“You sound as if you’re not going back,” Perrin said.
“I intend to stay close to you.” Fog might hide the heat in Masema’s eyes, but Perrin could feel it. “A pity if any misfortune should befall you just as you reclaim your wife.”
So a small part of his plan had unraveled already. A hope really, rather than part of the plan. If all else went well, the Shaido who managed to flee would carve a way through Masema’s people without more than slowing a step, but instead of taking a Shaido spear through his ribs, Masema would be . . . keeping an eye on him.
Without any doubt, the man’s bodyguard was not far off in the fog, two hundred or so ruffians better armed and better mounted than the rest of his army. Perrin did not look at Berelain, but the scent of her worry had strengthened. Masema had reason to want both of them dead. He would warn Gal-lenne that his primary task today would be protecting Berelain from Masema’s men. And he would have to watch his own back.
Off in the fog, a brief flash of silver-blue light appeared, and he frowned. It was too early yet for Grady.
Two figures coalesced out of the mist. One was Neald, not strutting for once. In fact, he stumbled. His face looked tired. Burn him, why was he wasting his strength this way? The other was a young Seanchan in lacquered armor with a single thin plume on the peculiar helmet he carried beneath his arm. Perrin recognized him, Gueye Arabah, a lieutenant Tylee thought well of. The two Aes Sedai gathered their skirts as if to keep him from brushing against them, though he went nowhere near them. For his part, he missed a step when he came close enough to make out their faces, and Perrin heard him swallow hard. He smelled skittish, of a sudden.
Arabah’s bow included Perrin and Berelain, and he frowned slightly at Masema as though wondering what such a ragged fellow was doing in their company. Masema sneered, and the Seanchan’s free hand drifted toward his sword hilt before he stopped it. They seemed touchy folk, Seanchan did. But Arabah did not waste time.
“Banner-General Khirgan’s compliments, my Lord, my Lady First. Morat’raken report those bands of Aiel are moving faster than expected. They will arrive some time today, possibly as soon as noon. The group to the west is perhaps twenty-five or thirty thousand, the one to the east larger by a third. About half of them are wearing white, and there will be children, of course, but that is still a lot of spears to have behind you. The Banner-General wishes to know if you would like to discuss altering the deployments. She suggests moving a few thousand of the Altaran lancers to join you.”
Perrin grimaced. There would be at least three or four thousand algai’d’shwai with each of those bands. A lot of spears to have at his back for certain sure. Neald yawned. “How are you feeling, Neald?”
“Oh, I’m ready to do whatever needs doing, I am, my Lord,” the man said with just a hint of his usual jauntiness.
Perrin shook his head. The Asha’man could not be asked to make one gateway more than necessary. He prayed that they would not fall one short. “By noon, we’ll be done here. Tell the Banner-General we go ahead as planned.” And pray that nothing else went amiss. He did not add that aloud, though.
Out in the fog, wolves howled, an eerie cry that rose all around Maiden. It was truly begun, now.
“You’re doing wonderfully, Maighdin,” Faile croaked. She felt lightheaded, and her throat was dry from encouraging the woman. Everyone’s throat was dry. By the slant of the light coming through the gaps overhead, it was near midmorning, and they had been talking without cease for most of that. They had tried tapping the unbroken barrels, but the wine inside was too rancid even for wetting lips. Now they were taking turns with the encouragement. She was sitting alongside her sun-haired maid while the others rested against the back wall, as far from that leaning jumble of boards and timbers as they could get. “You’re going to save us, Maighdin.”
Above them, the red scarf was just visible through that narrow gap in the tangle. It had hung limply for some time, now, except when the breeze caught it. Maighdin stared at it fixedly. Her dirty face glistened with sweat, and she breathed as if she had been running hard. Suddenly the scarf went taut and began to swing, once, twice, three times. Then the breeze sent it fluttering, and it fell. Maighdin continued to stare.
“That was beautiful,” Faile said hoarsely. The other woman was getting tired. More time was passing between each success, and the successes were lasting a shorter time. “It was—“
Abruptly a face appeared beside the scarf, one hand gripping the length of red. For a moment, she thought she must be imagining it. Aravine’s face framed by her white cowl.
“I see her!” the woman said excitedly. “I see the Lady Faile and Maighdin! They’re alive!” Voices raised a cheer, quickly stilled.
Maighdin swayed as if she might fall over, but a beautiful smile wreathed her face. Faile heard weeping behind her, and wanted to weep with joy herself. Friends had found them, not Shaido. They might escape yet.
Pushing herself to her feet, she moved closer to the leaning pile of charred rubble. She tried to work moisture into her mouth, but it was thick. “We’re all alive,” she managed in husky voice. “How in the Light did you find us?”
“It was Theril, my Lady,” Aravine replied. “The scamp followed you despite your orders, and the Light bless him for it. He saw Galina leave, and the building fall in, and he thought you were dead. He sat down and cried.” A voice protested in rough Amadician accents, and Aravine turned her head for a moment. “I know someone who’s been crying when I see him, boy. You just be thankful you stopped to cry. When he saw the scarf move, my Lady, he came running for help.”
“You tell him there’s no shame in tears,” Faile said. “Tell him I’ve seen my husband cry when tears were called for.”
“My Lady,” Aravine said hesitantly, “he said Galina pulled on a timber when she came out. It was set like a lever, he said. He said she made the building collapse.”
“Why would she do that?” Alliandre demanded. She had helped Maighdin to her feet and half supported her to reach Faile’s side. Lacile and Arrela joined them, alternating between tears and laughter. Alliandre s face was a thunderhead.
Faile grimaced. How often in the last few hours had she wished she had that slap back? Galina had promised. Could the woman be Black Ajah? “That doesn’t matter now. One way or another, I’ll see her repaid.” How was another matter. Galina was Aes Sedai, after all. “Aravine, how many people did you bri