The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  She gave him a tight frown and led him inside tugging at her braid and muttering only partly to herself. “This is Rand’s doing, isn’t it? I know it is. Somehow it is. Frightening everybody half out of their wits. You just watch your step, Lord General Cauthon, or I swear you will wish I’d caught you stealing blueberries again. Frightening people! Even a man should have more sense! You stop that grinning, Mat Cauthon. I do not know what she’s going to make of this.”

  There were Aes Sedai at the tables inside—it had the feel of a common room to him, even with those careful Aes Sedai scribbling or handing out orders—but they hardly more than glanced at him and Nynaeve as they crossed the room. It only went to show what a raree-show they were running here. An Accepted stalking through muttering to herself, and not a one of those Aes Sedai said a word. He had stayed in the Tower as short a time as he could manage, but he knew that was not the way Aes Sedai ran things.

  At the rear of the room, Nynaeve pushed open a door that had seen better days. Everything in the place seemed to have seen better days. Mat followed her in—and stopped dead. There was Elayne, pretty as anything with that golden hair, but playing at the grand lady with every inch of her, in green silk with a high lace neck, and one of those condescending smiles, and raised eyebrows. And there was Egwene, seated behind a table, a questioning smile on her face. And a seven-striped stole over her pale yellow dress. Taking a quick peek outside, he shoved the door to before any of the Aes Sedai could see in.

  “Maybe you think this is funny,” he growled, crossing the bit of carpet as fast as he could step, “but they’ll have your hide if they find out. They’ll never bloody let you go, any of you, if they—” Snatching the stole from Egwene’s neck, he hauled her hurriedly out of the chair—and the silver foxhead went dead cold against his chest.

  Giving Egwene a small shove away from the table, he glared at them. Egwene only looked puzzled, but Nynaeve’s mouth was hanging open again, and Elayne’s big blue eyes looked ready to pop out onto the floor. One of them had tried to use the Power on him. The only good thing that had come out of his trip into that ter’angreal was the foxhead medallion. He supposed it had to be a ter’angreal too, but he was grateful for it just the same. So long as it touched his skin, the One Power could not reach him. Not saidar, anyway; he had more proof of that than he cared for. It did go cold when someone tried, though.

  Tossing the stole and his hat onto the table, he sat down, then hiked up from the seat to pull out some cushions and throw them on the floor. He rested a boot on the edge of the table and regarded the fool women. “You’ll need those cushions if this so-called Amyrlin finds out about this little joke of yours.”

  “Mat,” Egwene began in a firm voice, but he cut her off.

  “No! If you wanted to talk, you should have talked instead of lashing out with your bloody Power. Now you can listen.”

  “How did you . . . ?” Elayne said wonderingly. “The flows just . . . vanished.”

  At almost the same instant, Nynaeve said in a threatening tone, “Mat Cauthon, you are making the biggest—”

  “I said listen!” He poked a finger at Elayne. “You, I’m taking back to Caemlyn, if I can keep Aviendha from killing you. If you don’t want that pretty throat slit, you stay close to me and do what I say, no questions!” The finger shifted to Egwene. “Rand says he’ll send you back to the Wise Ones whenever you want, and if what I’ve seen so far is any indication what you get up to, my advice is to take him up on it now! It seems you know how to Travel”—Egwene gave a small start—“so you can make a gateway to Caemlyn for the Band. I don’t want any argument, Egwene! And you, Nynaeve! I ought to leave you here, but if you want to come, you can. Only, I’m warning you. You yank that braid at me just once, and I swear I’ll warm your bottom!”

  They were staring at him as if he had sprouted horns like a Trolloc, but at least they were keeping their mouths shut. Maybe he had managed to get a little sense into their heads. Not that they would ever thank him for saving their hides. Oh, no; not them. As usual, they would say they would have worked everything out for themselves in just a little while longer. If a woman told you you were interfering when you pulled her out of a dungeon, what would she not say?

