Galad shook his head, looking irritated.

"Listen to me. He was a brickmason in Caemlyn, a reputable one. He was accused of murdering his brother in the early days of my reign. He had enough repute, and the case was important enough, that I judged it myself. He hanged at the end of it."

"A fitting end for a murderer."

"Yes," Morgase said. "Unfortunately, the murderer went free. One of his workers had actually done the deed. It didn't come out until two years later, when the man was taken for another murder. He laughed at us then, as we hanged him. Felmley had been innocent all along. The real man, the murderer, was one of those to condemn him during the original trial."

Galad fell silent.

"It's the only time," Morgase said, "where I know for certain that I hanged someone by mistake. So you tell me, Galad. Should I hang for my mistake in condemning an innocent man?"

"You did your best, Mother."

"And a man is still dead who did not deserve it."

Galad looked troubled.

"The Children like to speak of the Light protecting them," Morgase said, "of guiding their judgment and leading people to justice. That isn't how it works, Galad. Valda, claiming the blessing of the Light, could do terrible things. And I, hoping for the Light's aid, have killed unjustly."

"I'm not saying that Aybara is innocent. I haven't heard enough either way. But I want you to understand. Sometimes a good man can do wrong. At times, it is appropriate to punish him. At other times, punishment serves nobody, and the best thing to do is to let him continue and learn. As I continued and learned, after making such a poor judgment."

Galad frowned. That was good. Finally, he shook his head, his face clearing. "We shall see what the trial brings. It—"

There was a knock on the post outside. Galad turned, his frown deepening. "Yes?"

"My Lord Captain Commander," a Whitecloak said, lifting the nap and stepping into the tent. He was a lean man with sunken eyes that had dark patches beneath them. "We've just had word from the creature Aybara's camp. They're asking to push back the day of the trial."

Galad stood. "For what purpose?" he demanded.

"A disturbance in their camp, they claim," the Whitecloak said. "Something about wounded needing tending. My Lord Captain Commander… it is obviously a ploy. A trick of some sort. We should attack them, or at the very least, deny this pointless extension."

Galad hesitated. He looked at Morgase.

"It is no ploy, son," she said. "I can promise you that. If Aybara says he needs more time, he's being honest with you."

"Bah," Galad said, waving the messenger away. "I shall consider it. Alongside the things you have said, Mother. Perhaps some extra time to consider would be… welcomed."

"The channelers say they are working as hard as they can," Gaul explained, walking beside Perrin though camp as they checked the various sections. "But they say it could take days to see to everyone."

The sun was sinking toward the horizon, but it would probably be a long night for many of them, tending the wounded. Thousands had been wounded, though most wounds—fortunately—were not bad. They'd lost some people. Too many, maybe as many as had fallen to the snake bites.

Perrin grunted. Gaul himself had his arm in a sling; he'd fended off his spears, only to have one of his arrows nearly kill him. He'd blocked it with his forearm. When Perrin had asked, he'd laughed and said that it had been years since he'd shot himself with his own arrow. Aiel humor.

"Have we heard back from the Whitecloaks?" Perrin asked, turning to Aravine, who walked on his other side.

"Yes," she said. "But nothing specific. Their commander said he'd 'think' about giving us more time."

"Well, he's not the one who will decide," Perrin said, going into the Mayener section of camp to check on Berelain's people. "I'm not going to risk a battle with a quarter of my men wounded and my Asha'man dead tired from Healing. We go to this trial when I say so, and if Damodred disagrees, he can just go ahead and attack us."

Gaul grunted his agreement. He wore his spears, but Perrin noticed they were strapped more tightly in place than usual. Aravine carried a lantern, though they hadn't needed to light it yet. She was anticipating a late night as well.

"Let me know when Tam and Elyas get back," Perrin said to Gaul. Perrin had sent each one separately to visit nearby villages and make certain the people there—the ones who hadn't joined a passing army—hadn't suffered from the bubble of evil.

Berelain had composed herself, her hand bandaged. She gave the report to him herself, from her tent, saying how many of her soldiers had been wounded, giving the names of the men they'd lost. Only six from her camp.

Perrin yawned as he left the tent, sending Aravine to check on the Aes Sedai. Gaul had run off to help with carrying some of the wounded, and Perrin found himself alone as he walked down the path toward Alliandre's section of camp.

His hammer hadn't tried to kill him. So far as he knew, it was the only weapon on anyone's person that hadn't responded to the bubble of evil. What did it mean?

He shook his head, then hesitated, pausing in thought as he heard someone jogging along the path toward him. He caught Tam's scent, and turned to meet the sturdy man as he arrived.

"Perrin, son," Tam said, out of breath from running. "Something unusual just happened."

"The bubble of evil hit the village?" Perrin asked, alarmed. "Were people hurt?"

"Oh, no," Tam said. "Not that. The village was fine. They didn't even notice anything was wrong. This is something else." Tam smelled odd. Thoughtful, worried.

Perrin frowned. "What? What's happening?"

"I… well, I have to go, son," Tam said. "Leave the camp. I don't know when I'll be back."

"Is this—"

"It has nothing to do with the Whitecloaks," Tam said. "I've been told I can't say much. But it's about Rand."

The colors swirled. Rand walked the hallways of the Stone of Tear. His expression was dark. Dangerous.

"Perrin," Tam said, "I think this is something I need to do. It involves Aes Sedai, and I have to leave you now. I can't say anything else. They made me swear it."

Perrin looked into Tam's eyes and saw the sincerity there. He nodded.

"All right, then. You need any help? Someone to go with you, wherever you're going?"

"I'll be all right," Tam said. He smelled embarrassed. What was going on? "I'll try to get you some help, son." He laid a hand on Perrin's shoulder. "You've done well here. I'm proud of you, and your father would be too. Keep it up. I'll see you at the Last Battle, if not before."

Perrin nodded. Tam hurried off toward his tent, perhaps to pack.

It was hard to look regal while being carried atop the Caemlyn city wall on a litter, but Elayne did her best. Sometimes getting what you wanted was more important than looking regal.

Bed rest! For a queen! Well, in order to keep Melfane from hovering over her, she'd given an oath that she would stay off her feet. But she'd said nothing about staying in her bedroom.

Four Guardsmen carried the litter high on their shoulders. Elayne sat safely between armrests, wearing a crimson gown, hair carefully brushed, the Rose Crown of Andor atop her head.