The great hunt - By Robert Jordan Page 0,123

Deer, and Winter Dawn, and all the rest of the pack would hunt down the Twisted Ones who had dared come into their land. The inedible flesh and bitter blood would burn the tongue, but they must be killed. Kill them. Kill the Twisted Ones.

Their fury infected him. His lips peeled back in a snarl, and he took a step, to join them, run with them in the hunt, in the killing.

With an effort he broke the contact except for a thin sense that the wolves were there. He could have pointed to them across the intervening distance. He felt cold inside. I’m a man, not a wolf. Light help me, I am a man!

“Are you well, Perrin?” Mat said, moving closer. He sounded the way he always did, flippant—and bitter under it, too, of late—but he looked worried. “That is all I need. Rand run off, and then you get sick. I don’t know where I’ll find a Wisdom to look after you out here. I think I have some willowbark in my saddlebags. I can make you some willowbark tea, if Ingtar lets us stay that long. Serve you right if I make it too strong.”

“I . . . I’m all right, Mat.” Shaking off his friend, he went to find Ingtar. The Shienaran lord was scanning the ground on the rim with Uno, and Ragan, and Masema. The others frowned at him as he drew Ingtar aside. He made sure Uno and the rest were too far away to hear before he spoke. “I don’t know where Rand or the others went, Ingtar, but Padan Fain and the Trollocs—and I guess the rest of the Darkfriends—are still heading south.”

“How do you know this?” Ingtar said.

Perrin drew a deep breath. “Wolves told me.” He waited, for what he was not sure. Laughter, scorn, an accusation of being a Darkfriend, of being mad. Deliberately, he tucked his thumbs behind his belt, away from the axe. I will not kill. Not again. If he tries to kill me for a Darkfriend, I’ll run, but I won’t kill anybody else.

“I have heard of things like this,” Ingtar said slowly, after a moment. “Rumors. There was a Warder, a man called Elyas Machera, who some said could talk to wolves. He disappeared years ago.” He seemed to catch something in Perrin’s eyes. “You know him?”

“I know him,” Perrin said flatly. “He’s the one. . . . I don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t ask for it.” That’s what Rand said. Light, I wish I were home working Master Luhhan’s forge.

“These wolves,” Ingtar said, “they will track the Darkfriends and Trollocs for us?” Perrin nodded. “Good. I will have the Horn, whatever it takes.” The Shienaran glanced around at Uno and the others still searching for tracks. “Better not to tell anyone else, though. Wolves are considered good luck in the Borderlands. Trollocs fear them. But still, better to keep this between us for the time. Some of them might not understand.”

“I would as soon nobody else ever found out,” Perrin said.

“I will tell them you think you have Hurin’s talent. They know about that; they’re easy with it. Some of them saw you wrinkling your nose back in that village, and at the ferry. I’ve heard jokes about your delicate nose. Yes. You keep us on the trail today, Uno will see enough of their tracks to confirm it is the trail, and before nightfall every last man will be sure you are a sniffer. I will have the Horn.” He glanced at the sky, and raised his voice. “Daylight is wasting! To horse!”

To Perrin’s surprise, the Shienarans seemed to accept Ingtar’s story. A few of them looked skeptical—Masema went so far as to spit—but Uno nodded thoughtfully, and that was enough for most. Mat was the hardest to convince.

“A sniffer! You? You’re going to track murderers by smell? Perrin, you are as crazy as Rand. I am the only sane one left from Emond’s Field, with Egwene and Nynaeve trotting off to Tar Valon to become—” He cut himself short with an uneasy glance for the Shienarans.

Perrin took Hurin’s place beside Ingtar as the small column rode south. Mat kept up a string of disparaging remarks, until Uno found the first tracks left by Trollocs and by men on horses, but Perrin paid him little mind. It was all he could do to keep the wolves from dashing on ahead to kill the Trollocs. The wolves cared only about