  He drew a deep breath. “Now. When the poor blind fool they’ve chosen out for their Amyrlin gets here, I will do the talking. She can’t be very bright, or they’d never have been able to shove her into the job. Amyrlin Seat for a bloody village in the middle of bloody nowhere. You keep your mouths shut and curtsy for all you’re worth, and I’ll pull your bacon off the coals again.” They just stared. Good. “I know all about her army, but I have one too. If she’s crazy enough to think she can take the Tower away from Elaida . . . well, she probably won’t risk any losses just to hold on to you three. You make that gateway, Egwene, and I will have you in Caemlyn tomorrow, the next day latest, and these madwomen can run off and get themselves killed by Elaida. Maybe you’ll have some company. They cannot all be mad. Rand’s willing to offer sanctuary. A curtsy, a quick oath of fealty, and he’ll keep Elaida from putting their heads on pikes in Tar Valon. They can’t ask better than that. Well? Anything to say?” They did not even blink as far as he could see. “A simple ‘Thank you, Mat’ would do.” Not a word. Not a blink.

  A timid tap on the door was followed by a novice, a pretty green-eyed girl who dropped a deep curtsy, all wide-eyed awe. “I was sent to see if you wanted anything, Mother. For the . . . the general, I mean. Wine, or . . . or. . . .”

  “No, Tabiya.” Egwene pulled the striped stole from under his hat and settled it on her shoulders. “I want to talk with General Cauthon alone a little longer. Tell Sheriam I will send for her shortly, to advise me.”

  “Close your mouth before you catch flies, Mat,” Nynaeve said in tones of deepest satisfaction.

  CHAPTER

  39

  Possibilities

  Adjusting her stole, Egwene studied Mat. She expected him to look like a cornered bear, but he just looked poleaxed and sweaty. There were so many questions she wanted to ask—How did Rand know about Salidar? How could he possibly know she had worked out Traveling? What did Rand think he was doing?—but she was not going to ask them. Mat and his Band of the Red Hand had her head buzzing. Maybe Rand had handed her a gift from the sky.

  “My chair?” she said quietly. She hoped he had noticed that she was not sweating, nor Elayne or Nynaeve; Nynaeve not very much anyway. Siuan had revealed the trick, nothing to do with the Power at all, just a matter of concentrating in a certain way. Nynaeve had been rather angry, small surprise, that Siuan had not taught it to them before, but Siuan just replied calmly that it was for Aes Sedai, not Accepted. So far Egwene had managed to hold her thoughts properly when there were sisters about, and a cool face instead of a sweaty did seem to help their attitudes a little. Some of them. It should do wonders for Mat. If he ever stopped staring and saw. “Mat? My chair?”

  He gave a start, then rose and moved aside, wordlessly staring from her to Elayne to Nynaeve as though they were some sort of puzzle. Well, Nynaeve and Elayne were looking at him in much the same way, and they surely had better reason.

  She dusted the cushions before replacing them in the chair with a fond thought for Chesa. After two days, she did not need them any longer, not really, but either she gave up bathing or accepted cushions until not a hint of a bruise showed. Chesa would remove the cushions if Egwene said to. Sweaty face or cool, Egwene was the Amyrlin Seat, before whom kings bowed and queens curtsied, even if none had yet, who would have Elaida tried and executed in short order and all put right with the White Tower, and thus with the world. Chesa would do it, and give Egwene such hurt, reproachful glances for not being allowed to take care of her that leaving the cushions there was much easier to bear.

  Settling herself with her hands folded on the table, she said, “Mat—” He broke in immediately.

  “This really is madness, you know,” he said quietly. Quietly, but quite firmly. “Yo
u will end with your head off, Egwene. All of you will. Your heads—cut—off.”

  “Mat,” she said in a stronger tone, but he went right on.

  “Listen, you can still get out of this. If they think you’re the Amyrlin, you can come out with me to . . . to inspect the Band. You make a gateway, and we’ll be gone before this bunch of goat-brained lunatics can blink.”

  Nynaeve had seen saidar fail around him, but she had dealt with recalcitrant men long before she learned to channel. With a muttered growl of “Warm my bottom?” that Egwene did not think was intended to be heard, Nynaeve deftly hiked up her skirts and kicked Mat squarely in his, so hard that he staggered all the way to the wall before catching himself with a hand. Elayne burst into laughter, and suppressed it just as quickly, but she still quivered, and her eyes shone.

