“Then we must speak with him,” Berelain said. “Turn him from this course of action.”
“This course of action?” Faile asked, genuinely confused.
Berelain stopped, her eyes alight with something. She seemed tense. She’s worried, Faile thought. Worried deeply about something.
“Lord Perrin must not attack the Whitecloaks,” Berelain said. “Please, you must help me persuade him.”
“He’s not going to attack them,” Faile said. She was reasonably certain of that.
“He’s setting up a perfect ambush,” Berelain said. “Asha’man to use the One Power, Two Rivers bowmen to shoot from the heights down on the camp of the Children. Cavalry to ride down and sweep up after.” She hesitated, seeming pained. “He’s set them up perfectly. He told them that if he and Damodred both survived the Last Battle, he’d submit to punishment. But Perrin is going to make certain the Whitecloaks don’t reach the Last Battle. He can keep his oath that way, but also avoid turning himself in.”
Faile shook her head. “He’d never do that, Berelain.”
“Can you be certain?” Berelain asked. “Absolutely certain?”
Faile hesitated. Perrin had been changing lately. Most of the changes were good ones, such as his decision to finally accept leadership. And the ambush Berelain spoke of would make a kind of perfect, ruthless sense.
But it was also wrong. Terribly wrong. Perrin wouldn’t do that, no matter how much he’d changed. Of that, Faile could be certain.
“Yes,” she said. “Giving a promise to Galad, then slaughtering the Whitecloaks in this way, it would rip Perrin apart. He doesn’t think that way. It won’t happen.”
“I hope that you are right,” Berelain said. “I had hoped some sort of accommodation could be reached with their commander before we left…”
A Whitecloak. Light! Couldn’t she have picked one of the noblemen in camp to give her attentions to? One who wasn’t married? “You aren’t very good at picking men, are you, Berelain?” The words just slipped out.
Berelain turned back to Faile, eyes widening in either shock or anger. “And what of Perrin?”
“A terrible match for you,” Faile said with a sniff. “You’ve shown that tonight, by what you think he is capable of.”
“How good a match he was is irrelevant. I was promised him.”
“By whom?”
“The Lord Dragon,” Berelain said.
“What?”
“I came to the Dragon Reborn in the Stone of Tear,” she said. “But he would not have me—he even grew angry with my advances. I realized that he, the Dragon Reborn, intended to marry a much higher lady, probably Elayne Trakand. It makes sense—he cannot take every realm by the sword; some will have to come to him through alliances. Andor is very powerful, is ruled by a woman, and would be advantageous to hold through marriage.”
“Perrin says Rand doesn’t think like that, Berelain,” Faile said. “Not so calculating. It’s my inclination, too, from what I know of him.”
“And you say the same thing about Perrin. You’d have me believe they’re all so simple. Without a wit in their heads.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“And yet you use the same old protests. Tiring. Well, I realized what the Lord Dragon was implying, so I turned my attentions toward one of his close attendants. Perhaps he did not ‘promise’ them to me. That was a poor choice of words. But I knew he would be pleased if I made a union with one of his close allies and friends. Indeed, I suspect that he wished me to do it—after all, the Lord Dragon did place me and Perrin together for this mission. He could not be frank about what he desired, however, so as to not offend Perrin.”
Faile hesitated. On one hand, what Berelain said was purely foolish…but on the other, she could see what the woman might have seen. Or, perhaps, what she wished to see. To her, breaking apart a husband and wife was nothing immoral. This was politics. And, logically, Rand probably should have wanted to tie nations to him through bonds of marriage to those closest to him.
That didn’t change the fact that neither he, nor Perrin, regarded matters of the heart in such a way.
“I have given up on Perrin,” Berelain said. “I hold to my promise there. But it leaves me in a difficult situation. I have long thought that a connection to the Dragon Reborn is Mayene’s only hope in maintaining independence in the coming years.”
“Marriage isn’t only about claiming political advantages,” Faile said.
“And yet the advantages are so obvious that they cannot be ignored.”
“And this Whitecloak?” Faile asked.
“Half-brother of the Queen of Andor,” Berelain said, blushing slightly. “If the Lord Dragon does intend to marry Elayne Trakand, this will give me a link to him.”
It was much more than that; Faile could see it in the way Berelain acted, in the way she looked when she spoke of Galad Damodred. But if she wanted to rationalize a political motivation for it, Faile had no reason to dissuade her, so long as it helped distract her from Perrin.
“I have done as you asked,” Berelain said. “And so now, I ask your aid. If it appears that he is going to attack them, please join me in trying to dissuade him. Together, perhaps we can manage it.”
“Very well,” Faile said.
Perrin rode at the head of an army that felt unified for the first time. The flag of Mayene, the flag of Ghealdan, the banners of noble Houses from among the refugees. Even a few banners the lads had made up representing the parts of the Two Rivers. Above them all flapped the wolfhead.
Lord Perrin. He would never get used to that, but maybe that was a good thing.
He trotted Stepper over to the side of the open gateway as the troops marched past, saluting. They were lit by torches for now. Hopefully the channelers would be able to light the battlefield later.
A man came up beside Stepper, and Perrin smelled animal pelts, loam and rabbit’s blood. Elyas had gone hunting while he waited for the army to gather. It took quite a keen hunter to catch rabbits at night. Elyas said it was a better challenge.
“You said something to me once, Elyas,” Perrin said. “You told me that if I ever grew to like the axe, I should throw it away.”