"I did not believe a Waygate could be destroyed," Faile said.

"I did not mean destroy, exactly." Loial leaned on his long-handled axe. "A Waygate was destroyed once, less than five hundred years after the Breaking, according to Damelle, daughter of Ala daughter of Soferra, because the Gate was near a stedding that had fallen to the Blight. There are two or three Gates lost in the Blight as it is. But she wrote that it was very difficult, and required thirteen Aes Sedai working together with a sa'angreal. Another attempt she wrote of, by only nine, during the Trolloc Wars, damaged the Gate in such a way that the Aes Sedai were pulled into —" He cut off, ears wriggling with embarrassment, and knuckled his wide nose. Everyone was staring at him, even Verin and the Aiel. "I do let myself be carried away, sometimes. The Waygate. Yes. I cannot destroy it, but if I remove both Avendesora leaves completely, they will die." He grimaced at the thought. "The only means of opening the Gate again will be for the Elders to bring the Talisman of Growing. Though I suppose an Aes Sedai could cut a hole in it." This time he shuddered. Damaging a Waygate must have seemed like tearing up a book to him. A moment later, he was grim-faced once more. "I will go now."

"No!" Perrin said sharply. The arrowhead seemed to throb, but it did not really hurt anymore. He was talking too much; his throat was dry. "There are Trollocs up there, Loial. They can fit an Ogier into a cookpot as well as a human."

"But, Perrin, I —"

"No, Loial. How are you going to write your book if you go off and get yourself killed?"

Loial's ears twitched. "It is my responsibility, Perrin."

"The responsibility is mine," Perrin said gently. "You told me what you were doing with the Waygate, and I didn't suggest anything different. Besides, the way you jump every time your mother is mentioned, I don't want her coming after me. I will go, as soon as Alanna Heals this arrow out of me." He wiped his forehead, then frowned at his hand. Still no sweat. "Can I have a drink of water?"

Faile was there in an instant, her cool fingers where his hand had been. "He is burning up! Verin, we cannot wait for Alanna. You must—!"

"I am here," the dark Aes Sedai announced, appearing from the door at the back of the common room, Marin al'Vere and Alsbet Luhhan at her heels, and Ihvon right behind them. Perrin felt the tingle of the Power before Alanna's hand replaced Faile's, and she added in a cool, serene voice, "Carry him into the kitchen. The table there is large enough to lay him out. Quickly. There is not much time."

Perrin's head spun, and abruptly he realized Loial had leaned his axe beside the door and picked him up, cradling him in his arms. "The Waygate is mine, Loial." Light, I'm thirsty. "My responsibility."

The arrowhead truly did not seem to hurt as much as it had, but he ached all over. Loial was carrying him somewhere, bending through doorways. There was Mistress Luhhan, biting her lip, eyes squinched as if about to cry. He wondered why. She never cried. Mistress al'Vere looked worried, too.

"Mistress Luhhan," he murmured, "Mother says I can come be apprenticed to Master Luhhan." No. That was a long time ago. That was... What was? He could not seem to remember.

He was lying on something hard, listening to Alanna speak. "...barbs are caught on bone as well as flesh, and the arrowhead has twisted. I must realign it with the first wound and pull it out. If the shock does not kill him, I can then Heal the damage I have done as well as the rest. There is no other way. He is near the brink now." Nothing to do with him.

Faile smiled down at him tremulously, her face upside down. Had he really once thought her mouth was too wide? It was just right. He wanted to touch her cheek, but Mistress al'Vere and Mistress Luhhan were holding his wrists for some reason, leaning with all their weight. Someone was lying across his legs, too, and Loial's big hands swallowed his shoulders, pressing them flat to the table. Table. Yes. The kitchen table.

"Bite down, my heart," Faile said from far away. "It will hurt."

He wanted to ask her what would hurt, but she was pressing a leather-wrapped stick into his mouth. He smelled the leather and the spicewood and her. Would she come hunting with him, running across the endless grassy plains after endless herds of deer? Icy cold shivered through him; vaguely he recognized the feel of the One Power. And then there was pain. He heard the stick snap between his teeth before blackness covered everything.

Chapter 44

(Horned Skull)

The Breaking Storm

Perrin opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the plain white plastered ceiling. It took a moment to realize he was in a four-posted bed, lying on a feather mattress with a blanket over him and a goose-down pillow under his head. A myriad of scents danced in his nose; the feathers and the wool of the blanket, a goose roasting, bread and honeycakes baking. One of the Winespring Inn's rooms. With unmistakable bright morning light streaming in at the white-curtained windows. Morning. He fumbled at his side. Unbroken skin met his fingers, but he felt weaker than at any time since being shot. A small enough price, though, and a fair enough exchange. His throat felt parched, too.

When he moved, Faile leaped up from a chair beside the small stone fireplace, tossing aside a red blanket and stretching. She had changed to a darker narrow-skirted riding dress, and wrinkles in the gray silk said she had slept in that chair. "Alanna said you needed sleep," she said. He reached toward the white pitcher on the small table beside the bed, and she hurriedly poured a cup of water and held it for him to drink. "You need to stay right here for another two or three days, until you have your strength back."

The words sounded normal, except for an undercurrent he barely caught, a tightness at the corners of her eyes. "What is wrong?"

She replaced the cup carefully on the bedside table and smoothed her dress. "Nothing is wrong." The taut underlying tone was even clearer.

"Faile, don't lie to me."

"I do not lie!" she snapped. "I will have some breakfast brought up to you, and you're lucky I do that, calling me —"

"Faile." He said her name as sternly as he could, and she hesitated, her most arrogant, chin-up glare changing to forehead-creasing worry and back again. He met her gaze straight on; she was not going to get away with any fine lady's haughty tricks with him.

At last, she sighed. "I suppose you have a right to know. But you are still staying in that bed until Alanna and I say you can get up. Loial and Gaul are gone."

"Gone?" He blinked in confusion. "What do you mean gone? They left?"

"In a way. The sentries saw them go, this morning at first light, trotting off into the Westwood together. None of them thought anything of it; certainly none tried to stop them, an Ogier and an Aiel. I heard of it less than an hour ago. They were talking about trees, Perrin. About how the Ogier sing to trees."

"Trees?" Perrin growled. "It's that bloody Waygate! Burn me, I told him not to... They'll get themselves killed before they reach it!"

Throwing off the blanket, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wobbling to his feet. He had nothing on, he realized, not even his smallclothes. But if they expected to keep him caged under a blanket, they were sadly mistaken. He could see everything folded neatly on the tall-backed chair by the door, with his boots beside it and his axe hanging by its belt from a peg on the wall. Stumbling to his clothes, he began dressing as quickly as he could.

"What are you doing?" Faile demanded. "You put yourself back in that bed!" One fist on her hip, she pointed commandingly, as if her finger could transport him there.