  Egwene bit her lip to keep from laughing too. It really was comical. Mat turned his head slowly to stare at Nynaeve, all wide-eyed indignation and outrage. Then his brows lowered, and jerking his undone coat as if to straighten it, he began to stalk slowly toward her. Slowly because he was limping. Egwene covered her mouth. It really would not do to laugh.

  Nynaeve drew herself up sternly, and then perhaps a few things occurred to her. She might be angry enough to channel, but saidar was apparently useless with him. Mat was tall for a Two Rivers man, considerably taller than she, considerably stronger, and there was a decidedly dangerous glint in his eye. She glanced at Egwene, and smoothed her dress, trying to maintain her stern face. Mat stalked nearer, face like thunder. Another hasty glance, worry beginning to show, was followed by a small step back.

  “Mat,” Egwene said in a level tone. He did not stop. “Mat, stop cutting the fool. You are in quite a predicament, but I should be able to get you out of it, if you listen to reason.”

  Finally he halted. With a glare and a warning shake of his finger at Nynaeve, he turned his back on her and planted his fists on the writing table. “I am in a predicament? Egwene, you’ve jumped out of a tree toward a bear pit, and you think everything is fine because you haven’t landed yet!”

  She smiled at him calmly. “Mat, not many here in Salidar think very well of Dragonsworn. Lord Bryne certainly doesn’t, nor his soldiers. We have heard some very disturbing stories. And some sickening ones.”

  “Dragonsworn!” he yelped. “What do they have to do with me? I’m no bloody Dragonsworn!”

  “Of course you are, Mat.” She made it sound the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, if you only thought. “You go where Rand sends you. What else are you but Dragonsworn? But if you listen to me, I can stop them from putting your head on a pike. Actually, I don’t think Lord Bryne would use a pike—he always complains he doesn’t have enough—but I am sure he would figure out something.”

  Mat looked at the other two women, and Egwene compressed her lips for an instant. She had made herself plain, but he appeared to be hunting for a clue to what she was talking about. Elayne gave him back a tight smile and a decisively confirming nod. She might not see where Egwene was going, yet she knew she was not talking for the sound of her voice. Nynaeve, still struggling to keep a severe face and tugging at her braid, only glared at him, but maybe that was even better. Though she was beginning to sweat; Nynaeve lost concentration when she grew angry.

  “Now, listen, Egwene,” Mat said. Then again, maybe neither response was really enough. He managed to combine a reasonable tone with indulgence in the most offensive way possible. “If you want to call yourself Amyrlin, you can call yourself Amyrlin. Rand would welcome you with open arms in Caemlyn even if you don’t bring all these Aes Sedai to him, but I know he will be overjoyed if you do. Whatever your problems are with Elaida, he can work them out. She knows he’s the Dragon Reborn. Light, you remember her letter. Why, you will have your White Tower all mended before you can say Jak o’ the Wisps. No battles. No bloodshed. You know you don’t want bloodshed, Egwene.”

  That she did not. Once the first blood was shed between Salidar and Tar Valon, it would be difficult to make the Tower whole again. Once the first Aes Sedai blood was shed, it might be impossible. Still, Elaida had to be brought down, and Egwene would do what she had to do. She just did not like it. And she did not like Mat telling her what she knew, liked it the less so for being right. Definitely the less so in that tone. It was a real effort to keep her hands still on the table. She wanted to stand and box his ears.

  “However I deal with Rand,” she said coolly, “you can be sure it will not be by leading Aes Sedai to swear fealty to him or any other man.” Cool, and not at all arguing; a calm statement of simple facts. “How I deal with Elaida is my concern, and none of yours. If you have any sense at all, Mat, you will keep your mouth shut as long as you are in Salidar and walk small. You start telling other Aes Sedai what Rand is going to do just as soon they kneel to him, and you might not like the answers you get. Talk about carrying me off, or Nynaeve or Elayne, and you will be very lucky not to get a sword through you.”

  He jerked upright with a glare. “I’ll talk to you again when you’re ready to listen to reason, Egwene. Is Thom Merrilin around?” She gave a curt nod. What did he want with Thom? Probably to douse himself in wine. Well, good luck to him finding a tavern here. “When you’re ready to listen,” he repeated grimly, and stalked—limped—to the door.

  “Mat,” Elayne said, “I would not try to leave were I you. Getting into Salidar is much easier than getting out.”

