Knife of Dreams

  They were a large party, though most would remain right there among the trees. Fifty of Berelain's Winged Guards in rimmed red helmets and red breastplates, scarlet streamers floating from their slender steel-tipped lances, were mounted behind the golden hawk on blue of Mayene, rippling on the breeze. Beside them fifty Ghealdanin in burnished breastplates and dark green conical helmets sat their horses behind Ghealdan's three silver stars on red. The streamers on their lances were green. They made a brave show, yet all of them together were far less deadly than Jur Grady, with his weathered farmer's face, even if they made him appear drab in his plain black coat with a silver sword pin on the high collar. He knew it, whether or not they did, and he stood beside his bay gelding with the ease of a man resting before the day's labor.

  In contrast, Leof Torfinn and Tod al'Caar, the only other Two Rivers men present, were still all but bouncing in their saddles with excitement despite the long wait. It might have taken some of their pleasure away had they known they had been chosen in large part because they came nearest fitting their borrowed coats of dark, finely woven green wool. Leof carried Perrin's own Red Wolfhead banner, Tod, the Red Eagle of Manetheren, both rippling on staffs a little longer than the lances. They had almost come to blows over who was to carry which. Perrin hoped it was not because neither wanted to carry the red-bordered Wolfhead. Leof looked happy enough. Tod looked ecstatic. Of course, he did not know why Perrin had brought the thing along. In any trade, you needed to make the other fellow think he was getting something extra, as Mat's father often said. Colors swirled in Perrin's head, and for a brief instant he thought he saw Mat talking to a small dark woman. He shook off the image. Here and now, today, were all that mattered. Faile was all that mattered.

  "They will come," Arganda snapped in answer to Aram, though he glared through the face-bars of his helmet as if expecting a challenge.

  "What if they don't?" Gallenne demanded, his one eye scowling as fiercely as Arganda's pair. His red-lacquered breastplate was not much better than Arganda's silvered one. Small chance they could be talked into painting them something dull. "What if it is a trap?" Arganda growled, almost a wolf's guttural growl. The man was near the end of his tether.

  The breeze brought the scent of horses only moments before Perrin's ears caught the first bluetits' trills, too distant for anyone else to hear. They came from the trees flanking the meadow. Large parties of men, perhaps unfriendly, were entering the woods. More trills sounded, closer.

  "They're here," he said, which earned him looks from Arganda and Gallenne. He tried to avoid revealing the acuteness of his hearing, or his sense of smell, yet that pair had been on the point of coming to blows. The relayed trills grew nearer, and everyone could hear them. The two men's looks grew odd.

  "I can't risk the Lady First if there's any chance of a trap," Gallenne said, buckling on his helmet. They all knew what the signal meant.

  "The choice is mine, Captain." Berelain replied before Perrin could open his mouth.

  "And your safety is my responsibility, my Lady First."

  Berelain drew breath, her face darkening, but Perrin got there first. "I told you how we're going to spring that trap, if that's what it is. You know how suspicious the Seanchan are. Likely they're worried about us ambushing them." Gallenne harrumphed loudly. The patience in Berelain's smell flickered, then settled in again rock steady.

  "You should listen to him, Captain." she said with a smile for Perrin. "He knows what he is doing."

  A party of riders appeared at the far end of the meadow and drew rein. Tallanvor was easy to pick out. In a dark coat and mounted on a good dappled gray, he was the only man not wearing armor vividly striped in red and yellow and blue. The other pair unarmored were women, one in blue with red on her skirts and breast, the other in gray. The sun reflected off something connecting them. So. A sul'dam and damane. There had been no mention of that in all the negotiations carried out through Tallanvor, but Perrin had counted on it.

  "It's time," he said, gathering Stepper's reins one-handed. "Before she decides we're not coming."

  Annoura managed to get close enough to lay a hand on Berelain's arm for a moment before the other woman could move her mare away. "You should let me come with you, Berelain. You may need my counsel, yes? This sort of negotiation, it is my specialty."

  "I suspect the Seanchan know an Aes Sedai face by now, don't you, Annoura? I hardly think they'd negotiate with you. Besides," Berelain added, in a too sweet voice, "you must remain here to assist Master Grady."

  Spots of color appeared briefly on the Aes Sedai s cheeks, and her wide mouth tightened. It had taken the Wise Ones to make her agree to take orders from Grady today, though Perrin was just as glad he did not know how they had done it, and she had been trying to wiggle out ever since leaving the camp.

