Verin smiled at him as if halfasleep. “A pleasure,” she murmured. “House Chiendelna. Where is that? It has a Borderland sound.”

“Nothing so grand,” Luc replied quickly, giving her a wary, fractional bow. “Murandy, actually. A minor house, but old. ” He seemed uneasy about taking his eyes from her for the rest of the introductions.

Tomas he barely glanced at. He had to know him for “Mistress Mathwin's” Warder, yet dismissed him out of hand as clearly as if he had shouted it. That was purely strange. However good Luc was with that sword, no one was good enough to dismiss a Warder. Arrogance. The fellow had enough for ten men. He proved it with Faile so far as Perrin was concerned.

The smile Luc offered her was certainly more than selfassured; it was also familiar and decidedly warm. In fact, it was too admiring and too warm by half. He took her hand in both of his to bow over, and peered into her eyes as if trying to see through the back of her head. For an instant Perrin thought she was about to look over at him, but instead she returned the lord's stare with a redcheeked pretense to coolness and a slight bow of her head.

“I, too, am a Hunter for the Horn, my Lord,” she said, sounding a touch breathless. “Do you think to find it here?”

Luc blinked and released her hand. “Perhaps, my Lady. Who can say where the Horn might be?” Faile looked a little surprised — maybe disappointed — at his sudden loss of interest.

Perrin kept his expression neutral. If she wanted to smile at Wil al'Seen and blush at fool lords, she could. She could make an idiot of herself any way she wanted, gawking at every man who came along. So Luc wanted to know where the Horn of Valere was? It was hidden away in the White Tower, that was where. He was tempted to tell the man, just to make him grind his teeth in frustration.

If Luc had been surprised to find out who his other fellows in the al'Seen house were, his reaction to Perrin was peculiar to say the least. He gave a start at the sight of Perrin's face; shock flashed in his eyes. It was all gone in a moment, masked behind lordly haughtiness, except for a wild fluttering at the corner of one eye. The trouble was, it made no sense. It was not his yellow eyes that took Luc aback; he was sure of that. More as if the fellow knew him, somehow, and was surprised to see him here, but he had never met this Luc before in his life. More than that, he would have bet that Luc was afraid of him. No sense at all.

“Lord Luc is the one who suggested the boys go up on the rooftops,” Jac said. “No Trolloc will get close without those lads giving warning.”

“How much warning?” Perrin said dryly. This was an example of the great Lord Luc's advice? “Trollocs see like cat's in the dark. They'll be on top of you, kicking in the doors, before your boys raise a shout.”

“We do what we can,” Flann barked. “Stop trying to frighten us. There are children listening. Lord Luc at least offers helpful suggestions. He was at my place the day before the Trollocs came, seeing I had everybody placed properly. Blood and ashes! If not for him, the Trollocs would have killed us all.”

Luc did not seem to hear the praise offered him. He was watching Perrin cautiously while fussing with his gauntlets, tucking them behind the golden wolf'shead buckle of his sword belt. Faile was watching him, too, with a slight frown. He ignored her.

“I thought it was Whitecloaks saved you, Master Lewin. I thought a Whitecloak patrol arrived in the nick of time and drove the Trollocs off.”

“Well, they did.” Flann scrubbed a hand through his gray hair. “But Lord Luc... If the Whitecloaks hadn't come we could have... At least he doesn't try to frighten us.” he muttered.

“So he doesn't frighten you,” Perrin said. “Trollocs frighten me. And the Whitecloaks keep the Trollocs back for you. When they can.”

“You want to credit the Whitecloaks?” Luc fixed Perrin with a cold stare, as if pouncing on a weakness. “Who do you think is responsible for the Dragon's Fang scribbled on people's doors? Oh, their hands never hold charcoal, but they are behind it. They stalk into these good people's homes, asking questions and demanding answers as if it were their own roof overhead. I say these people are their own masters, not dogs for the Whitecloaks to call to heel. Let them patrol the country side — well and good — but meet them at the door and tell them whose land they are on. That is what I say. If you want to be a Whitecloak dog, be so, but do not begrudge these good people their freedom.”

Perrin met Luc's eyes stare for stare. “I hold no affection for Whitecloaks. They want to hang me, or hadn't you heard?”

The tall lord blinked as though he had not, or maybe had forgotten in his eagerness to spring. “Exactly what is it you do propose, then?”

Perrin turned his back on the man and went to stand in front of the fireplace. He did not mean to argue with Luc. Let everyone listen. They were certainly all looking at him. He would say what he thought and be done with it. “You have to depend on the Whitecloaks, have to hope they'll keep the Trollocs down, hope they'll come in time if the Trollocs attack. Why? Because every man tries to hang on to his farm, if he can, or to stay as close to it as possible if he can't. You're in a hundred little clusters, like grapes ripe for picking. As long as you are, as long as you have to pray the Whitecloaks can keep the Trollocs from stomping you into wine, you've no choice but to let them ask any questions they want, demand any answers they want. You have to stand by and watch innocent people hauled off. Or does anyone here think Haral and Alsbet Luhhan are Darkfriends? Natti Cauthon? Bodewhin and Eldrin?” Abell's stare around the room dared anyone to hint at a yes, but there was no need. Even Adine Lewin's attention was on Perrin. Luc frowned at him between studying the reactions of the people crowding the room.

