The tent flap was thrown back, and Amys entered, then Bair and Sorilea. They stood in a line, looking down at her. Three faces stern with disapproval. It was very hard not to clutch the dress to her breast; in her shift, she felt very much at a disadvantage. In armor, she would have been at a disadvantage. A matter of knowing she was in the wrong. She was surprised it had taken them so long to come.
She took a deep breath. “If you’ve come to punish me, I don’t have time for carrying water or digging holes or any of it. I am sorry, but I said I would come as soon as I can, and I think they mean to count minutes.”
Amys’ pale eyebrows rose in surprise, and a puzzled look passed between Sorilea and Bair. “How should we punish you?” Amys asked. “You stopped being a pupil the moment your sisters summoned you. You must go to them as Aes Sedai.”
Egwene covered a wince by examining the riding dress again. It had gathered remarkably few wrinkles for having been rolled up in a chest all these months. She made herself face them again. “I know you’re angry with me, and you have cause—”
“Angry?” Sorilea said. “We are not angry. I thought you knew us better.” It was true she did not sound angry, yet censure still painted all their faces, including hers.
Egwene stared from one to another, especially Amys and Bair. “But you told me how wrong you think what I’m going to do is; you said I must not even think about it. I said I wouldn’t, and then I went ahead and worked out how to do it.”
Startlingly, a smile bloomed on Sorilea’s leathery face. Her multitude of bracelets clattered as she shifted her shawl in a satisfied manner. “You see? I told you she would understand. She could be Aiel.”
Some of the tightness faded from Amys, a little more from Bair, and Egwene understood. They were not angry that she meant to try entering Tel’aran’rhiod in the flesh. That was wrong in their eyes, but you had to do what you felt you had to do, and even if this worked it incurred no obligation except to herself. Not angry at all really, not yet. What dug at them was her lie. Her stomach fluttered. The lie she had admitted. Maybe her smallest lie.
Another deep breath was required to prime her throat for the words. “I lied about other things, too. I entered Tel’aran’rhiod alone after I promised I would not.” Amys’ face darkened again. Sorilea, not a dreamwalker, only shook her head ruefully. “I promised to obey as a pupil, but when you said the World of Dreams was too dangerous after I was injured, I went anyway.” Bair folded her arms, expressionless. Sorilea muttered something about foolish girls, but it hardly sounded heated. A third long breath; this would be the hardest to say. Her middle was not fluttering anymore; it danced so hard she was surprised she was not shaking. “The worst of all is, I am not Aes Sedai. I’m only Accepted. You might call me an apprentice. I will not be raised to Aes Sedai for years, if I ever am, now.”
Sorilea’s head came up at that, thin lips compressed in a hard line, but still none of them said anything. It was up to Egwene to make matters right. They could never be exactly as before, but. . . .
You’ve admitted everything, a small voice whispered. Now you’d better get on with finding out how fast you can reach Salidar. You can still be raised Aes Sedai one day, but not if you make them madder than they already are.
Egwene lowered her eyes and stared at the colorful layered carpets, her mouth twisting with scorn. Scorn for that small voice. And shame that it could speak in her head, that she could think it. She was going away, but before she did, she had to put matters right. It was possible, under ji’e’toh. You did what you had to do, then paid the cost. Long months ago, in the Waste, Aviendha had showed her how a lie was paid for.
Gathering every scrap of courage she could find, hoping it was enough, Egwene put the silk dress aside and stood. Strangely, beginning seemed to make going on easier. She still had to look up to meet their, eyes, but she did it proudly, head high, and she did not have to force the words at all. “I have toh.” Her stomach was not fluttering any longer. “I ask the favor, that you will help me meet my toh.” Salidar was going to have to wait.
Leaning on his elbow, Mat examined the game of Snakes and Foxes laid out on the tent floor. Occasionally a drop of sweat fell from his chin, just missing the board. It was not a board at all, really, just a piece of red cloth with the web of lines drawn in black ink, and arrows showing which lines allowed movement only one way and which both. Ten pale wooden discs each with an inked triangle were the foxes, ten with a wavy line the snakes. Two lamps set to either side gave more than enough light.
