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.

“You need not sit on the floor because of me,” Gaul said.

“I’m not doing it because I need to, Gaul.”

Gaul nodded.

Perrin cut off another bite. This would be so much easier if he grabbed the whole thing in his fingers and started ripping off chunks. Eating was simpler for wolves. Utensils. What was the point?

Thoughts like that gave him pause. He was not a wolf, and didn’t want to think like one. Maybe he should start having fruit for a proper breakfast, as Faile said. He frowned, then turned back to his meat.

“We fought Trollocs in the Two Rivers,” Byar said, lowering his voice. Galad’s porridge cooled, forgotten on the table. “Several dozen men in our camp can confirm it. I killed several of the beasts with my own sword.”

“Trollocs in the Two Rivers?” Galad said. “That’s hundreds of leagues from the Borderlands!”

“They were there nonetheless,” Byar said. “Lord Captain Commander Niall must have suspected it. We were sent to the place on his orders. You know that Pedron Niall would not have simply jumped at nothing.”

“Yes. I agree. But the Two Rivers?”

“It is full of Darkfriends,” Byar said. “Bornhald told you of Goldeneyes. In the Two Rivers, this Perrin Aybara was raising the flag of ancient Manetheren and gathering an army from among the farmers. Trained soldiers may scoff at farmers pressed into service, but get enough of them together, and they can be a danger. Some are skilled with the staff or the bow.”

“I am aware,” Galad said flatly, recalling a particularly embarrassing lesson he’d once been given.

“That man, this Perrin Aybara,” Byar continued. “He’s Shadowspawn, as plain as day. They call him Goldeneyes because his eyes are golden, no shade that any person has ever known. We were certain that Aybara was bringing the Trollocs in, using them to force the people of the Two Rivers to join his army. He eventually ran us out of the place. Now he’s here, before us.”

A coincidence, or something more?

Byar was obviously thinking along the same lines. “My Lord Captain Commander, perhaps I should have mentioned this earlier, but the Two Rivers wasn’t my first experience with this creature Aybara. He killed two of the Children on a forgotten road in Andor some two years ago. I was traveling with Bornhald’s father. We met Aybara in a campsite off a main road. He was running with wolves like a wildman! He killed two men before we could subdue him, then escaped into the night after we had him captured. My Lord, he was to be hanged.”

“There are others who can confirm this?” Galad asked.

“Child Oratar can. And Child Bornhald can confirm what we saw in the Two Rivers. Goldeneyes was at Falme, too. For what he did there alone he should be brought to justice. It is clear. The Light has delivered him to us.”

“You’re certain our people are among the Whitecloaks?” Perrin asked.

“I could not see faces,” Gaul said, “but Elyas Machera’s eyes are very keen. He says he’s certain he saw Basel Gill.”

Perrin nodded. Elyas’ golden eyes would be as good as Perrin’s own.

“Sulin and her scouts have similar reports,” Gaul said, accepting a cup of ale poured from Perrin’s pitcher. “The Whitecloak army has a large number of carts, much like the ones we sent ahead. She discovered this early in the morning, but asked me to pass these words to you once you awoke, as she knows that wetlanders are temperamental when disturb