"Why, Falin Deborsha, my Lord," Gill said. "Are you familiar with Ebou Dar?"
"I have been there," Galad said calmly. "This is quite a caravan you have. Interesting collection of wares."
"We have heard that there are armies mobilizing here in the south, my Lord. I purchased many of these supplies from a mercenary troop who was disbanding, and thought I could sell them down here. Perhaps your own army has need of camp furniture? We have tents, mobile smithy equipment, everything that soldiers could use."
Clever, Galad thought. Galad might have accepted the lie, but the "merchant" had too many cooks, washwomen, and farriers with him, and not nearly enough guards for so valuable a caravan.
"I see," Galad said. "Well, it happens that I do have need of supplies. Particularly food."
"Alas, my Lord," the man said. "Our food cannot be spared. Anything else I will sell, but the food I have promised by messenger to someone in Lugard."
"I will pay more."
"I made a promise, my good Lord," the man said. "I could not break it, regardless of the price."
"I see." Galad waved to Bornhald. The soldier gave commands, and Children in white tabards moved forward, weapons out.
"What . . . what are you doing?" Gill asked.
"Separating your people," Galad said. "We'll talk to each of them alone and see if their stories match. I worry that you might have been . . . un-forthcoming with us. After all, what it seems like to me is that you are the camp followers of a large army. If that is the case, then I would very much like to know whose army it is, not to mention where it is."
Gill's forehead started to sweat as Galad's soldiers efficiently separated the captives. Galad waited for a time watching Gill. Eventually Bornhald and Byar came jogging up to him, hands on their swords.
"My Lord Captain Commander," Bornhald said urgently. Galad turned away from Gill. "Yes?"
"We may have a situation here," Bornhald said. His face was flushed with anger. Beside him, Byar's eyes were wide, almost frenzied. "Some of the prisoners have talked. It's as you feared. A large army is nearby. They've skirmished with Aiel those fellows over there in the white robes are actually Aiel themselves."
"And?"
Byar spat to the side. "Have you ever heard of a man called Perrin
Goldeneyes?"
"No. Should I have?"
"Yes," Bornhald said. "He killed my father."
CHAPTER 5
Writings
Gawyn hastened down the hallways of the White Tower, booted feet thumping on a deep blue rug atop crimson and white floor tiles. Mirrored stand-lamps reflected light, each like a sentry along
the way.
Sleete walked quickly beside him. Despite the lamps' illumination, Sleete's face seemed half-shrouded in shadow. Perhaps it was the two-day stubble on his jaw an oddity for a Warder or the long hair, clean but unshorn. Or maybe it was his features. Uneven, like an unfinished drawing, with sharp lines, a cleft in his chin, a hook to his once-broken nose, cheekbones that jutted out.
He had the lithe motions of a Warder, but with a more primal feel than most. Rather than the huntsman moving through the woods, he was the silent, shadow-bound predator that prey never saw until the teeth were flashing.
They reached an intersection where several of Chubain's guards stood watch down one of the halls. They had swords at their sides and wore white tabards emblazoned with the Flame of Tar Valon. One held up a hand.
"I'm allowed in," Gawyn said. "The Amyrlin "
"The sisters aren't done yet," the guard replied, hostile.
Gawyn ground his teeth, but there was nothing to be done about it. He and Sleete stepped back and waited until finally three Aes Sedai walked out of a guarded room. They looked troubled. They strode away, followed by a pair of soldiers carrying something wrapped in a white cloth. The body.
Finally, the two guards reluctantly stepped aside and let Gawyn and Sleete pass. They hurried down the hallway and entered a small reading room. Gawyn hesitated beside the door, glancing back down the hallway. He could see some Accepted peeking around a corner, whispering.