"I have nothing against nobles," Mat said, straightening his coat. "I just don't fancy being one myself."
"Why is that, then?"
Mat sat for a moment. Why was it? Finally, he looked down at his foot then replaced his boot. "It's boots."
"Boots?" Setalle looked confused.
"Boots," Mat said with a nod, tying his laces. "It's all about the boots."
"But—"
"You see," Mat said, pulling the laces tight, "a lot of men don't have to worry much about what boots to wear. They're the poorest of folks. If you ask one of them 'What boots are you going to wear today, Mop?' their answer is easy. 'Well, Mat. I only have one pair, so I guess I'm gonna wear that pair.'"
Mat hesitated. "Or, I guess they wouldn't say that to you, Setalle, since you're not me and all. They wouldn't call you Mat, you understand."
"I understand," she said, sounding amused.
"Anyway, for people that have a little coin, the question of which boots to wear is harder. You see, average men, men like me…" He eyed her. "And I'm an average man, mind you."
"Of course you are."
"Bloody right I am," Mat said, finishing with his laces and sitting up. "An average man might have three pairs of boots. Your third best pair of boots, those are the boots you wear when you're working at something unpleasant. They might rub after a few paces, and they might have a few holes, but they're good enough to keep your footing. You don't mind mucking them up in the fields or the barn."
"All right," Setalle said.
"Then you have your second best pair of boots," Mat said. "Those are your day-to-day boots. You wear those if you are going over to dinner at the neighbors. Or, in my case, you wear those if you're going to battle. They're nice boots, give you good footing, and you don't mind being seen in them or anything."
"And your best pair of boots?" Setalle asked. "You wear those to social events, like a ball or dining with a local dignitary?"
"Balls? Dignitaries? Bloody ashes, woman. I thought you were an inn-keeper."
Setalle blushed faintly.
"We're not going to any balls," Mat said. "But if we had to, I suspect we'd wear our second best pair of boots. If they're good enough for visiting old lady Hembrew next door, then they're bloody well good enough for stepping on the toes of any woman fool enough to dance with us."
"Then what are the best boots for?"
"Walking," Mat said. "Any farmer knows the value of good boots when you go walking a distance."
Setalle looked thoughtful. "All right. But what does this have to do with being a nobleman?"
"Everything," Mat said. "Don't you see? If you're an average fellow, you know exactly when to use your boots. A man can keep track of three pairs of boots. Life is simple when you have three pairs of boots. But noblemen… Talmanes claims he has forty different pairs of boots at home. Forty pairs, can you imagine that?"
She smiled in amusement.
"Forty pairs," Mat repeated, shaking his head. "Forty bloody pairs. And, they aren't all the same kind of boots either. There is a pair for each outfit, and a dozen pairs in different styles that will match any number of half your outfits. You have boots for kings, boots for high lords, and boots for normal people. You have boots for winter and boots for summer, boots for rainy days and boots for dry days. You have bloody shoes that you wear only when you're walking to the bathing chamber. Lopin used to complain that I didn't have a pair to wear to the privy at night!"
"I see… So you're using boots as a metaphor for the onus of responsibility and decision placed upon the aristocracy as they assume leadership of complex political and social positions."
"Metaphor for…" Mat scowled. "Bloody ashes, woman. This isn't a metaphor for anything! It's just boots!"
Setalle shook her head. "You're an unconventionally wise man, Matrim Cauthon."
"I try my best," he noted, reaching for the pitcher of mulled cider. "To be unconventional, I mean." He poured a cup and lifted it in her direction. She accepted graciously and drank, then stood. "I will leave you to your own amusements, then, Master Cauthon. But if you have made any progress on that gateway for me…"
"Elayne said she would have one for you soon. In a day or two. Once I'm back from the errand I have to run with Thom and Noal, I'll see it done."
She nodded in understanding. If he did not return from that "errand," she would see to Olver. She turned to leave. Mat waited until she was gone before taking a slurp of the cider straight from the pitcher. He had been doing that all evening, but he figured she would probably rather not know. It was the sort of thing women were better off not thinking about.