  "You stay, too," Perrin said when Aram made to ride forward. "You've been hotheaded lately, and I won't risk you saying or doing the wrong thing out there. I won't risk Faile on it." That was true. No need to say he would not risk the man carrying what was said out there back to Masema. "You understand?"

  Bubbles of disappointment filled Aram's scent, but he nodded, however reluctantly, and rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle. He might come close to worshiping Masema, but he would give his life a hundred times over rather than risk Faile's. On purpose, anyway. What he did without thinking was another matter.

  Perrin rode out of the trees flanked by Arganda on one side and Berelain and Gallenne on the other. The banners followed behind, and ten Mayeners and ten Ghealdanin in a column of twos. As they walked their mounts forward, the Seanchan started toward them, also in column, with Tallanvor riding beside the leaders, one on a roan, the other a bay. The horses' hooves made no sound on the thick mat of dead grass. The forest had gone silent, even to Perrin's ears.

  While the Mayeners and Ghealdanin spread out in a line, and most of the Seanchan in their brightly painted armor did the same, Perrin and Berelain advanced toward Tallanvor and two of the armored Seanchan, one with three thin blue plumes on that lacquered helmet that was so like an insect's head, the other with two. The sul'dam and damane came, too. They met in the middle of the meadow, surrounded by wildflowers and silence, with six paces between them.

  As Tallanvor positioned himself to one side between the two groups, the armored Seanchan removed their helmets with hands in steel-backed gauntlets that were striped like the rest of their armor. The two-plumed helmet revealed a yellow-haired man with half a dozen scars seaming his square face. He was a hard-bitten man who smelled of amusement, strangely, but it was the other who interested Perrin. Mounted on the bay, a trained warhorse if he had ever seen one, she was tall and broad-shouldered for a woman, though lean otherwise, and not young. Gray marked the temples of her close-cut, tightly curled black hair. As dark as good topsoil, she displayed only two scars, one slanting across her left cheek. The other, on her forehead, had taken part of her right eyebrow. Some people thought scars a sign of toughness. It seemed to Perrin that fewer scars meant that you knew what you were doing. Confidence filled the scent of her in the breeze.

  Her gaze flickered across the fluttering banners. He thought she paused slightly on Manetheren's Red Eagle, and again on Mayene's Golden Hawk, yet she quickly settled to studying him. Her expression never altered a whit, but when she noticed his yellow eyes, something unidentifiable entered her scent, something sharp and hard. When she saw the heavy blacksmith's hammer in its loop on his belt, the strange scent grew.

  "I give you Perrin t'Bashere Aybara, Lord of the Two Rivers, Liege Lord to Queen Alliandre of Ghealdan," Tallanvor announced, raising a hand toward Perrin. He claimed the Seanchan were sticklers for formality, but Perrin had no idea whether this was a Seanchan ceremony or something from Andor. Tallanvor could have made it up for all of him. "I give you Berelain sur Paendrag Paeron, First of Mayene, Blessed of the Light, Defender of the Waves, High Seat of House Paeron." With a bow to the pair of them, he shifted his reins and rais
ed the other hand toward the Seanchan. "I give you Banner-General Tylee Khirgan of the Ever Victorious Army, in service to the Empress of Seanchan. I give you Captain Bakayar Mishima of the Ever Victorious Army, in service to the Empress of Seanchan." Another bow, and Tallanvor turned his gray to ride back to a place beside the banners. His face was as grim as Aram's, but he smelled of hope.

  "I'm glad he didn't name you the Wolf King, my Lord," the Banner-General drawled. The way she slurred her words, Perrin had to listen hard to make out what she was saying. "Otherwise, I'd think Tarmon Gai'don was on us. You know the Prophecies of the Dragon? 'When the Wolf King carries the hammer, thus are the final days known. When the fox marries the raven, and the trumpets of battle are blown.' I never understood that second line, myself. And you, my Lady. Sur Paendrag. That would mean from Paendrag?"

  "My family is descended from Artur Paendrag Tanreall," Berelain replied, holding her head high. An eddy in the breeze brought a whiff of pride among the patience and perfume. They had agreed that Perrin was to do all of the talking—she was there to dazzle the Seanchan with a beautiful young ruler, or at least to lend weight to Perrin with it— but he supposed she had to answer a direct question.

