The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  The trees stood tall enough to have allowed a breeze to stir under the sparse canopy overhead, but the Red Hand banner hung limp, and so did the two he had dug out once Rand put them through that gateway into a night-covered meadow, a Dragon banner, the red-and-gold shape hidden in white folds, and one of those the Band called Al’Thor’s Banner, the ancient Aes Sedai symbol also thankfully wrapped inside. A grizzled senior bannerman had the Red Hand, a fellow with narrow eyes and more scars than Daerid who insisted on actually carrying the banner a part of each day, which few bannermen did. Talmanes and Daerid had supplied second squadmen for the other two, fresh-faced young men who had shown themselves steady enough for a little responsibility.

  Three days they had come across Altara, three days in forest without sight of a single Dragonsworn—or anyone else for that matter—and Mat hoped to stretch their loneliness at least through this fourth before reaching Salidar. Aside from Aes Sedai, there was the problem of how to keep Aviendha from Elayne’s throat. He had few doubts why she kept sharpening that knife; the edge glittered like gemstones. He was very much afraid he was going to end taking the Aiel woman to Caemlyn under guard, with the bloody Daughter-Heir demanding he hang her every step of the way. Rand and his bloody women! In Mat’s view, anything that slowed the Band and kept him from the stew he expected in Salidar was to the good. Halting early and marching late helped. So did the supply wagons at the rear, slow as they were in the forest. But the Band could ride only so slowly. All too soon Vanin was sure to find something.

  As if thinking his name had been a summons, the fat scout appeared through the trees ahead with four riders. He had gone out before dawn with six.

  Mat raised a clenched fist, signaling a halt, and murmurs passed down the column. His first order on leaving the gateway had been “no drums, no trumpets, no flutes and no bloody singing,” and if there had been a few glum faces in the beginning, after the first day in that wooded terrain, where you could never see clearly more than a hundred paces and seldom so far, no one objected at all.

  Resting his spear across his saddle, Mat waited until Vanin pulled up and casually knuckled his forehead. “You found them?”

  The balding man leaned to one side in his saddle to spit through a gap in his teeth. He was sweating so much he looked to be melting. “I found them. Eight or ten miles west. There’s Warders in those woods. I saw one take Mar; just came out nothing in one of those cloaks and swept him out of the saddle. Roughed him considerably, but didn’t kill him, though. I expect Ladwin didn’t show up for the same reason.”

  “So they know we’re here.” Mat breathed heavily through his nose. He did not expect either man would hold back anything from Warders, much less Aes Sedai. But then, the Aes Sedai had to know sooner or later. He had just wanted it to be later. He slapped at a bluefly, but it buzzed away leaving a spot of blood on his wrist. “How many?”

  Vanin spat again. “More than I ever figured to see. I got into the village afoot, and there was Aes Sedai faces all over. Two, three hundred, maybe. Maybe four. I didn’t want to be too obvious, counting.” Before that shock had time to settle, the man delivered another. “They got an army, too. Camped to the north, mainly. More than you got. Maybe twice as many.”

  Talmanes and Nalesean and Daerid had ridden up during that, sweating and swatting flies and bitemes. “Did you hear?” Mat asked, and they nodded soberly. His battle luck was all very well, yet being outnumbered two to one, with hundreds of Aes Sedai thrown into the bargain, could strain any luck. “We aren’t here to fight,” he reminded them, but their long faces remained. For that matter, the remark did not make him feel better either. What counted was whether the Aes Sedai wanted this army of theirs to fight.

  “Prepare the Band to be attacked,” he ordered. “Clear as much ground as you can, and use the logs to make barricades.” Talmanes grimaced nearly as hard as Nalesean; they liked to be in the saddle and moving when they fought. “Think. There may be Warders watching us right now.” He was surprised to see Vanin nod and glance off to their right in a significant way. “If they see us readying to defend, then plainly we don’t mean to attack. It might make them decide to leave us alone, and if it doesn’t, at least we’re ready.” That got through, to Talmanes faster than Nalesean. Daerid had been nodding from the start.