“I know they shouldn't have arrested Natti and Alsbet and all,” Wit said, “but that's over.” He rubbed a hand across his bald head, and gave Abell a troubled look. “Except for getting them to let everybody go, I mean. They haven't arrested anyone since, that I've heard. ”

“You think that means it's done?” Perrin said. “Do you really think they'll be satisfied with the Cauthons and the Luhhans? With two farms burned? Which of you will be next? Maybe because you said the wrong thing, or just to make an example. It could be Whitecloaks putting a torch to this house instead of Trollocs. Or maybe it'll be the Dragon's Fang scrawled on your door some night. There are always folk who believe that kind of thing.” A number of eyes darted to Adine, who shifted her feet and hunched her shoulders. “Even if all it means is having to tug your forelock to every Whitecloak who comes along, do you want to live that way? Your children? You're at the mercy of the Trollocs, the mercy of the Whitecloaks, and the mercy of anybody with a grudge. As long as one has a hold on you, all three do. You're hiding in the cellar, hoping one rabid dog will protect you from another, hoping the rats don't sneak out in the dark and bite you.”

Jac exchanged worried looks with Flann and Wit, with the other men in the room, then. said slowly, “If you think we're doing wrong, what is it you suggest?”

Perrin was not expecting the question — he had been sure they would get angry — but he went right on telling them what he thought. “Gather your people. Gather your sheep and your cows, your chickens, everything. Gather them up and take them where they might be safe. Go to Emond's Field. Or Watch Hill, since it's closer, thought that will put you right under the Whitecloaks' eyes. As long as it's twenty people here and fifty there, you are game for Trolloc taking. If there are hundreds of you together, you have a chance, and one that doesn't depend on bowing your necks for the Whitecloaks.” That brought the explosion he expected.

“Abandon my farm completely!” Flann shouted right on top of Wit's “You're mad!” Words poured out on top of one another, from them, and from brothers and cousins.

“Go off to Emond's Field? I'm too far away to do more than check the fields every day right now!”

“The weeds will take everything!”

“I don't know how I'm going to harvest as it is!”

“. . . if the rains come... !”

“. . . trying to rebuild... !”

“. . . tabac will rot... !”

“. . . have to leave the clip. . .!”

Perrin's fist smacking the lintel of the fireplace cut them short. “I haven't seen a field trampled or fired, or a house or barn burned, unless there were people there. It's people the Trollocs come for. And if they burn it anyway? A new crop can be planted. Stone and mortar and wood can be rebuilt. Can you rebuild that?” He pointed at Laila's baby, and she clutched the child to her breast, glaring at him as though he had threatened the babe himself. The looks she gave her husband and Flann were frightened, though. An uneasy murmur rose.

“Leave,” Jac muttered, shaking his head. “I don't know, Perrin.”

“It is your choice, Master al'Seen. The land will still be here when you come back. Trollocs can't carry that off. Think whether the same can be said for your family.”

The murmur grew to a buzz. A number of women were confronting their husbands, mostly those with a child or two in tow. None of the men seemed to be arguing.

“An interesting plan,” Luc said, studying Perrin. From his face there was no telling whether he approved of it. “I shall watch to see how it turns out. And now, Master al'Seen, I must be on my way. I only stopped to see how you were doing.” Jac and Elisa saw him to the door, but the others were too busy with their own discussions to pay much attention. Luc left tightmouthed. Perrin had the feeling his departures were usually as grand as his arrivals.

Jac came straight from the door to Perrin. “It's a bold plan you have. I will admit I'm not keen on abandoning my farm, but you talk sense. I don't know what the Children will make of it, though. They seem a suspicious lot, to me. They might think we're all plotting something against them if we gather together.”

“Let them think it,” Perrin said. “A village full of people can take Luc's advice and tell them to be about their business elsewhere. Or do you think it's better to stay vulnerable just to hold the Whitecloaks' goodwill, such as it is?”

“No. No, I see your point. You've convinced me. And everybody else, too, it seems.”

It did appear to be true. The murmur of discussion was dying down, but only because everyone looked to be in agreement. Even Adine, who was marshaling her daughters with loud orders for packing immediately. She actually gave Perrin a grudgingly approving nod.

“When do you mean to go?” Perrin asked Jac.

“As soon as I can get everybody ready. We can make Jon Gaelin's place on the North Road before sunset. I'll tell Jon what you say, and everybody down to Emond's Field. Better there than Watch Hill. If we mean to be out from under the Whitecloaks' thumb as well as the Trollocs', best not to sit under their noses. ” Jac scratched his narrow fringe of hair with one finger. “Perrin, I don't think the Children would actually hurt Natti Cauthon and the girls, or the Luhhans, but it worries me. If they do think we're plotting