“I’ve heard,” Jac said. “I hear he calls himself by some other name nowadays.”
Perrin nodded. “Ordeith. But Fain or Ordeith, he is a Darkfriend. He admitted as much, admitted to bringing the Trollocs on Winternight last year. And he rides with the Whitecloaks.”
“That’s very easy for you to claim,” Adine Lewin said sharply. “You can name anybody Darkfriend.”
“So who do you believe?” Tomas said. “Those who came a few weeks ago, arrested people you know, and burned their farms? Or a young man who grew up right here?”
“I am no Darkfriend, Master al’Seen,” Perrin said, “but if you want me to go, I will.”
“No,” Elisa said quickly, shooting her husband a meaningful glance. And Adine a freezing one that made her swallow what she had been about to say. “No. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like.” Jac hesitated, then nodded agreement. She came over and looked down at Perrin, resting her hands on his shoulders. “You have our sympathy,” she said softly. “Your father was a good man. Your mother was my friend, and a fine woman. I know she’d want you stay with us, Perrin. The Children seldom come this way, and if they do, the boys on the roof will give us plenty of warning to get you into the attic. You will be safe here.”
She meant it. She actually meant it. And when Perrin looked at Master al’Seen, he nodded again. “Thank you,” Perrin said, his throat tight. “But
I have … things to do. Things I have to take care of.”
She sighed, patting him gently. “Of course. Just you be sure those things don’t get you … hurt. Well, at least I can send you off with a full belly.”
There were not enough tables in the house to seat everyone for the midday meal, so bowls of lamb stew were handed out with chunks of crusty bread and admonitions not to drip, and everyone ate where they sat or stood. Before they were done eating, a lanky boy with his wrists sticking out of his sleeves and a bow taller than he was came bounding in. Perrin thought he was Win Lewin, but he could not be sure; boys grew fast at that age. “It’s Lord Luc,” the skinny boy exclaimed excitedly. “Lord Luc is coming.”
CHAPTER 33
A New Weave in the Pattern
The lord himself followed almost on the boy’s heels, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his middle years, with a hard, angular face and dark reddish hair white-winged at the temples. There was an arrogant cast to his dark blue eyes, and he certainly looked every inch a nobleman, in a finely cut green coat discreetly embroidered in golden scrolls down the sleeves and gauntlets worked in thread-of-gold. Gold-work wrapped his sword scabbard, as well, and banded the tops of his polished boots. Somehow he made the simple act of striding in through the doorway grand. Perrin despised him on sight.
All the al’Seens and Lewins rushed in a mass to greet the lord, men, women and children crowding around him with smiles and bows and curtsies, babbling all over one another about the honor of his presence, the great honor of a visit from a Hunter for the Horn. They seemed most excited about that. A lord under the same roof might be exciting, but one of those sworn to search for the legendary Horn of Valere—that was the stuff of stories. Perrin did not think he had ever seen Two Rivers folk fawn over anybody, but these came close.
This Lord Luc took it as clearly no more than his due, perhaps less. And tiresome to put up with, at that. The farm folk did not seem to see, or maybe they just did not recognize that slightly weary expression, the slightly condescending smile. Maybe they simply thought that was how lords behaved. True enough, a good many did, but it irked Perrin to watch these people—his people—put up with it.
As the hubbub began to diminish, Jac and Elisa presented their other guests—all but Tam and Abell, who had already met him—to Lord Luc of Chiendelna, saying that he was advising them in ways to defend themselves against the Trollocs, that he encouraged them to stand up to the Whitecloaks, stand up for themselves. Approving murmurs of agreement came from the rest of the room. If the Two Rivers had been choosing a king, Lord Luc would have had the al’Seens and Lewins behind him entire. He knew it, too. His apparent bored complacency did not last long, though.
At his first glimpse of Verin’s smooth-cheeked face, Luc stiffened slightly, eyes flickering to her hands so quickly many would not have noticed. He very nearly dropped his embroidered gloves. Plump and plainly dressed, she might have been another farm wife, but clearly he knew an Aes Sedai’s ageless face, when he saw one. He was not particularly happy to see one here. The corner of his left eye twitched as he listened to Mistress al’Seen name “Mistress Mathwin” “a scholar from outside.”
Verin smiled at him as if half-asleep. “A pleasure,” she murmured. “House Chiendelna. Where is that? It has a Borderland sound.”
“Nothing so grand,” Luc replied quickly, giving her a wary, fractional bow. “Murandy, actually. A minor house, but old.” He seemed uneasy about taking his eyes from her for the rest of the introductions.
Tomas he barely glanced at. He had to know him for “Mistress Mathwin’s” Warder, yet dismissed him out of hand as clearly as if he had shouted it. That was purely strange. However good Luc was with that sword, no one was good enough to dismiss a Warder. Arrogance. The fellow had enough for ten men. He proved it with Faile so far as Perrin was concerned.
The smile Luc offered her was certainly more than self-assured; it was also familiar and decidedly warm. In fact, it was too admiring and too warm by half. He took her hand in both of his to bow over, and peered into her eyes as if trying to see through the back of her head. For an instant Perrin thought she was about to look over at him, but instead she returned the lord’s stare with a red-cheeked pretense to coolness and a slight bow of her head.
“I, too, am a Hunter for the Horn, my Lord,” she said, sounding a touch breathless. “Do you think to find it here?”
Luc blinked and released her hand. “Perhaps, my Lady. Who can say where the Horn might be?” Faile looked a little surprised—maybe disappointed—at his sudden loss of interest.
Perrin kept his expression neutral. If she wanted to smile at Wil al’Seen and blush at fool lords, she could. She could make an idiot of herself any way she wanted, gawking at every man who came along. So Luc wanted to know where the Horn of Valere was? It was hidden away in the White Tower, that was where. He was tempted to tell the man, just to make him grind his teeth in frustration.
If Luc had been surprised to find out who his other fellows in the al’Seen house were, his reaction to Perrin was peculiar to say the least. He gave a start at the sight of Perrin’s face; shock flashed in his eyes. It was all gone in a moment, masked behind lordly haughtiness, except for a wild fluttering at the corner of one eye. The trouble was, it made no sense. It was not his yellow eyes that took Luc aback; he was sure of that. More as if the fellow knew him, somehow, and was surprised to see him here, but he had never met this Luc before in his life. More than that, he would have bet that Luc was afraid of him. No sense at all.
“Lord Luc is the one who suggested the boys go up on the rooftops,” Jac said. “No Trolloc will get close without those lads giving warning.”
“How much warning?” Perrin said dryly. This was an example of the great Lord Luc’s advice? “Trollocs see like cats in the dark. They’ll be on top of you, kicking in the doors, before your boys raise a shout.”
“We do what we can,” Flann barked. “Stop trying to frighten us. There are children listening. Lord Luc at least offers helpful suggestions. He was at my place the day before the Trollocs came, seeing I had everybody placed properly. Blood and ashes! If not for him, the Trollocs would have killed us all.”
Luc did not seem to hear the praise offered him. He was watching Perrin cautiously while fussing with his gauntlets, tucking them behind the golden wolf’s-head buckle of his sword belt. Faile was watching him, too, with a slight frown. He ignored her.
“I thought it was Whitecloaks saved you, Master Lewin. I thought a Whitecloak patrol arrived in the nick of time and drove the Trollocs off.”