“We will win this time, Mat,” Olver said excitedly. “I know we will.”
“Maybe,” Mat said. Their two black-stained discs were nearly back to the circle in the middle of the board, but the next roll of the dice would be for the snakes and foxes. Most of the time you did not make it as far as the outer edge. “Roll the dice.” He never touched the dice cup himself, not since the day he had given it to the boy; if they were going to play the game, it might as well be without his luck taking a hand.
With a grin, Olver rattled the leather cup and spilled out the wooden dice his father had made. He groaned as he counted the pips; this time three dice showed faces marked with a triangle, the other three wavy lines. On their turn you had to move the snakes and foxes toward your own pieces by the shortest path, and if one landed on the point you occupied. . . . A snake touched Olver, a fox Mat, and Mat could see if the rest of the pips had been played, two more snakes would have reached him.
Only a child’s game, and one you would not win so long as you followed the rules. Soon Olver would be old enough to realize that, and like other children, stop playing. Only a child’s game, but Mat did not like the fox getting him, and even less the snakes. It brought back bad memories, even if one had nothing to do with the other.
“Well,” Olver muttered, “we almost won. Another game, Mat?” Not waiting for an answer, he made the sign that opened the game, a triangle and then a wavy line through it, then chanted the words. “ ‘Courage to strengthen, fire to blind, music to dazzle, iron to bind.’ Mat, why do we say that? There is no fire, no music and no iron.”
“I don’t know.” The line tickled something in the back of his head, but he could not bring it up. The old memories from the ter’angreal might as well have been chosen at random—they probably had been—and there were all those gaps in his own, all those fuzzy places. The boy was always asking questions he did not know the answer to, usually beginning with “why.”
Daerid ducked in out of the night and gave a start of surprise. Face shining with sweat, he still had his coat on, if hanging undone. His newest scar made a pink furrow across the white lines crisscrossing his face.
“I think it’s past your bedtime, Olver,” Mat said, pushing himself up. His wounds gave a few twinges, but only a few; they were healing just fine. “Put the board up.” He stepped close to Daerid and lowered his voice to a whisper. “If you ever tell about this, I’ll cut your throat.”
“Why?” Daerid asked dryly. “You are turning into a wonderful father. He shows a remarkable resemblance to you.” He seemed to be struggling with a grin, but a moment later it was gone. “The Lord Dragon is coming into camp,” he said, as serious as death.
Thoughts of punching Daerid in the nose vanished. Mat pushed the tent flap aside and ducked into the night in his shirtsleeves. Six of Daerid’s men, in a circle around the tent, stiffened when he appeared. Crossbowmen; pikes certainly would not be much good for guards. It was night, but not dark in the camp. The bright glow of a waxing three-quarter moon in a cloudless sky was washed out by the light of fires spaced among the rows of tents and men sleeping on the ground. Sentries stood every twenty paces all the way to the log palisade. Not the way Mat would have preferred it, but if an attack could pop out of the air. . . .
The land lay nearly flat here, so he had a clear view of Rand striding toward him. Not alone. Two veiled Aiel moved on their toes, heads swiveling every time one of the Band rolled over in his sleep or
a sentry shifted his feet to watch them. That Aiel woman Aviendha was with him as well, a bundle across her back, stalking along as if she would go for the throat of anyone who got in her way. Mat did not understand why Rand kept her around. Aielwomen are nothing but trouble, he thought bleakly, and I’ve never seen a woman more set to give trouble than that one.
“Is that really the Dragon Reborn?” Olver asked breathlessly. Clutching the rolled-up game to his chest, he was almost bouncing.
“It is,” Mat told him. “Now get off to bed. This is no place for boys.”
Olver went, muttering reproachfully, but only as far as the next tent. Out of the corner of his eye Mat saw the boy dart out of sight; his face reappeared, peering around the corner.
