Perrin did not recognize the girl, but evidently she did know Daise, because she flinched at the message. But Verin was an Aes Sedai. After a moment of weighing – Daise Congar against an Aes Sedai – the girl scampered away into the crowd.

"And Alanna will take care of you," Verin said, peering up at him again.

He wished she did not sound as though there might be two meanings to that.

Taking Stepper's bridle, Verin led him to the Winespring Inn herself, the crowd melting back to let her through, then falling in after. Dannil and Ban and the others trailed along on horse and afoot, kin mingling with them now. Astounded as they were by the changes in Emond's Field, the lads still showed their pride by striding even if they limped, or sitting up straighter in the saddle; they had faced Trollocs and come home. But women ran their hands over sons and nephews and grandsons, often biting back tears, and their low moans made a soft, pained murmur. Tight-eyed men tried to hide their worries behind proud smiles, clapping shoulders and exclaiming over newly begun beards, yet frequently their hugs just happened to turn into a shoulder to lean on. Sweethearts rushed in with kisses and loud cries, equal parts happiness and commiseration, and little brothers and sisters, uncertain, alternated between fits of weeping and clinging in wide-eyed wonder to a brother everyone seemed to be taking for a hero.

It was the other voices Perrin wished he could not hear.

"Where is Kenley?" Mistress Ahan was a handsome woman, with streaks of white in her nearly black braid, but she wore a fear-filled frown as she scanned faces and saw eyes flinch from hers. "Where's my Kenley?"

"Bili!" old Hu al'Dai called uncertainly. "Has anyone seen Bili al'Dai?"". . . Hu... !"

". . . Jared... !"

". . . Tim... !"

". . . Colly...!"

In front of the inn, Perrin fell out of the saddle in his need to escape those names, not even seeing whose hands caught him. "Get me inside!" he grated. "Inside!"

". . . Teven... !"

". . . Haral... !"

". . . Had... !"

The door cut off the heart-lost wails, and the cries of Dael al'Taron's mother for someone to tell her where her son was.

In a Trolloc cookpot, Perrin thought as he was lowered into a chair in the common room. In a Trolloc's belly, where I put him, Mistress al'Taron. Where I put him. Faile had his head in her hands, peering into his face worriedly. Care for the living, he thought. I'll weep for the dead later. Later.

"I am all right," he told her. "I just got a little light-headed dismounting. I've never been a good rider." She did not seem to believe him.

"Can't you do something?" she demanded of Verin.

The Aes Sedai calmly shook her head. "I think better not, child. A pity neither of us is Yellow, but Alanna is still a much better Healer than I. My Talents lie in other directions. Ihvon will bring her. Wait with patience, child."The common room had been turned into an armory of sorts. Except in front of the fireplace, the walls were a solid mass of propped spears of every description, with the occasional halberd or bill mixed in, and some polearms with oddly shaped blades, many pitted and discolored where old rust had been scoured away. Even more surprisingly, a barrel near the foot of the stairs held swords all jumbled together, most without scabbards and no two alike. Every attic within five miles must have been turned out for relics dust-covered for generations. Perrin would not have suspected there were five swords in the whole Two Rivers. Before the Whitecloaks and Trollocs came, anyway.

Gaul took a place off to one side, near the stairs that led up to the inn's rooms and the al'Veres' living quarters, watching Perrin but plainly aware of Verin and every move she made. On the other side of the room, watching Faile and all else, the two Maidens cradled their spears in the crook of an elbow and took a hipshot stance that seemed at once casual and yet balanced on the toes. The three young fellows who had carried Perrin in shifted their feet by the door, staring at him and the Aes Sedai and the Aiel with equally wide eyes. That was all.

"The others," Perrin said. "They need —"

"They will be taken care of," Verin interrupted smoothly, seating herself at another table. "They will want to be with their families. Much better to have loved ones close."

Perrin felt a stab of pain – the graves below the apple trees flashed in his mind – but he pushed it down. Take care of the living, he reminded himself harshly. The Aes Sedai brought out her pen and ink and began making notes in that small book in a precise hand. He wondered whether she cared how many Two Rivers folk died, so long as he lived, to be used in the White Tower's plans for Rand.

Faile squeezed his hand, but it was to the Aes Sedai that she spoke. "Should we not take him up to a bed?"

"Not yet," Perrin told her irritably. Verin looked up and opened her mouth, and he repeated in a firmer voice, "Not yet." The Aes Sedai shrugged and went back to her note-taking. "Does anyone know where Loial is?"

"The Ogier?" one of the three by the door said. Dav Ayellin was stockier than Mat, but he had that same twinkle in his dark eyes. He had the same rumpled, uncombed look about him as Mat, too. In the old days, what little mischief Mat did not get up to, Dav did, though Mat usually led the way. "He's out with the men clearing back the Westwood. You'd think we were cutting down his brother every time we cut a tree, but he clears three to anybody else's one with that monstrous axe he had Master Luhhan make. If you want him, I saw Jaim Thane running to tell them you had come in. I'll bet they all come to get a look at you." Peering at the broken-off arrow, he winced and rubbed his own side in sympathy. "Does it hurt much?"

"It hurts enough," Perrin said curtly. Coming to get a look at him. What am I, a gleeman? "What about Luc? I don't want to see him, but is he here?"

"I'm afraid not." The second man, Elam Dowtry, rubbed his long nose. Incongruous with his farmer's wool coat and his cowlick, he wore a sword at his belt; the hilt had been freshly wrapped in rawhide and the leather scabbard flaked and peeling. "Lord Luc is off hunting the Horn of Valere, I think. Or maybe Trollocs."

Dav and Elam were Perrin's friends, or had been, companions in hunting and fishing, both his age near enough, but their thrilled grins made them seem younger. Either Mat or Rand could have passed for five years older at least. Maybe he could, too.

"I hope he comes back soon," Elam went on. "He has been showing me how to use a sword. Did you know he's a Hunter for the Horn? And a king, if he had his rights. Of Andor, I hear."

"Andor has queens," Perrin muttered absently, meeting Faile's gaze, "not kings."

"So he is not here," she said. Gaul shifted slightly; he looked ready to go hunting for Luc, his eyes blue ice. It would not have surprised Perrin to see Bain and Chiad veil themselves on the spot.

"No," Verin said vaguely, manifestly more intent on her notes than what she was saying. "Not that he hasn't been a help sometimes, but he does have a way of causing trouble when he is here. Yesterday, before anyone knew what he was doing, he led a delegation out to meet a Whitecloak patrol and told them Emond's Field was closed to them. He apparently told them not to come within ten miles. I cannot approve of Whitecloaks, but I do not suppose they took that very well. Not wise to antagonize them more than is strictly necessary." Frowning at what she had written, she rubbed her nose, seemingly unaware of leaving a smudge of ink.

Perrin did not much care how the Whitecloaks took anything. "Yesterday," he breathed. If Luc had come back to the village yesterday, it was not likely he could have had anything to do with Trollocs being where they were not expected. The more Perrin thought about how that ambush turned around, the more he thought the Trollocs must have been expecting them. And the more he wanted to blame Luc. "Wanting won't make a stone cheese," he muttered. "But he still smells like cheese to me."