The Dragon Reborn - By Robert Jordan Page 0,176

asked.

Perrin was wondering the same thing, with no little consternation. If some people still occasionally used “black-veiled Aiel” as a term for someone violent, it was testimony to the impression the Aiel War had left, but that was twenty years in the past, now, and the Aiel had never come out of the Waste before or since. But I saw one this side of the Spine of the World, and now I’ve seen two.

The innkeeper rubbed at his bald head. “Ah. Ah, no, Lady, not exactly. But we would have had, you can be sure, with twenty savages loose. Why, everyone remembers how they killed and looted and burned their way across Cairhien. Men from this very village marched to the Battle of the Shining Walls, when the nations gathered to throw them back. I myself suffered from a twisted back at the time and so could not go, but I remember well, as we all do. How they came here, so far from their own land, or why, I do not know, but Lord Orban and Lord Gann saved us from them.” There was a murmur of agreement from the folk in feastday clothes.

Orban himself came stumping across the common room, not seeming to see anyone but the innkeeper. Perrin could smell stale wine before he was even close. “Where’s that old woman taken herself off to with her herbs, Furlan?” Orban demanded roughly. “Gann’s wounds are paining him, and my head feels about to split open.”

Furlan almost bent his head to the floor. “Ah, Mother Leich will be back in the morning, Lord Orban. A birthing, Lord. But she said she’d stitched and poulticed your wounds, and Lord Gann’s, so there’d be no worrying. Ah, Lord Orban, I’m sure she’ll be seeing to you first thing on the morrow.”

The bandaged man muttered something under his breath—under his breath to any ears but Perrin’s—about waiting on a farmwife “throwing her litter” and something else about being “sewn up like a sack of meal.” He shifted sullen, angry eyes, and for the first time appeared to see the newcomers. Perrin, he dismissed immediately, which did not surprise Perrin at all. His eyes widened a little at Loial—He’s seen Ogier, Perrin thought, but he never thought to see one here—narrowed a bit at Lan—He knows a fighting man when he sees one, and he does not like seeing one—and brightened as he stooped to peer inside Moiraine’s hood, though he was not close enough to see her face.

Perrin decided not to think anything at all about that, not concerning an Aes Sedai, and he hoped neither Moiraine nor Lan thought anything of it, either. A light in the Warder’s eyes told him he had missed on that hope, at least.

“Twelve of you fought twenty Aiel?” Lan asked in a flat voice.

Orban straightened, wincing. In an elaborately casual tone, he said, “Aye, you must expect things such as that when you seek the Horn of Valere. It was not the first such encounter for Gann and me, nor will it be the last before we find the Horn. If the Light shines on us.” He sounded as if the Light could not possibly do anything else. “Not all our fights have been with Aiel, of course, but there are always those who would stop Hunters, if they could. Gann and I, we do not stop easily.” Another approving murmur came from the townspeople. Orban stood a little straighter.

“You lost six, and took one prisoner.” From Lan’s voice, it was not clear if that was a good exchange or a poor one.

“Aye,” Orban said, “we slew the rest, save those who ran. No doubt they’re hiding their dead now; I’ve heard they do that. The Whitecloaks are out searching for them, but they’ll never find them.”

“There are Whitecloaks here?” Perrin asked sharply.

Orban glanced at him, and dismissed him once more. The man addressed Lan again. “Whitecloaks always put their noses in where they are not wanted or needed. Incompetent louts, all of them. Aye, they’ll ride all over the countryside for days, but I doubt they’ll find as much as their own shadows.”

“I suppose they won’t,” Lan said.

The bandaged man frowned as if unsure exactly what Lan meant, then rounded on the innkeeper again. “You find that old woman, hear! My head is splitting.” With a last glance at Lan, he hobbled away, climbing back up the stairs one at a time, followed by murmurs of admiration for a Hunter of the Horn