Well, he supposed there were things he’d say the same thing about. Not wearing silly white robes, of course—but he wouldn’t do some of the things the Whitecloaks had done, even if the world was at stake. He didn’t press her further.
“Why are you here?” he asked, putting on his shirt.
“Gaul,” Chiad said. “Is he…”
“Oh, Light!” Perrin said. “I should have told you earlier. I’ve scrap iron for a brain lately, Chiad. He was fine when I left him. He’s still in the dream, and time passes more slowly where he is. It has probably only been an hour or so in his time, but I need to return to him.”
“In your condition?” she asked, ignoring the fact that she’d said she wouldn’t chivvy him for that.
“No,” Perrin said, sitting on the bed. “Last time, I nearly broke my neck. I need one of the Aes Sedai to cure me of my fatigue.”
“This thing is dangerous,” Chiad said.
“More dangerous than letting Rand die?” Perrin said. “More dangerous than leaving Gaul without an ally in the World of Dreams, protecting the Car’a’carn alone?”
“That one is likely to stab himself with his own spear if left to fight alone,” Chiad said.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Hush, Perrin Aybara. I will try.” She left in a rustle of cloth.
Perrin lay back on the bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He’d been far more certain of himself when he’d fought Slayer this last time, yet still he’d failed. He gritted his teeth, hoping Chiad would return soon.
Something moved outside his room. He revived, hauling himself up to a sitting position again.
A large shape darkened the doorway, then removed the shield from a lamp. Master Luhhan was built like an anvil, with a compact—yet powerful— torso and arms that bulged. In Perrin’s mind’s eye, the man didn’t have so much gray in his hair. Master Luhhan had grown older, but he was not frail. Perrin doubted he ever would be.
“Lord Goldeneyes?” he asked.
“Light, please,” Perrin said. “Master Luhhan, you of all people should feel free to call me Perrin. If not ‘that worthless apprentice of mine.’ ”
“Here, now,” Master Luhhan said, walking into the room. “I don’t believe I called you that except once.”
“When I broke the new blade for Master al’Moor’s scythe,” Perrin said, smiling. “I was sure I could get it right.”
Master Luhhan chuckled. He paused beside Perrin’s hammer, which still lay on the table at the foot of the bed, and rested his fingers on it. “You have become a master of the craft.” Master Luhhan seated himself on a stool beside the bed. “One craftsman to another, I’m impressed. I don’t think I could have ever made something so fine as that hammer.”
“You made the axe.”
“I guess I did that,” he said. “It was not a thing of beauty. It was a thing of killing.”
“Killing sometimes needs to be done.”
“Yes, but it’s never beautiful. Never.”
Perrin nodded. “Thank you. For finding me, bringing me here. For saving me.”
“It was self-interest, son!” Master Luhhan said. “If we escape this, it will be because of you boys, mark my words on it as true.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. One man, at least, remembered the three of them as youths—youths who, in Mat’s case at least, had been in trouble more often than not.
Actually, Perrin thought, I’m pretty sure Mat’s still in trouble more often than not. At least, at the moment, he wasn’t fighting but instead talking with some Seanchan, according to the spinning colors that resolved into an image.
“Chiad said that the fighting at Merrilor was finished?” Perrin asked.
“It is,” Master Luhhan said. “I came through, carrying some of our wounded. I should be getting back to Tam and Abell soon, but I wanted to check on you.”
Perrin nodded. That tugging inside of him… if anything, it was stronger now than it ever would be. Rand needed him. The war wasn’t finished yet. Not by far.
“Master Luhhan,” Perrin said with a sigh. “I’ve made a mistake.”