“I take none.” Moiraine’s voice calmly accepted the title Furlan gave her. It was far from the first time the Aes Sedai had gone under another name, or pretended to be something she was not. It was not the first Perrin had heard Lan name himself Andra, either. The deep hood still hid Moiraine’s smooth Aes Sedai features, and she held her cloak around her with one hand as if taken with a chill. Not the hand on which she wore her Great Serpent ring. “You have had strange occurrences in the town, innkeeper, so I understand. Nothing to trouble travelers, I trust.”

“Ah, Lady, you might be calling them strange indeed. Your own radiant presence is more than enough to honor this humble house, Lady, and bringing an Ogier with you, but we have Hunters in Remen, too. Right here in Wayland’s Forge, they are. Hunters for the Horn of Valere, set out from Illian for adventure. And adventure they found, Lady, here in Remen, or just a mile or two upriver, fighting wild Aielmen, of all things. Can you imagine black-veiled Aiel savages in Altara, Lady?”

Aiel. Now Perrin knew what was familiar about the man in the cage. He had seen an Aiel, once, one of those fierce, nearly legendary denizens of the harsh land called the Waste. The man had looked a good deal like Rand, taller than most, with gray eyes and reddish hair, and he had been dressed like the man in the cage, all in browns and grays that would fade into rock or brush, with soft boots laced to his knees. Perrin could almost hear Min’s voice again. An Aielman in a cage. A turning point in your life, or something important that will happen.

“Why do you have . . . ?” He stopped to clear his throat so he would not sound so hoarse. “How did an Aiel come to be caged in your town square?”

“Ah, young master, that is a story to. . . .” Furlan trailed off, eyeing him up and down, taking in his plain country clothes and the longbow in his hands, pausing over the axe at his belt opposite his quiver. The plump man gave a start when his study reached Perrin’s face, as if, with a Lady and an Ogier present, he had just now noticed Perrin’s yellow eyes. “He would be your servant, Master Andra?” he asked cautiously.

“Answer him,” was all Lan said.

“Ah. Ah, of course, Master Andra. But here’s who can tell it better than myself. ’Tis Lord Orban, himself. ’Tis he we have gathered to hear.”