Knife of Dreams

Galle

“We’re not killing anybody but Shaido today,” Perrin said firmly. Galle

Off to the left, a bluish flash appeared, dimmed by the thick mist, and the tightness in Perrin’s shoulders loosened. Grady appeared in the fog, peering about him. His step picked up when he saw Perrin, but it was unsteady. Another man was with him, leading a tall, dark horse. Perrin smiled for the first time in a long while.

“It’s good to see you, Tam,’’ he said.

“Good to see you, too, my Lord.” Tam al’Thor was still a blocky man who looked ready to work from sunup to sundown without slacking, but the hair on his head had gone completely gray since Perrin had seen him last, and he had a few more lines on his bluff face. He took in Arganda and Galle

“How are you holding up, Grady?” Perrin asked.

“I’m holding up, my Lord.” The weathered man’s voice sounded bone weary. Shadowed by the fog as it was, his face still looked older than Tarn’s.

“Well, as soon as you’re done here, join Mishima. I want somebody keeping an eye on him. Somebody who makes him too nervous to chink they can change what they agreed to.” He would have liked to tell Grady to tie off this gateway. It would make a short path to take Faile back to the Two Rivers. But if things went wrong today, it would make a short path for the Shaido, too.

“Don’t know as I could make a cat nervous right now, my Lord, but I’ll do what I can.’’

Frowning, Tarn watched Grady vanish into the gray murk. “I could wish I’d had some other way to get here,” he said. “Fellows like him visited the Two Rivers a while back. One called himself Mazrim Taim, a name we’d all heard. A false Dragon. Only now he wears a black coat with fancy embroidery and calls himself the M’Hael. They talked everywhere about teaching men to cha

Those hues whirled in Perrin’s head, but he batted them away and answered by not answering. What was, was. “Nothing to be done about it now, Tam.” According to Grady and Neald, the Black Tower did not just let men go once they signed on.

Sadness entered Tam’s scent, though he let nothing show on his face. He knew the fate of men who could cha

Perrin went on. “This is Bertain Galle

“I studied them, my Lord,” Tam said dryly. Of course he would have. “It looks a good plan to me. As good as any till the arrows start flying.”

Arganda put a booted foot in his roan’s stirrup. “So long as he’s your First Captain, my Lord, I have no objections.” He had offered plenty earlier. Neither he nor Galle

From up the slope came a black-winged mocker’s shrill cry of alarm. Only one. If it had been a real bird, the call would have been repeated.

Perrin scrambled up the slope as fast he could. Arganda and Galle

“It’s time to let them see us, Da

Tucking his thumbs behind the wide belt that supported his hammer and belt knife, he strolled out of the fog. Aram advanced up on his toes, already in one of those sword stances. Perrin just walked. The morning sun, indeed halfway to its noon peak, was in his eyes. He had considered taking the eastern ridge and putting Masema’s men here, but it would have meant that much farther to reach the town gates. A foolish reason, yet those gates drew him as a lodestone drew iron filings. He eased his heavy hammer in its loop on his belt, eased his belt knife. That had a blade as long as his hand.

The appearance of two men, apparently walking idly toward them, was enough to halt the Shaido. Well, perhaps not so idly, considering Aram’s sword. They would have to be blind to miss the sun glinting off his long blade. They must have been wondering whether they were watching madmen. Halfway down the slope, he stopped.

“Relax,” he told Aram. “You’re going to tire yourself out that way.”

The other man nodded without taking his eyes from the Shaido and planted his feet firmly. His scent was that of a hunter after dangerous quarry and determined to pull it down.

After a moment, half a dozen of the Shaido started toward them, slowly. They had not veiled. Likely they were hoping he and Aram would not be frightened into ru

The sound of ru

Masema and his bodyguard of lancers took position on the Winged Guards’ right, their poorly handled horses plunging and rearing. Their armor showed patches of speckled brown where rust had been scraped away instead of properly cleaned. Masema himself was out in front, a sword at his hip but helmetless and without a breastplate. No, he did not lack courage. He was glaring at the Mayeners where Perrin could just make out Berelain in the middle of that forest of lances. He could not get a clear view of her face, but he imagined it was still frosty. She had objected strenuously to her soldiers being held back from the fighting, and he had needed to be very firm to make her see reason. Light, the woman had half suggested she might lead them in a charge!