  Giving his oiled beard a twist, Nalesean muttered, “What do you intend to do then? Just sit and wait for them?”

  “That’s what you’re going to do,” Mat told him. Burn Rand and his “maybe fifty Aes Sedai”! Burn him and his “loom a little; intimidate them”! Waiting right there until somebody came out from the village to ask who they were and what they wanted seemed a very good idea. No ta’veren twisting this time. Any battle was going to have to come to him; he was not about to walk into it.

  “They are that way?” Aviendha said, pointing. Without waiting for an answer, she settled her bundle on her back and began striding west.

  Mat stared after her. Bloody Aiel. Some Warder would probably try to take her too, and have his head handed to him. Or maybe not, Warders being Warders; if she tried to put a knife in one of those, he might just hurt her. Besides which, if she got to Elayne and began hair-pulling over Rand, or worse, stuck a knife in her. . . . She was moving along quickly, almost trotting, eager to reach Salidar. Blood and bloody ashes!

  “Talmanes, you have the command until I get back, but you don’t stir unless somebody jumps on the Band with both boots. These four will tell you what you might have to face. Vanin, you’re with me. Olver, stay close to Daerid, in case he needs messages carried. You can teach him to play Snakes and Foxes,” he added with a grin at Daerid. “He tells me he’d like to learn.” Daerid’s jaw dropped, but Mat had already moved on. A fine thing if he ended up hauled into Salidar by a Warder with a lump on his head. How to reduce the chance of that? The banners caught his eye. “You stay here,” he told the grizzled bannerman. “You other two come with me. And keep those things furled.”

  His strange little party caught up to Aviendha quickly. If anything could convince the Warders to let them through unhindered, one look should. No threat in a woman and four men, and obviously making no effort to avoid notice, not carrying two banners. He checked the second squadmen. There was still no breeze, but they held the banners clutched to the staffs. Their faces were tight. Only a fool would want to ride in among Aes Sedai and have those spread in a sudden breeze.

  Aviendha glanced at him sideways, then tried to push his boot out of the stirrup. “Let me up,” she ordered curtly.

  Why under the Light did she want to ride now? Well, he was not going to have her scrambling up and very likely knocking him out of the saddle in the process; he had seen Aiel get on a horse once or twice.

  Slapping another fly, he leaned down and caught her hand. “Hold on,” he said, and heaved her up behind him with a grunt. She was nearly as tall as he was, and solid to boot. “Just put your arm around my waist.” She only gave him a look and twisted about awkwardly until she sat astride, legs bared above the knee and not at all concerned with it. Nice legs, but he would not have involved himself with another Aiel woman even if she was not moonstruck over Rand.

  After a time, she spoke to his back. “The boy, Olver. The Shaido killed his father?”

  Mat nodded without looking around at her. Would he even see any Warders before it was too late? Leading the way, Vanin rode slumped like a sack of suet as always, but he had a sharp eye out.

  “His mother died of hunger?” Aviendha asked.

  “That, or maybe sickness.” Warders wore those cloaks that could blend into anything. You could walk past one without seeing him. “Olver wasn’t too clear, and I didn’t press him. He buried her himself. Why? Do you think you owe him something since Aiel cost him his family?”

  “Owe?” She sounded startled. “I killed neither, and if I had, they were treekillers. How would I have toh?” Without a pause she went on as if continuing in the same line. “You do not care for him properly, Mat
Cauthon. I know men know nothing about raising children, but he is too young to spend all of his time with grown men.”

  Mat did look at her then, and blinked. She had her headkerchief off and was busily running a polished greenstone comb through her dark reddish hair. That seemed to be taking all her concentration. That and not falling off. She had donned an intricately worked silver necklace, too, and a wide bracelet of carved ivory.

  Shaking his head, he went back to studying the forest. Aiel or not, they were all alike in some ways. If the world is ending, a woman will want time to fix her hair. If the world’s ending, a woman will take time to tell a man something he’s done wrong. It would have been enough to make him chuckle if he was not so busy wondering whether Warders were watching him right that moment.

