“I don’t want to defeat anybody except the Shaido,” Perrin said firmly, fighting off the image that tried to form in his mind. He folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle. Stepper seemed to be settling down, at least. The stallion still gave small shivers now and then, but he had stopped rolling his eyes. “There’s a way to do that and still keep everything quiet so you don’t need to apologize.” If that was important to her, he was ready to use it. “The Daughter of the Nine Moons can rest easy. I told you I had this planned out. Tallanvor told me you have some kind of tea that makes a woman who can channel go wobbly in the knees.”

After a moment, Tylee lowered the banner back to her saddle and sat studying him. “A woman or a man.” she drawled at last. “I’ve heard of several men being caught that way. But just how do you propose feeding it to these four hundred women when they’re surrounded by a hundred thousand Aiel?”

“By feeding it to all of them without letting them know they’re drinking it. I’ll need as much as I can get, though. Wagonloads. probably. There’s no way to heat the water, you see, so it’ll be thin tea.”

Tylee laughed softly. “A bold plan, my Lord. I suppose they might have cartloads at the manufactory where the tea’s made, but that’s a long way from here, in Amadicia almost to Tarabon, and the only way I could get more than a few pounds at once would be to tell someone of higher rank why I wanted it. And there’s the end of keeping it quiet all over again.”

“The Asha’man know a thing called Traveling,” Perrin told her, “a way to cross hundred of miles in a step. And as for getting the tea, maybe this will help.” From his left gauntlet he pulled a folded, grease-stained piece of paper.

Tylee’s eyebrows rose as she read it. Perrin had the short text by heart. THE BEARER OF THIS STANDS UNDER MY PERSONAL PROTECTION. IN THE NAME OF THE EMPRESS, MAY SHE LIVE FOREVER. GIVE HIM WHAT EVER AID HE REQUIRES IN SERVICE TO THE EMPIRE AND SPEAK OF IT TO NOne BUT ME. He had no idea who Suroth Sabelle Meldarath was, but if she signed her name to something like that, she had to be important. Maybe she was this Daughter of the Nine Moons.

Handing the paper to Mishima, the Banner-General stared at Per-rin. That sharp, hard scent was back, stronger than ever. “Aes Sedai, Asha’man, Aiel, your eyes, that hammer, now this! Who are you?”

Mishima whistled through his teeth. “Suroth herself,” he murmured.

“I’m a man who wants his wife back,” Perrin said, “and I’ll deal with the Dark One to get her.” He avoided looking at the sul’dam and damane. He was not far short of making a deal with the Dark One. “Do we have a bargain?”

Tylee looked at his outstretched hand, then took it. She had a firm grip. A deal with the Dark One. But he would do whatever it took to get Faile free.

The drumbeat of rain on the tent roof that had lasted through most of the night faded to something softer as Faile approached Sevanna’s chair, a heavily carved and gilded throne placed in the center of the bright, layered carpets that made up the tent’s floor, with her eyes carefully lowered, to avoid offense. Spring had arrived in a rush, but the braziers were unlit, and the morning air held a touch of chill. Curtsying deeply, she presented the ropework silver tray. The Aiel woman took the golden goblet of wine and drank without so much as a glance in her direction, but she gave another deep curtsy before backing away and setting the tray down on the brass-bound blue chest that already held a tall-necked silver wine pitcher and three more goblets, then returned to her place with the other eleven gai’shain present, standing between the mirrored stand-lamps along the red silk tent wall. It was a spacious tent, and tall. No low Aiel tent for Sevanna.

Often it was hard to see her as Aiel at all. This morning, she lounged in a red brocaded silk robe, tied so it gaped nearly to her waist and exposed half her considerable bosom, though she wore enough jeweled necklaces, emeralds and firedrops and opals, ropes of fat pearls, that she came near to being decent. The Aiel did not wear rings, yet Sevanna had at least one be-gemmed ring on every finger. The thick band of gold and firedrops worn over the folded blue silk scarf that held back her waist-long yellow hair had taken on the aspect of a coronet if not a crown. There was nothing Aiel in that.

Faile and the others, six women and five men, had been wakened in the night to stand beside Sevanna’s bed-a pair of feather mattresses laid one atop the other-in case the woman woke and wanted something. Was any ruler in the world attended by a dozen servants while she slept? She fought the urge to yawn. Many things might earn punishment. but yawning surely would. Gai’shain were supposed to be meek and eager to please, and it seemed that that meant obsequious to the point of groveling. Bain and Chiad, fierce as they were otherwise, seemed to find it easy. Faile did not. In the near month since she was stripped and tied up like a blacksmith’s puzzle for hiding a knife, she had been switched nine times for trivial offenses that were serious in Sevanna’s eyes. Her last set of welts had not faded completely yet, and she had no intention of earning another set through carelessness.

She hoped that Sevanna thought her tamed by that night trussed up in the cold. Only Rolan and his braziers had saved her life. She hoped that she was not being tamed. Pretend something too long, and it could become truth. She had been a prisoner less than two months, yet she could no longer recall exactly how many days ago she was captured. At times it seemed she had been in white robes for a year or more. Sometimes the wide belt and collar of flat golden links felt natural. That frightened her. She clung hard to hope. She would escape soon. She had to. Before Perrin caught up and tried to rescue her. Why had he not caught up yet? The Shaido had been camped at Maiden for a long time. now. He would not have abandoned her. Her wolf would be coming to rescue her. She had to escape before he got himself killed in the attempt. Before she was no longer pretending.

“How long are you going to keep punishing Galina Sedai, Therava?” Sevanna demanded, frowning at the Aes Sedai. Therava was seated cross-legged in front of her on a tasseled blue cushion, straight-backed and stern. “Last night, she made my bath water coo hot, and she is so welted, I had to order the soles of her feet beaten. That is not very effective when she must be left able to walk.”

Faile had been avoiding looking at Galina ever since Therava brought her into the tent, but her eyes went to the woman of their own accord at mention of her name. Galina was kneeling erect halfway between the two Aiel women and slightly to one side, mottled brown bruises on her cheeks, her skin damp and slick from the heavy rain she had been walked through to get there, her feet and ankles muddy. She wore only her firedrop-studded golden collar and belt, and seemed more naked than naked. Just a stubble remained of her hair and eyebrows. Every hair from head to toe had been singed from her with the One Power. Faile had heard it described, along with how the Aes Sedai had been hung from her ankles for her first beating. That had been half the talk among the gai’shain for days. Only the handful who recognized her ageless face for what it was still believed that she was Aes Sedai, and some of those had the same doubts that had plagued Faile on finding an Aes Sedai among the gai’shain. After all, she possessed the face, and the ring, but why would an Aes Sedai let Therava treat her so? Faile asked herself that question often without arriving at any answer. She kept telling herself that Aes Sedai often did what they did for reasons no one else could understand, but that was not very satisfying.