“Listen to me. He was a brickmason in Caemlyn, a reputable one. He was accused of murdering his brother in the early days of my reign. He had enough repute, and the case was important enough, that I judged it myself. He hanged at the end of it.”

“A fitting end for a murderer.”

“Yes,” Morgase said. “Unfortunately, the murderer went free. One of his workers had actually done the deed. It didn’t come out until two years later, when the man was taken for another murder. He laughed at us then, as we hanged him. Felmley had been innocent all along. The real man, the murderer, was one of those to condemn him during the original trial.”

Galad fell silent.

“It’s the only time,” Morgase said, “where I know for certain that I hanged someone by mistake. So you tell me, Galad. Should I hang for my mistake in condemning an innocent man?”

“You did your best, Mother.”

“And a man is still dead who did not deserve it.”

Galad looked troubled.

“The Children like to speak of the Light protecting them,” Morgase said, “of guiding their judgment and leading people to justice. That isn’t how it works, Galad. Valda, claiming the blessing of the Light, could do terrible things. And I, hoping for the Light’s aid, have killed unjustly.

“I’m not saying that Aybara is innocent. I haven’t heard enough either way. But I want you to understand. Sometimes a good man can do wrong. At times, it is appropriate to punish him. At other times, punishment serves nobody, and the best thing to do is to let him continue and learn. As I continued and learned, after making such a poor judgment.”

Galad frowned. That was good. Finally, he shook his head, his face clearing. “We shall see what the trial brings. It—”

There was a knock on the post outside. Galad turned, his frown deepening. “Yes?”

“My Lord Captain Commander,” a Whitecloak said, lifting the flap and stepping into the tent. He was a lean man with sunken eyes that had dark patches beneath them. “We’ve just had word from the creature Aybara’s camp. They’re asking to push back the day of the trial.”

Galad stood. “For what purpose?” he demanded.

“A disturbance in their camp, they claim,” the Whitecloak said. “Something about wounded needing tending. My Lord Captain Commander…it is obviously a ploy. A trick of some sort. We should attack them, or at the very least, deny this pointless extension.”

Galad hesitated. He looked at Morgase.

“It is no ploy, son,” she said. “I can promise you that. If Aybara says he needs more time, he’s being honest with you.”

“Bah,” Galad said, waving the messenger away. “I shall consider it. Alongside the things you have said, Mother. Perhaps some extra time to consider would be…welcomed.”

“The channelers say they are working as hard as they can,” Gaul explained, walking beside Perrin through camp as they checked the various sections. “But they say it could take days to see to everyone.”