The Asha’man, Aes Sedai and Wise Ones saw Perrin’s signal. They began a full assault on the Trollocs, fire flying from hands, lightning blasting from the sky, pushing the Trollocs back down the incline. Perrin’s foot soldiers pulled back for a few moments’ rest.

Perrin nudged Stepper to the edge, looking down the slope to the south, holding Mah’alleinir down by his leg. Below, Damodred’s force was doing even worse than Perrin had worried. The Trollocs had drilled forward, nearly dividing the Whitecloaks into two sections. The monsters were surging around the sides, entrapping Galad, making the Whitecloaks fight on three fronts. Their backs were to the hillside, and many groups of cavalry had been cut off from the main body of fighting.

Gallenne trotted up beside Perrin. “The Trollocs are still appearing. I’d guess fifty thousand of the beasts so far. The Asha’man say they’ve only sensed the one channeler, and he isn’t engaging.”

“The one leading the Shadowspawn won’t want to commit their channelers,” Perrin guessed. “Not with us having the high ground. They’ll leave the Trollocs to do what damage they can, and see if they gain the upper hand. If they do, we will see channelers come out.”

Gallenne nodded.

“Damodred’s force is in trouble.”

“Yes,” Gallenne said. “You positioned us well to help them, but it appears we weren’t enough.”

“I’m going down for them,” Perrin decided. He pointed. “The Trollocs are surrounding him, boxing him in against the hillside. We could sweep down and surprise the beasts with a broadside, breaking through and freeing Damodred’s men to get themselves up on the plateau here.”

Gallenne frowned. “Pardon, Lord Perrin, but I must ask. What is it that you feel you owe them? I would have sorrowed if, indeed, we’d come here to attack them—though I would have seen its logic. But I see no reason to help them.”

Perrin grunted. “It’s just the right thing to do.”

“That is a subject of debate,” Gallenne said, shaking his helmeted head. “Fighting the Trollocs and Fades is excellent, for every one that falls is one fewer to face at the Last Battle. Our men get practice fighting them, and can learn to control their fears. But that slope is steep and treacherous; if you try to ride down to Damodred, you could destroy our advantage.”

“I’m going anyway,” Perrin said. “Jori, go get the Two Rivers men and the Asha’man. I’ll need them to soften the Trollocs for my charge.” He looked down again. Memories of the Two Rivers flooded his mind. Blood. Death. Mah’alleinir grew warmer in his fist. “I won’t leave them to it, Gallenne. Not even them. Will you join me?”

“You are a strange man, Aybara.” Gallenne hesitated. “And one of true honor. Yes, I will.”

“Good. Jori, get moving. We must reach Damodred before his lines break.”

A shock rippled through the mass of Trollocs. Galad hesitated, sword gripped in sweaty fingers. His entire body ached. Moans came from all around him, some guttural and snarling—Trollocs dying—some piteous from fallen men. The Children near him were holding. Barely.