The small man shrugged diffidently, and arched an eyebrow at the blacksmith turned Lord.
"Indeed, I'm sure there are many people who would like nothing better. If my lord would permit—"
Balwer knew that Aybara was merely venting his rage and would never consent to a politically expedient assassination, but it was not an opportunity to be missed. Particularly if the Spymaster could make it seem as if he had misunderstood, later, when the raving lunatic was properly garroted 'Oh, my lord, I thought you'd asked…" He signed inwardly, he knew his new lord well enough to know he would not fall for such a ploy. Not unless his conscious self was completely incapable of dealing with the situation.
"What? Oh, of course not. No, Balwer, I told the Aes Sedai, Berelain, and the Wise Ones all the same thing, and if I have to repeat it again with—"
"Of course, my lord. I understand we have a direction and a purpose now, my lord? Your wife has been found? I'm ecstatic." He seemed, of course, completely unchanged, "Malden is a larger town, but I've been there several times and could sketch it for you if it would help"
In spite of himself, Perrin looked impressed. "Is there anywhere you haven't been Balwer?"
"Tremalking, my lord. The Islands of the Dead, fabled Shara, the Aiel Waste, the Aryth Ocean …my ignorance is nothing less than staggering."
Perrin looked sharply at him, plainly wondering if Balwer were making fun of him. "Simply the truth, my lord." And it was. Balwer had worked with Niall for close to fifteen years, and had met many of his emissaries personally. Particularly when his informants couldn't leave their cover. And, when a man made it his business to know, he made it his business to know – first hand.
"Lord Aybara, if there was something in particular?" He shrugged casually at Lamgwin, who had turned over ostentatiously in his sleep.
The young man colored, his humble nature appealed to Balwer, who himself had grown up a man of low beginnings in a forgotten part of the world.
"So Habor. You know of it?" He said softly.
"Yes, my lord, a walled town, about twenty-five leagues from here. They predominantly export grain mostly, but the town is fairly wealthy, and the local lord is a vain man, who has amassed a fine collection of wines, and as such, they do a fair trade in luxury items as well." He clicked his tongue, "grain, of course. Quatermaster Strade must be beside himself with joy. My lord, I must humbly apologize. This new world of gateways, makes places that seemed inaccessible, well… otherwise I would have –"
Perrin chuckled, "I barely believe it myself sometimes. Not to worry. I …" the young man paused, drawing inward, almost afraid, "I myself forgot about stores. I should have asked, weeks ago. I'm afraid I'm not myself without Faile."
Balwer was not a sentimental man, and the sort of deep, abiding affection the lord had for his lady, was rare, not to mention, completely out of Balwer's purview. There wasn't much Balwer could say. He had never been one for 'slapping a man on the back'. He tried a different tack.
"My lord, you are the man that you are. And you were you, long before you met Lady Faile. Nonetheless, you needn't worry, Master Gill and myself have made the necessary arrangements to facilitate your search." He paused, "nonetheless, if you have a mind to restock, So Habor would be the place to do so."
"I'm glad to hear it, when Masema suggested it…"
"You suspected a trap."
"Or worse. If he had done to So Habor what he's done to half of Ghealdan…" The large man clenched his fists.
"My lord, So Habor is, as the Prophet says, a town of grain, and a town of laws. It's a walled keep, capable of sustaining itself against a horde, even one as large as Masema's."
Perrin sighed deeply. "Good. I guess we'll let Lamgwin sleep." He paused on his way to the tent flap. "Tallanvor is still gone?"
"Aye, my lord."
Perrin was silent a moment, then, "sometimes I envy him." And with that, the burly man opened the flap and let himself out.
Lord Aybara was unlike any man Balwer had ever served. Before Niall, he had served at the court in Amador, and even before then, he had served the Counsels in Far Madding. He had known lords, ladies, nobles of all shades and types. He had also known merchant princes, and the thirteen Counsels of Far Madding, who certainly considered themselves to be merchant queens. He had known generals, sea captains, and even terrorists. A merchant's importance came from his wealth, regardless of how it was obtained. A king's authority was absolute, either by the Creator, force of arms, or the acclamation of his people. And a general's authority came by his reputation for winning. Where then did Perrin's authority come from?
The boy claimed it came from yet another boy, the Dragon Reborn. But there again, his humble nature asserted itself. No, his authority came from within. It came from the Wolf King himself. It was his nobility. And, Balwer noted to himself, he was forced to remember that the term itself had nothing to do with birth, or wealth, or family. It had to do with character, with spirit. Balwer was nearing his fifth decade, and he felt his bones creak in the winter, and griped about the heat in the summer. But around a man like Aybara, he felt ten years younger. He felt, possibly for the first time in ten years, like his work actually mattered. It was invigorating, it was intoxicating. And, he suspected that everyone, from that hot air balloon, Arganda, the commander of the Ghealdan troops, to the meanest cook in the Two Rivers camp, that everyone felt the same. He sighed. Such thoughts were for younger men than himself.
So Habor, Marcus Grostlby lived in So Habor. It had been almost a year since the man had submitted a report. Perhaps it would be worth a trip, if only to renew an old acquaintance. He would go himself, he would take Medore, and he would take Latian. The one, because it was good to have an attractive woman on any venture, and because he could not allow himself to become distracted with Selande, and the second, because he was an idiot, and needed to be watched at all times. And with that, he snuffed the candle, the instant that Breane whisked into the tent. Not quite soon enough. He'd catch an earful before retiring for the night.