Mat left him alone, though after getting a good look at Rand’s face, he wondered whether this was any place for grown men, let alone a boy. That face could have been used to hammer down a wall, but some emotion struggled to break through, excitement or maybe eagerness; Rand’s eyes held a fevered light. He had a wide piece of rolled parchment in one hand, while the other stroked his sword hilt unconsciously. The Dragon belt buckle glittered in the firelight; sometimes the head of one of the Dragons peeking out from his coatsleeves did too.
When he reached Mat, he wasted no time with greetings. “I need to talk to you. Alone. I need you to do something.” The night was a black oven, and Rand wore a gold-embroidered green coat with a high collar, but he was not sweating a drop.
Daerid, Talmanes and Nalesean stood a few paces away in various states of undress, watching. Mat motioned them to wait, then nodded toward his tent. Following Rand in, he fingered the silver foxhead though his shirt. He had nothing to worry about, at least. He hoped he did not.
Rand had said alone, but apparently Aviendha did not think that applied to her. She stayed a firm two paces from him, no more and no less; mostly she watched Rand with an unreadable face, but now and then she glanced at Mat, frowning and eyeing him up and down. Rand paid her no attention, and for all his seeming haste before, he showed none now. He looked around the tent, though Mat wondered uneasily whether he was seeing it. There was not much to see. Olver had set the lamps back on the small folding table. The chair folded, too, and so did the washstand and the cot. All were black-lacquered, with lines of gilt; if a man had coin, he might as well spend it on something. The slits the Aiel had made in the tent wall had been mended neatly, but they still showed.
The silence dug at Mat. “What is this, Rand? I hope you haven’t decided to change the plan at this late date.” No answer, only a look as if Rand had just remembered he was there. It made Mat nervous. Whatever Daerid and the rest of the Band thought, he worked hard at keeping clear of battles. Sometimes, though, being ta’veren worked against his luck; that was the way he saw it. He believed Rand had something to do with that; he was more strongly ta’veren, strong enough that at times Mat almost felt a pulling. When Rand put his finger in, Mat would not be surprised to find himself in the middle of a battle if he was asleep in a barn. “A few more days, and I’ll be in Tear. The ferries will take the Band across the river, and a few days beyond that will see us with Weiramon. It’s too bloody late to go meddling—”
“I want you to bring Elayne to . . . to Caemlyn,” Rand broke in. “I want you to see her safe to Caemlyn, whatever happens. Don’t leave her side until she’s on the Lion Throne.” Aviendha cleared her throat. “Yes,” Rand said. For some reason his voice went as cold and hard as his face. But then, did he need reasons if he was going mad? “Aviendha is going with you. I think it’s best.”
“You think it is best?” she said indignantly. “If I had not wakened when I did, I would never have known you had found her. You do not send me anywhere, Rand al’Thor. I must speak with Elayne for my . . . my own reasons.”
“I am very glad you’ve found Elayne,” Mat said carefully. If he was Rand, he would leave the woman wherever she was. Light, Aviendha would be better! At least Aielwomen did not walk around with their noses in the air, or think you should jump just because they said so. Of course, some of their games were on the rough side, and they did have the habit of trying to kill you now and again. “I just don’t understand why you need me. Jump through one of your gateways, give her a kiss, scoop her up and jump back.” Aviendha fastened an outraged stare on him; you would have thought he had advised kissing her.
Rand unrolled the large parchment on the table, using the lamps to hold down the ends. “This is where she is.” It was a map, a stretch of the River Eldar and maybe fifty miles or so to either side. An arrow had been drawn in blue ink, pointing into forest. “Salidar” was printed beside the arrow. Rand tapped near the eastern edge of the map. That was wooded, too; most of it was. “There is a large clearing here. You can see the nearest village is nearly twenty miles north. I’ll put a gateway through to the clearing for you and the Band.”
Mat managed to turn a wince into a grin. “Look, if it has to be me, why not just me? Make your gateway to this Salidar, I’ll toss her on a horse, and . . .” And what? Was Rand going to make a gateway from Salidar to Caemlyn as well? It was a long way to ride, from the Eldar to Caemlyn. A very long way, with only a snooty noblewoman and an Aiel for company.
