Most everybody had turned in already. He sensed movement on the horselines, in the heart of the camp, likely some of the Cairhienin grooms or farriers, but the patched canvas tents and small huts of woven evergreen branches, now long since brown, lay dark and quiet. Nothing moved among the low Aiel tents, and only a few sentries walking up and down in the nearest Mayener section of the camp. The Mayeners and Ghealdanin put little trust in the Two Rivers men in the trees. His tall, red-striped tent was alight, however, and the shadows of a number of people shifted on the tent walls. When he climbed down in front of the tent, Athan Chandin appeared to take the reins and knuckle his forehead while he hunched a sort of bow. Athan was a good bowshot or he would not have been here, but he had a truckling manner. Perrin went in unpinning his cloak.
"There you are," Berelain said brightly. She must have dressed hastily, because her long black hair looked as though it had had just a lick and a promise from a brush, but her high-necked gray riding dress appeared neat and fresh. Her serving women never let her don anything unless it was freshly ironed. She held out a silver winecup for Breane to refill from a long-necked wine pitcher, which the Cairhienin woman did with a grimace. Faile's maid disliked Berelain with a passion. Berelain seemed not to notice, though. "Forgive me for entertaining in your tent, but the Banner-General wanted to see you, and I thought I'd keep her company. She's been telling us about some Whitecloaks."
Balwer was standing unobtrusively in a corner—the bird-like little man could be as unnoticeable as a lizard on a branch when he wished to be—but his scent sharpened at the mention of Whitecloaks.
Tylee, her shoulders straining a coat like that of the flier, made a straight-legged bow while keeping one eye on Annoura. She seemed to believe the Aes Sedai might turn into ravening wild dogs at any moment. Perrin thought she smelled of distress, though none showed on her dark face. "My Lord, I have two pieces of news I felt I had to bring you immediately. Have you begun putting the forkroot into the town's water?"
"I have," he said worriedly, tossing his cloak down atop one of the brass-banded chests. Tylee sighed. "I told you I would. I'd have done it two days ago if that fool woman in Almizar hadn't dragged her heels so. What's happened?"
"Forgive me." Lini announced, "but I was roused from my blankets, and I would like to return to them. Does anyone require anything else of me tonight?" There were no curtsies or 'my Lords' from the frail-appearing woman with her white hair in a loose braid for sleeping. Unlike with Berelain, her brown dress looked hastily donned, unusual for her. Her scent was crisp and sharp with disapproval. She was one of those who believed the ridiculous tale that Perrin had slept with Berelain on the very night after Faile had been captured. She managed to avoid looking at him while her gaze swept around the tent's interior.
"I'll have some more wine," Aram announced, holding out his cup. Grim-faced and haggard in a red-striped coat, his eyes hollow, he was attempting to lounge in one of the folding camp chairs, but the sword strapped to his back made leaning against the gilt-edged back impossible. Breane started toward him.
"He’s had enough." Lini said sharply, and Breane turned away. Lini had a firm hand with Faile's servants.
Aram muttered an oath and leaped to his feet, tossing his cup down on the flowered carpet that served as a floor. "I might as well go somewhere I won't have some old woman nagging at me every time I take a drink." He gave Perrin a sullen glare before stalking out of the tent. Doubtless on his way to Masema's camp. He had pleaded to be one of the party sent into Maiden, but his hot head could not be trusted with that.
"You can go, Lini." Berelain said. "Breane can look after us well enough." A snort was the acknowledgment Lini gave—she made it sound almost delicate—before she stalked out, stiff-backed and reeking of disapproval. And still not looking at Perrin.
"Forgive me, my Lord," Tylee drawled in careful tones, "but you seem to run your household more . . . loosely . . . than I'm accustomed to."
"It's our way, Banner-General," Perrin said, picking up Aram's cup. No need to dirty another. "Nobody around here is property." If that sounded sharp, so be it. He had come to like Tylee after a fashion, but these Seanchan had ways that would make a goat gag. He took the pitcher from Breane—she actually tried to hold onto it for a moment, frowning at him as if she would deny him a drink—and poured for himself before handing it back. She snatched the pitcher out of his hand. "Now, what happened? What about these Whitecloaks?"
"I sent raken out scouting as far as they could go just before dawn, and again just after sunset. One of the fliers tonight turned back sooner than expected. She saw seven thousand Children of the Light on the move not fifty miles from my camp."
