“Tell him this, little Aes Sedai. Tell him that an old friend awaits. I am Bao, the Wyld. He Who Is Owned Only by the Land. The dragonslayer. He knew me once by a name I have scorned, the name Barid Bel.”
Barid Bel? Egwene thought, memories from her lessons in the White Tower returning to her. Barid Bel Medar… Demandred.
The storm in the wolf dream was a changeable thing. Perrin spent hours prowling the Borderlands, visiting packs of wolves as he ran down dry riverbeds and across broken hills.
Gaul had learned quickly. He wouldn’t stand for a moment against Slayer, of course, but at least he had learned to keep his clothing from changing—though his veil did still snap up to cover his face when he was startled.
The two of them bounded through Kandor, leaving blurs in the air as they moved from hilltop to hilltop. The storm was sometimes strong, sometimes weak. At the moment, Kandor was hauntingly still. The grassy highland landscape was strewn with all kinds of debris. Tents, roofing tiles, the sail of a large ship, even a blacksmith’s anvil, deposited point-first into a muddy hillside.
The dangerously powerful storm could arise anywhere in the wolf dream and rip apart cities or forests. He’d found Tairen hats blown all the way to Shienar.
Perrin came to rest on a hilltop, Gaul streaking into place beside him. How long had they been searching for Slayer? A few hours, it seemed on one hand. On the other… how much ground had they crossed? They had returned to their food stores now three times to eat. Did that mean a day had passed?
“Gaul,” Perrin said. “How long have we been at this?”
“I cannot say, Perrin Aybara,” Gaul replied. He checked for the sun, though there was none. “A long while. Will we need to stop and sleep?”
That was a good question. Perrin’s stomach suddenly growled, and he made them a meal of dried meat and a hunk of bread. He gave some to Gaul. Would summoned bread sustain them in the wolf dream, or would it merely vanish once they consumed it?
The latter. The food vanished even as Perrin ate it. They would need to rely upon their supplies, perhaps getting more from Rand’s Asha’man during the daily opening of that portal. For now, he shifted back to their packs and dug out some dried meat, then rejoined Gaul in the north. As they settled down on the hillside to eat again, he found himself dwelling on the dreamspike. He carried it with him, turned to its slumbering position, as Lanfear had taught him. It made no dome now, but he could make one when he wished.
Lanfear had all but given it to him. What did that mean? Why did she taunt him?
He ripped at a hunk of dried meat. Was Faile safe? If the Shadow discovered what she was doing… Well, he wished he could at least check on her.
He took a long drink from his waterskin, then searched outward for the wolves. There were hundreds of them up here, in the Borderlands. Perhaps thousands. He gave those nearby a greeting, sending his scent mixed with his image. The dozen replies that came were not words, but his mind understood them as such.
Young Bull! This from a wolf named White Eyes. The Last Hunt is here. Will you lead us?
Many asked this, lately, and Perrin couldn’t figure out how to interpret it. Why do you need me to lead you?
It will be by your call, White Eyes replied. By your howl.
I don’t understand what you mean, Perrin sent. Can you not hunt on your own?
Not this prey, Young Bull.
Perrin shook his head. A response like others he’d received. White Eyes, he sent. Have you seen Slayer? The killer of wolves? Has he stalked you here?
Perrin sent it out broadly, and some of the other wolves replied. They knew of Slayer. His image and scent had been passed among many wolves, much as had Perrin’s own. None had seen him recently, but time was an odd thing to wolves; Perrin wasn’t certain how recent their “recently” really was.
Perrin took a bite of dried meat, and caught himself growling softly. He stifled that. He had come to a peace with the wolf inside of him, but that didn’t mean he intended to let it start tracking mud into the house.
Young Bull, another wolf sent. Turn Bow, an aged female pack leader. Moonhunter walks the dreams again. She seeks you.
Thank you, he sent back. I know this. I will avoid her.
Avoid the moon? Turn Bow sent back. A difficult thing, Young Bull. Difficult.
She had the right of that.
