“I failed, Faile,” Perrin whispered.

“You got the ter’angreal,” she said, kneeling beside him. “You saved the people.”

“And still Slayer beat us,” he said bitterly. “A pack of five of us together weren’t enough to fight him.”

Perrin had felt this way when he’d found his family dead, killed by Trollocs. How many was the Shadow going to take from him by the time this was done? Hopper should have been safe in the wolf dream.

Foolish cub, foolish cub.

Had there even really been a trap for Perrin’s army? Slayer’s dreamspike could have been meant for another purpose entirely. Just a coincidence.

There are no coincidences for ta’veren…

He needed to find something to do with his anger and his pain. He stood, turning, and was surprised to see how many lights still shone in camp. A group of people waited nearby, far enough away from him that he hadn’t made out their scents specifically. Alliandre in a golden gown. Berelain in blue. Both sat on chairs beside a small wooden travel table, set with a lantern. Elyas sat on a rock beside them, sharpening his knife. A dozen of the Two Rivers men—Wil al’Seen, Jon Ayellin and Grayor Frenn among them—huddled around a firepit, glancing at him. Even Arganda and Gallenne were there, speaking softly.

“They should be sleeping,” Perrin said.

“They’re worried about you,” Faile said. She smelled worried as well. “And they’re worried you will send them away, now that gateways work again.”

“Fools,” Perrin whispered. “Fools to follow me. Fools not to hide.”

“You’d really have them do that?” Faile said, angry. “Cower someplace while the Last Battle happens? Didn’t you say every man would be needed?”

She was right. Every man would be needed. He realized that part of his frustration was that he didn’t know what he’d escaped. He’d gotten away, but from what? For what had Hopper died? Not knowing the enemy’s plan made Perrin feel blind.

He walked away from the stump, over to where Arganda and Gallenne were talking. “Bring me our map,” he said. “Of the Jehannah Road.”

Arganda called over Hirshanin and told him where to find one. Hirshanin ran off, and Perrin began to walk through camp. Toward the sound of metal hitting metal, the farrier working. Perrin seemed drawn to it. The scents of camp swirled around him, the sky rumbling above him.

The others trailed after him. Faile, Berelain and Alliandre, the Two Rivers men, Elyas, Gaul. The group grew, other Two Rivers men joining it. Nobody spoke, and Perrin ignored them, until he came to Aemin working at an anvil, one of the camp’s horse-pulled forges set up beside him and burning with a red light.

Hirshanin caught up to Perrin as he arrived, carrying the map. Perrin unrolled it, holding it before him as Aemin stopped his work, smelling curious. “Arganda, Gallenne,” Perrin said. “Tell me. If you were going to set up the best ambush for a large group moving along this road toward Lugard, where would you place it?”