"I'm sure that she will be fine, Mat," Talmanes said, tone gentler. "She is royalty. They know how to take care of themselves. And she's got those soldiers watching after her. Not to mention Ogier. Ogier warriors! Who would think of such a thing? She'll be all right."
"We're done with this conversation," Mat said, shifting his spear to hold it upright, curved blade toward the unseen sun above, butt in the lancer's strap at the side of his saddle.
"I just—"
"Over," Mat said. "You don't have any more of that tabac, do you?"
Talmanes sighed. "It was the last pinch. Good tabac—Two Rivers grown. The only pouch of it I've seen in some time. It was a gift from King Roedran, along with the pipe."
"He must have valued you."
"It was good, honest work," Talmanes said. "And terribly boring. Not like riding with you, Mat. It's good to have you back, crust and all. But your talk of feed with the Aes Sedai does have me worried."
Mat nodded. "How are we on rations?"
"Low," Talmanes said.
"We'll buy what we can at the village," Mat said. "We've got coin coming out our ears, after what Roedran gave you."
A small village wasn't likely to have enough to supply the whole army. But, according to the maps, they'd soon be entering more populated lands. You'd pass a village or two every day in those areas, traveling with a quick force like the Band. To stay afloat, you scavenged and bought whatever little bit you could at each village you passed. A wagonload here, a cartful there, a bucket or two of apples from a passing farmstead. Seven thousand men was a lot to feed, but a good commander knew not to turn down even a handful of grain. It added up.
"Yes, but will the villagers sell?" Talmanes asked. "On our way down to meet you, we had a savage time getting anyone to sell us food. Seems there isn't much to be found these days. Food is getting scarce, no matter where you go and no matter how much money you have."
Bloody perfect. Mat ground his teeth, then grew annoyed at himself for doing so. Well, maybe he was a little on edge. Not because of Tuon, though.
Either way, he needed to relax. And that village ahead—what had Vanin called it? Hinderstap? "How much coin do you have on you?"
Talmanes frowned. "Couple of gold marks, pouch full of silver crowns. Why?"
"Not enough," Mat said, rubbing his chin. "We'll have to dig some more out of my personal chest first. Maybe bring the whole thing." He turned Pips around. "Come on."
"Wait, Mat," Talmanes said, reining in and following. "What are we doing?"
"You're going to kindly take me up on my offer to go enjoy ourselves at the tavern," Mat said. "And while we're at it, we're going to resupply. If my luck's with me, we'll do it for free."
If Egwene or Nynaeve had been there, they'd have boxed his ears and told him he was going to do no such thing. Tuon probably would have looked at him curiously and then said something that made him feel his shame right down into his boots.
The good thing about Talmanes, however, was that he simply spurred his horse forward, face stoic, eyes betraying just a hint of amusement. "Well, I've got to see this, then!"
CHAPTER 21
Embers and Ash
Perrin opened his eyes and found himself hanging in the air. He felt a spike of terror, floundering in the sky. Black clouds boiled overhead, dark and ominous. Below, a plain of wild brown grasses rolled in the wind, no signs of humans. No tents, no roads, not even any footprints.
Perrin wasn't falling. He just hung there. He waved his arms reflex-ively, as if to swim, panicking as his mind tried to make sense of the dis-orientation.
The wolf dream, he thought. I'm in the wolf dream. I went to sleep, hoping to come here.
He forced himself to breathe in and out and still his flailing, though it was difficult to be calm while hanging hundreds of feet up in the sky. Suddenly, a gray-furred form shot past him, leaping through the air. The wolf soared down to the field below, landing easily.
"Hopper!"
Jump down, Young Bull. Jump. It is safe. As always, the Sending from the wolf came as a mixture of scents and images. Perrin was getting better and better at interpreting those—the soft earth as a representation of the ground, rushing wind as an image of jumping, the scent of relaxation and calmness to indicate there was no need to fear.
"But how?"
Times before, you always rushed ahead, like a pup newly weaned. Jump. Jump down! Far below, Hopper sat on his haunches in the field, grinning up at Perrin.