“The Band, Mat,” Rand snapped. “You and the whole Band!” He drew a long shuddering breath, and his tone became milder. His face did not lose its rigidity, though, and his eyes were still feverish. Mat could almost believe he was sick, or in pain. “There are Aes Sedai in Salidar, Mat. I don’t know how many; hundreds, I’ve heard, but I won’t be surprised if it is closer to fifty. The way they go on about the Tower, whole and pure, I doubt you’ll see more. I mean to put you out two or three days away so they can learn you’re coming. No point in startling them—they might think you were a Whitecloak attack. They’re rebels against Elaida, and probably frightened enough that you won’t have to do more than loom a little and say Elayne has to be crowned in Caemlyn to make them let her go. If you think they can be trusted, offer your protection. And mine; they’re supposed to be on my side, and they might be glad of even my protection by now. Then you escort Elayne—and as many of the Aes Sedai as want to come—straight across Altara and Murandy to Caemlyn. Show my banners, announce what you’re doing, and I don’t think the Altarans or Murandians will give much trouble, not as long as you keep moving. If you find any Dragonsworn along the way, gather them in as well. Most will probably turn to bandits if I don’t tie a rope to them soon—I’ve heard a rumor or two already—but you will draw them, flying my banners.” His sudden grin showed teeth, but never touched those hot eyes. “How many birds with one stone, Mat? You ride through Altara and Murandy with six thousand men and draw the Dragonsworn out after you, and you may hand me both countries.”
There was so much in that to set Mat’s teeth on edge that he no longer cared whether Rand had ten sore teeth and both boots full of cockleburrs. Make Aes Sedai think he meant to attack them? Indeed not. And he was supposed to intimidate fifty of them? Aes Sedai did not frighten him, maybe not even five or six together, but fifty? He touched the foxhead through his shirt again before he realized it; he might just find out how lucky he really was. As for riding across Altara and Murandy, he could see it now. Every noble whose lands he crossed would swell up like a strutting rooster and try to peck him the moment his back was turned. If that ta’veren madness came into it, he would probably find some lord or lady gathering an army right in front of him.
He made one more try. “Rand, don’t you think this might draw Sammael’s eyes north? You want him looking east. That is why I’m here, remember? To make him look this way.”
Rand shook his head emphatically. “All he’ll see is a guard of honor escorting the Queen of Andor to Caemlyn, and that’s if he learns of it before you reach Caemlyn. How quickly can you be ready?”
Mat opened his mouth, then gave it up. He was not going to budge the man. “Two hours.” The Band could be booted and in their saddles faster, but he was in no hurry, and t
he last thing he wanted was the Band thinking they were moving on the attack.
“Good. I need an hour or so myself.” For what, he did not say. “Stay close to Elayne, Mat. Keep her safe. I mean, there’s no point to this if she doesn’t reach Caemlyn alive for her coronation.” Did Rand think he did not know about him and Elayne canoodling in every corner of the Stone the last time they were together?
“I’ll treat her like my own sister.” His sisters had done their best to make his life miserable. Well, he expected the same from Elayne, just in a different way. Maybe Aviendha would be a little better. “She won’t get out of my sight until I plunk her down in the Royal Palace.” And if she tries Mistress Snoot on with me too often, I’ll bloody well kick her!
Rand nodded. “That reminds me. Bodewhin is in Caemlyn. With Verin and Alanna, and some more Two Rivers girls. They’re on their way to train for Aes Sedai. I’m not sure where they will do it; I am certainly not letting them go to the Tower the way things are. Maybe the Aes Sedai you bring back will take care of it.”
Mat gaped. His sister, Aes Sedai? Bode, who used to run tell their mother every time he did anything that was fun?
“Another thing,” Rand went on. “Egwene may be in Salidar before you. I think somehow they found out she’s been calling herself Aes Sedai. Do what you can to get her out of it. Tell her I will get her back to the Wise Ones as soon as I can. She’ll probably be more than ready to go with you. Maybe not, though; you know how stubborn she’s always been. The main thing is Elayne. Remember, don’t leave her side till she reaches Caemlyn.”
The Wheel of Time Page 573