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.
Slayer vanished and appeared five strides back, on the rim of the pathway leading up to the cavern. "I’m so very glad you came hunting me, wolf pup. I was forbidden from seeking you, but now you are here. I skinned the sire; now the pup".
Perrin launched himself at Slayer in a blurring leap, like those he used to bound from hilltop to hilltop. He crashed into the man, throwing them both off of the ledge in front of the opening to the Pit of Doom, sending them tumbling dozens of feet toward the ground.
Perrin’s hammer was at his belt—he didn’t remember putting it there—but he didn’t want to hit this man with the hammer. He wanted to feel Slayer as he slammed a fist into the man’s face. The punch connected as they fell, but Slayer’s face was suddenly hard as stone.
In that moment, the fight became not one of flesh against flesh, but will against will. As they fell together, Perrin imagined Slayer’s skin becoming soft, giving beneath his punch, the bones brittle and cracking. Slayer, in response, imagined his skin as stone.
The result was that Slayer’s cheek became hard as rock, but Perrin cracked it anyway. They hit the ground, and rolled apart. When Slayer stood, his right cheek looked like that of a statue hit with a hammer, small cracks moving out over the skin.
Blood began to trickle through those cracks, and Slayer opened his eyes in shock. He raised a hand to his cheek, feeling the blood. The skin became flesh again, and stitches appeared, as if sewn by a master surgeon. One could not heal oneself in the wolf dream.
Slayer sneered at Perrin, then lunged. The two of them danced back and forth, surrounded by churning dust that formed the faces and bodies of people struggling for their lives in another place, another world. Perrin crashed through a pair of them, dust streaming from Mah’alleinir as he swung. Slayer skidded back, creating a wind to blow him out of the way, then struck forward too quickly.
Perrin became a wolf without a thought, Slayer’s sword passing over his head. Young Bull leaped into Slayer, slamming him backward through an impression of two Aiel fighting one another. Those exploded into sand and dust. Others formed to the sides, then blew away.
The howling tempest was a roar in Young Bull’s ears, and the dust ground into his skin and eyes. He rolled across Slayer, then lunged for his throat. How sweet it will be to taste this two-legs’ blood in my mouth. Slayer shifted away.
Young Bull became Perrin, with hammer at the ready, crouching on the plain of fragmentary fighting, changing people. Careful, he thought to himself. You are a wolf, but more a man. With a start, he realized that some of those impressions weren’t completely human. He saw a couple that were distinctly snakelike in appearance, though they faded quickly.
Does this place reflect other worlds? he wondered, not certain what else to make of the phantoms.
Slayer came at him again, teeth clenched. Perrin’s hammer grew hot in his fingers, and his leg throbbed where he’d been hit and then Healed during his last fight with Slayer. He roared, letting Slayer’s sword close—letting it graze him on the cheek—as he crashed his own weapon into the man’s side.
Slayer vanished.
Perrin followed through with the swing, and, for a moment, assumed he’d beaten the man. But no, his hammer had barely connected before Slayer disappeared. The man had been ready, waiting to shift. Perrin felt blood moving through the hair of his beard toward his chin; that graze had cut a gash on his cheek much in the same place as he’d landed that blow on Slayer’s face.
He sniffed at the air, turning about, trying to catch the scent of Slayer’s location. Where had he gone? There was nothing.
Slayer hadn’t shifted to another place in the wolf dream. He knew that Perrin could follow him. Instead, he must have jumped back into the waking world. Perrin howled, realizing he’d lost his prey. The wolf railed against this, a failed hunt, and it was a struggle for Perrin to bring himself back under control.
It was a scent that brought him back to it. Burning fur. It was accompanied by howls of pain.
Perrin shifted himself back to the top of the pathway. Wolves lay burned and dying amid the corpses of red-veils. Two of the men were still up, back to back, and incongruously, they’d lowered their veils. They had teeth filed to points, and were smiling, almost with madness, as they channeled. Burning wolf after wolf to char. Gaul had been forced to take shelter beside a rock, his clothing smolde