Perrin ground his teeth and muttered a curse or two for stubborn wolves. It seemed to him that the dead ones were particularly bull-headed. Though Hopper did have a point. Perrin had leaped before in this place, if never from the sky itself.
He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and imagined himself jumping. Air rushed around him in a sudden burst, but then his feet hit soft ground. He opened his eyes. A large gray wolf, scarred from many fights, was sitting on the ground beside him, and wild millet spread out in a broad plain around him, heavily mixed with stands of long, thin grasses that reached high in the air. Scratchy stalks rubbed against Per-rin's arms in the wind, making him itch. The grasses smelled too dry, like cut hay left in a barn over the winter.
Some things were transitory here in the Wolf Dream; leaves lay in a pile by his feet at one moment, but then were gone the next. Everything smelled just faintly stale, as if it weren't quite there.
He looked up. The sky was stormy. Normally, clouds in this place were as transitory as other things. It could be completely overcast; then, in a blink, it would suddenly be clear. This time, those dark storm clouds remained. They boiled, spun, and shot lines of lightning between different thunderheads. Yet the lightning never struck the ground, and it made no noise.
The plain was oddly silent. The clouds shrouded the entire sky, ominous. And they did not leave.
The hast Hunt comes. Hopper looked up at the sky. We will run together, then. Unless we sleep instead.
"Sleep?" Perrin said. "What of the Last Hunt?"
It comes, Hopper agreed. If Shadowkiller falls to the storm, all will sleep forever. If he lives, then we will hunt together. You and us.
Perrin rubbed his chin, trying to sort through the Sending of images, smells, sounds, feelings. It made little sense to him.
But, well, he was here now. He'd wanted to come, and he'd decided that he'd get some answers from Hopper, if he could. It was good to see Hopper again.
Run, Hopper sent. His Sending was not alarmed. It was an offer. Let us run together.
Perrin nodded, and began to jog through the grasses. Hopper loped beside him, sending amusement. Two legs, Young Bull? Two legs are slow! That Sending was an image of men stumbling over themselves, tripping because of their elongated, silly legs.
Perrin hesitated. "I have to keep control, Hopper," he said. "When I let the wolf take control . . . well, I do dangerous things."
The wolf cocked his head, trotting beside Perrin across the grassy field. The stalks crunched and scraped as the two of them passed through, finding a small game trail, turning along it.
Run, Hopper urged, obviously confused at Perrin's reluctance.
"I can't," Perrin said, stopping. Hopper turned and took a few bounds back to him. He smelled confused.
"Hopper, I frighten myself," Perrin said, "when I lose control. The first time it happened to me was just after I met the wolves. You need to help me understand."
Hopper simply continued to stare at him, tongue hanging out the front of his mouth just slightly, jaws parted.
Why am I doing this? Perrin thought, shaking his head. Wolves didn't think like men. What did it matter what Hopper thought of it all?
We will hunt together, Hopper sent.
"What if I don't want to hunt with you?" Perrin said. Saying the words made his heart twist. He did like this place, the wolf dream, dangerous though it could be. There were wonderful things about what had happened to him since leaving the Two Rivers.
But he couldn't continue to lose control. He had to find a balance. Throwing away the axe had made a difference. The axe and the hammer were different weapons—one could be used only for killing, while the other gave him a choice.
But he had to make good on that choice. He had to control himself. And the first step seemed to be learning to control the wolf within him.
Run with me, Young Bull, Hopper sent. Forget these thoughts. Run like a wolf.
"I can't," Perrin replied. He turned, scanning the plains. "But I need to know this place, Hopper. I need to learn how to use it, control it."
Men, Hopper thought, Sending the smells of dismissiveness and anger. Control. Always control.
"I want you to teach me," Perrin said, turning back to the wolf. "I want to master this place. Will you show me how?"
Hopper sat back on his haunches.
"Fine," Perrin said. "I will search out other wolves who will."