  The sun climbed to its zenith and tipped over by the time the forest gave way abruptly. Fewer than a hundred paces of cleared ground separated trees from village, and the ground looked as if it had not been cleared long. Salidar itself was a considerable village of gray stone buildings and thatched roofs, and the streets were full and busy. Mat shrugged into his coat; the finest green wool, embroidered with gold on cuffs and tall collar, it should be good enough to meet Aes Sedai in. He left it hanging open, though; even for Aes Sedai he would not die from heat.

  No one tried to stop him as they rode in, but people paused and every eye turned to him and his strange little company. They knew, all right. Everyone knew. He gave up counting Aes Sedai faces after reaching fifty; that number was reached too quickly for any peace of mind. There were no soldiers in the crowd, unless you counted Warders, some in those color-shifting cloaks, some fingering a sword hilt as they watched him pass. No soldiers in the village simply meant they were all in the camps Vanin had mentioned. And all the soldiers being in the camps meant they were ready to do something. Mat hoped Talmanes was holding to his instructions. Talmanes had some sense, but he could be almost as eager to go off and charge somebody as Nalesean. He would have left Daerid in charge—Daerid had seen too many battles to be eager—but the noblemen would never have stood for it. There did not seem to be any flies in Salidar, either. Maybe they know something I don’t.

  A woman caught his eye, a pretty woman in odd clothes, wide yellow trousers and a short white coat, her golden hair in an elaborate braid to her waist. She was carrying a bow, of all things. Not many women took up the bow. She saw him looking and ducked down a narrow alleyway. Something about her tickled his memory, but he could not say what. That was one trouble with all those old memories; he was always seeing people who reminded him of somebody who turned out to be a thousand years dead when he finally figured it out. Maybe he had even really seen somebody who looked like her. Those holes in what he remembered of his own life were fuzzy around the edges. Probably another Hunter for the Horn, he thought wryly, and put her out of his head.

  There was no point in riding about until somebody spoke, because it seemed nobody was going to. Mat reined in and nodded to a thin, dark-haired woman who looked up at him, coolly questioning. Pretty, but too skinny for his taste even without that ageless face. Who wanted to be poked by bones every time you gave a hug? “My name is Mat Cauthon,” he said neutrally. If she wanted bowing and scraping, she could take a leap, but antagonizing her would just be foolish. “I’m looking for Elayne Trakand and Egwene al’Vere. And Nynaeve al’Meara, I suppose.” Rand had not mentioned her, but she had gone off with Elayne, he knew.

  The Aes Sedai blinked in surprise, yet serenity returned in a flash. She studied him and the others one by one, pausing on Aviendha, then looked at the squadmen so long Mat wondered whether she could see the Dragon and the black-and-white disc through the folded cloth. “Follow me,” she said finally. “I will see whether the Amyrlin Seat can see you.” Gathering her skirts, she started up the street.

  As Mat heeled Pips to follow, Vanin let his dun drop back and muttered, “Asking Aes Sedai for anything is never a good notion. I could have shown you where to go.” He jerked his head toward a three-story stone cube ahead. “They call it the Little Tower.”

  Mat shrugged uneasily. The Little Tower? And they had somebody here they called the Amyrlin Seat? He doubted the woman had meant Elaida. Rand was wrong again. This lot were not frightened. They were too puffed-up crazy to be frightened.

  In front of the stone cube, the skinny Aes Sedai said peremptorily, “Wait here,” and vanished inside.

  Aviendha slipped to the ground, and Mat followed quickly, ready to grab her if she tried to dart away. Even if it cost him a little blood he was not going to let her run off and slit Elayne’s throat before he even had a chance to talk to this so-called Amyrlin. But she only stood there, staring straight ahead with hands folded at her waist and shawl looped over her elbows. She looked completely at her ease, but he thought she might well be terrified out of her skull. If she had any sense, she was. They had collected a crowd.

