The Gathering Storm - Robert Jordan

Well . . . that wasn't true. They had asked for much, but had demanded nothing. Rolan had always been an Aiel to her in action, if not in word. But, like Masema's death, her relationship with Rolan was not something Perrin needed to know about. She had never so much as kissed Rolan, but she had used his desire for her as an advantage. And she suspected that he'd known what she was doing.

Perrin had killed Rolan. That was another reason that her husband didn't need to know about the Brotherless man's kindness. It would tear Perrin apart inside if he knew what he'd done.

Perrin relaxed, closing his eyes. He had changed during these two months, perhaps as much as she had. That was good. In the Borderlands, her people had a saying: "Only the Dark One stays the same." Men grew and progressed; the Shadow just remained as it was. Evil.

"We'll have to do some planning tomorrow," Perrin said, yawning. "Once gateways are available, we will have to decide whether to force the people to leave, and decide who goes first. Has anyone discovered what happened to Masema?"

"Not that I know of," she said carefully. "But with so many of his possessions gone from his tent. . . ."

"Masema doesn't care about possessions," Perrin mumbled quietly, eyes still closed. "Though maybe he would have taken them to rebuild. I guess he might have run off, though it's strange that nobody knows where or how."

"He probably slipped away during the confusion after the battle."

"Probably," Perrin agreed. "I wonder . . ." He yawned. "I wonder what Rand will say. Masema was the point of this whole trip. I was to fetch him and bring him back, and I guess I've failed."

"You destroyed the men who were murdering and robbing in the Dragon's name," Faile said, "and you cut out the heart of the Shaido leadership, not to mention all you've learned about the Seanchan. I think the Dragon will find that what you've accomplished here far outweighs not bringing Masema back."

"Maybe you're right," Perrin mumbled sleepily. "Blasted colors. ... I don't want to watch you sleeping, Rand. What happened to your hand? Light-blinded fool, take better care of yourself. . . . You're all we have. . . . Last Hunt coming. ..."

She could barely make out that last part. Why was he talking about Rand's hand going hunting? Was he actually falling asleep this time?

Sure enough, he soon started snoring softly. She smiled, shaking her head fondly. He was an ox, sometimes. But he was her ox. She climbed off of the pallet and moved through their tent, pulling on a robe and tying its belt. A pair of sandals followed, and then she slipped out through the tent flaps. Arrela and Lacile guarded there, along with two Maidens. The Maidens nodded to her; they would keep her secret.

Faile left the Maiden guards, but took Arrela and Lacile with her as she walked out into the darkness. Arrela was a dark-haired Tairen woman who was taller than most Maidens, with a brusque way about her. Lacile was short, pale, and very slender, and she walked with a graceful sway. They were as different as women could get, perhaps, though their captivity had united them all. Both members of Cha Faile had been captured with her and gone to Maiden as gai'sbain.

After traveling a short distance, they picked up two other Maidens— Bain and Chiad had spoken with them, likely. They passed out of the camp, moving to a spot where a pair of willow trees stood side by side. There, Faile was met by a pair of women who still wore gai'shain white. Bain and Chiad were Maidens themselves, first-sisters and dear to Faile. They were more loyal—even—than those who had sworn to her. Loyal to her, yet free of oaths to her. A contradiction only Aiel could pull off.

Unlike Faile and the others, Bain and Chiad would not put off the white just because their captors had been defeated. They would wear the clothing for a year and a day. In fact, coming here this night— acknowledging their lives from before they had been taken—stretched what their honor would allow. However, they admitted that being gai'shain in the Shaido camp had been anything but standard.

Faile met them with a smile, but did not shame them by calling them by name or by using Maiden handtalk. However, she couldn't keep herself from asking, "You are well?" as she accepted a small bundle from Chiad.

Chiad was a beautiful woman with gray eyes and short, reddish blond hair hidden beneath the hood of her gai'shain robe. She grimaced at the question. "Gaul searched the entire Shaido camp to find me, and reports say he defeated twelve algai'd'siswai with his spear. Perhaps I shall have to make a bridal wreath for him after all, once this is all through."

Faile smiled.

Chiad smiled back. "He did not expect that one of the men he killed would turn out to be the one to whom Bain was gai'shain. I do not think Gaul is happy to have both of us serving him."

"Foolish man," Bain—the taller of the two—said. "Very like him to not watch where he jabbed his spear. He couldn't kill the right man without accidentally slaying a few others." Both women chuckled.

Faile smiled and nodded; Aiel humor was beyond her. "Thank you very much for fetching these," she said, holding up the small, cloth-wrapped bundle.

"It was nothing," Chiad said. "There were too many hands working that day, so it was easy. Alliandre Maritha Kigarin already waits for you at the trees. We should return to the camp."

"Yes," Bain added. "Perhaps Gaul would like his back rubbed again, or water fetched for him. He grows so angry when we ask, but gai'shain gain honor only through service. What else are we to do?"

