The Wheel of Time, page 589
He danced a short time with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, a slim yet buxom armful who wanted to know all about Mat Cauthon. Very flattering, especially when she had asked him to step out. But after a while he noticed that Halima had a way of brushing against him, a way of leaning to look at something so he could not help seeing down her dress. He might have enjoyed it, if not for the fact that she glanced at his face every time with a sharp eye and an amused smile. She was not a very good dancer—she kept trying to lead, for one thing—and he finally begged off.
It should have been nothing, but before he had gone ten paces the fox head went icy cold on his chest. He spun around, looking furiously for anything at all. What he saw was Halima staring at him in the firelight. Only for an instant before she seized a tall Warder’s arm and whirled back into the dance, but he was sure he had seen shock on that beautiful face.
The fiddles were wailing a tune he recognized. At least, one of his old memories did, not very much changed considering the passage of well over a thousand years. The words must have changed altogether, for the old words that echoed in his head would never have found favor here.
Give me your trust, said the Aes Sedai.
On my shoulders I support the sky.
Trust me to know and to do what is best,
And I will take care of the rest.
But trust is the color of a dark seed growing.
Trust is the color of a heart’s blood flowing.
Trust is the color of a soul’s last breath.
Trust is the color of death.
“Aes Sedai?” a plump young woman said contemptuously to his question. She was pretty, and he might have tried for a bit of kiss and cuddle in different circumstances. “Halima’s just Delana Sedai’s secretary. Always teasing the men, she is. Like a child with a new toy; teasing just to see if she can. She’d be in hot water to her neck ten times over if Delana didn’t protect her.”
Give me your trust, said the queen on her throne,
for I must bear the burden all alone.
Trust me to lead and to judge and to rule,
and no man will think you a fool.
But trust is the sound of the grave-dog’s bark.
Trust is the sound of betrayal in the dark.
Trust is, the sound of a soul’s last breath.
Trust is the sound of death.
Maybe he had been mistaken. Maybe she had just been shocked that he walked off. Not many men would walk away from a woman who looked like that, no matter how she teased or danced. That had to be it. But that left the question of who and why. He looked around, at the dancers, and the people watching from the edge of the shadows and waiting their turns. The golden-haired Hunter for the Horn who had seemed familiar went spinning by with a particularly lumpy-faced fellow, her braid almost standing out behind her. Mat could pick out Aes Sedai by their faces—most of them he could—but there was no way to tell which had tried to . . . whatever it was she had tried.
He strode on down the street to the next bonfire as much to get away from that song as anything, before it went on through “the king on high” and “the lady and lord” to “the love of your life” in his head. In that old memory he remembered writing that song, because of the love of his life. Trust is the taste of death. At that next corner a fiddler and a woman with a flute were playing what sounded like “Fluff the Feathers,” a good country dance.
How far could he trust Egwene? She was Aes Sedai now; she must be, if she was Amyrlin, even a ragtag Amyrlin in a ragtag village. Well, whatever she was, she was Egwene; he could not believe she would strike at him out of the dark that way. Of course, Nynaeve might, though not to injure him really. His hip still hurt, though; the bruise had made a knot. And the Light only knew what a woman like Elayne might do. They were still trying to chase him away, he decided. He could probably expect more attempts. The best thing was to ignore them; he almost hoped they did try again. They could not touch him with the Power, and the more they tried and failed, why, the more they would have to see he was not to be budged.
Myrelle came to stand beside him, watching the dancers. He remembered her, vaguely. He did not think she knew anything dangerous about him. He did not think so. She was not as beautiful as Halima, of course, but still much more than merely pretty. Flickering shadows washed her face so he could almost forget she was Aes Sedai.
“A warm night,” she said, smiling, and went on in such a casual way while he enjoyed looking at her that it took him some time to realize what she was getting at.
“I don’t think so,” he said politely when she gave an opening. This was what came of forgetting; Aes Sedai were Aes Sedai.
She only smiled. “There would be many advantages, and I would not try to pin you to my skirts. Many advantages. You’ve chosen a perilous life, or had it chosen for you. A Warder might have a better chance of survival.”