  Aes Sedai had begun gathering, closing them in against the front of their Little Tower, silently peering at him, and the arc of women thickened the longer he stood there. Actually, they seemed to peer at Aviendha as much as him, but he felt all of those cool, unreadable gazes. He barely stopped himself from fingering the silver foxhead hanging beneath his shirt.

  A plain-faced Aes Sedai pushed to the front of the crowd, leading a slender young woman in white, with big eyes. He vaguely remembered Anaiya, but she hardly seemed interested in him at all. “Are you sure, child?” she asked the novice.

  The young woman’s mouth tightened slightly, but she certainly let no irritation into her voice. “He still seems to glow, or shine. I really do see it. I just don’t know why.”

  Anaiya gave her a delighted smile. “He’s ta’veren, Nicola. You’ve uncovered your first Talent. You can see ta’veren. Now back to the class with you. Quickly. You don’t want to fall behind.” Nicola bobbed a curtsy and, with a last glance at Mat, burrowed away through the encircling Aes Sedai.

  Anaiya turned her gaze on him then, one of those Aes Sedai gazes that were meant to unsettle a man. It unsettled him right enough. Of course some Aes Sedai knew about him—some knew a good deal more than he could wish, and come to think it, he seemed to remember that Anaiya was one of those—but having things announced that way, in front of the Light knew how many women with those cool Aes Sedai eyes. . . . His hands stroked the carved haft of his spear. Foxhead or no foxhead, there were enough of them to simply lay hands on him and carry him off. Bloody Aes Sedai! Bloody Rand!

  He only held Anaiya’s interest for a moment, though. Stepping up to Aviendha, she said, “And what is your name, child?” Her tone was pleasant, but it expected an answer and no delay about it.

  Aviendha faced her squarely, a head taller and using every hair of it. “I am Aviendha, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel.” Anaiya’s mouth quirked toward a smile at the note of defiance.

  Mat wondered who was going to win that staring match, but before he could make a bet with himself, another Aes Sedai joined them, a woman whose bony-cheeked face gave an impression of age despite smooth cheeks and glossy brown hair. “Do you be aware you can channel, girl?”

  “I am,” Aviendha said curtly and snapped her mouth shut as if intending to say no more. She concentrated on adjusting her shawl, but she had said enough. Aes Sedai swarmed in around her, crowding Mat away.

  “How old are you, child?”

  “You have developed much strength, but you could learn very much as a novice.”

  “Do many Aiel girls die of a wasting sickness when they are a few years younger than you?”

  “How long have you . . . ?”

  “You could. . . .”

  “You really should. . . .”

  “You must. . . .”

  Nynaeve appeared in the doorway so suddenly she seemed to pop out of the air. Planting her fists on her hips, she stared at Mat. “What are you doing here, Matrim Cauthon? How did you get here? I suppose it’s too much to hope you have anything to do with this army of D
ragonsworn that’s about to descend on us.”

  “Actually,” he said dryly, “I am in command.”

  “You . . . !” Nynaeve stood there with her mouth open, then gave herself a shake, tugging at her blue dress as if it had been disarrayed. It was cut lower than anything he remembered seeing her wear before, low enough to show cleavage, with yellow scrollwork around the neckline and hem. Altogether different from what she had worn back home. “Well, come with me,” she said sharply. “I’ll take you to the Amyrlin.”

  “Mat Cauthon,” Aviendha called, a touch breathily. She was looking over and around Aes Sedai to find him. “Mat Cauthon.” Just that, but for an Aiel, she looked frantic.

  The Aes Sedai surrounding her kept right on, voices calm, reasonable and relentless.

  “For you, the best thing, it is to. . . .”

  “You must consider. . . .”

  “Much the best. . . .”

  “You can hardly think of. . . .”

  Mat grinned. She might pull her knife in a moment, but in that crowd he doubted it would do her much good. She would not be hunting up Elayne any time soon, that was for sure. Wondering whether he would return to find her wearing a white dress, he tossed his spear up to Vanin. “Lead on, Nynaeve. Let’s see this Amyrlin of yours.”