The women laughed again, and Faile shook her head as they ran back toward the camp, white robes swishing. She cringed at the thought of having to wear such clothing again, if only because it made her think about her days of service to Sevanna.

Lanky Arrela and graceful Lacile joined her at the base of the two willows. The Maiden guards stayed behind, watching from afar. A third

Maiden joined those two, moving out of the shadows, likely sent by Bain and Chiad to protect Alliandre. Faile found the dark-haired queen standing at the base of the trees, looking like a lady again in a rich red gown with golden chains lacing her hair. It was an extravagant display, as if she were determined to disprove the days she'd spent acting as a servant. Alliandre's gown made Faile more aware of her simple robe. But there wasn't much she could have done without waking Perrin. Arrela and Lacile wore only the embroidered breeches and shirts common to those in Cba Faile.

Alliandre carried a small lantern with the shutters drawn, letting out only a crack of light that illuminated her youthful face, topped by dark hair. "Did they find anything?" she asked. "Please tell me that they did." She had always been impressively grounded, for a queen, if somewhat demanding. Her time in Maiden seemed to have tempered the latter feature.

"Yes." Faile hefted the bundle. The four women huddled around her as she knelt on the ground, the tips of the short grass lit by the lantern, shining like tongues of flame. Faile unwrapped the bundle. The contents weren't anything extraordinary. A small handkerchief of yellow silk. A belt of worked leather which had a pattern of bird feathers pressed into its sides. A black veil. And a thin leather band with a stone tied at the center.

"That belt belonged to Kinhuin," Alliandre said, pointing to it. "I saw him wearing it, before. ..." She trailed off, then knelt and picked it up.

"The veil is that of a Maiden," Arrela said.

"They're different?" Alliandre asked with surprise.

"Of course they are," Arrela said, picking up the veil. Faile had never met the Maiden who had become Arrela's protector, but the woman had fallen in the battle, though not as dramatically as Rolan and the others.

The piece of silk was Jhoradin's; Lacile hesitated, then took it in her hands, turning it over and revealing that there was a spot of blood on it. That left only the leather cord. Rolan had worn it at his neck, on occasion, beneath his cadin'sor. Faile wondered what it had meant to him, and if there was any significance to the single bit of stone, a rough-cut chunk of turquoise. She picked it up, then glanced at Lacile. Surprisingly, the slender woman seemed to be crying. Because Lacile had gone so quickly to the hefty Brotherless's bed, Faile had assumed that her relationship with him had been one of necessity, not affection.

"Four people are dead," Faile said, mouth suddenly dry. She spoke formally, for that was the best way to keep the emotion from her voice. "They protected us, even cared for us. Though they were the enemy, we mourn them. Remember, though, that they were Aiel. For an Aiel, there are far worse ends than death in combat."

The others nodded, but Lacile met Faile's eyes. For the two of them, it was different. When Perrin had barreled out of that alleyway—roaring in anger at seeing Faile and Lacile apparently being manhandled by Shaido— many things had happened very quickly. In the fray, Faile had distracted Rolan at just the right moment, making him hesitate. He'd done so out of concern for her, but that pause had allowed Perrin to kill him.

Had Faile done it intentionally? She still didn't know. So much had been going through her mind, so many emotions at seeing Perrin. She'd cried out, and . . . she could not decide if she'd been trying to distract Rolan to let him die by Perrin's hand.

For Lacile, there was no such wavering. Jhoradin had leaped in front of her, putting her behind him and raising his weapon against the intruder. She'd put a knife in his back, killing a man for the first time in her life. And it had been a man whose bed she'd shared.

Faile had killed Kinhuin, the other member of the Brotherless who had protected them. He wasn't the first man whose life she had taken— nor the first one she'd taken from behind. But he was the first man she'd killed who had seen her as a friend.

There was nothing else that could have been done. Perrin had seen only Shaido, and the Brotherless had seen only an invading enemy. That conflict could not have ended without Perrin or the Brotherless dead. No amount of screaming would have stopped any of the men.

But that made it more tragic. Faile steeled herself to keep her eyes from tearing up like Lacile's. She hadn't loved Rolan, and she was glad that Perrin was the one who had survived the conflict. But Rolan had been an honorable man, and she felt . . . dirtied, somehow, that his death had been her fault.

This shouldn't have had to be. But it was. Her father had often spoken of situations like this, when you had to kill people you liked just because you met them on the wrong side of the battlefield. She'd never understood. If she had to go back and do it again, she would take the very same actions. She wouldn't be able to risk Perrin. Rolan had had to die.

But the world seemed a sadder place to her for the necessity of it.

Lacile turned away, sniffling softly. Faile knelt, taking a small flask of oil from the bundle Chiad had left. She took the leather strap and pulled off the stone, then set the strap in the center of the cloth bundle. She poured the oil on it, then used a tinder stick, lit at the lantern, to set the strap afire.

She watched it burn, tiny little flames of blue and green, topped by orange. The scent of burning leather was shockingly similar to that of burning human flesh. The night was still, no wind to shake the flames, and so they danced freely.