“Speak,” Galad said.
“I have more news about the army, my Lord Captain Commander,” Byar said. “They are near where the captives said they would be, a few days from us.”
Galad nodded. “They fly the flag of Ghealdan?”
“Alongside the flag of Mayene.” That flame of zeal glinted in Byar’s eyes. “And the wolfhead, though reports say they took that down late yesterday. Goldeneyes is there. Our scouts are sure of it.”
“Did he really kill Bornhald’s father?”
“Yes, my Lord Captain Commander. I have a familiarity with this creature. He and his troops come from a place called the Two Rivers.”
“The Two Rivers?” Galad said. “Curious, how often I seem to hear of that place, these days. Is that not where al’Thor is from?”
“So it is said,” Byar replied.
Galad rubbed his chin. “They grow good tabac there, Child Byar, but I have not heard of them growing armies.”
“It is a dark place, my Lord Captain Commander. Child Bornhald and I spent some time there last year; it is festering with Darkfriends.”
Galad sighed. “You sound like a Questioner.”
“My Lord Captain Commander,” Byar earnestly continued, “my Lord, please believe me. I am not simply speculating. This is different.”
Galad frowned. Then he gestured toward the other stool beside his table. Byar took it.
“Explain yourself,” Galad said. “And tell me everything you know of this Perrin Goldeneyes.”
Perrin could remember a time when simple breakfasts of bread and cheese had satisfied him. That was no longer the case. Perhaps it was due to his relationship with the wolves, or maybe his tastes had changed over time. These days he craved meat, especially in the morning. He couldn’t always have it, and that was fine. But generally he didn’t have to ask.
That was the case this day. He’d risen, washed his face, and found a servant entering with a large chop of ham, steaming and succulent. No beans, no vegetables. No gravy. Just the ham, rubbed with salt and seared over the fire, with a pair of boiled eggs. The serving woman set them on his table, then withdrew.
Perrin wiped his hands, crossing the rug of his tent and taking in the ham’s scent. Part of him felt he should turn it away, but he couldn’t. Not when it was right there. He sat down, took up fork and knife and dug in.
“I still don’t see how you can eat that for breakfast,” Faile noted, leaving the washing chamber of their tent, wiping her hands on a cloth. Their large tent had several curtained divisions to it. She wore one of her unobtrusive gray dresses. Perfect, because it didn’t distract from her beauty. It was accented by a sturdy black belt—she had sent away all of her golden belts, no matter how fine. He’d suggested finding her one that was more to her liking, and she’d looked sick.
“It’s food,” Perrin said.
“I can see,” she said with a snort, looking herself over in the mirror. “What did you think I assumed it was? A rock?”
“I meant,” Perrin said between bites, “that food is food. Why should I care what I eat for breakfast and what I eat for a different meal?”
“Because it’s strange,” she said, clasping on a cord holding a small blue stone. She regarded herself in the mirror, then turned, the loose sleeves of her Saldaean-cut dress swishing. She paused beside his plate, grimacing. “I’m having breakfast with Alliandre. Send for me if there is news.”
He nodded, swallowing. Why should a person have meat at midday, but refuse it for breakfast? It didn’t make sense.
He’d decided to remain camped beside the Jehannah Road. What else was he to do, with an army of Whitecloaks directly ahead, between him and Lugard? His scouts needed time to assess the danger. He’d spent much time thinking about the strange visions he’d seen, the wolves chasing sheep toward a beast and Faile walking toward a cliff. He hadn’t been able to make sense of them, but could they have something to do with the Whitecloaks? Their appearance bothered him more than he wanted to admit, but he harbored a tiny hope that they would prove insignificant and not slow him too much.
“Perrin Aybara,” a voice called from outside his tent. “Do you give me leave to enter?”
“Come in, Gaul,” he called. “My shade is yours.”
The tall Aiel strode in. “Thank you, Perrin Aybara,” he said, glancing at the ham. “Quite a feast. Do you celebrate?”
“Nothing besides breakfast.”
“A mighty victory,” Gaul said, laughing.
Perrin shook his head. Aiel humor. He’d stopped trying to make sense of it. Gaul settled himself on the ground and Perrin sighed inwardly before picking up his plate and moving to sit on the rug across from Gaul. Perrin placed the meal in his lap and continued to eat.