I saw Heartseeker just now, sent Steps, a black-furred youth. She wears a new scent, but it is her.
Other wolves sent agreement. Heartseeker was in the wolf dream. Some had seen her to the east, but others said that she had been seen to the south.
But what of Slayer? Where was the man, if not hunting wolves? Perrin caught himself growling again.
Heartseeker. That must be one of the Forsaken, though he didn’t recognize the images they sent of her. She was ancient, and so were the memories of wolves, but often the things they remembered were fragments of fragments that their ancestors had seen.
“Any news?” Gaul said.
“Another one of the Forsaken is here,” Perrin said with a grunt. “Doing something to the east.”
“Does it involve us?”
“The Forsaken always involve us,” Perrin said, standing. He reached down, touched Gaul on the shoulder and shifted them in the direction Steps had indicated. The position wasn’t exact, but once Perrin arrived, he found some wolves who had seen Heartseeker on their way to the Borderlands the day before. They sent Perrin eager greetings, asking if he was going to lead them.
He rebuffed their questions, pinpointing where Heartseeker had been spotted. It was Merrilor.
Perrin shifted there. A strange mist hung over the landscape here. Tall trees, the ones Rand had grown, reflected here, and their lofty tops poked out of the mist above.
Tents dotted the landscape, like the tops of mushrooms. Aiel tents were plentiful, and between them cook fires glowed in the mist. This camp had been here long enough to manifest in the wolf dream, though tent flaps changed places and bedrolls vanished, flickering in the insubstantial way of this place.
Perrin led Gaul between the neat rows of tents and horseless horse pickets. They both froze as they heard a sound. Someone muttering. Perrin used the trick he’d seen Lanfear use, creating a pocket of… something around himself that was invisible, but which stopped sound. It was strange, but he did it by creating a barrier with no air in it. Why would that make the sound stop?
He and Gaul crept forward to the canvas of a tent. That of the man Rodel Ituralde, one of the great captains, judging by the banner. Inside, a woman in trousers picked through documents on a table. They kept vanishing in her fingers.
Perrin didn’t recognize her, though she was painfully homely. That certainly wasn’t what he’d have expected from one of the Forsaken; not that large forehead, bulbous nose, uneven eyes or thinning hair. He didn’t recognize her curses, though he grasped the meaning from her tone.
Gaul looked at him, and Perrin reached for his hammer, but hesitated. Attacking Slayer was one thing, but one of the Forsaken? He was confident of his ability to resist weaves here in the wolf dream. But still…
The woman cursed again as the paper she was reading vanished. Then she looked up.
Perrin’s reaction was immediate. He created a paper-thin wall between her and him, her side painted with an exact replica of the landscape behind him, his side transparent. She looked right at him, but didn’t see him, and turned away.
Beside him, Gaul let out a very soft breath of relief. How did I do that? Perrin thought. It wasn’t something he had practiced; it had merely seemed right.
Heartseeker—this had to be she—waved her fingers, and the tent split in half above her, the canvas flaps hanging down. She rose through the air, moving toward the black tempest above.
Perrin whispered to Gaul, “Wait here and watch for danger.”
Gaul nodded. Perrin cautiously followed Heartseeker, lifting himself into the air with a thought. He tried to form another wall between him
self and her, but it was too difficult to keep the right image displayed while moving. Instead, he kept his distance and put a blank brownish-green wall between him and the Forsaken, hoping that if she happened to glance down, she’d pass over the small oddity.
She began to move more quickly, and Perrin forced himself to keep up. He glanced down, and was rewarded with the stomach-churning sight of Merrilor’s landscape dwindling below. Then it grew dark and vanished into blackness.
They didn’t pass through the clouds. As the ground faded away, so did the clouds, and they entered someplace black. Pinpricks of light appeared all around Perrin. The woman above stopped and hung in the air for a few moments before streaking away to the right.
Perrin followed again, coloring himself—his skin, his clothing, everything—black to hide. The woman approached one of the pinpricks of light until it expanded and dominated the sky in front of her.
