Aviendha picked faster, and in her haste, picked at the wrong thread. She froze, watching the flow writhe, setting off the others near it.
Graendal hissed, and began to set the Compulsion on Aviendha.
The gateway exploded in a flash of light and heat.
Shaisam seized the battlefield, his mist shoving through those wolves and men who thought to bar his way to al’Thor.
Yes, al’Thor. The one he would kill, destroy, feast upon. Yes, al’Thor!
Something trembled at one edge of his senses. Shaisam hesitated, frowning to himself.
What was wrong there? A piece of him… a piece of him had stopped sensing. What was this? He ran his physical form across the ground through the mist. Blood trailed from his fingers, flayed by the dagger he carried, the wonderful seed, the last bit of his old self.
He came upon a corpse, one that his mists had killed. Shaisam frowned, bending down. That body looked familiar…
The corpse’s hand reached up and grabbed Shaisam by the throat. He gasped, thrashing, as the corpse opened its eye.
“There’s an odd thing about diseases I once heard, Fain,” Matrim Cauthon whispered. “Once you catch a disease and survive, you can’t get it again.”
Shaisam thrashed, panicked. No. No, this was not how a meeting with an old friend should go! He clawed at the hand holding him, then realized with horror that he’d dropped the dagger.
Cauthon pulled him down, slamming him to the ground. Shaisam called for his drones. Too late! Too slow!
“I’ve come to give you your gift back, Mordeth,” Cauthon whispered. “I consider our debt paid in full.”
Cauthon rammed the dagger right between the ribs, into Shaisam’s heart. Tied to this pitiful mortal form, Mordeth screamed. Padan Fain howled, and felt his flesh melting from his bones. The mists trembled, began to swirl and shake.
Together they died.
Perrin shifted to the wolf dream and found Gaul by tracing the scent of blood. He had hated to leave Mat with Mashadar, but was confident—from a look Mat had given him after falling—that his friend could survive the mist, and knew what he was doing.
Gaul had hidden himself well, pushed up into a split in the rock just outside the Pit of Doom. Gaul still carried one spear and had darkened his clothing to match the rocks around him.
He was nodding off when Perrin found him. Gaul was not only wounded, but had been in the wolf dream far too long. If Perrin felt an aching exhaustion, it must be worse for Gaul.
“Come, Gaul,” Perrin said, helping him out of the rocks.
Gaul looked dazed. “Nobody passed me by,” he mumbled. “I watched, Perrin Aybara. The Car’a’carn is safe.”
“You did well, my friend,” Perrin replied. “Better than anyone could have expected. You have much honor.”
Gaul smiled as he leaned on Perrin’s shoulder. “I worried… when the wolves vanished, I worried.”
“They fight on in the waking world.” Perrin felt a need to return here. Finding Gaul had been part of that, but there was something else, a drive he couldn’t explain.
“Hold on,” Perrin said, grabbing Gaul about the waist. He shifted them to the Field of Merrilor, then shifted them out of the wolf dream and appeared in the center of the Two Rivers camp.
People immediately locked on Perrin, yells rising. “Light, Perrin!” a man said nearby. Grady rushed up, deep bags beneath his eyes. “I nearly burned you to char, Lord Goldeneyes. How did you appear like that?”
Perrin shook his head, setting Gaul down. Grady eyed the wound in the man’s side, then called for one of the Aes Sedai to handle the Healing. They bustled around—some of the Two Rivers men calling out that Lord Goldeneyes had returned.
Faile. Faile had been here at Merrilor with the Horn.
I have to find her.
Rand was alone, unguarded in the wolf dream.
Burn it, that doesn’t matter! Perrin thought. If I lose Faile…