Rand was going to need Perrin at some point during this fight. Unfortunately, Perrin couldn’t just stand here; there was work to be done. Gaul and he had, with help from the wolves, found Graendal near Cairhien. She had spoken to some people in their dreams. Darkfriends among the armies, perhaps?
She was peeking at Bashere’s dreams before that, Perrin thought. Or so Lanfear claimed. He didn’t trust her for a moment.
Anyway, he’d found Graendal earlier today, and had been planning to strike, when suddenly she had vanished. He knew how to track someone in the wolf dream when they shifted, and he had followed her here, to Thakan’dar.
Her scent vanished sharply in the middle of the valley below. She’d Traveled back into the real world. Perrin wasn’t certain how much time had passed in the wolf dream; he and Gaul still had food, but it felt as if it had been days and days. Lanfear said that the closer Perrin came to Rand, the more time would distort. He could probably test that statement, at least.
He is here, Young Bull! The sending came, sudden and urgent, from a wolf named Sunrise, here in the valley. Slayer comes among us! Hurry!
Perrin growled, grabbed Gaul by the shoulder without a word and shifted them. They appeared on the rocky path leading to a gaping hole in the rock above, the passage down to the Pit of Doom itself.
A wolf lay nearby, arrow in its side, smelling of death. Others howled in the near distance. The horrible wind whipped at him; Perrin lowered his head and charged into it, Gaul at his side. Inside, Young Bull, a wolf sent. Inside the mouth of darkness.
Not daring to think about what he was doing, Perrin burst into a long, narrow chamber filled with jagged rocks projecting from the floor and ceiling. Ahead, something bright sent pulsing waves through the space. Perrin raised a hand against the light, vaguely catching sight of shapes at the end of the chamber.
Two men, locked in battle.
Two women, as if frozen.
And just a few feet from Perrin, Slayer, drawing his bow to his cheek.
Perrin roared, hammer in his hand, and shifted himself between Slayer and Rand. He slapped the arrow from the air with his hammer a split second after it was loosed. Slayer’s eyes widened, and he vanished.
Perrin shifted to Gaul, grabbing the man by the arm, then shifted back to where Slayer had been and caught the scent of his location. “Be wary,” Perrin said, then shifted them after the man.
They dropped into the middle of a group of people. They were Aiel, but instead of wearing normal shoufa, they had strange red veils.
The shift hadn’t taken Perrin and Gaul far; this was a village of some sort, close enough for the peak of Shayol Ghul to be visible in the distance.
The red-veils attacked. Perrin wasn’t particularly surprised to find Aiel on the side of the Shadow. There were Darkfriends among all peoples. But why identify themselves with the color of their veils?
Perrin swung his hammer in a wide circle, keeping a group of them at bay, then shifted behind them, crushing the head of one from behind. Gaul became a blur of spears and brown clothing, dodging around red-veils, stabbing, then vanishing—and then appearing and stabbing again. Yes, he’d learned quickly, more quickly than these red-veils apparently had, for they failed to keep up with him. Perrin smashed another one in the kneecap, then searched for Slayer.
There. He stood on a hillock above, watching. Perrin glanced at Gaul, who, between jumps, gave him a quick nod. There were eight red-veils left, but—
The earth underneath Gaul’s feet began to heave, exploding upward as Gaul jumped. Perrin managed to protect his friend, creating a steel plate beneath him to deflect the blast, but it was a close thing. Gaul landed shakily, and Perrin was forced to shift to him and attack the red-veil coming at him from behind.
Take care, Perrin yelled at Gaul. “At least one of these fellows can channel!”
Light. As if Aiel fighting for the Shadow weren’t enough. Channeling Aiel. Channeling Aiel men. Light!
As Perrin swung at another, Slayer arrived, a sword in one hand and a long hunting knife in the other—the type a man would use to skin his prey.
Growling, Perrin threw himself into the fight, and the two began a strange dance. One attacking the other, who vanished to appear nearby before attacking also. They spun about like that, one shifting,, then the other, each trying for an edge. Perrin just missed crushing Slayer with a blow, then nearly caught steel in his gut.
Gaul was proving very useful—Perrin would have had a horrible time trying to stand alone against both Slayer and the red-veils. Unfortunately, Gaul could do little but distract his foes, and was having a very difficult time managing that.
As a column of fire from one of the red-veils nearly took him, Perrin made his decision. He shifted over to Gaul—and almost took a spear through the shoulder. Perrin turned the spear to cloth, and it bent on his skin.
Gaul started, seeing Perrin, then opened his mouth. Perrin didn’t give him a chance to speak. He grabbed his friend by the arm, then shifted them away. They vanished just as flames welled up around them.
They reappeared before the entrance to the Pit of Doom. Perrin’s cloak was smoldering. Gaul was bleeding from the thigh. When had that happened?
Are you there? Perrin sent out, urgent.
Dozens upon dozens of wolves replied. We are here, Young Bull.
Do you lead us, Young Bull? The Last Hunt!
Watch for Moonhunter, Young Bull. She stalks you like a lion in the high grass.
I need you, Perrin sent to the wolves. Slayer is here. Will you fight him, and the men with him, for me?
It is the Last Hunt, one sent back as many others agreed to help him. They appeared on the slopes of Shayol Ghul. Perrin could smell their wariness; they did not like this place. It was not a place wolves came, not in the waking world, nor in the dream.
Slayer came for him. Either he realized Perrin would be guarding this place, or he intended to finish his attack on Rand. Either way, Perrin caught sight of him standing on the ridge up above, looking down into the valley—a dark figure with a bow and a black cloak whipping in the tempests winds. Beneath him, that battle still raged in dust and shadow. Thousands upon thousands of people dying, killing, struggling in the real world, only phantoms reaching this place.
Perrin gripped his hammer. “Come try me,” he whispered. “You’ll find me a different foe this time.”
Slayer raised his bow, then loosed. The arrow split, becoming four, then sixteen, then a hail of shafts shooting toward Perrin.
Perrin growled, then attacked the column of air that Slayer had created to stop the wind. It dissolved, and the raging gale caught the arrows, spinning them about.
Slayer appeared in front of Perrin, brandishing knife and sword. Perrin leaped at him as the red-veils appeared nearby. The wolves and Gaul dealt with them. This time, Perrin could focus on his enemy. He swung with a roar, slapping Slayer’s weapon away, then aiming for his head.
Slayer danced back and created stone arms that burst from the ground—throwing chips and shards of rock—to seize Perrin. Perrin concentrated, and they burst, tumbling back to the ground. He caught the sharp scent of Slayer’s surprise.
“You’re here in the flesh,” Slayer hissed.
Perrin jumped for him, shifting in midleap to reach the man more quickly. Slayer blocked with a shield that appeared on his arm. Mah’alleinir left a large dent in the front as it was deflected.