He turned, striking down the game trail. He didn't recognize this place, but he'd learned that the wolf dream was unpredictable. This meadow with the waist-high grass and its stands of yew could be anywhere. Where would he find wolves? He quested out with his mind, and found that it was much more difficult to do here.
You don't want to run. But you look for wolves. Why are you so difficult, cub? Hopper sat in front of him in the grass.
Perrin grumbled, then took a leap that launched him through the air a hundred yards. He landed with his foot falling to the grass as if it had been a normal step.
And there Hopper was ahead of him. Perrin hadn't seen the wolf leap. He had been in one place, and now in another. Perrin gritted his teeth, questing out again. For other wolves. He felt something, distant. He needed to push harder. He concentrated, drew more strength into himself, somehow, and managed to push his mind farther.
This is dangerous, Young Bull, Hopper sent. You come here too strongly. You will die.
"You always say that," Perrin replied. "Tell me what I want to know. Show me how to learn."
Stubborn pup, Hopper Sent. Return when you aren't determined to poke your snout into afireasp's den.
With that, something slammed against Perrin, a weight against his mind. Everything vanished, and he was tossed—like a leaf before a storm—out of the wolf dream.
Faile felt her husband stir next to her as he slept. She glanced at him in the dark room; though she lay beside him on the pallet, she hadn't been sleeping. She'd been waiting, listening to his breaths. He turned onto his back, muttering drowsily.
Of all the nights for him to be restless . . . she thought with annoyance.
They were a week out of Maiden. The refugees had made camp—or, well, camps—near a waterway that led straight to the Jehannah Road, which was only a short distance away.
Things had gone smoothly these last few days, though Perrin had judged the Asha'man too tired still to make gateways. She had spent the evening with her husband, reminding him of several important reasons why he'd married her in the first place. He'd certainly been enthusiastic, though there was that odd edge to his eyes. Not a dangerous edge, just a sorrowful one. He had grown haunted while they were apart. She could understand that. She had a few ghosts of her own. One could not expect everything to remain the same, and she could tell that he still loved her—loved her fiercely. That was enough, and so she didn't worry on it further.
But she was planning an argument that would pull his secrets from him. She would wait a few more days for that. It was good to remind a husband that one would not sit content with everything he did, but it wouldn't do to make him think she was unappreciative to have him back.
Quite the opposite. She smiled, rolling over and laying her hand on his chest, furred with hair, her head on his bare shoulder. She loved this burly, tumbling avalanche of a man. Being back with him was sweeter, even, than the victory of her escape from the Shaido.
His eyes fluttered open and she sighed. Love him or not, she wished he'd remain asleep this night! Hadn't she tired him out enough?
He looked at her; his golden eyes seemed to glow just faintly in the darkness, though she knew it was a trick of the light. Then he pulled her a little closer. "I didn't sleep with Berelain," he said, voice gruff. "No matter what the rumors say."
Dear, sweet, blunt Perrin. "I know you didn't," she said consolingly. She'd heard the rumors. Virtually every woman she'd talked to in the camp, from Aes Sedai to servant, had pretended she was trying to hold her tongue, yet spilled the same news. Perrin, spending a night in the First of Mayene's tent.
"No, really," Perrin said, a pleading tone entering his voice. "I didn't, Faile. Please."
"I said I believed you."
"You sounded ... I don't know. Burn it, woman, you sounded jealous."
Would he never learn? "Perrin," she said flatly. "It took me the better part of a year—not to mention considerable trouble—to seduce you, and then it only worked because there was a marriage involved! Berelain hasn't the skill to handle you."
He reached his right hand up, scratching his beard, seeming confused. Then he just smiled.
"Besides," she added, snuggling closer, "you spoke the words. And I trust you."
"So you're not jealous?"
"Of course I am," she said, swatting his chest. "Perrin, haven't I explained this? A husband needs to know his wife is jealous, otherwise he won't realize how much she cares for him. You guard that which you find most precious. Honestly, if you keep making me spell things out like this, then I won't hav