“We will deal with him tonight,” Lan told her.

“Yes, my Gaidin. We will deal with him.”

“And what do we do? Sit here and wait? I had enough waiting to last me a lifetime in the mountains, Moiraine.”

“You and Loial—and Zarine—will go to Tar Valon,” she told him. “Until this is done. It will be the safest place for you.”

“Where is the Ogier?” Lan said. “I want all three of you on your way north as soon as possible.”

“Upstairs, I suppose,” Perrin said. “In his room, or maybe the dining room. There are lights in the windows up there. He is always working on those notes of his. I suppose he will have plenty to say in his book about us running away.” He was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. Light, fool, do you want to face one of the Forsaken? No. No, but I am tired of running. I remember not running, once. I remember fighting back, and it was better. Even if I thought I was going to die, it was better.

“I will find him,” Zarine announced. “I have no shame in admitting I will be glad enough to run from this fight. Men fight when they should run, and fools fight when they should run. But I had no need to say it twice.” She strode ahead of them, her narrow, divided skirts making small whisking noises as they entered the inn.

Perrin glanced around the common room as they followed her toward the stairs in the back. There were fewer men at the tables than he expected. Some sat alone, with dull eyes, but where two or three sat together they talked in frightened whispers his ears could barely catch. Even so, he heard “Dragon” three times.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he heard another soft sound, a thump as of something falling in the private dining room. He peered that way along the hall. “Zarine?” There was no answer. He felt the hair on the back of his neck shift, and padded that way. “Zarine?” He pushed open the door. “Faile!”

She was lying on the floor near the table. As he started to rush into the room, Moiraine’s commanding shout halted him.

“Stop, you fool! Stop, for your life!” She came along the hallway slowly, head turning as if she were listening for something, or searching for something. Lan followed with his hand on his sword—and a look in his eye as if he already knew steel would do no good. She came abreast of the door and stopped. “Move back, Perrin. Move back!”

In agony he stared at Zarine. At Faile. She lay there as if lifeless. Finally he made himself step back from the door, leaving it open, standing where he could see her. She looked as if she were dead. He could not see her chest stir. He wanted to howl. Frowning, he worked his hand, the one he had used to push the door into the room, opening and closing his fingers. It tingled sharply, as if he had struck his elbow. “Aren’t you going to do anything, Moiraine? If you will not, I am going to her.”

“Stand still or you will go nowhere,” she said calmly. “What is that by her right hand? As if it dropped from her grip when she fell. I cannot make it out.”

He glared at her, then peered into the room. “A hedgehog. It looks like a hedgehog carved out of wood. Moiraine, tell me what is going on! What has happened? Tell me!”

“A hedgehog,” she murmured. “A hedgehog. Be silent, Perrin. I must think. I felt it trigger. I can sense the residues of the flows woven to set it. Spirit. Pure Spirit, and nothing else. Almost nothing uses pure flows of Spirit! Why does that hedgehog make me think of Spirit?”

“You felt what trigger, Moiraine? What was set? A trap?”

“Yes, a trap,” she said, irritation making tiny cracks in her cool serenity. “A trap meant for me. I would have been first into that room if Zarine had not rushed ahead. Lan and I would surely have gone there to plan and wait for supper. I will not wait on supper now. Be quiet, if you wish me to help the girl at all. Lan! Bring me that innkeeper!” The Warder flowed away down the stairs.

Moiraine paced up and down in the hall, sometimes stopping to peer through the door from the depths of her hood. Perrin could see no sign that Zarine lived. Her breast did not stir. He tried listening for her heartbeat, but even for his ears it was impossible.

When Lan returned, shoving a frightened Jurah Haret ahead of him by the scruff of his fat neck, the Aes Sedai rounded on the balding man. “You promised to keep this room for me, Master Haret.” Her voice was as hard, as precise, as a skinning knife. “To allow not even a serving woman to enter to clean unless I was present. Who did you let enter it, Master Haret? Tell me!”

Haret shook like a bowl of pudding. “O-only the t-two Ladies, mistress. T-they w-wished to leave a surprise for you. I swear, mistress. T-they showed it t-to me. A little h-hedgehog. T-they said you w-would be surprised.”

“I was surprised, innkeeper,” she said softly. “Leave me! And if you whisper a word of this, even in your sleep, I will pull this inn down and leave only a hole in the ground.”

“Y-yes, mistress,” he whispered. “I swear it! I do swear!

“Go!”

The innkeeper fell to his knees in his haste to reach the stairs, and went scrambling down with thumps that suggested he fell more than once as he ran.

“He knows I am here,” Moiraine told the Warder, “and he has found someone of the Black Ajah to set his trap, yet perhaps he thinks I am caught in it. It was a tiny flash of the Power, but perhaps he is strong enough to have sensed it.”

“Then he will not suspect we are coming,” Lan said quietly. He almost smiled.

Perrin stared at them, his teeth bared. “What about her?” he demanded. “What was done to her, Moiraine? Is she alive? I cannot see her breathe!”

“She is alive,” Moiraine said slowly. “I cannot, I dare not, go close enough to her to tell much beyond that, but she is alive. She . . . sleeps, in a way. As a bear sleeps in the winter. Her heart beats so slowly you could count minutes between. Her breathing is the same. She sleeps.” Even from within that hood, he could feel her eyes on him. “I fear she is not there, Perrin. Not in her body any longer.”

“What do you mean she is not in her body? Light! You don’t mean they . . . took her soul. Like the Gray Men!” Moiraine shook her head, and he drew a relieved breath. His chest hurt as if he had not breathed since she last spoke. “Then where is she, Moiraine?”

“I do not know,” she said. “I have a suspicion, but I do not know.”

Tags: Robert Jordan The Wheel of Time Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net