However, with the dreamspike in place, she also could not move this battle with the children above to a more suitable, carefully selected location. Aggravating. But no, she would not allow herself to become emotional about the situation.
“Return above and concentrate everything on capturing the woman Egwene al’Vere,” Mesaana said. “She will know where the device is.” Yes, that was clear to her now. She would achieve two victories with a single act.
“Yes…Mistress…” Katerine was still cowering, straps of Air beating against her back. Ah, yes. Mesaana waved curtly, dispelling the weave. As she did so, a thought occurred to her.
“Wait here, a moment,” she said to Katerine. “I’m going to place a weave upon you….”
Perrin appeared on the very top of the White Tower.
Slayer held Hopper by the scruff of his neck. The wolf had an arrow through his side; blood ran down his paw. Wind blew across the rock, catching the blood and spraying it across the stones.
“Hopper!” Perrin took a step forward. He could still sense Hopper’s mind, though it was weak.
Slayer held the wolf up, lifting him easily. He raised a knife.
“No,” Perrin said. “You have what you want. Just go.”
“And what was it you said earlier?” Slayer asked. “That you know where I would go, and you’d follow? The dreamspike is too easy to locate on this side.”
He casually tossed the wolf off the side of the Tower.
“NO!” Perrin screamed. He leaped for the side, but Slayer appeared beside him, grabbing him, raising his dagger. The leap knocked them both off the side of the Tower, Perrin’s stomach lurching as they fell.
He tried to send himself away, but Slayer had hold of him, and he tried very hard to keep them in place. They shook for a moment, but kept falling.
Slayer was so strong. He smelled wrong, like staleness and wolf’s blood. His knife sought Perrin’s throat, and the best Perrin could do was raise his arm to block, thinking of his shirt being as hard as steel.
Slayer pressed harder. Perrin felt a moment of weakness, the wound across his chest throbbing as he and Slayer tumbled. The knife split Perrin’s sleeve and rammed into his forearm.
Perrin screamed. The wind was so loud. It had been mere seconds. Slayer pulled the knife free.
Hopper!
Perrin roared and kicked at Slayer, pushing him away, breaking his grip. Arm aflame, Perrin twisted in the air. The ground rushed at them. He willed himself to another place, and he appeared just below Hopper, catching the wolf and crashing into the ground. His knees buckled; the ground around him shattered. But he lowered Hopper safely.
A black-fletched arrow zipped from the sky and pierced Hopper’s back, passing all the way through the wolf and hitting Perrin in his thigh, which was bent at the knee just beneath the wolf.
Perrin yelled, feeling his own pain mix with a sudden wash of agony from Hopper. The wolf’s mind was fading.
“No!” Perrin sent, eyes wet with tears.
Young Bull… Hopper sent.
Perrin tried to send himself away, but his mind was fuzzy. Another arrow would soon fall. He knew it. He managed to roll out of the way as it struck the ground, but his leg no longer worked, and Hopper was so heavy. Perrin pitched to the ground, dropping the wolf, rolling.
Slayer landed a short distance away, long, wicked black bow in hand. “Goodbye, Aybara.” Slayer raised his bow. “Looks like I kill five wolves today.”
Perrin stared up at the arrow. Everything was blurry.
I can’t leave Faile. I can’t leave Hopper.
I won’t!
As Slayer released, Perrin desperately imagined himself strong, not faint. He felt his heart become hale again, his veins filling with energy. He yelled, head clearing enough to make himself vanish and appear standing behind Slayer.
He swung with his hammer.
Slayer turned casually and blocked it with his arm, which was enormously strong. Perrin fell to one knee, the pain in his leg still there. He gasped.
“You can’t heal yourself,” Slayer said. “There are ways, but simply imagining yourself well does not work. You do seem to have figured out how to replenish your blood, however, which is useful.”
Perrin smelled something. Terror. Was it his own?
No. No, there. Behind Slayer was a doorway open into the White Tower. Inside was blackness. Not just shadow, blackness. Perrin had done enough practice with Hopper to recognize what it was.
A nightmare.
As Slayer opened his mouth to say something, Perrin growled and threw all of his weight forward, ramming into Slayer. His leg screamed in pain.
They tumbled directly into the blackness of the nightmare.
Chapter 38
Wounds
Spurts of fire flashed through the dark hallways of the White Tower, leaving trails of smoke that curled in the air, thick and pungent. People screamed and yelled and cursed. The walls shook as blasts took them; chips and chunks of rock sprayed off weaves of Air crafted for protection.
There. Egwene noted a place where several Black sisters were lobbing fire down the hallway. Evanellein was there.
Egwene sent herself into the room next to the one where they were standing; she could hear them on the other side of the wall. She opened her hands and released a powerful blast of Earth and Fire directly at the wall, blowing it outward.
The women beyond stumbled and fell, Evanellein collapsing, bloodied. The other woman was quick enough to send herself away.
Egwene checked to see that Evanellein was dead. She was. Egwene nodded with satisfaction; Evanellein was one of those that she’d been most eager to find. Now if she could only track down Katerine or Alviarin.
Channeling. Behind her. Egwene threw herself to the ground as a blast of Fire sprayed over her head. Mesaana, black cloth swirling about her. Egwene gritted her teeth and sent herself away. She didn’t dare face the woman directly.
Egwene appeared in a storage room not far away, then stumbled as a blast shook the area. She waved a hand, making a window in the door, and saw Amys charging past. The Wise One wore cadin’sor and carried spears. Her shoulder was bleeding and blackened. Another blast hit near her, but she vanished. That blast made the air outside swelter, melting Egwene’s window and forcing her to step back.
Saerin’s research had been correct. Despite the open battle, Mesaana had not fled nor hidden, as Moghedien might have. Perhaps she was confident. Perhaps she was frightened; likely, she needed Egwene’s death to prove a vic