Gawyn read the letter, then read it again. Egwene screamed at him for disturbing her plans, all but threw him out of the Tower, and she was displeased to discover he’d left the city? What did she expect him to do? He almost laughed.

“My Lord?” the servant asked. “Would you like to send a reply?” There was paper and pen on the tray. “They implied that one would be expected.”

“Send her this,” Gawyn said, tossing the Bloodknife onto the tray. He felt so angry, suddenly, and all thoughts of returning fled his mind. Flaming woman!

“And tell her,” he added after a moment’s thought, “that the assassin is Seanchan, and carries a special ter’angreal that makes him difficult to see in shadows. Best to keep extra lights burning. The other murders were tests to gauge our defenses. She is the true target. Emphasize that the assassin is very, very dangerous—but not the person she thought it was. If she needs proof, she can come talk to some of the Seanchan here in Caemlyn.”

The servant looked perplexed, but when he said nothing further, the woman retreated.

He tried to cool his rage. He wouldn’t go back, not now. Not when it would look as if he’d come crawling back at her command. She had her “careful plans and traps.” She had said she didn’t need him. She would have to do without him for a while, then.

Chapter 34

Judgment

“I want the scouts out watching,” Perrin said forcefully. “Even during the trial.”

“The Maidens won’t like this, Perrin Aybara,” Sulin said. “Not if it makes them miss the chance to dance the spears.”

“They’ll do it anyway,” Perrin said, walking through camp, Dannil and Gaul at his side. Behind followed Azi and Wil al’Seen, his two guards for the day.

Sulin inspected Perrin, then nodded. “It will be done.” She moved off.

“Lord Perrin,” Dannil asked, smelling nervous. “What’s this about?”

“I don’t know yet,” Perrin said. “Something’s wrong on the wind.”

Dannil frowned, looking confused. Well, Perrin was confused, too. Confused and increasingly certain. It seemed a contradiction, but it was true.

The camp was busy, his armies gathering to meet the Whitecloaks. Not his army, his armies. There was so much division among them. Arganda and Gallenne jostling one another for position, the Two Rivers men resenting the newer bands of mercenaries, the former refugees mashed between them all. And, of course, the Aiel, aloof and doing as they wished.

I’m going to disband them, Perrin told himself. What does it matter? It bothered him nonetheless. It was a disorderly way to run a camp.

Anyway, Perrin’s people had mostly recovered from this latest bubble of evil. None of them would probably look at their weapons again the same way, but the wounded had been Healed and the channelers were rested. The Whitecloaks had not been pleased at the delay, which had extended longer than they had probably expected. But Perrin had needed the time, for a number of reasons.