“I really don’t think so. No, but thank you for the offer.”
“Think on it, Mat. Unless. . . . Has the Amyrlin bonded you?”
“No.” Egwene would not do that. Would she? She could not so long as he wore the medallion, but would she if he did not have it? “If you will excuse me?” He gave her a shallow bow and walked quickly to where a pretty, blue-eyed young woman was tapping her foot to the music. She had a sweet mouth, just right for kissing, and he bloody well wanted to enjoy himself. “I saw your eyes, and I couldn’t help coming over. Will you dance?”
Too late he saw the Great Serpent ring on her right hand, and then that sweet mouth opened and a voice he recognized said dryly, “I asked you once whether you’d be there when the house was burning down, boy, but it seems you make a habit of jumping into fires. Now go away and find somebody who wants to dance with you.”
Siuan Sanche! She was stilled and dead! She was glaring at him with some young woman’s face she had stolen, was what she was, and wearing an Aes Sedai ring! He had asked Siuan Sanche to dance!
While he was still staring, a willowy young Domani woman swirled up in a pale green dress thin enough for the light of the bonfire to silhouette her through it. Giving Siuan a frosty look that was returned with interest, the Domani all but snatched him out among the dancers. She was as tall as an Aiel woman, dark eyes actually a little higher than his. “I am Leane, by the way,” she said in a voice like a honeyed caress, “in case you did not recognize me.” Her low laugh was almost a caress too.
He jumped and nearly fumbled the first turn. She also wore the ring. He moved by rote. Tall or not, she was a feather in his hands, a gliding swan, but that was certainly not enough to stop the question that kept popping in his head like an Illuminator’s fireworks. How? How under the Light? To top it all, when the dance was done, she said, “You are a very good dancer,” in that stroking voice, and then kissed him about as thoroughly as he had ever been kissed. He was so shocked he did not even try to get away. Sighing, she patted his cheek. “A very good dancer. Think of it as dancing next time, and you will do better.” And off she went laughing, back into the dance with some fellow she snagged from the onlookers.
Mat decided he had had as much as one man could take in a night. He went back to the stable and went to sleep, with his saddle for a pillow. His dreams would have been pleasant, except that they all involved Myrelle and Siuan and Leane and Halima. When it came to dreams, a man just naturally lacked the sense to pour water out of a boot.
The next day had to be better, he thought, especially when dawn found Vanin in the loft, asleep on his saddle. Talmanes understood and would hold where he was; Warders had been seen watching the Band’s preparations, no doubt letting themselves be seen, but no one had come near the Band. A less pleasant surprise was finding Olver’s gray in the yard behind the stable, and Olver himself curled up in his blankets in a corner.
“You need somebody to watch your back,” he told Mat darkly. “She cannot be trusted.” There was no need for him to name Aviendha.
Olver had no interest in playing with the children in the village, so Mat had to endure the stares and smiles as the boy trailed him around Salidar, doing his best to imitate a Warder’s flowing stride and looking nine ways at once for Aviendha. Who was still nowhere to be seen, any more than Elayne or Nynaeve. And “the Amyrlin” was still busy. Thom and Juilin were also “busy.” Vanin managed to hear a few things, but nothing that made Mat happy. If Nynaeve had really Healed Siuan and Leane, she would be worse than ever; she had always had a large opinion of herself, and after doing what could not be done, her head would be bigger than a dewmelon. Yet that was the mildest of it. Logain and the Red Ajah made Mat wince. That sounded the sort of thing no Aes Sedai would forgive. If Gareth Bryne was leading their army, it was no mob of farmers and street sweepings with a few Warders for stiffening. Add in the foodstuffs Vanin saw being wrapped or stuck in barrels for travel, and it sounded like trouble. The worst kind of trouble Mat could imagine, short of finding one of the Forsaken across the table from him and a dozen Trollocs coming in the door. None of it made them any less fools; it made them very dangerous fools. Thom and his “help them make it work.” If the gleeman ever came out of hiding, maybe he could pull a “how” out of one of his tales.
