inn and stable. Night shrank the candle to a flickering pinpoint. The half moon was up in a star-flecked sky, giving more than enough light for Perrin’s eyes. He wondered when Moiraine would tell Simion he did not have to keep bowing, but she never did. The Aes Sedai glided along, clutching her skirts to keep them out of the mud, as though the dark passage were a palace hall and she a queen. The air was already cooling; nights still carried echoes of winter.
“This way.” Simion led them back to a small shed behind the stable and hurriedly unbarred the door. “This way.” Simion pointed. “There, good mistress. There. My brother. Noam.”
The far end of the shed had been barred off with slats of wood; hastily, by the rough look of it. A stout iron lock in a hasp held shut a crude door of wooden slats. Behind those bars, a man lay sprawled on his stomach on the straw-covered floor. He was barefoot, his shirt and breeches ripped as if he had torn at them without knowing how to take them off. There was an odor of unwashed flesh that Perrin thought even Simion and Moiraine must smell.
Noam lifted his head and stared at them silently, without expression. There was nothing at all about him to suggest he was Simion’s brother—he had a chin, for one thing, and he was a big man, with heavy shoulders—but that was not what staggered Perrin. Noam stared at them with burnished golden eyes.
“He’d been talking crazy almost a year, good mistress, saying he could . . . could talk with wolves. And his eyes. . . .” Simion darted a glance at Perrin. “Well, he’d talk about it when he’d drunk too much. Everybody laughed at him. Then a month or so ago, he didn’t come to town. I went out to see what was the matter, and I found him—like this.”
Cautiously, unwillingly, Perrin reached out toward Noam as he would have toward a wolf. Running through the woods with the cold wind in his nose. Quick dash from cover, teeth snapping at hamstrings. Taste of blood, rich on the tongue. Kill. Perrin jerked back as he would have from a fire, sealed himself off. They were not thoughts at all, really, just a chaotic jumble of desires and images, part memory, part yearning. But there was more wolf there than anything else. He put a hand to the wall to steady himself; his knees felt weak. Light help me!
Moiraine put a hand on the lock.
“Master Harod has the key, good mistress. I don’t know if he’ll—”
She gave a tug, and the lock sprang open. Simion gaped at her. She lifted the lock free of the hasp, and the chinless man turned to Perrin.
“Is that safe, good master? He’s my brother, but he bit Mother Roon when she tried to help, and he . . . he killed a cow. With his teeth,” he finished faintly.
“Moiraine,” Perrin said, “the man is dangerous.”
“All men are dangerous,” she replied in a cool voice. “Now be quiet.” She opened the door and went in. Perrin held his breath.
At her first step, Noam’s lips peeled back from his teeth, and he began to growl, a rumble that deepened till his whole body quivered. Moiraine ignored it. Still growling, Noam wriggled backwards in the straw as she came closer to him, until he had backed himself into a corner. Or she had backed him.
Slowly, calmly, the Aes Sedai knelt and took his head between her hands. Noam’s growl heightened to a snarl, then tailed off in a whi
mper before Perrin could move. For a long moment Moiraine held Noam’s head, then just as calmly released it and rose. Perrin’s throat tightened as she turned her back on Noam and walked out of the cage, but the man only stared after her. She pushed the slatted door to, slipped the lock back through the hasp, not bothering to snap it shut—and Noam hurled himself snarling against the wooden bars. He bit at them, and battered them with his shoulders, tried to force his head between them, all the while snarling and snapping.
Moiraine brushed straw from her skirt with a steady hand and no expression.
“You do take chances,” Perrin breathed. She looked at him—a steady, knowing gaze—and he dropped his eyes. His yellow eyes.
Simion was staring at his brother. “Can you help him, good mistress?” he asked hoarsely.