In truth, her anger was because Morgase was going to judge Perrin. She presumed to judge Perrin. Maighdin the lady’s maid might be grateful, but Morgase the Queen would see Perrin as a rival. Would Morgase really treat this judgment fairly, or would she take the chance to discredit a man who had raised himself up as a lord?
“I feel as you do, my Lady,” Alliandre said softly.
“And how is that?”
“Deceived,” Alliandre said. “Maighdin was our friend. I thought I knew her.”
“You would have acted exactly as she did in that situation,” Berelain said. “Why give away information if you don’t have to?”
“Because we were friends,” Alliandre said. “After what we went through together, it turns out that she’s Morgase Trakand. Not just a queen—the Queen. The woman’s a legend. And she was here, with us, serving us tea. Poorly.”
“You have to admit,” Faile said thoughtfully, “she did get better with the tea.”
Faile reached to her throat, touching the cord that bore Rolan’s stone. She didn’t wear it every day, but she did so often enough. Had Morgase been false that entire time they’d been with the Shaido? Or had she, in a way, been more true? With no titles to live up to, she hadn’t been forced to be the “legendary” Morgase Trakand. Under circumstances like that, wouldn’t a person’s true nature be more likely to show through?
Faile gripped the cord. Morgase would not turn this trial against Perrin out of spite. But she would offer judgment in honesty. Which meant Faile needed to be prepared, and have ready—
Screams sounded nearby.
Faile reacted immediately, spinning toward the woods. She instinctively anticipated Aiel leaping from the bushes to kill and capture, and she felt a moment of sheer panic.
But the screams were coming from inside camp. She cursed, turning about, but felt something tug at her belt. She looked down with a start to see her belt knife pull itself from its sheath and flip into the air.
“A bubble of evil!” Berelain said, stumbling to the side.
Faile ducked, throwing herself to the ground as her knife flipped through the air toward her head. It narrowly missed. As Faile came up in a crouch, she saw with a start that Berelain was facing down a dagger, one that looked—from the damage to Berelain’s shirt—to have ripped its way free of a hidden sheath inside her sleeve.
Beyond Berelain, the camp was in a tumult. The nearby practicing refugees were scattering, swords and spears flipping through the air of their own volition. It looked as if every weapon in the camp had suddenly sprung to life, rising up to attack its master.
Motion. Faile dodged to the side as her knife came back for her, but a white-haired figure in brown snatched the weapon from the air, holding it in a tight grip. Sulin rolled, clinging to it, her teeth gritted as she wrenched it from the air and slammed it down onto a stone, breaking the blade from the hilt.
It stopped moving. Sulin’s spears, however, pulled from their place on her back and spun in the sky, tips pointing toward her.
“Run!” the Maiden said, turning and trying to face all three spears at once.
“Where?” Faile demanded, picking up a stone from the ground. “The weapons are everywhere.” Berelain was struggling with her dagger. She’d grabbed it, but it was fighting her, wrenching her arms from side to side. Alliandre was surrounded by three knives. Light! Faile suddenly felt lucky for having worn only one today.
Several of the Maidens charged in to help Alliandre, throwing stones at the knives, dodging spears that lunged for them. Berelain was alone.
Gritting her teeth—feeling half a fool for helping the woman she hated—Faile jumped in and placed her hands over Berelain’s, lending her strength to that of the First. Together, they wrenched the dagger to the side, toward the ground, where they could drive its point into the earth. When they did, remarkably, it stopped moving.
Faile released it hesitantly, then looked up at the disheveled Berelain. The woman pressed her right hand to her other palm, stanching the blood from a cut she’d taken. She nodded at Faile. “Thank you.”
“What stopped it?” Faile asked, heart thumping. Shouts sounded from around the camp. Cursing. Clangs from weapons.
“The dirt?” Berelain asked, kneeling.
Faile dug her fingers into the loam. She turned, noticing with alarm that one of the Maidens was down, though others had felled several of the flying spears. Faile tossed her handful of soil at one that was still whipping about.
When the dirt touched the spear, the weapon dropped. Sulin saw it, eyes widening behind her veiled face. She dropped the stones she’d been wielding and took up a handful of soil, spraying it over her head as a spear drove for her heart.
The dirt stopped it, and it fell to the ground. Nearby, the soldiers who had been following along to guard Faile and the others were having a worse time of things. They had backed into a circle, using their shields to block incoming weapons, hunkered down with worried expressions.
“Quickly!” Faile said to the Maidens, digging both hands into the soil. “Spread the word! Let the others know how to stop the weapons!” She threw soil at the daggers beside Alliandre, dropping two with one throw, then began running for the nearby soldiers.
