“Watch for him,” Perrin said. “See if you can take him down.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Grady said, saluting.

So it wasn’t one of the Forsaken bringing the Trollocs directly. That didn’t mean this wasn’t the work of one of them, just that they hadn’t decided to commit themselves directly. “Back with you three,” Perrin said to Faile, Berelain and Alliandre, hefting his hammer. The Trollocs had begun charging up the rise, many dropping to arrows, but there were enough that some would reach the top soon. It was time to fight.

“You don’t know how many of them there are, my husband,” Faile said softly. “They keep coming. What if they overwhelm us?”

“We’ll retreat through a gateway if things turn poor for us. But I’m not letting them have the Whitecloaks without a fight—I won’t leave any man to the Trollocs, not even their lot. They ignored the Two Rivers when we were attacked. Well, I won’t do the same. And that’s that.”

Faile, suddenly, leaned over to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being the man that you are,” she said, turning her mount and leading the other two away.

Perrin shook his head. He had been worrying that he’d need to have Grady wrap her up in Air and tow her away. He turned back to the approaching Trollocs. The Two Rivers men weren’t making it easy for them to get up the incline. The men were running out of arrows, though.

Perrin hefted Mah’alleinir. A part of him felt sorry to bathe the weapon in blood so soon after its birth, but the greater part of him was pleased. These Trollocs, and those who led them, had caused Hopper’s death.

A fist of Trollocs crested the hilltop, a Fade moving in behind them, led by another Fade with a black sword. Perrin let out a roar and charged forward, hammer held high.

Galad cursed, turning Stout and chopping his sword down into the neck of a Trolloc with the head of a bear. Dark, thick blood spurted out in a noisome gush, but the beasts were terribly difficult to kill. Galad had heard the stories, had trained with men who had fought Shadowspawn. Still, their resilience surprised him.

He had to hack at the creature three more times before it dropped. Already, Galad’s arm was aching. There was no finesse to fighting monsters like this. He used horseback sword forms, but often the most direct and brutal of them. Woodsman Strips the Branch. Arc of the Moon. Striking the Spark.

His men weren’t faring well. They were boxed in, and there was no longer room for lances. The sallying attacks had worked for a time, but the heavy cavalry had been forced to retreat back to the foot lines, and his whole force was being pushed east. The Amadicians were being overwhelmed, and the force of the attack was too great to allow further cavalry charges. All the Children on horseback could do was swing their weapons wildly in an attempt to stay alive.