"But Lini," Morgase protested, "we're going to Caemlyn."
"Tomorrow will be soon enough, child. Tonight, you celebrate." She eyed them. "And until the marriage is done, I don't think it's safe to trust you two alone."
Morgase flushed. "Lini," she hissed. "I'm not eighteen anymore!" "No, when you were eighteen, you were married proper. Do I need to seize your ears?"
"I " Morgase said.
"We're coming, Lini," Tallanvor said.
Morgase glared at him.
He frowned. "What?"
"You haven't asked."
He smiled, then held her close. "Morgase Trakand, will you be my wife?"
"Yes," she replied. "Now let's find Perrin."
Perrin tugged on the oak branch. It broke off, powdery wood dust puffing out. As he held the branch up, sawdust streamed out of the end onto the brown grass.
"Happened last night, my Lord," Kevlyn Torr said, holding his gloves. "The entire stand of hardwood over there, dead and dried in one night. Nearly a hundred trees, I'd guess."
Perrin dropped the branch, then dusted off his hands. "It's no worse than what we've seen before."
"But- "
"Don't worry about this," Perrin said. "Send some men to harvest this wood for fires; looks as if it will burn really well."
Kevlyn nodded, then hurried off. Other woodsmen were poking through the trees, looking disturbed. Oak, ash, elm and hickory trees dying overnight was bad enough. But dying, then drying out as though dead for years? That was downright unsettling. Best to take it in stride, though, not let the men grow afraid.
Perrin walked back toward camp. In the distance, anvils tang. They'd bought up raw materials, every bit of iron or steel they could get from Whitebridge. The people had been eager to trade for food, and Perrin had obtained five forges, with men to move them and set them up, along with hammers, tools and coal.
He might just have saved some in the city from starving. For a little while at least.
Smiths continued to pound. Hopefully he wasn't working Neald and the others too hard. Power-wrought weapons would give his people a critical advantage. Neald hadn't been able to figure out exactly what he'd done in helping forge Mah'alleinir, but Perrin hadn't been surprised. That night had been unique. He rested a hand on the weapon, feeling its faint warmth, thinking of Hopper.
Now, Neald had figured out how to make blades that wouldn't dull or break. The more he practiced, the sharper edges he was able to create. The Aiel had already begun to demand those edges for their spears, and Perrin had given Neald the order to see to them first. It was the least he owed them.
On the Traveling ground at the edge of the large, increasingly entrenched camp, Grady stood in a circle with Annoura and Masuri, holding open a gateway. This was the last group of noncombatants who wanted to leave him, the group ttaveling to Caemlyn. Among them, he'd sent a messenger to Elayne. He'd need to meet with her soon; he wasn't certain if he should be worried or not. Time would tell.
Some others were coming back through the gateway, bringing a few carts of food purchased in Caemlyn, where supplies were still available. Eventually he caught sight of Faile picking her way through the camp toward him. He raised a hand, drawing her over.
"Everything all right with Bavin?" Perrin asked. She'd been at the quartermaster's tent.
"All is well."
Perrin rubbed his chin. "I've been meaning to tell you for some time I don't think he's particularly honest."
"I'll keep special watch on him," she said, smelling amused.
"Berelain's been spending more time with the Whitecloaks," Perrin said. "Seems she has eyes for Damodred. She's been leaving me alone entirely."
"Is that so?"
"Yes. And she published that proclamation, condemning the rumors about me and her. Light, but people actually seem to believe it. I was worried they'd see it is a sign of desperation!"
Faile smelled satisfied.