Gawyn stirred. 'Egwene,' he whispered, his eyes fluttering open.
'Hush, Gawyn. You're going to be fine. Aid! To the Amyrlin!'
'You… didn't leave enough lights on,' he whispered.
'What?'
'The message I sent…'
'We never got a message,' she said. 'Be still. Help!'
'Nobody is near. I yelled. The lamps… it is good… you didn't…' He smiled dazedly. 'I love you.'
'Lie still,' she said. Light! She was crying.
'The assassins weren't your Forsaken, though,' he said, words slurring. 'I was right.'
And he had been; what were those unfamiliar black uniforms? Seanchan?
I should be dead, she realized. If Gawyn hadn't stopped these assassins, she'd have been murdered in her sleep and would have vanished from Tel'aran'rhiod. She'd never have killed Mesaana.
Suddenly, she felt a fool, any sense of victory completely evaporating.
'I'm sorry,' Gawyn said closing his eyes, 'for disobeying you.' He was slipping.
'It's all right, Gawyn,' she said, blinking away tears. 'I'm going to bond you now. It's the only way.'
His grip on her arm became slightly more firm. 'No. Not unless… you want…'
'Fool,' she said, preparing the weaves. 'Of course I want you as my Warder. I always have.'
'Swear it.'
'I swear it. I swear that I want you as my Warder, and as my husband,' she rested her hand on his forehead and laid the weave on him. 'I love you.'
He gasped. Suddenly, she could feel his emotions, and his pain, as if they were her own. And, in return, she knew that he could feel the truth of her words.
Perrin opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He was crying. Did people cry in their sleep when they dreamed normal dreams?
'Light be praised,' Faile said. He opened his eyes and found that she knelt next to him, as did someone else. Masuri?
The Aes Sedai grabbed Perrin's head in her hands, and Perrin felt the icy cold of a Healing wash across him. The wounds in his leg and across his chest closed.
'We tried to Heal you while you slept,' Faile said, cradling Perrin's head in her lap. 'But Edarra stopped us.'
'It is not to be done. Wouldn't work anyway.' That was the Wise One's voice. Perrin could hear her in the tent somewhere. He blinked his eyes. He lay on his pallet. It was dim outside.
'It's been longer than an hour,' he said. 'You should have left by now.'
'Hush,' Faile said. 'Gateways are working again, and almost everyone is through. Only a few thousand soldiers remain—Aiel and Two Rivers men, mostly. You think they'd leave, you think I'd leave, without you?
He sat up, wiping his brow. It was damp with sweat. He tried to make it vanish, as he had in the wolf dream. He failed, of course. Edarra stood by the far wall, behind him. She watched him with a measuring gaze.
He turned to Faile. 'We have to get away,' he said, voice ragged. 'Slayer will not be working alone. There will be a trap, probably an army. Someone with an army. They might try to strike at any moment.'
'Can you stand?' Faile asked.
'Yes.' He felt weak, but he managed, with Faile's help. The flap rustled and Chiad entered with a waterskin. Perrin took it gratefully, drinking. It slaked his thirst, but pain still burned inside of him.
Hopper… He lowered the waterskin. In the wolf dream, death was final. Where would Hopper's soul go?
I must keep going, Perrin thought. See my people to safety. He walked to the tent flaps. His legs were already more steady.
'I see your sorrow, my husband,' Faile said, walking beside him, hand on his arm. 'What happened?'
'I lost a friend,' Perrin said softly. 'For the second time.'
'Hopper?' She smelled fearful.
'Yes.'
'Oh, Perrin, I'm sorry.' Her voice was tender as they stepped out of the tent. It stood, alone, on the meadow that had once held his forces. The brown and yellow grass still bore the impressions of tents, paths worn down to the mud in a large crisscross pattern. It looked like a layout for a town, sections stamped down for buildings, lines cut to become roadways. But it was nearly empty of people now.
The rumbling sky was dark. Chiad held a lantern up to illuminate the grass in front of them. Several groups of soldiers waited. Maidens raised their spears high when they saw him, then banged them on their shields. A sign of approval.
The Two Rivers men were there as well, gathering around as word spread. How much could they guess of what he'd done tonight? Two Rivers men cheered, and Perrin nodded to them, though he felt on edge. The wrongness was still there, in the air. He'd assumed that the dreamspike was causing it, but he had apparently been wrong. The air smelled like the Blight.
The Asha'man stood where the center of the camp had once stood. They turned when Perrin approached, saluting, hands to chests. They looked to be in good shape, despite just having moved almost the entire camp.
'Get us out of here, men,' Perrin said to them. 'I don't want to spend another minute in this place.'
'Yes, my Lord,' Grady said, sounding eager. He got a look of concentration on his face, and a small gateway opened beside him.
'Through,' Perrin said, waving to the Two Rivers men. They crossed with a quick step. The Maidens and Gaul waited with Perrin, as did Elyas.
Light, Perrin thought, scanning the field where they'd camped. I feel like a mouse being eyed by a hawk.
'I don't suppose you could give us some light,' Perrin said to Neald, standing beside the gateway.
The Asha'man cocked his head, and a group of glowing globes appeared around him. They zipped up into the air around the meadow.
They illuminated nothing. Just the abandoned campsite. The last of the troops finally filed through. Perrin and Faile crossed, Gaul, Elyas and the Maidens going after him. Finally, the channelers passed through, walking in a cluster.
The air on the other side of the gateway was cool, and smelled refreshingly clean. Perrin hadn't realized how much the evil smell had been bothering him. He inhaled deeply. They were on a rise, some distance from a splash of lights beside the river that was probably Whitebridge.
His troops cheered as he stepped through. The great camp was already mostly set up, guard posts in place. The gateway had been opened into a large area, marked off with posts, near the back.
They'd escaped. The cost had been great, but they'd escaped.
Graendal sat back in her chair. The leather cushions were stuffed with the down of the fledgling kallir, which during this Age lived only in Shara. She barely noticed the luxury.
The servant—one Moridin had loaned her—was on one knee before her. His eyes were tempestuous, and only half-lowered. This one was under control, but barely. He knew he was unique.
He also seemed to know that his failure would fall upon her shoulders. Graendal did not sweat. She was too controlled for that. The shutters on the window in the wide, red-tiled room burst open suddenly, a cold sea wind blowing through the chamber and putting out several of the lamps. Tendrils of smoke wove up from their wicks.
She would not fail.
'Prepare to spring the trap anyway,' she commanded.
'But—' the servant said.
'Do it, and do not speak back to one of the Chosen, dog.'
The servant lowered his eyes, though there was still a rebellious spark to them.
Never mind. She still had one tool left to her, one she had positioned so very carefully. One she had prepared for a moment such as this.
It had to be done carefully. Aybara was ta'veren, and so strongly one as to be frightening. Arrows fired from afar would miss, and in a time of peaceful contemplation, he would be alerted and escape.