In the evening Myrelle spoke to him again about becoming a Warder, and went a little tight around the eyes when he told her hers would be the fifth offer he had refused since sunup. He was not sure she believed him; she flounced off in as much of a huff as he had ever seen from an Aes Sedai. It was true, though. The very first, while he was still trying to eat breakfast, had been the very Delana that Halima worked for, a stout pale-haired woman with watery blue eyes who came close to trying to bully him into it. That night he stayed away from the dancing and went to sleep with music and laughter in his ears; they sounded sour this time.
It was midafternoon of his second full day in Salidar when a girl in a white dress, pretty and freckled and working very hard at an icy dignity that she almost reached, found him with a summons, and it was exactly that. “You will present yourself before the Amyrlin Seat at once.” Full stop, and not another word. Mat motioned her to lead; it seemed proper, and she seemed to like doing it.
They were all there in that room in the Little Tower, Egwene and Nynaeve, Elayne and Aviendha, though he had to look twice to recognize the Aiel woman in a blue dress of fine wool with a lace collar and cuffs. At least neither Aviendha nor Elayne was trying to strangle the other, but they were both stony-faced. Which made them no different from Egwene and Nynaeve. Not a flicker of expression in the four, and all eyes on him. He managed to hold his tongue while Egwene laid out his choices as she saw them, sitting behind the table with that striped stole draped on her shoulders.
“Should you think you can do neither,” she finished, “remember that I can have you tied to your horse and returned to your Band of the Hand. There is no room in Salidar for slackers and malingerers. I will not allow it. For you, Mat, it’s either Ebou Dar with Elayne and Nynaeve, or off to see who you can impress with flags and banners.”
Which really left no choice at all, of course. When he said so, nobody’s expression changed. If anything, Nynaeve grew more wooden. And Egwene just said, “I’m glad that is done, Mat. Now, I have a thousand things to do. I will try to see you before you go.” Dismissed like a stableboy; the Amyrlin was busy. The least she could have done was toss him a copper.
That was why Mat’s third morning in Salidar found him just outside it, on the cleared ground between village and forest. “They may stay right here till I get back,” he told Talmanes, glancing over his shoulder toward the houses. They would be coming soon, and he did not want any of this getting back to Egwene. She would try to drive a spike through it if she could. “I hope so, anyway. If they move, follow wherever they go, but never close enough to frighten. And if a young woman named Egwene shows up, you ask no questions, just take her and ride to Caemlyn if you have to cut a hole through Gareth Bryne.” Of course, they might be intending to go to Caemlyn; there might be a chance. He was afraid it was Tar Valon they were aiming at, though; Tar Valon and the headsman’s axe. “And take Nerim with you.”
Talmanes shook his head. “If you are taking Nalesean, I will be offended if you do not let me send my man to care for your things.” Mat wished Talmanes would smile once in a while; it would help to know when he was serious. He certainly sounded serious.
Nerim stood a little distance off, with Pips, and his own short plump brown mare towering over him, and two packhorses with wicker panniers stuffed to the top. Nalesean’s man, a stout fellow named Lopin, only led one pack animal in addition to his hammer-nosed gelding and Nalesean’s tall black stallion.
That was not all the party. No one seemed ready to tell him more than where to be and when, but in the middle of yet another talk about becoming a Warder, Myrelle had let him know it was now all right for him to communicate with the Band so long as he did not try to bring them nearer Salidar. That had been the last thing in his mind. Vanin was there this morning because he could probably spy out the lay of the land anywhere, and a dozen cavalrymen chosen from the Band for heavy shoulders and having kept order well as Redarms back in Maerone. From what Nalesean said, quick fists and cudgels should be able to quell any inconvenience Nynaeve and Elayne got into, at least long enough to spirit them away. Last of all was Olver on the gray he had named Wind, which the leggy animal might even deserve. Olver had been no hard choice. The Band might well find trouble if they actually had to follow that lot of madwomen. Maybe not trouble with Bryne, but enough nobles would bristle at two armies crossing their lands to provide nightly attempts at the horses and arrows flying from every second thicket. Any city had to be safer than that for a boy.
Still no sign of any Aes Sedai, and the sun beginning to bake above the treetops.