“There is no need for you to apologize, Galad,” Morgase said softly. “You couldn’t have known what was happening in the Fortress of the Light. You were leagues and leagues away.”
They sat in his tent, chairs facing each other, late-afternoon light shining on the walls. Galad sat with hands clasped before him as he leaned forward. So thoughtful. She remembered her first impressions of him, long ago when she’d married his father. The young child had simply been part of the deal, and while Morgase had adopted him, she had always worried that he felt less loved than his siblings.
Galad had always been so solemn. Quick to point out when someone did something wrong. But unlike other children—Elayne especially—he had not used his knowledge as a weapon. She should have seen. She should have realized he’d be attracted to the Whitecloaks for their vision of a world that was black and white. Could she have prepared him better? Shown him that the world was not black and white—it wasn’t even gray. It was full of colors that sometimes didn’t fit into any spectrum of morality.
He looked up, hands still clasped, eyes troubled. “I accused Valda wrongly. When I went to him, I said I was demanding Trial Beneath the Light because he had abused you and killed you. Half was wrong. I have done something where I was in error, at least in part. Regardless of that fact, I’m pleased that I killed him.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Valda had reputedly been one of the greatest swordsmen alive. And Galad had bested him in a duel? This youth? But he was a youth no longer. Galad had made his choices, and she had a difficult time judging him for them. In some ways, they seemed more admirable than her own choices.
“You did well,” she said. “Valda was a snake. I am certain he was behind Niall’s death. Galad, you did the world a service.”
He nodded. “For what he did to you, he deserved death. But I shall need to release a statement anyway.” He rose, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked, his white clothing seeming to glow in the light. “I will explain that my accusation of murder was false, but that Valda still deserved death for his other offenses. Dire offenses.” He stopped for a moment. “I wish I had known.”
“There was nothing you could have done, son,” she said. “My captivity was my own fault. For trusting my enemies.”
Galad waved a hand. “There was no resisting Gaebril, if what you have heard is true. As for your captivity, you did not trust your enemies. You were betrayed, like all of us, by Valda. The Children are never the enemies of a person who walks in the Light.”
“And Perrin Aybara?” she asked.
“Shadowspawn.”
“No, son. I don’t like some of the things he is doing, but I promise you, he is a good man.”
“Then the trial will prove that,” Galad said.
“Good men can make mistakes. If you proceed with this, it could end in a way that none of us wish.”
Galad froze, frowning. “Mother, are you implying that he should be allowed to escape his crime?”
“Come,” she said, gesturing. “Sit back down. You’re dizzying me with that pacing about.”
Perhaps he’d risen to the position of Lord Captain Commander only recently, but he already seemed to bristle at taking an order. He did sit, however.
Oddly, she felt like a queen again. Galad hadn’t seen her during the hard months. He thought of her as the old Morgase, so around him, she actually felt like the old Morgase. Almost.
Niall had held her as a prisoner, but had respected her, and she had begun to think that she might be able to respect him as well. What had happened to the board where she and Niall had played stones so often? She hated to think of it broken in the Seanchan assault.
Would Galad become a Lord Captain Commander like Niall, or perhaps someone better? The Queen in her, the Queen reawakened, wanted to find a way to bring his light out and stifle the shadow.
“Galad,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“About the trial?”
“No. With this army of yours.”
“We will fight at the Last Battle.”
“Admirable,” she said. “But do you know what that means?”
“It means fighting alongside the Dragon Reborn.”
“And the Aes Sedai.”
“We can serve alongside the witches for a time, if it is in the name of the greater good.”
She closed her eyes, breathing out. “Galad, listen to yourself. You name them witches? You went to train with them, perhaps to become a Warder!”
“Yes.”
She opened her eyes. He seemed so earnest. But even the most deadly and violent of hounds could be earnest. “Do you know what they did to Elayne, Mother?” he asked.
“You mean losing her?” Morgase still harbored anger over that.
“They sent her out on missions,” he said, voice laced with disgust. “They refused to let me see her, probably because she was out being put into danger. I met her later, outside the Tower.”
“Where was she?” Morgase asked, eager.
“Here in the south. My men name the Aes Sedai witches. Sometimes, I wonder how far off from the truth that is.”
“Galad…”
“Not all women who wield the One Power are evil inherently,” he said. “That is a mistaken tradition of the Children. The Way of the Light doesn’t make that claim; it just says that the temptation to use the One Power can corrupt. I believe that the women who now run the White Tower have let their schemes and selfish plots blind them.”
She nodded, not wishing to argue the point. Thank the Light Elaida wasn’t here to hear that logic!
“Either way,” he said. “We will fight alongside them, and the Dragon Reborn, and this Perrin Aybara if need be. The struggle against the Shadow outweighs all other concerns.”