Heartseeker reached her hands forward and pressed them against the light. She was muttering to herself. Feeling he needed to hear what she was saying, Perrin dared move closer, though he suspected that the pounding of his heart was so loud it would give him away.
“… take it from me?” she said. “You think I care? Give me a face of broken stone. What do I care? That’s not me. I will have your place, Moridin. It will be mine. This face will just make them underestimate me. Burn you.”
Perrin frowned. He couldn’t make much sense of what she was saying.
“Go ahead and throw your armies at them, you fools,” she continued to herself. “I’ll have the greater victory. An insect can have a thousand legs, but only one head. Destroy the head, and the day is yours. All you’re doing is cutting off the legs, stupid fool. Stupid, arrogant, insufferable fool. I’ll have what is due me, I’ll…”
She hesitated, then pivoted. Perrin, spooked, immediately sent himself back to the ground. It worked, thankfully—he hadn’t known if it would, up in that place of lights. Gaul jumped, and Perrin took a deep breath. “Let’s—”
A ball of blazing fire crashed into the ground beside him. Perrin cursed and rolled, cooling himself with a gust of wind, imagining his hammer up into his hand.
Heartseeker dropped to the ground in a wave of energy, power rippling around her. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Where are you? I—”
She focused suddenly on Perrin, seeing him completely for the first time, the blackness having faded from his clothing. “You!” she screeched. “You are to blame for this!”
She raised her hands; her eyes almost seemed to glow with hatred. Perrin could smell the emotion in spite of the blowing wind. She released a white-hot bar of light, but Perrin bent it around himself.
The woman started. They always did that. Didn’t they realize that nothing was real here except what you thought to be real? Perrin vanished, appearing behind her, raising his hammer. Then he hesitated. A woman?
She spun about, screaming and ripping the earth beneath him. He jumped up into the sky, and the air around him tried to seize him—but he did what he’d done before, creating a wall of nothingness. There was no air to grab him. Holding his breath, he vanished and appeared back on the ground, summoning banks of earth in front of him to block the balls of fire that hurtled his way.
“I want you dead!” the woman screamed. “You should be dead. My plans were perfect!”
Perrin vanished, leaving behind a statue of himself. He appeared beside the tent, where Gaul watched carefully, spear raised. Perrin put a wall between them and the woman, coloring it to hide them, and made a barrier to block the sound.
“She can’t hear us now,” Perrin said.
“You are strong here,” Gaul said thoughtfully. “Very strong. Do the Wise Ones know of this?”
“I’m still a pup compared to them,” Perrin said.
“Perhaps,” Gaul said. “I have not seen them, and they do not speak of this place to men.” He shook his head. “Much honor, Perrin Aybara. You have much honor.”
“I should have just struck her down,” Perrin said as Heartseeker destroyed the statue of him, then stepped up to it, looking confused. She turned about, searching frantically.
“Yes,” Gaul agreed. “A warrior who will not strike a Maiden is a warrior who refuses her honor. Of course, the greater honor for you…”
Would be to take her captive. Could he do it? Perrin took a breath, then sent himself behind her, imagining vines reaching around her to hold her in place. The woman howled curses at him, slicing the vines with unseen blades. She reached her hand toward Perrin, and he shifted to the side.
His feet crunched on bits of frost on the ground that he hadn’t noticed, and she immediately spun on him and released another weave of balefire. Clever, Perrin thought, barely managing to bend the light away. It struck the hillside behind, drilling a hole straight through it.
Heartseeker continued the weave, snarling, hideous face distorted. The weave bent back toward Perrin, and he gritted his teeth, keeping it at bay. She was strong. She pushed hard, but finally, she released it, panting. “How… how can you possibly…”
Perrin filled her mouth with forkroot. It was difficult to do; changing anything directly about a person was always harder. However, this was much easier than trying to transform her into an animal or the like. She raised a hand to her mouth, eyes adopting a look of panic. She began to spit and hack, then desperately opened a gateway beside her.
