the boar was close enough that he could bring her closer without having to sing for long. He couldnât pull that trick too often, but knowing that tomorrow night was going to be so simple, heâd wanted to do something impressive. He was almost disappointed that Tugger wouldnât see him try his chantments on any man-monsters.
He just managed to stop himself from whistling.
The next day it rained. âDamn you, Wispy,â muttered Fello. âCanât stand to be wrong, can you?â
They spent an uncomfortable day crouched under canvas in the boat, well hidden in the reeds. Pigeon went out once, but didnât see anything unusual.
âHunting party from the Palace. Just some fat Baltish kids fooling around.â
âHope they run into that big boar from last night,â said Fello. âGive em a fright. Did I tell you about that, Wispy?â
âOnly about twenty times.â Wisp winked at Perrin, who sat quietly sharpening his dagger. Perrin recognised the subdued, tense mood of the men: it was the same before any battle. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out his finger-harp.
Now was not the time for rousing tunes or comic songs; he played the old ballads of Rengan that the men had learned as early as breathing, songs theyâd heard as they lay in their motherâs wombs. The steady drumbeat of rain on the canvas kept time, and the irregular drip of water as it slid off the brim of Tuggerâs battered hat made a counter-beat. Perrin kept his eyes on his fingering, but he saw Wisp raise a hand to his face, and Doughty turn away. He judged the moment Tugger was ready to say, âThatâs enough,â and played a merry little jig to finish up.
The rain eased slightly around sunset, but didnât stop. âNo need to worry about moondark,â said Wisp. âWe got enough cloud to block ten moons.â
âAnd enough mud to drown a damn battalion,â growled Pigeon.
As the dial on Tuggerâs pocket-clock crawled toward midnight, the men grew quiet. Perrin was tense, but not afraid. The danger for him was the dogs, and he wasnât scared of them. Even if that big old boar-sow jumped out at them in the woods on the way, he knew he could handle her.
âTime, lads,â Tugger said softly. Perrin was the first to his feet.
âIâll have a swig of spiced wine waiting for you,â said Wisp. âGood luck, lads.â
âWeâll make our own luck tonight,â said Tugger sternly, but he laid a hand briefly on Wispâs shoulder.
âSee you on the other side,â croaked Wisp. It was the traditional soldierâs farewell, and Perrin lifted one hand to acknowledge it.
This time it was impossible to creep silently through the woods; the rain had turned the ground to slush. Doughty slid, and when he scrambled up, he was limping. âItâs not bad.â He shrugged off Felloâs hand. âItâll come good. I swear it, Tug, itâs not that bad.â
âStand on it,â said Tugger.
Doughty swore, and grimaced, and his leg buckled. âBack to the boat,â said Tugger. âNow. Send Wisp to catch up.â
The remaining four struggled on. Low branches lashed their faces, thorns snagged their clothes, and always the mud slid and sucked under their feet. At last they reached the place where there was no cover between them and the Palace gardens.
âRight, lads. Count of one hundred between. You first, Pigeon. Go, go, go.â
Perrinâs stomach turned over. They were crossing the open ground alone, every man for himself. What was he supposed to do after that? Heâd thought Tugger would look out for him. He hadnât listened to the briefings. It was too late to ask now. Pigeon and Fello were already gone.
âNinety-nine, a hundred.â Tugger waved him forward, eyes down on his pocket-clock. âMake luck for yourself, son. Go, go, go.â
And Perrin was off, running