Pevara had been ordered by the Highest not to risk gateways unless the situation were dire. This seemed like a dire situation to her. She embraced the Source and wove the proper weave.
The weave fell apart the moment she completed it. No gateway formed. Eyes wide, she tried again, but got the same result. She tried other weaves, and they worked, but gateways failed every time.
Her chill became frost within her. She was trapped.
They all were.
Perrin clasped hands with Mat. “Good luck, my friend.”
Mat grinned, tugging down the broad brim of his dark hat. “Luck? I hope this all comes down to luck. I’m good with luck.”
Mat carried a bulging pack over one shoulder, as did the bony, gnarled man that Mat had introduced as Noal. Thom had his harp on his back and a similar pack. Perrin still wasn’t clear on what they were bringing. Mat only planned to be at the tower for a few days, so there was no need for a lot of supplies.
The small group stood on the Traveling ground outside Perrin’s camp. Behind them, Perrin’s people shouted back and forth, breaking down the camp. None had any inkling of how important this day could prove. Moiraine. Moiraine was alive. Light, let it be so.
“Are you certain I can’t convince you to take more help?” Perrin asked.
Mat nodded. “Sorry. These things…well, they tend to be particular. The note was clear. Only three of us can enter, otherwise we’ll fail. If we fail anyway…well, I guess it will be her own bloody fault then, won’t it?”
Perrin frowned. “Just be careful. I’m expecting another helping from your pouch of tabac at Master Denezel’s place when you return.”
“You’ll have it,” Thom said, taking Perrin’s offered hand. He hesitated, smiling, a faint twinkle in his eyes.
“What?” Perrin asked.
Thom repositioned his pack. “Is every last farmboy I know going to transform into a nobleman by the time this is through?”
“I’m no nobleman,” Mat said.
“Oh?” Thom asked. “Prince of the Ravens?”
Mat pulled his hat down. “People can call me what they want. That doesn’t mean I’m one of them.”
“Actually,” Thom said, “it—”
“Open the gateway so we can get going,” Mat said. “No more nonsense.”
Perrin nodded to Grady. The air rent, a twisting beam of light opening a portal that overlooked a broad, slow-moving river. “This is as close as he can get,” Perrin said. “At least, not without a better description of the place.”
“It’ll do,” Mat said, poking his head through the gateway. “You’ll open one for us to get back?”
“Each day at noon,” Grady said, repeating Perrin’s orders to him. “Into that exact spot.” He smiled. “Take care you don’t get your toes cut off when it appears, Master Cauthon.”
“I’ll do my best,” Mat said. “I’m attached to those toes.” He took a breath and stepped through the gateway. Quiet Noal followed, smelling of determination. That one was a lot tougher than he looked. Thom nodded to Perrin, mustaches wagging, then hopped through. He was spry, though he still bore the stiff leg from fighting that Fade two years ago.
Light guide you, Perrin prayed, raising a hand to the three as they trudged along the river’s bank.
Moiraine. Perrin should send word to Rand. The colors appeared, showing Rand speaking with a group of Borderlanders. But…no. Perrin couldn’t tell Rand until he was certain she lived. To do otherwise would be too cruel, and would be an invitation for Rand to meddle in Mat’s mission.
Perrin turned as the portal closed. As he stepped, he felt a faint throbbing from his leg, where Slayer’s arrow had hit him. He had been Healed of that wound, and from what he’d been able to tell, the Healing had been complete. There was no injury. But his leg…it felt like it could remember the wound anyway. It was like a shadow, very faint, almost unnoticeable.
Faile walked up to him, her face curious. Gaul was with her, and Perrin smiled at the way he kept glancing over his shoulder at Bain and Chiad. One carried his spears, the other his bow, all wrapped in cloth. So that he didn’t have to, apparently.
“I missed the sendoff?” Faile asked.
“As you intended,” Perrin replied.
She sniffed. “Matrim Cauthon is a bad influence. I’m surprised he didn’t drag you off to another tavern before leaving.”
Amusingly, the colors appeared, showing him Mat—who had just left—walking along the river. “He’s not as bad as all that,” Perrin said. “Are we ready?”
“Aravine has everyone organized and moving,” Faile said. “We should be ready to march within the hour.”
That proved a good estimate. In about a half-hour, Perrin stood to the side as an enormous gateway split the air, created by Grady and Neald linked together with the Aes Sedai and Edarra. Nobody had questioned Perrin’s decision to move. If Rand was traveling to this place known as the Field of Merrilor, then that was where Perrin wanted to be. It was where he needed to be.
The land beyond this gateway was more rugged than southern Andor. Fewer trees, more prairie grass. Some ruins lay in the distance. The open area before them was filled with tents, banners, and camps. It looked as if Egwene’s coalition was gathered.
Grady peered through, then whistled softly. “How many people is that?”
“Those are the Crescent Moons of Tear,” Perrin noted, pointing toward a banner. “And that’s Illian. Camped on opposite sides of the field.” A green banner set with nine golden bees marked that army.
“A large number of Cairhienin Houses,” Faile said, looking out off the rise. “Not a few Aiel…No Borderlander flags.”
“I’ve never seen so many troops in one place,” Grady said.
It’s really happening, Perrin thought, heart thumping. The Last Battle.
“Do you think they’ll be enough to stop Rand?” Faile asked. “To help us keep him from breaking the seals?”
“Help us?” Perrin asked.
“You told Elayne that you’d go to the Field of Merrilor,” Faile said. “Because of what Egwene had asked.”
“Oh, I told her I needed to be there,” Perrin said. “But I never said I was going to take Egwene’s side. I trust Rand, Faile, and it seems right to me that he’d need to break the seals. It’s like making a sword. You usually don’t want to forge one out of the pieces of a broken and ruined weapon. You get new good steel to make it. Rather than patch the old seals, he’ll need