Perrin growled, imagining ropes reaching for her, but she destroyed them with a weave of Fire—she must have gotten the forkroot out. She hurled herself through the gateway, and he shifted himself to be right in front of it, preparing to leap through. He froze when he saw her entering the middle of an enormous army of Trollocs and Fades at night. Many faced the gateway, eager.
Perrin stepped back as Heartseeker raised a hand to her mouth, looking aghast and coughing out more forkroot. The gateway closed.
“You should have killed her,” Lanfear said.
Perrin turned to find the woman standing nearby, her arms folded. Her hair had changed from silver to dark brown. In fact, her face had changed, too, becoming slightly more like it had been before, when he’d first seen her nearly two years ago.
Perrin said nothing, returning his hammer to its straps.
“This is a weakness, Perrin,” Lanfear said. “I found it charming in Lews Therin at one point, but that doesn’t make it any less a weakness. You need to overcome it.”
“I will,” he snapped. “What was she doing, up there with the balls of light?”
“Invading dreams,” Lanfear said. “She was here in the flesh. That affords one certain advantages, particularly when playing with dreams. That hussy. She thinks she knows this place, but it has always been mine. It would have been best if you’d killed her.”
“That was Graendal, wasn’t it?” Perrin asked. “Or was it Moghedien?”
“Graendal,” Lanfear said. “Though, again, we are not to use that name for her. She’s been renamed Hessalam.”
“Hessalam,” Perrin said, trying the word out in his mouth. “I don’t know it.”
“It means ‘without forgiveness.’ ”
“And what is your new name, the one we’re supposed to call you, now?”
That actually pulled a blush out of her. “Never mind,” she said. “You are skilled here in Tel’aran’rhiod. Much better than Lews Therin ever was. I always thought I would rule at his side, that only a man who could channel would be worthy of me. But the power you display here… I think I may accept it as a substitute.”
Perrin grunted. Gaul had moved across the small clearing between the camp tents, spear raised, shoufa covering his face. Perrin waved him off. Not only was Lanfear likely to be much better with the wolf dream than Gaul, but she hadn’t done anything specifically threatening yet.
“If you’ve been watching me,” Perrin said, “you’ll know that I’m married, quite happily.”
“So I have seen.”
“Then stop looking at me like a flank of
beef hung up for display in the market,” Perrin growled. “What was Graendal doing here? What does she want?”
“I’m not certain,” Lanfear said lightly. “She always has three or four plots going at the same time. Don’t underestimate her, Perrin. She’s not as skilled here as some others, but she is dangerous. She’s a fighter, unlike Moghedien, who will run from you whenever she can.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Perrin said, walking up to the place where she’d vanished by gateway. He prodded at the earth where the gateway had cut the ground.
“You could do that, you know,” Lanfear said.
He spun on her. “What?”
“Go back and forth into the waking world,” she said. “Without requiring the help of one like Lews Therin.”
Perrin didn’t like the way she sneered when she said his name. She tried to cover it up, but he smelled hatred on her whenever she mentioned him.
“I can’t channel,” Perrin said. “I suppose I could imagine being able to…”
“It wouldn’t work,” she said. “There are limits to what one can accomplish here, regardless of how strong the mind. The ability to channel is not a thing of the body, but a thing of the soul. There are still ways for one such as you to move back and forth between worlds in the flesh. The one you call Slayer does it.”
“He’s not a wolfbrother.”
“No,” she said. “But he is something similar. I’m honestly not certain another has had his skills before. The Dark One did… something to this Slayer when capturing his soul, or his souls. I suspect Semirhage might have been able to tell us more. It’s a pity she’s dead.”
Lanfear didn’t smell of pity at all. She glanced at the sky, but was calm, not worried.
“You don’t seem as worried about being spotted as you once were,” Perrin noted.
“My former master is… occupied. This last week watching you, I’ve rarely felt his eyes on me.”
“Week?” Perrin asked, shocked. “But—”
“Time passes oddly here,” she said, “and the barriers of time itself are fraying. The closer you are to the Bore, the more time will distort. For those who approach Shayol Ghul in the real world, it will be just as bad. For every day that passes to them, three or four might pass to those more distant.”