He turned back to his reports, but soon found his mind wandering to the Tower of Ghenjei, and those bloody snakes and foxes. Birgitte's comments had been enlightening, but not particularly encouraging. Two months? Two bloody months spent wandering those hallways? That was a mighty, steaming bowl of worry, served up like afternoon slop. Beyond that, she had taken fire, music, and iron. Breaking the rules was not so original an idea.
He was not surprised. Likely, the day the Light made the very first man, and that man had made the first rule, someone else had thought to break it. People like Elayne made up rules to suit them. People like Mat found ways to get around the stupid rules.
Unfortunately, Birgitte—one of the legendary Heroes of the Horn—had not been able to defeat the Aelfinn and Eelfinn. That was disconcerting.
Well, Mat had something she had not had. His luck. He sat thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. One of his soldiers passed by. Clintock saluted; the Redarm checked on Mat every half-hour. They still had not gotten over the shame of letting the gholam sneak into camp.
He picked up Verin's letter again, feeling it over in his fingers. The worn corners, the smudges of dirt on the once-white paper. He tapped it against the wood.
Then he tossed it onto the desk. No. No, he was not going to open it, even when he got back. That was that. He would never know what was in it, and he bloody did not care.
He stood up and went looking for Thom and Noal. Tomorrow, they would leave for the Tower of Ghenjei.
CHAPTER 53
Gateways
Pevara kept her tongue as she walked through the village of the Black Tower with Javindhra and Mazrim Taim. There was activity all through the place. There was always activity in the Black Tower. Soldiers felling trees nearby; Dedicated stripping the bark away, then slicing the logs into lumber with focused jets of Air. Sawdust coated the path; with a chill, Pevara realized that the stack of boards nearby had probably been cut by Asha'man.
Light! She'd known what she'd find here. It was much harder to face than she'd assumed it would be.
"And you see," Taim said, walking with one hand folded—fingers making a fist—behind his back. With his other hand, he pointed toward a distant, part-finished wall of black stone. "Guard posts spaced at fifty-foot intervals. Each with two Asha'man atop them." He smiled in satisfaction. "This place will be impregnable."
"Yes indeed," Javindhra said. "Impressive." Her tone was flat and uninterested. "But the item I wished to speak with you about. If we could choose men with the Dragon pin to—"
"This again?" Taim said. He had fire in his eyes, this Mazrim Taim. A tall, black-haired man with high, Saldaean cheekbones. He smiled. Or the closest he came to such an expression—a half-smile that did not reach his eyes. It looked… predatory. "I have made my will known. And yet you continue to push. No. Soldiers and Dedicated only."
"As you demand," Javindhra said. "We will continue our consideration."
"Weeks pass," Taim replied, "and still you consider? Well, far be it from me to question Aes Sedai. I care not what you do. But the women outside my gates claim to be from the White Tower as well. Do you not wish me to invite them in to meet with you?"
Pevara felt a chill. He always seemed to know too much, and hint that he knew too much, about internal White Tower politics.
"That won't be needed," Javindhra said coldly.
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"As you wish," he said. "You should make your choices soon. They grow impatient, and al'Thor has given them permission to bond my men. They will not suffer my stalling forever."
"They are rebels. You need pay them no heed at all."
"Rebels," Taim said, "with a much larger force than you. What do you have? Six women? From the way you talk, you seem to intend to bond the entirety of the Black Tower!"
"Perhaps we might." Pevara spoke calmly. "No limit was placed upon us."
Taim glanced at her, and she had the distinct feeling she was being inspected by a wolf considering whether she'd make a good meal. She shoved that feeling aside. She was Aes Sedai, no easy meat. Still, she couldn't help remembering that they were only six. Inside a camp filled with hundreds of men who could channel.
"I once saw a skyfisher dying on the city docks of Illian," Taim said. "The bird was choking, having tried to swallow two fish at once."
"Did you help the sorry thing?" Javindhra asked.