  He grinned at her insolently, and the way he eyed her up and down, he was lucky Elayne did not slap him hard enough to loosen all his teeth. “You, my fine Lady, I am taking back to Caemlyn if I have to tie you up in a package to hand to Rand, burn me if I don’t. And I will bloody well leave when I choose.” His bow was mocking, to Elayne and to Egwene. Nynaeve got only a glower and another shake of his finger.

  “How can Rand have such a low, insufferable lout for a friend?” Elayne asked no one in particular before the door was well closed behind him.

  “His language has certainly slipped downhill,” Nynaeve grumbled darkly, tossing her head so her braid swung over her shoulder. Egwene thought she might be afraid she would pull it out by the roots if she did not put it out of reach.

  “I should have let him do as he wanted, Nynaeve. You have to remember you’re Aes Sedai now. You can’t go around kicking people, or boxing their ears, or thumping them with sticks.” Nynaeve stared at her, mouth working, face growing redder and redder. Elayne began assiduously studying the carpet.

  With a sigh, Egwene folded the striped stole and laid it on the table to one side. That was her way of making sure Elayne and Nynaeve remembered they were alone; sometimes the stole made them start talking to the Amyrlin Seat instead of Egwene al’Vere. As usual, it worked. Nynaeve took a very deep breath.

  Before she could speak, though, Elayne said, “Do you mean to join him and this Band of the Red Hand to Gareth Bryne?”

  Egwene shook her head. The Warders said there were six or seven thousand in Mat’s Band now, more than she remembered from Cairhien, and a considerable number, if not nearly so many as those two captured men claimed, but Bryne’s soldiers truly would not take kindly to Dragonsworn. Besides, she had her own scheme, which she explained while they drew the other chairs to the table. It was very like sitting in a kitchen talking. She moved the stole farther over.

  “That is brilliant.” Elayne’s grin said she meant it. But then, Elayne always said what she meant. “I didn’t think the other would work either, but this really is brilliant.”

  Nynaeve sniffed irritably. “What makes you think Mat will go along? He’ll stick a pole through the spokes just for the fun of it.”

  “I think he made a promise,” Egwene said simply, and Nynaeve nodded. Slowly, reluctantly, but she nodded. Elayne looked lost, of course; she did not know him. “Elayne, Mat does exactly as he pleases; he always has.”

  “No matter how many turnips he had to peel for it,” Nynaeve muttered, “or how often he was switched.” />
  “Yes, that is Mat,” Egwene sighed. He had been the most irresponsible boy in Emond’s Field, maybe in the Two Rivers. “But if he gives his word, he keeps it. And I think he promised Rand to see you back in Caemlyn, Elayne. You notice he retreated to asking me”—in a way he had—“but you he never changed a hair on. I think he’ll try to stay as close to you as your belt pouch. But we won’t let him even see you unless he does as we want.” She paused. “Elayne, if you want to go with him, you can. To Rand, I mean. As soon as we squeeze all of the good out of Mat and his Band.”

  Elayne hardly hesitated before shaking her head, and she shook it firmly. “No, Ebou Dar is too important.” That had been one victory, surprisingly won with a mere suggestion. Elayne and Nynaeve were to join Merilille at Tylin’s court. “At least if he stays close, I’ll have a few days to try for a look at the ter’angreal he is carrying. It has to be that, Egwene. Nothing else could explain it.”

  Egwene could only agree. She had simply meant to wrap him up in Air where he stood, just a gentle reminder of who he was trying to manhandle, but the flows touched him, and melted. That was the only way to explain it. They ceased to exist where they touched him. She still felt the shock of that moment, remembering, and she realized she was not the only one suddenly adjusting skirts that needed no adjusting.

  “We could have some Warders turn out his pockets.” Nynaeve sounded more than satisfied with the image. “We’ll see how Master Mat Cauthon likes that.”

  “If we take things away from him,” Egwene said patiently, “don’t you think he might balk when we start telling him what to do?” Mat had never taken orders very well, and his usual response to Aes Sedai and the One Power was to take the first chance to slip away. Maybe his promise to Rand would stop that—there had to be one; nothing else explained his behavior—but she was not going to risk it. Nynaeve nodded, rather grudgingly.