  Tylee nodded as though that were exactly the answer she expected. "That makes you a distant cousin of the Imperial family, my Lady. No doubt the Empress, may she live forever, will honor you. So long as you make no claims to Hawkwing's empire yourself, anyway."

  "The only claim I make is to Mayene," Berelain said proudly. "And that I will defend to my last breath."

  "I didn't come here to talk about the Prophecies or Hawkwing or your Empress," Perrin said irritably. For the second time in a matter of moments those colors tried to coalesce in his head only to be dispelled. He had no time. The Wolf King? Hopper would come as near to laughing as a wolf could over that. Any wolf would. Still, he felt a chill. He had not realized that he was mentioned in the Prophecies. And his hammer was a harbinger of the Last Battle? But nothing mattered except Faile. Only her. And whatever it took to free her. "The agreement for this meeting was no more than thirty in either party, but you have men in the woods on both sides of us. A lot of men."

  "So do you." Mishima said with grin distorted by a white scar that met the corner of his mouth, "or you wouldn't know about ours." His drawl was worse than hers.

  Perrin kept his eyes on the Banner-General. "As long as they both remain, there's the chance of accidents. I don't want any accidents. I want my wife back from the Shaido."

  "And how do you propose we avoid accidents?" Mishima said, idly flipping his reins. He sounded as though the question was not urgent. It seemed Tylee was content to let him do the talking while she observed Perrin's reactions. "Are we supposed to trust you if we send our men out first, or you to trust us if we ask you to withdraw first? 'On the heights, the paths are paved with daggers.' There isn't much room for trust. I suppose we could both order our men to pull back at the same time, but one side might cheat."

  Perrin shook his head. "You're going to have to trust me, Banner-General. I have no reason to want to attack you or capture you, and every reason not to. I can't be sure of the same about you. You might think capturing the First of Mayene worth a little betrayal." Berelain laughed softly. It was time for the branch. Not just to force the Seanchan out of the woods first, but to convince them that they needed what he could offer. He stood the branch upright on the saddle in front of him. "I expect your men are probably good soldiers. My men aren't soldiers, though they've fought Trollocs and Shaido and done well against both." Gripping the branch at its base, he held it high overhead, the shaved sides uppermost and facing either side. "But they're used to hunting lions and leopards and ridgecats come down out of the mountains after our flocks, and wild boar and bear, animals that hunt back, in forests not much different from this."

  The branch tried to twist violently in his gauntleted fist as twin impacts not a heartbeat apart shivered down his arm. He lowered the branch to display two pile arrows, their chisel-shaped heads driven clear of the tough wood on either side. Three hundred paces was a long range for that target, but he had chosen Jondyn Barran and Jori Congar to make the shots. They were the best he had. "If it comes down to it, your men won't even see who's killing them, and that armor won't do much good against a Two Rivers longbow. I hope it doesn't come to that." With all of his strength, he heaved the branch up into the air.

  "My eyes!" Mishima growled, a hand going to his sword even as he tried to rein the roan back and watch Perrin and the branch all at the same time. His helmet toppled from his saddle to the grass.

  The Banner-General made no move toward her sword, though she also tried watching Perrin and the branch. At first she did. Then her gaze followed only the branch as it continued to climb until it hung centered between them a hundred feet in the air. Abruptly a ball of flame enveloped the branch, so fierce that Perrin felt the heat as from an open furnace. Berelain put up a hand to shield her face. Tylee merely watched thoughtfully.

  The fire lasted just moments, yet that was enough to leave only ash drifting on the breeze when it vanished. Ash and two plummeting specks that fell into the dry grass. Small flames shot up immediately and began growing, spreading. Even the warhorses snorted in fear. Berelain's mare danced in an attempt to fight her reins and flee.

  Perrin muttered a curse—he should have thought of the arrowheads—and started to dismount to stamp out the fire, but before he could swing his leg over the saddle, the flames vanished, leaving only thin tendrils of smoke rising from a patch of blackened grass.

  "Good Norie," the sul'dam murmured, patting the damane. "Norie is a wonderful damane." The gray-clad woman smiled shyly at the praise. Despite her words, the sul'dam looked worried.

  "So," Tylee said, "you have a marath—" She paused, pursing her lips. "You have an Aes Sedai with you. More than one? No matter. I can't say the Aes Sedai I've seen have impressed me very much."