"Fools will always choke themselves when they grasp for too much, Aes Sedai," Taim said. "What matters that to me? I had a fine meal of it that night. The flesh of the bird, and of the fish. I must go. But be warned, now that I have a defensible perimeter, you must give me warning if you wish to pass outside."
"You mean to keep comings and goings that tight?" Pevara asked.
"The world becomes a dangerous place," Taim said smoothly. "I must think of the needs of my men."
Pevara had noticed how he saw to the "needs" of his men. A group of young soldiers passed by, saluting Taim. Two bore bruised features, one with an eye swollen shut. Asha'man were beaten brutally for making mistakes in their training, then forbidden Healing.
The Aes Sedai were never touched. In fact, the deference they were shown bordered on mockery.
Taim nodded, then stalked off, meeting up with two of his Asha'man who waited nearby, beside the smithy. They immediately began speaking in hushed tones.
"I don't like this," Pevara said as soon as the men were away. Perhaps she said it too quickly, betraying her worries, but this place had her on edge. "This could easily turn to disaster. I'm beginning to think that we should do as I originally stated—bond a few Dedicated each and return to the White Tower. Our task was never to lock down the entire Black Tower, but to gain access to Asha'man and learn about them."
"That's what we're doing," Javindhra said. "I've been learning much these last few weeks. What have you been doing?"
Pevara did not rise to the other woman's tone. Must she be so contrary? Pevara had leadership of this team, and the others would defer to her. But it didn't mean that they would always be pleasant about it.
"This has been an interesting opportunity," Javindhra continued, scanning the Tower grounds. "And I do think he will yield eventually on the subject of full Asha'man."
Pevara frowned. Javindhra couldn't honestly think that, could she? After how stubborn Taim had been? Yes, Pevara had yielded to suggestions that they remain in the Black Tower a little longer, to learn of its workings and ask Taim to allow them access to the more powerful Asha'man. But it was obvious now he would not give in. Surely Javindhra saw that.
Unfortunately, Pevara was having great difficulty reading Javindhra lately. Originally, the woman had seemed against coming to the Black Tower, only agreeing to the mission because the Highest had ordered it. Yet now she offered reasons to remain here.
"Javindhra," Pevara said, stepping closer. "You heard what he said. We now need permission to leave. This place is turning into a cage."
"I think, we're safe," Javindhra said, waving a hand. "He doesn't know we have gateways."
"So far as we know," Pevara said.
"If you order it, I'm sure the others will go," Javindhra said. "But I intended to continue to use the opportunity to learn."
Pevara took a deep breath. Insufferable woman! Surely she wasn't going so far as to ignore Pevara's leadership of the group? After the Highest herself had placed Pevara in charge? Light, but Javindhra was growing erratic.
They parted without another word, Pevara spinning and walking back down the path. She kept her temper with difficulty. That last statement had been close to outright defiance! Well, if she wanted to disobey and remain, so be it. It was time to be returning to the White Tower.
Men in black coats walked all around her. Many nodded with those too-obsequious grins of feigned respect. Her weeks here had not done anything to make her more comfortable around these men. She would make a few of them Warders. Three. She could handle three, couldn't she?
Those dark expressions, like the eyes of executioners while waiting for the next neck to line up before them. The way some of them muttered to themselves, or jumped at shadows, or held their heads and looked dazed. She stood in the very pit of madness itself, and it made her skin creep as if covered in caterpillars. She couldn't help quickening her pace. No, she thought. I can't leave Javindhra here, not without trying one more time. Pevara would explain to the others, give them the order to leave. Then she'd ask them, Tarna first, to approach Javindhra. Surely their united arguments would convince her.
Pevara reached the huts they had been given. She purposely did not look to the side, toward the line of small buildings where the bonded Aes Sedai made their homes. She'd heard what some of them were doing, trying to control their Asha'man using… various methods. That made her skin crawl, too. While she thought most Reds had too harsh an opinion of men, what those women did crossed the line with a heedless leap.
