rj.thepathofdaggers-第151章
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mes he turns on them； or waits in ambush。 But first； the wolf has to run。〃
〃When do we go？〃 she asked。 She did not let go of his hair。 She was never going to let go of him。 Never。
Chapter 30
（Wolf）
Beginnings
Holding his fur…lined cloak close with one hand； Perrin let Stayer walk at the bay's own pace。 The midmorning sun gave no warmth； and the rutted snow on the road leading into Abila made poor footing。 He and his dozen panions shared the way with only two lumbering ox…carts and a handful of farmfolk in plain dark woolens。 They all trudged along with heads down； clutching at hat or cap whenever a gust rose but otherwise concentrating on the ground beneath their shoes。
Behind him； he heard Neald make a ribald joke in a low voice； Grady grunted in reply； and Balwer sniffed prissily。 None of the three seemed at all affected by what they had seen and heard this past month since crossing the border into Amadicia； or by what lay ahead。 Edarra was sharply berating Masuri for letting her hood slip。 Edarra and Carelle both wore their shawls wrapped around their heads and shoulders in addition to cloaks； but even after admitting the necessity to ride； they had refused to change out of their bulky skirts； so their dark…stockinged legs were bared above the knee。 The cold did not seem to bother them in the least； just the strangeness of snow。 Carelle began quietly advising Seonid as to what would happen if she did not keep her face hidden。
Of course； if she let her face be seen too soon； a dose of the strap would be the least she had to fear； as she and the Wise One knew well。 Perrin did not have to look back to know the sisters' three Warders； bringing up the rear in ordinary cloaks； were men expecting the need at any moment to out sword and carve a way clear。 They had been that way since leaving the camp at dawn。 He ran a gloved thumb along the axe hanging at his belt； then regathered his own cloak just before a sudden gust could make it billow。 If this went badly； the Warders might be right。
Off to the left； short of where the road crossed a wooden bridge over a frozen stream that twisted along the town's edge； charred timbers thrust out of the snow atop a large square stone platform with drifts piled around the bottom。 Slow to proclaim allegiance to the Dragon Reborn； the local lord had been lucky merely to be flogged and fined all that he possessed。 A knot of men standing at the bridge watched the mounted party approaching。 Perrin saw no sign of helmets or armor； but every man clutched spear or crossbow almost as hard as he did his cloak。 They did not talk to one another。 They just watched； the mist of their breath curling before their faces。 There were other guards bunched all around the town； at every road leading out； at every space between two buildings。 This was the Prophet's country； but the Whitecloaks and King Ailron's army still held large parts of it。
〃I was right not to bring her；〃 he muttered； 〃but I'll pay for it anyway。〃
〃Of course you'll pay；〃 Elyas snorted。 For a man who had spent most of the last fifteen years afoot； he handled his mouse…colored gelding well。 He had acquired a cloak lined with black fox； dicing with Gallenne。 Aram； riding on Perrin's other side； eyed Elyas darkly； but the bearded man ignored him。 They did not get on well。 〃A man always pays sooner or later； with any woman； whether he owes or not。 But I was right； wasn't I？〃
Perrin nodded。 Grudgingly。 It still did not seem right taking advice about his wife from another man； even circumspectly； obliquely； yet it did seem to be working。 Of course； raising his voice to Faile was as hard as not raising it to Berelain； but he had managed the last quite often and the first several times。 He had followed Elyas' advice to the letter。 Well； most of it。 As well as he could。 That spiky scent of jealousy still flared at the sight of Berelain； yet on the other hand； the hurt smell had vanished as they made their slow way south。 Still； he was uneasy。 When he firmly told her she was not ing with him this morning； she had not raised a single word of protest！ She even smelled。。。 pleased！ Among other things； including startled。 And how could she be pleased and angry at the same time？ Not a scrap of it had showed on her face； but his nose never lied。 Somehow； it seemed that the more he learned about women； the less he knew！
The bridge guards frowned and fingered their weapons as Stayer's hooves thudded hollowly onto the wooden planking。 They were the usual odd mix that followed the Prophet； dirty…faced fellows in silk coats too big for them； scar…faced street toughs and pink…cheeked apprentices； former merchants and craftsmen who looked as if they had slept in their once fine woolens for months。 Their weapons appeared well cared for； though。 Some of the men had a fever in their eyes； the rest wore guarded； wooden faces。 Along with unwashed； they smelled eager； anxious； fervent； afraid； all jumbled together。
They made no move to bar passage； just watched； hardly blinking。 By what Perrin had heard； all sorts from ladies in silks to beggars in rags came to the Prophet hoping that submitting to him in person might gain added blessings。 Or maybe added protection。 That was why he had e this way； with only a handful of panions。 He would frighten Masema if he had to； if Masema could be frightened； but it had seemed better to try reaching the man without fighting a battle。 He could feel the guard's eyes on his back until he and the others were all across the short bridge and onto the paved streets of Abila。 When that pressure left； though； it brought no sense of relief。
Abila was a goodly sized town； with several tall watch towers and many buildings rising four stories； every last one roofed in slate。 Here and there； mounded stone and timbers filled a gap between two structures where an inn or some merchant's house had been pulled down。 The Prophet disapproved of wealth gained by trade as much as he did carousing or what his followers called lewd behavior。 He disapproved of a great many things； and made his feelings known with sharp examples。
The streets were jammed with people； but Perrin and his panions were the only ones on horseback。 The snow had long since been trampled to half…frozen ankle…deep mush。 Plenty of oxcarts made their slow way through the throng； but very few wagons； and not a single carriage。 Except for those wearing worn castoffs or possibly stolen clothes； everyone wore drab woolens。 Most people hurried； but like the folk on the road； with heads down。 Those who did not hurry were straggling groups of men carrying weapons。 In the streets； the smell was mainly dirt and fear。 It made Perrin's hackles rise。 At least； if it came to that； getting out of a town with no wall would not prove harder than getting in。
〃My Lord；〃 Balwer murmured as they came abreast of one of those heaps of rubble。 He barely waited for Perrin's nod before turning his hammer…nosed mount aside and making his way in another direction； hunched in his saddle with his brown cloak held tight around him。 Perrin had no worries about the dried…up little man going off alone； even here。 For a secretary； he managed to learn a surprising amount on these forays of his。 He seemed to know what he was about。
Dismissing Balwer from his thoughts； Perrin set to what he was there about。
It took only one question； put to a lanky young man with an ecstatic light on his face； to learn where the Prophet was staying； and three more to other folk in the streets to find the merchant's house； four stories of gray stone with white marble moldings and window frames。 Masema disapproved of grubbing for money； but he was willing to accept acmodations from those who did。 On the other hand； Balwer said he had slept in a leaky farmhouse as often and been as satisfied。 Masema drank only water； and wherever he went； he hired a poor widow and ate the food she prepared； fair or foul； without plaint。 The man had made too many widows for that charity to count far with Perrin。
The throng that packed the streets elsewhere was absent in front of the tall house； yet the number of arm
