Shadows. How could a man be expected to fight against shadows? It was impossible!
Where there is light, there must be shadow…
A last, desperate thought occurred to him. With a cry, he leaped to the side and yanked a pillow from Egwene's bed. Blades cut the air around him as he spun and slammed the pillow on the lantern, smothering it.
Plunging the room into darkness. No light. No shadows.
Equality.
The darkness evened out everything, and in the night, you couldn't see color. He couldn't see the blood on his arms, couldn't see the black shadows of his enemies or the whiteness of Egwene's bed. But he could hear the men move.
He raised his blade for a desperate strike, using Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose, predicting where the Bloodknives would move. He was no longer distracted by their misted figures, and his strike hit true, sinking into flesh.
He twisted, yanking his blade free. The room fell silent save for the fall of the man he'd hit. Gawyn held his breath, heartbeat thumping in his ears. Where was the last assassin?
No light came in from the room next door. Celark had fallen beside the doorway, blocking the light underneath.
Gawyn was feeling shaky now. He'd lost too much blood. If he had something to throw to create a distraction… but no. Moving would rustle clothing, would give him away.
So, gritting his teeth, he tapped his foot and raised his blade to protect his neck, praying to the Light that the attack came low.
It did, cutting deeply into his side. He took it with a grunt, but immediately lashed out with all he had. His sword hissed, and with a brief tug it sliced true. A thump followed; a decapitated head bouncing off the wall, followed by the noise of a corpse hitting the ground.
Gawyn slumped against the bed, blood gushing from his side. He was blacking out, although it was hard to tell in the unlit room.
He reached for where he remembered Egwene's hand being, but was too weak to find it.
He hit the floor a moment later. His last thought was that he still didn't know whether or not she was dead.
'Great Mistress,' Katerine said, kneeling before Mesaana, 'we cannot find the thing you describe. Half of our women search for it while the other half fight the worms who resist. But it is nowhere!'
Mesaana folded her arms beneath her breasts as she considered the situation. With an offhanded thought, she strapped Katerine's back with lines of Air. Failure needed always be punished. Consistency was the key in all forms of training. The White Tower rumbled above her, though she was safe here. She'd imposed her will on this area, creating a new room beneath the basements, carved as a pocket in the stone. The children who fought above obviously thought themselves practiced in this place, but children they were. She had been coming to Tel'aran'rhiod for a century before her imprisonment. The Tower rumbled again. Carefully, she considered her situation. Somehow, the Aes Sedai had found a dreamspike. How had they located such a treasure? Mesaana was nearly as interested in gaining control of it as she was in dominating the child Amyrlin, Egwene al'Vere. The ability to forbid gateways into your places of refuge… Well, it was a vital tool, particularly when she decided to move against the other Chosen. It was more effective than wards, protecting one's dreams from any intrusion, and it stopped all forms of Traveling in or out of the area except for those allowed.
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 imaging 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.
