The Shadow Rising

"I love you." It was all he could say, but strangely it seemed to be enough. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than she reined Swallow close enough to throw an arm around him and press her face against his chest; she seemed to be trying to squeeze him in two. He stroked her dark hair gently, just feeling the silkiness of it, just feeling her.

"I was so afraid I would be too late," she said into his coat. "The Watch Hill men marched as fast as they could, but when we arrived, and I saw the Trollocs fighting right in among the houses, so many of them, as if the village were being buried in an avalanche, and I couldn't see you..." She drew a shivering breath and let it out slowly. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. Just. "Did the men from Deven Ride come?"

He gave a start, and his hand stopped stroking. "Yes, they did. How did you know? .Did you arrange that, too?" She began shaking; it took him a moment to know she was laughing.

"No, my heart, though I would have if I could. When that man came with his message – 'We are coming' – I thought – hoped – that that was what it meant." Pulling her face back a little, she looked up at him seriously. "I could not tell you, Perrin. I could not raise your hopes when I only suspected. It would have been too cruel if... Don't be angry with me, Perrin."

Laughing, he lifted her out of her saddle and set her sideways in front of his; she laughed her protests, and stretched across the high pommel to put both arms around him. "I will never, ever be angry with you, I sw —" She cut him off with a hand over his mouth.

"Mother says the worst thing Father ever did to her was vow never to be angry with her. It took her a year to force him to take it back, and she says he was hardly fit to live with long before then from holding in. You will be angry with me, Perrin, and I with you. If you want to make me another wedding vow, vow you will not hide it when you are. I ca

He noticed she did not say she would always let him know when she was angry; on past experience, he would have to discover it the hard way at least half the time. And she made no promises not to keep secrets from him again, either. Right then, it did not matter so long as she was with him. "I will let you know when I'm angry, my wife," he promised. She gave him a slanted look, as if she was not sure how to take that. You won't ever come to understand them, Cousin Jaim, but you won't care.

Abruptly he became aware of the dead Trollocs all around him, like a black field full of feathered weeds, the thrashing Myrddraal still refusing to die finally. Slowly he turned Stepper. A slaughter yard and a shambles of Shadowspawn stretching for hundreds of paces in every direction. Crows hopped across the ground already, and vultures soared overhead in a huge milling cloud. No ravens, though. And the same to the south, according to Jaim; he could see the vultures wheeling beyond the village for proof. Not enough to repay for Deselle or Adora or little Paet or... Not enough; it would never be enough. Nothing could ever repay for them. He hugged Faile; hard enough to make her grunt, but when he tried to ease up, she put her hands on his arms, gripping just as hard to keep them where they were. She was enough.

People were streaming out of Emond's Field, Bran limping and using his spear for a staff, Marin smiling with an arm around him, Daise being hugged by her husband, Wit, and Gaul and Chiad hand in hand with their veils down. Loial's ears drooped wearily, and Tam had blood on his face, and Fla

They fa

The Whitecloaks appeared, riding slowly out of the village in their long gleaming column of fours, Dain Bornhald at their head with Jaret Byar. Every white cloak shone as though freshly laundered; every lance slanted at precisely the same angle. Sullen mutters rose, but people moved aside to let them enter the circle.

Bornhald raised a gauntleted hand, halting the column in a jingle of bridles and creak of saddles, when he faced Perrin. "It is done, Shadowspawn." Byar's mouth quivered on the brink of a snarl, but Bornhald's face never changed, his voice never rose. "The Trollocs are done here. As we agreed, I arrest you now for Darkfriend and murderer."

"No!" Faile twisted around to stare up at Perrin, eyes angry. "What does he mean, as you agreed?"

Her words were nearly drowned by the roar from every side. "No! No!" and "You will not take him!" and "Goldeneyes!"

Keeping his gaze on Bornhald, Perrin lifted a hand, and silence descended slowly. When all was quiet, he said, "I said I would not resist, if you aided." Surprising, how calm his voice was; inside he seethed with a slow, cold anger. "If you aided, Whitecloak. Where were you?" The man did not answer.

Daise Congar stepped out from the encircling throng with Wit, who clung to her as if he never intended to let go of her again. For that matter, her stout arm was wrapped around Wit's shoulders in much the same fashion. They made an odd picture as she planted her pitchfork-polearm firmly, her the taller by a head and holding her considerably smaller husband as though she meant to protect him. "They were on the Green," she a

Bornhald did not take his eyes from Perrin for an instant; he did not even blink. "Did you think I would trust you?" he sneered. "Your plan only failed because these others arrived – yes? – and you can claim no part in that." Faile shifted; without looking away from the man, Perrin laid a finger across her lips just as she opened her mouth. She bit him – hard – but she did not say anything. Bornhald's voice finally began to rise. "I will see you hang, Shadowspawn. I will see you hang, whatever it takes! I will see you dead if the world burns!" The last came as a shout. Byar's sword slid a hand of bare steel from its scabbard; a massive Whitecloak behind him – Farran, Perrin thought his name was – drew his completely, with a pleased smile rather than Byar's toothy snarl.

They froze as quivers rattled to arrows being drawn, and bows came up all around the circle, fletchings drawn to ear, every broadhead shaft pointed at a Whitecloak. Up and down the thick column, high-cantled saddles creaked as men shifted uneasily. Bornhald showed no sign of fear, and he did not smell of it, either; his scent was all hate. He ran almost fevered eyes over the Two Rivers folk encircling his men and returned them to Perrin just as hot and hate-filled.