Robert Jordan - The Path of Daggers

"I can have you in Cairhien today," Perrin said. "Once the Lord Dragon has spoken to you, you can return the same way and be back here in a few days." If Rand let him return.

Masema actually recoiled. Baring his teeth, he glared at the Aes Sedai. "Some contrivance of the Power? I will not be touched with the Power! It is blasphemy for mortals to touch it!"

Perrin came close to gaping. "The Dragon Reborn channels, man!"

"The blessed Lord Dragon is not as other men, Aybara!" Masema snarled. "He is the Light made flesh! I will obey his summons, but I will not be touched by the filth these women do!"

Slumping back in the chair, Perrin sighed. If the man was this bad over Aes Sedai, how would he be when he learned that Grady and Neald could channel? For a moment, he considered simply knocking Masema over the head, and… Men were passing by in the corridor, pausing to glance in before hurrying on. All it took was one of them raising a shout, and Abila could become a slaughterhouse. "Then we ride, Prophet," he said sourly. Light, Rand had said to keep this secret until Masema stood in front of him! How to manage that riding all the way to Cairhien? "But no delays. The Lord Dragon is very anxious to talk with you."

"I am anxious to speak with the Lord Dragon, may his name be blessed by the Light." His eyes flickered toward the two Aes Sedai. He tried to hide it, actually smiling at Perrin. But he smelled… grim. "I am very anxious indeed."

"Would my Lady like me to ask one of the handlers to bring her a hawk?" Maighdin asked. One of Alliandre’s four hawk handlers, all men as lean as their birds, urged a sleek duckhawk wearing a feathered hood onto his heavy gauntlet from the wooden stand in front of his saddle and lifted the gray bird toward her. The falcon, with its blue-tipped wings, was on Alliandre’s green-gloved wrist. That bird was reserved to her, unfortunately. Alliandre knew her place as a vassal, but Faile understood not wanting to relinquish a favorite bird.

She merely shook her head, and Maighdin bowed in her saddle and moved her roan mare away from Swallow, far enough not to intrude but close enough to be at hand without Faile raising her voice. The dignified golden-haired woman had proved to be every bit as good a lady’s maid as Faile had hoped, knowledgeable, capable. At least, she had once she learned that whatever their relative positions with their former mistress, Lini was first among Faile’s serving women, and willing to use her authority. Surprisingly, that had actually taken an episode with a switch, but Faile pretended not to know. Only an utter fool embarrassed her servants. There was still the matter of Maighdin and Tallanvor, of course. She was certain Maighdin had begun sharing his bed, and if she found proof, they would marry if she had to turn Lini loose on both of them. Still, that was a small matter, and could not spoil her morning.

Hawking had been Alliandre’s idea, but Faile had not objected to a ride through this sparse forest, where snow made a rolling blanket over everything and lay thick and white on bare branches. The green of the trees that still held their leaves seemed sharper. The air was crisp, and it smelled new and fresh.

Bain and Chiad had insisted on accompanying her, but they squatted nearby, shoufa wrapped around their heads, watching her with disgruntled expressions. Sulin had wanted to come with all of the Maidens, but with a hundred stories of Aiel depredations floating everywhere, the sight of an Aiel was enough to send most people in Amadicia running or reaching for a sword. There must be some truth in those tales, or so many would not know an Aiel, though the Light alone knew who they were or where they had come from, yet even Sulin agreed that whoever they were, they had moved on east, perhaps into Altara.

In any case, this close to Abila, twenty of Alliandre’s soldiers and as many Mayener Winged Guards provided sufficient escort. The streamers on their lances, red or green, lifted like ribbons when the breeze stirred. Berelain’s presence was the only blight. Though watching the woman shiver in her fur-trimmed red cloak, thick enough for two blankets, was certainly amusing. Mayene did not have a real winter. This was like the last days of autumn. In Saldaea, the heart of winter could freeze exposed flesh hard as wood. Faile took a deep breath. She felt like laughing.

By some miracle, her husband, her beloved wolf, had begun behaving as he should. Instead of shouting at Berelain or running from her, Perrin now tolerated the jade’s blandishments, plainly tolerated them the way he would a child playing around his knees. And best of all, there was no longer any need to tamp down her anger when she wanted to let it loose. When she shouted, he shouted back. She knew he was not Saldaean, but it had been so hard, thinking in her heart of hearts that he believed her too weak to stand up to him. A few nights ago at supper, she had almost pointed out to him that Berelain was going to fall out of her dress if she leaned over the table any further. Well, she was not going to that far, not with Berelain; the trull still thought she could win him. And that very morning, he had been commanding, quietly brooking no argument, the sort of man a woman knew she had to be strong to deserve, to equal. Of course, she would have to nip him over that. A commanding man was wonderful, so long as he did not come to believe he could always command. Laugh? She could have sung!

"Maighdin, I think after all I will…" Maighdin was there immediately with an inquiring smile, but Faile trailed off at the sight of three riders ahead of her, plowing through the snow as fast as they could push their horses.

"At least there are plenty of hares, my Lady," Alliandre said, walking her tall white gelding up beside Swallow, "but I had hoped… Who are they?" Her falcon shifted on her thick glove, the bells on its jesses jingling. "Why, it looks like some of your people, my Lady."

Faile nodded grimly. She recognized them, too. Parelean, Arrela and Lacile. But what were they doing here?

The three drew rein before her, their horses panting steam. Parelean looked as wide-eyed as his dapple. Lacile, her pale face nearly hidden in the deep cowl of her cloak, was swallowing anxiously, and Arrela’s dark face seemed gray. "My Lady," Parelean said urgently, "dire news! The Prophet Masema has been meeting with the Seanchan!"

"The Seanchan!" Alliandre exclaimed. "Surely he cannot believe they will come to the Lord Dragon!"

"It might be simpler," Berelain said, heeling her too-showy white mare up on Alliandre’s other side. Without Perrin about for her to try to impress, her dark blue riding dress was cut quite modestly, with a neck up under her chin. She still shivered. "Masema dislikes Aes Sedai, and the Seanchan keep women who can channel as prisoners."

Faile clicked her tongue in vexation. Dire news indeed, if true. And she could only hope Parelean and the others retained enough of their wits to at least pretend they had simply overheard talk by chance. Even so, she had to be sure, and quickly. Perrin might already have reached Masema. "What proof do you have, Parelean?"

"We talked to three farmers who saw a large flying creature land four nights ago, my Lady. It brought a woman who was taken to Masema and remained with him for three hours."

"We were able to trace her all the way to where Masema stays in Abila," Lacile added.

"The three men all thought the creature was Shadowspawn," Arrela put in, "but they seemed fairly reliable." For her to say any man not of Cha Faile was fairly reliable was the same as anyone else saying they thought he was honest as a bell.

"I think I must ride into Abila," Faile said, gathering Swallow’s reins. "Alliandre, take Maighdin and Berelain with you." Any other time, the tightening of Berelain’s lips over that would have been amusing. "Parelean, Arrela and Lacile will accompany me—" A man screamed, and everyone jerked.