“Very well, my Lord.”

“I’ve sent to Mayene already,” Perrin said. “And Tam’s been gathering what extras he can from the Two Rivers.” Light, but he wished he could let them stay behind, on their farms, to live in peace while the storm raged elsewhere. But this really was the end. He could feel it. Lose this fight and they lost everything. The world. The Pattern itself. Facing that, he’d field boys who could barely swing a sword and grandfathers who had trouble walking. It twisted his stomach to admit it, but it was the truth.

He continued down the line and gave some orders to several other groups. As he was finishing up with the last, he noticed a handful of Two Rivers men passing by. One, Azi, held the wolfhead banner. Jori Congar hung back. He stopped, then waved the other three on before trotting up to Perrin. Was something wrong?

“Lord Perrin.” Jori drew himself up, long and lanky, like a bird standing on one leg. “I….”

“Well?” Perrin said. “Out with it.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Jori said, words coming in a rush.

“For what?”

“For some things I said,” Jori said, looking away. “I mean, some foolish words. It was after you were ill, you see, and you were taken to the First’s tent and…well, I—”

“It’s all right, Jori,” Perrin said. “I understand.”

Jori looked up, smiling. “It’s a pleasure to be here with you, Lord Perrin. A real pleasure. We’ll follow you anywhere, the others and I.”

With that, Jori saluted, then ran off. Perrin scratched at his beard, watching the man go. Jori was one of a good dozen Two Rivers men who had approached Perrin over the last few days to apologize. It seemed all of them felt guilty for spreading rumors about Perrin and Berelain, though none would say it straight out.

Bless Faile for what she had done there.

Everyone seen to, Perrin took a deep breath, then walked up the column and stepped through the gateway.

Come quickly, Rand, he thought, colors blossoming in his vision. I can feel it starting.

Mat stood with Thom at his left and Noal at his right, looking up through the trees at the spire ahead. A trickling, musical stream gurgled behind them, a tributary of the nearby Arinelle. A grassy plain spread behind them, and beyond that, the grand river itself.

Had he passed this way before? So much of his memory from that time was fragmented. And yet, this tower remained clear in his mind, viewed from a distance. Even the darkness of Shadar Logoth had not been able to excise it from his mind.

The tower looked to be of pure metal, its solid steel gleaming in the overcast sunlight. Mat felt an iciness between his shoulder blades. Many travelers along the river thought it some relic from the Age of Legends. What else did you make of a column of steel rising out of the forest, seemingly uninhabited? It was as unnatural and out of place as the twisted red doorways were. Those warped the eyes to look at them.