  "Not marath'damane, my general." the sul'dam said quietly.

  Tylee sat very still, studying Perrin intently. "Asha'man," she said at last, not a question. "You begin to interest me, my Lord."

  "Then maybe one last thing will convince you," Perrin said. "Tod, roll that banner around the staff and bring it here." Hearing nothing behind him, he looked over his shoulder. Tod was staring at him with a stricken look. "Tod."

  Giving himself a shake, Tod began winding the Red Eagle around its staff. He still looked unhappy when he rode forward and handed it to Perrin, though. He sat there with his hand still stretched out as though hoping the staff might be returned to him.

  Heeling Stepper toward the Seanchan, Perrin held the banner in front of him in his fist, parallel to the ground. "The Two Rivers was the heart of Manetheren, Banner-General. The last King of Manetheren died in a battle right where Emond's Field, the village I was born in, grew up. Manetheren is in our blood. But the Shaido have my wife prisoner. To free her, I'll give up any claim to reviving Manetheren, sign any sort of oath on it you want. That claim would be a field of brambles for you Seanchan. You could be the one who cleared that field without a drop of blood shed." Behind him, someone groaned miserably. He thought it was Tod.

  Suddenly, the breeze was a gale howling in the opposite direction, pelting them with grit, blowing so hard that he had to cling to his saddle to kept from being knocked out of it. His coat seemed on the point of being ripped from his body. Where had the grit come from? The forest was carpeted inches deep with dead leaves. The tempest stank of burned sulphur, too, sharp enough to burn Perrin's nose. The horses tossed their heads, mouths open, but the roar of the wind buried their frightened whinnies.

  Only moments the ferocious wind lasted, and then as suddenly as it came, it was gone, leaving only the breeze blowing the other way. The horses stood shivering, snorting and tossing their heads and rolling their eyes. Perrin patted Stepper's neck and murmured soothing sounds, yet it had little effect.

  The Banner-General made a strange gesture and m
uttered, "Avert the Shadow. Where under the Light did that come from? I've heard tales of strange things happening. Or was it more 'convincing' on your part, my Lord?''

  "No," Perrin said truthfully. Neald possessed abilities with weather, it had turned out, but not Grady. "What does it matter where it came from?"

  Tylee looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. "What does it matter?" she said, sounding as if she did not necessarily agree with him. "We have stories about Manetheren. That would be brambles underfoot and no boots. Half of Amadicia is buzzing with talk of you and that banner, come to bring Manetheren alive again and 'save' Amadicia from us. Mishima, sound withdrawal." Without hesitation, the yellow-haired man raised a small, straight horn that was hanging by a red cord around his neck. Blowing four shrill notes, he repeated the sequence twice before letting the horn fall to swing against his chest. "My part is done," Tylee said.

  Perrin put back his head and shouted as loudly and distinctly as he could. "Dannii! Tell! When the last Seanchan moves below the end of the meadow, gather everyone and join Grady!"

  The Banner-General stuck her little finger into her ear and wiggled it about in spite of her gauntlet. "You have a strong voice," she said dryly. Only then did she reach out to take the banner-staff, laying it carefully across the saddle in front of her. She did not look at it again, but one hand stroked the banner itself, perhaps unconsciously. "Now what do you have that can aid my plan, my Lord?"

  Mishima hooked an ankle behind the tall pommel of his saddle and lowered himself to catch up his helmet. The wind had rolled it across the beaten-down grass halfway back to the line of Seanchan soldiers. From the trees came a brief snatch of larksong, then another, another. The Seanchan were withdrawing. Had they felt the wind, too? No matter.

  "Not near as many men as you already have," Perrin admitted, "not that are trained soldiers, at least, but I have Asha'man and Aes Sedai and Wise Ones who can channel, and you'll need every one of them." She opened her mouth, and he raised a hand. "I'll want your word that you won't try putting collars on them." He glanced pointedly at the sul'dam and damane. The sul'dam was keeping her eyes on Tylee, awaiting orders, but at the same time she was idly stroking the other woman's hair the way you might stroke a cat to soothe it. And Norie looked to be almost purring! Light! "Your word that they're safe from you, them and anyone in the camp wearing a white robe. Most of those aren't Shaido anyway, and the only Aiel among them I know about are friends of mine."