She stepped inside her hut, and there found Tarna at the desk writing a letter. The Aes Sedai had to share their huts, and Pevara had picked Tarna specifically. Pevara might have been made leader of this group, but Tarna was Keeper of the Chronicles. The politics of this particular expedition were very delicate, with so many influential members and so many opinions.
Last night, Tarna had agreed that it was time to leave. She'd work with Pevara on going to Javindhra.
"Taim has locked down the Black Tower," Pevara said calmly, sitting on her bed in the small, circular chamber. "We now need his permission to leave. He said it offhandedly, as if it weren't really meant to stop us. Just a rule he'd forgotten to give us a blanket exception to."
"Likely, that's just what it was," Tarna said. "I'm sure it's nothing."
Pevara fell still. What? She tried again. "Javindhra still irrationally thinks he will change his mind on letting us bond full Asha'man. It's time to bond Dedicated and leave, but she's hinted that she'll remain regardless of my intentions. I want you to speak to her."
"Actually," Tarna said, continuing to write, "I've been thinking on what we discussed last night. Perhaps I was hasty. There is much to learn here, and there is the matter of the rebels outside. If we leave, they will bond Asha'man, which should not be allowed."
The woman looked up, and Pevara froze. There was something different in Tarna's eyes, something cold. She'd always been a distant one, but this was worse.
Tarna smiled, a grimace that looked completely unnatural on her face. Like the smile on the lips of a corpse. She turned back to her writing.
Something is very, very wrong here, Pevara thought. "Well, you may be right," she found herself saying. Her mouth worked, though her mind reeled. "This expedition was your suggestion, after all. I will think on it further. If you'll excuse me."
Tarna waved ambivalently. Pevara stood, years as an Aes Sedai keeping her profound worry from showing in her posture. She stepped outside, then walked eastward, along the unfinished wall. Yes, guard stations had been set up regularly. Earlier this morning, those hadn't been manned. Now they were, with men who could channel. One of those men could strike her dead before she could respond. She couldn't see their weaves, and she couldn't strike first, because of her oaths.
She turned and walked to a small stand of trees, a place that was to become a garden. Inside, she sat down on a stump, breathing deeply. The coldness—almost lifelessness—she'd seen in Tarna's eyes still chilled her.
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Pevara had been ordered by the Highest not to risk gateways unless the situation were dire. This seemed like a dire situation to her. She embraced the Source and wove the proper weave.
The weave fell apart the moment she completed it. No gateway formed. Eyes wide, she tried again, but got the same result. She tried other weaves, and they worked, but gateways failed every time.
Her chill became frost within her. She was trapped.
They all were.
Perrin clasped hands with Mat. "Good luck, my friend."
Mat grinned, tugging down the broad brim of his dark hat. "Luck? I hope this all comes down to luck. I'm good with luck."
Mat carried a bulging pack over one shoulder, as did the bony, gnarled man that Mat had introduced as Noal. Thom had his harp on his back and a similar pack. Perrin still wasn't clear on what they were bringing. Mat only planned to be at the tower for a few days, so there was no need for a lot of supplies.
The small group stood on the Traveling ground outside Perrin's camp. Behind them, Perrin's people shouted back and forth, breaking down the camp. None had any inkling of how important this day could prove. Moiraine. Moiraine was alive. Light, let it be so.
"Are you certain I can't convince you to take more help?" Perrin asked.
Mat nodded. "Sorry. These things… well, they tend to be particular. The note was clear. Only three of us can enter, otherwise we'll fail. If we fail anyway… well, I guess it will be her own bloody fault then, won't it?"
Perrin frowned. "Just be careful. I'm expecting another helping from your pouch of tabac at Master Denezel's place when you return."
"You'll have it," Thom said, taking Perrin's offered hand. He hesitated, smiling, a faint twinkle in his eyes.
"What?" Perrin asked.
Thom repositioned his pack. "Is every last farmboy I know going to transform into a nobleman by the time this is through?"
"I'm no nobleman," Mat said.
"Oh?" Thom asked. "Prince of the Ravens?"
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