"On the move toward you?" Perrin frowned at his wine instead of drinking. "Seven thousand seems a very exact count to make in the dark.''
"It seems these men, they are deserters," Annoura broke in. "At least, the Banner-General sees them so." In gray silk, she appeared as neat as if she had spent an hour dressing. Her thrusting nose made her look like a crow wearing beaded braids as she peered at Tylee, and the Banner-General a particularly interesting bit of carrion. She held a winecup, but it seemed untouched. "I have heard rumors that Pedron Niall died fighting the Seanchan, but apparently Eamon Valda, who replaced Niall, swore fealty to the Seanchan Empress.”
Tylee mouthed, "may she live forever," under her breath; Perrin doubted anyone but himself heard. Balwer opened his mouth, too, but closed it again without speaking. The Whitecloaks were a bugbear to him.
"Something over a month ago, however," the Gray sister went on, "Galad Damodred killed Valda and led seven thousand Whitecloaks to leave the Seanchan cause. A pity he became enmeshed with Whitecloaks, but perhaps some good has come of it. In any case, it appears there is a
standing order that these men are all to be killed as soon as found. I have summed it up nicely, yes, Banner-General?"
Tylee's hand twitched as if it wanted to make one of those signs against evil. "That's a fair summing up," she said. To Perrin, not Annoura. The Seanchan woman seemed to find speaking to an Aes Sedai difficult. "Except the part about good coming of it. Oath-breaking and desertion can never be called good."
"I take it they're not moving toward you, or you'd have said.” Perrin put a hint of question into that, though there was no question in his mind.
"North," Tylee answered. "They're heading north." Balwer half opened his mouth again, then shut it with a click of teeth.
"If you have advice," Perrin told him. "then give it. But I don't care how many Whitecloaks desert the Seanchan. Faile is the only thing I care about. And I don't think the Banner-General will give up the chance to collar three or four hundred more damane to chase after them." Berelain grimaced. Annoura's face remained smooth, but she took a long swallow of her wine. None of the Aes Sedai felt very complacent about that part of the plan. None of the Wise Ones did, either.
"I will not," Tylee said firmly. "I think I'll take some wine after all." Breane took a deep breath before moving to comply, and a hint of fear entered her scent. Apparently the tall dark woman intimidated her.
"I won't deny I would enjoy a chance to strike a blow at the Whitecloaks," Balwer said in that dry-as-dust voice, "but in truth, I feel I owe this Galad Damodred a debt of gratitude." Perhaps his grudge was against this Valda personally. "In any case, you have no need of my advice here. Events are in motion in Maiden, and if they weren't, I doubt you'd hold back even a day. Nor would I have advised it, my Lord. If I may be so bold, I am quite fond of the Lady Faile."
"You may," Perrin told him. "Banner-General, you said two pieces of news?"
The Seanchan took the proffered winecup from Breane and looked at him so levelly it was clear she was avoiding a glance at the others in the tent. "May we speak alone?" she asked quietly.
Berelain glided across the carpet to rest a hand on his arm and smile up at him. "Annoura and I don't mind leaving," she said. Light, how could anyone believe there was anything between him and her? She was as beautiful as ever, true, yet the scent that had minded him of a hunting cat was so long gone from her smell that he barely remembered it. The bedrock of her scent was patience and resolve, now. She had come to accept that he loved Faile and only Faile, and she seemed as determined to see Faile freed as he was.
"You can stay," he said. "Whatever you have to say, Banner-General, you can say in front of everyone here."
Tylee hesitated, glancing at Annoura. "There are two large parties of Aiel heading toward Maiden," she said at last, reluctantly. "One to the southeast, one to the southwest. The morat'raken estimate they could be there in three days."
Suddenly, everything seemed to ripple in Perrin's sight. He felt himself ripple. Breane gave a cry and dropped the pitcher. The world rippled again, and Berelain clutched his arm. Tylee's hand seemed frozen in that odd gesture, thumb and forefinger forming a crescent. Everything rippled for a third time, and Perrin felt as if he were made of fog, as if the world were fog with a high wind coming. Berelain shuddered, and he put a comforting arm around her. She clung to him, trembling. Silence and the scent of fear filled the tent. He could hear voices being raised outside, and they sounded afraid, too.