Mat jerked his hat down irritably. “Nalesean knows Ebou Dar, Talmanes.” The Tairen grinned through his sweat and nodded. Talmanes’ face did not change. “Oh, all right. Nerim comes.” Talmanes inclined his head; maybe he had been serious.
At last there was a stir in the village, a group of women leading horses. Not just Elayne and Nynaeve, though he had not expected anyone else. Aviendha wore a gray riding dress, but she looked at her lean dun mare more than doubtfully. That Hunter with the golden braid showed more confidence with a heavy-haunched mouse-colored gelding and seemed to be trying to convince Aviendha of something about her mare. What was either of them doing there? There were two Aes Sedai, as well—other Aes Sedai besides Nynaeve and Elayne, he supposed he should say—slender women with white hair, which he had not seen on an Aes Sedai before. An old fellow trailed after them with a packhorse in addition to his own mount, a stringy man without much hair and that gray. It took Mat a moment to realize he was a Warder, with one of those color-shifting cloaks hanging down his back. That was what being a Warder meant; Aes Sedai worked you till your hair fell out, then probably worked your bones after you were dead.
Thom and Juilin came not far behind, and they had a packhorse too. The women stopped some fifty paces to the left with their aged Warder, not so much as looking at Mat and his men. The gleeman glanced at Nynaeve and the others, then spoke to Juilin, and they led their horses toward Mat, stopping short as if uncertain of their welcome. Mat went to them.
“I have to apologize, Mat,” Thom said, knuckling his mustaches. “Elayne put it in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t to talk with you further. She only relented this morning. In a weak moment some months back I promised to follow her orders, and she flings it in my face at the most awkward times. She wasn’t very pleased that I had said as much as I did.”
“Nynaeve threatened to punch my eye if I went near you,” Juilin said glumly, leaning on his bamboo staff. He was wearing a red Taraboner cap that could not give much protection from the sun, and even that looked glum.
Mat looked toward the women. Nynaeve was peeking at him over her saddle, but when she saw him looking, she ducked behind her horse, a plump brown mare. He would not have thought even Nynaeve could beat Juilin down, but the dark thief-taker was a far cry from the man he had known briefly in Tear. That Juilin had been ready for anything; this Juilin, with a permanently furrowed brow, looked as if he never stopped worrying. “We will teach her some manners this trip, Juilin. Thom, I’m the one who has to apologize. What I said about the letter. It was the heat talking, and worry over fool women. I hope it was good news.” Too late he remembered what Thom had said. He had left the woman who wrote that letter to die.
But Thom only shrugged. Mat did not know what to make of him without his gleeman’s cloak. “Good news? I haven’t puzzled that out yet. Often you don’t know whether a woman is friend, enemy or lover until it is too late. Sometimes, she is all three.” Mat expected a laugh, but Thom frowned and sighed. “Women always seem to like making themselves mysterious, Mat. I can give you an example. Do you remember Aludra?”
Mat had to think. “The Illuminator we kept from getting her throat slit in Aringill?”
“The very one. Juilin and I met her during our travels, and she didn’t know me. Not that she failed to recognize me; you say things to a stranger you travel with, to get to know them. Aludra did not want to know me, and even if I didn’t know why, I saw no reason to impose. I met her a stranger and left her a stranger. Now, would you call her a friend or an enemy?”
“Maybe a lover,” Mat said dryly. He would not mind meeting Aludra again; she had given him some fireworks that proved very useful. “If you want to know about women, ask Perrin, not me. I don’t know anything at all. I used to think Rand knew, but Perrin surely does.” Elayne was talking with the two white-haired Aes Sedai under the Hunter’s watchful eye. One of the older Aes Sedai gazed in Mat’s direction consideringly. They had the same sort of bearing Elayne did, cool as a queen on her bloody throne. “Well, with luck I won’t have to put up with them long,” he muttered to himself. “With luck, whatever they’re doing won’t take long, and we can be back here in five or ten days.” With luck, he might be back before the Band had to begin shadowing the madwomen. Tracking not one army but two would be easy as stealing a pie, of course, but he did not look forward to any more days in Elayne’s company than necessary.
