He would have expected the other Aes Sedai to comfort them, care for them somehow, but most ignored the three entirely, although a little too studied in looking anywhere and everywhere else. For that matter, the stilled Aes Sedai refused to acknowledge the rest, either. In the beginning, at least, a few of the other sisters had approached, each by herself, calm to the eye yet smelling sharply of aversion and reluctance, but they got nothing for their pains, not word or glance. None had gone near this morning.

Perrin shook his head. The Aes Sedai seemed to do a lot of ignoring of what they did not want to admit. For instance, the black-coated men standing over them. There was an Asha’man for each sister, even the three who had been stilled, and they never seemed to blink. For their part, the Aes Sedai looked past the Asha’man, or through them; they might as well not have existed.

It was quite a trick. He could not make himself disregard the Asha’man, and he was not under their guard. They ranged from fuzz-cheeked boys to gray-haired, balding gansers, and it was not their grim, high-collared black coats or the sword each wore at his hip that made them dangerous. Every Asha’man could channel, and somehow they were keeping the Aes Sedai from channeling. Men who could wield the One Power, a thing of nightmares. Rand could, of course, but he was Rand, and the Dragon Reborn besides. These fellows made Perrin’s hackles rise.

The captive Aes Sedai’s surviving Warders sat some distance off, under their own guard. Thirty or so of Lord Dobraine’s armsmen in bell-shaped Cairhienin helmets and as many Mayener Winged Guards in red breastplates, each sharp-eyed as if guarding leopards. A good attitude, under the circumstances. More Warders than there were Aes Sedai; a number of the prisoners were Green Ajah, apparently. More guards than Warders, a good many more, and maybe few enough at that.

"The Light send we don’t see any more grief from that lot," Perrin muttered. Twice during the night the Warders had tried to break free. In truth, those outbreaks had been suppressed more by the Asha’man than by the Cairhienin or Mayeners, and they had not been gentle. None of the Warders had been killed, but at least a dozen nursed broken bones none of the sisters had yet been allowed to Heal.

"If the Lord Dragon cannot make the decision," Aram said quietly, "maybe it should be made by somebody else. To protect him."

Perrin gave him a sidelong look. "What decision? The sisters told them not to make another attempt, and they’ll obey their Aes Sedai." Broken bones or no, unarmed as they were, hands tied behind their backs, the Warders still looked like a wolfpack awaiting the lead wolf’s command to attack. None would rest easy until his Aes Sedai was free, maybe until all of the sisters were free. Aes Sedai and Warders: a stack of well-aged oak, ready for a flame. But even Warders and Aes Sedai had proved no match for Asha’man.

"I did not mean the Warders." Aram hesitated, then shuffled closer to Perrin and lowered his voice further, to a hoarse whisper. "The Aes Sedai kidnapped the Lord Dragon. He can’t trust them, not ever, but he won’t do what he has to, either. If they died before he knew it — "

"What are you saying?" Perrin almost choked as he sat bolt upright. Not for the first time, he wondered whether there was any Tinker left in the other man. "They’re helpless, Aram! Helpless women!"

"They are Aes Sedai." Dark eyes met Perrin’s golden stare levelly. "They cannot be trusted, and they cannot be turned loose. How long can Aes Sedai be held against their will? They’ve been doing what they do far longer than the Asha’man. They must know more. They’re a danger to the Lord Dragon, and to you, Lord Perrin. I have seen them look at you."

Across the wagon circle, the sisters were talking among themselves in whispers even Perrin could not hear, mouths held close to ears. Now and again one did look at him and Aram. At him, not Aram. He had caught a double handful of names. Nesune Bihara. Erian Boroleos and Katerine Alruddin. Coiren Saeldain, Sarene Nemdahl and Elza Penfell. Janine Pavlara, Beldeine Nyram, Marith Riven. Those last were the young sisters, but young or ageless, they watched him with faces so serene it seemed they had the upper hand despite the Asha’man. Defeating Aes Sedai was not easy; making them admit defeat lay on the far side of impossible.

He forced his hands to unknot and rest on his knees, giving an appearance of calm he was nowhere near feeling. They knew he was ta’veren, one of those few the Pattern would shape itself around for a time. Worse, they knew he was tied to Rand in some way nobody understood, least of all himself or Rand. Or Mat; Mat was in that tangle, too, another ta’veren, though neither of them as strongly as Rand. Given half a chance those women would have him — and Mat — inside the White Tower as fast as they would Rand, tethered like goats until the lion came. And they hadkidnapped Rand, mistreated him. Aram was right about one thing; they could not be trusted. But what Aram suggested — he would not — could not! — countenance such a thing. The thought made him queasy.

"I’ll hear no more of that," he growled. The onetime Tinker opened his mouth, but Perrin cut him off. "Not a word, Aram, do you hear me? Not one word!"

"As my Lord Perrin commands," Aram murmured, inclining his head.

Perrin wished he could see the man’s face. There was no anger in the smell of him, no resentment. That was the worst of it. There had been no anger scent even when Aram suggested murder.

A pair of Two Rivers men climbed up on the wheels of the next wagon, peering across the wagon bed and down the hill toward the north. Each wore a bristling quiver on his right hip and a stout, long-bladed knife, almost a short-sword, on his left. A good three hundred men from home had followed Perrin here. He cursed the first to call him Lord Perrin, cursed the day he had stopped trying to quash it. Even with the murmurs and noises usual in a camp this size, he had no trouble hearing the pair.

Tod al’Caar, a year younger than Perrin, let out a long breath, as if seeing what lay below for the first time. Perrin could almost sense the lanky man’s lantern jaw working. Tod’s mother had willingly let him go only for the honor of her son following Perrin Goldeneyes. "A famous victory," Tod said finally. "That’s what we won. Wasn’t it, Jondyn?"

Grizzled Jondyn Barran, gnarled as an oak root, was one of the few older men among the three hundred. A better bowshot than anyone in the Two Rivers except Master al’Thor and a better hunter than anyone at all, he was one of the Two Rivers’ less distinguished residents. Jondyn had not worked a day more than he had to since he was old enough to leave his father’s farm. The forests and the hunt were all he cared about, that and drinking too much at feastdays. Now he spat loudly. "If you say so, boy. Was those bloody Asha’man won it, anyway. And welcome to it, I say. Too bad they don’t take it and go someplace else to celebrate."

"They aren’t so bad," Tod protested. "I wouldn’t mind being one myself." That sounded more boast and bluff than truth. Smelled it, too; without looking, Perrin was sure he was licking his lips. Likely Tod’s mother had used tales of men who could channel to frighten him not so many years ago. "I mean to say, Rand — that is, the Lord Dragon — it still sounds odd, doesn’t it, Rand al’Thor being the Dragon Reborn and all?" Tod laughed, a short, uneasy sound. "Well, he can channel, and it doesn’t seem so — he doesn’t — I mean... " He swallowed loudly. "Besides, what could we have done about all those Aes Sedai without them?" That came out in a whisper. He smelled afraid now. "Jondyn, what are we going to do? I mean, Aes Sedai prisoners?"