The Gathering Storm полностью

Maiden joined those two, moving out of the shadows, likely sent by Bain and Chiad to protect Alliandre. Faile found the dark-haired queen standing at the base of the trees, looking like a lady again in a rich red gown with golden chains lacing her hair. It was an extravagant display, as if she were determined to disprove the days she’d spent acting as a servant. Alliandre’s gown made Faile more aware of her simple robe. But there wasn’t much she could have done without waking Perrin. Arrela and Lacile wore only the embroidered breeches and shirts common to those in Cha Faile.

Alliandre carried a small lantern with the shutters drawn, letting out only a crack of light that illuminated her youthful face, topped by dark hair. “Did they find anything?” she asked. “Please tell me that they did.” She had always been impressively grounded, for a queen, if somewhat demanding. Her time in Maiden seemed to have tempered the latter feature.

“Yes.” Faile hefted the bundle. The four women huddled around her as she knelt on the ground, the tips of the short grass lit by the lantern, shining like tongues of flame. Faile unwrapped the bundle. The contents weren’t anything extraordinary. A small handkerchief of yellow silk. A belt of worked leather which had a pattern of bird feathers pressed into its sides. A black veil. And a thin leather band with a stone tied at the center.

“That belt belonged to Kinhuin,” Alliandre said, pointing to it. “I saw him wearing it, before. ...” She trailed off, then knelt and picked it up.

“The veil is that of a Maiden,” Arrela said.

“They’re different?” Alliandre asked with surprise.

“Of course they are,” Arrela said, picking up the veil. Faile had never met the Maiden who had become Arrela’s protector, but the woman had fallen in the battle, though not as dramatically as Rolan and the others.

The piece of silk was Jhoradin’s; Lacile hesitated, then took it in her hands, turning it over and revealing that there was a spot of blood on it. That left only the leather cord. Rolan had worn it at his neck, on occasion, beneath his cadin’sor. Faile wondered what it had meant to him, and if there was any significance to the single bit of stone, a rough-cut chunk of turquoise. She picked it up, then glanced at Lacile. Surprisingly, the slender woman seemed to be crying. Because Lacile had gone so quickly to the hefty Brotherless’s bed, Faile had assumed that her relationship with him had been one of necessity, not affection.

“Four people are dead,” Faile said, mouth suddenly dry. She spoke formally, for that was the best way to keep the emotion from her voice. “They protected us, even cared for us. Though they were the enemy, we mourn them. Remember, though, that they were Aiel. For an Aiel, there are far worse ends than death in combat.”

The others nodded, but Lacile met Faile’s eyes. For the two of them, it was different. When Perrin had barreled out of that alleyway—roaring in anger at seeing Faile and Lacile apparently being manhandled by Shaido—many things had happened very quickly. In the fray, Faile had distracted Rolan at just the right moment, making him hesitate. He’d done so out of concern for her, but that pause had allowed Perrin to kill him.

Had Faile done it intentionally? She still didn’t know. So much had been going through her mind, so many emotions at seeing Perrin. She’d cried out, and . . . she could not decide if she’d been trying to distract Rolan to let him die by Perrin’s hand.

For Lacile, there was no such wavering. Jhoradin had leaped in front of her, putting her behind him and raising his weapon against the intruder. She’d put a knife in his back, killing a man for the first time in her life. And it had been a man whose bed she’d shared.

Faile had killed Kinhuin, the other member of the Brotherless who had protected them. He wasn’t the first man whose life she had taken—nor the first one she’d taken from behind. But he was the first man she’d killed who had seen her as a friend.

There was nothing else that could have been done. Perrin had seen only Shaido, and the Brotherless had seen only an invading enemy. That conflict could not have ended without Perrin or the Brotherless dead. No amount of screaming would have stopped any of the men.

But that made it more tragic. Faile steeled herself to keep her eyes from tearing up like Lacile’s. She hadn’t loved Rolan, and she was glad that Perrin was the one who had survived the conflict. But Rolan had been an honorable man, and she felt . . . dirtied, somehow, that his death had been her fault.

This shouldn’t have had to be. But it was. Her father had often spoken of situations like this, when you had to kill people you liked just because you met them on the wrong side of the battlefield. She’d never understood. If she had to go back and do it again, she would take the very same actions. She wouldn’t be able to risk Perrin. Rolan had had to die.

But the world seemed a sadder place to her for the necessity of it.