The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  Thom clapped him on the shoulder. “Mat, lad, that was insane. And effective. Somehow.”

  “About what you should expect from me,” Mat said, pulling down the brim of his hat. “I’ve been in this room before. We’re on track. If Moiraine still lives, then she’ll be somewhere past here.”

  Chapter 54

  The Light of the World

  Thom held up his torch, inspecting the enormous star-shaped black columns and their glowing yellow lines. Those lines gave the entire room a sickly light, making Thom look wan and jaundiced.

  Mat remembered the stink of this place, that musty staleness. Now that he knew what to look for, he could smell something else, too. The musky stink of an animal’s den. A predator’s lair.

  There were five corridors leading out of the room, one at each inner point of the star shape. He remembered passing through one of those passageways, but had there not been only one way out before?

  “Wonder how high up the pillars go,” Thom said, raising his torch higher and squinting.

  Mat held his ashandarei in a firmer grip, palms sweaty. They had entered the foxes’ den. He felt at his medallion. The Eelfinn had not used the Power on him before, but they had to have some understanding of it, did they not? Of course, Ogier could not channel. Perhaps that meant Eelfinn could not either.

  Rustling sounds came from the edges of the room. Shadows shifted and moved. The Eelfinn were in there, in that darkness. “Thom,” Mat said. “We should play some more music.”

  Thom watched that darkness. He did not object; he raised his flute and began playing. The sound seemed lonely in the vast room.

  “Mat,” Noal said, kneeling near the center of the room. “Look at this.”

  “I know,” Mat said. “It looks like glass but feels like stone.”

  “No, not that,” Noal said. “There’s something here.”

  Mat edged over to Noal. Thom joined them, watching and playing as Noal used his lantern to illuminate a melted lump of slag on the floor, perhaps the size of a small chest. It was black, but a deeper, less reflective black than the floor and the columns.

  “What do you make of it?” Noal asked. “Maybe one of the trapdoors?”

  “No,” Mat said. “It’s not that.”

  The other two looked at him.

  “It’s the doorframe,” Mat said, feeling sick. “The redstone doorframe. When I came through it before, it was in the center of a room like this. When it melted on the other side…”

  “It melted here too,” Noal said.

  The three stared at it. Thom’s music sounded haunting.

  “Well,” Mat said. “We knew it wasn’t a way out in the first place. We’ll have to bargain our way free.” And I’ll make bloody sure not to get hanged this time.

  “Will the dice lead us?” Noal asked, rising.

  Mat felt them in his coat pocket. “I don’t see why not.” But he did not take them out. He turned to regard the depths of the room. Thom’s music seemed to have stilled some of the shadows. But others still moved. There was a restless energy to the air.

  “Mat?” Thom asked.

  “You knew I’d come back,” Mat said loudly. His voice did not echo. Light! How large was the thing? “You knew I’d come marching back to your bloody realm, didn’t you? You knew you’d have me eventually.”

  Hesitant, Thom lowered his flute.

  “Show yourselves!” Mat said. “I can hear you scrambling, hear you breathing.”

  “Mat,” Thom said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “They couldn’t have known that you’d come back. Moiraine didn’t know that you’d come for certain.”

  Mat watched the darkness. “You ever see men lead cattle to slaughter, Thom?”

  The gleeman hesitated, then shook his head.

  “Well, every man has his own ways,” Mat said. “But cattle, see, they’ll know something is wrong. They’ll smell the blood. They’ll get frenzied, refuse to enter the slaughterhouse. And you know how you fix that?”

  “Do we have to talk about this now, Mat?”

  “You fix it,” Mat said, “by taking them through the slaughterhouse a few times when it is clean, when the scents aren’t so strong. You let them go through and escape, see, and they’ll think the place is safe.” He looked at Thom. “They knew I’d be back. They knew I’d survive that hanging. They know things, Thom. Burn me, but they do.”

  “We’ll get out, Mat,” Thom promised. “We can. Moiraine saw it.”

  Mat nodded firmly. “Bloody right we will. They’re playing a game, Thom. I win games.” He pulled a handful of dice from his pocket. I win them most of the time, anyway.

  A voice whispered suddenly from behind them. “Welcome, son of battles.”

  Mat spun, cursing, glancing about the chamber.

  “There,” Noal said, pointing with his staff. There was a figure beside one of the pillars, half lit by the yellow light. Another Eelfinn. Taller, his face more angular. His eyes reflected torchlight. Orange.

  “I can take you where you wish to go,” the Eelfinn said, voice rough and gravelly. He raised an arm against the glow of the torches. “For a price.”

  “Thom, music.”

  Thom began playing again.

  “One of you already tried to get us to leave our tools behind,” Mat said. He pulled a torch from the pack over his arm, then thrust it to the side, lighting it on Noal’s lantern. “It won’t work.”

  The Eelfinn shied away from the new light, snarling softly. “You come looking to bargain, yet you purposely antagonize? We have done nothing to earn this.”

  Mat pulled the scarf free from his neck. “Nothing?”

  The creature made no response, though it did back away, stepping into the darker area between pillars. Its too-angular face was now only barely lit by the yellow lights.

  “Why do you wish to speak with us, son of battles,” the whisperer said from the shadows, “if you are not willing to bargain?”

  “No,” Mat said. “No bargaining until we reach the great hall, the Chamber of Bonds.” That was the only place where they would be bound to the agreement. Is that not what Birgitte had said? Of course, she had seemed to be relying on stories and hearsay herself.

  Thom continued playing, eyes darting from side to side, trying to watch the shadows. Noal began to play the little cymbals he had tied to the legs of his trousers, tapping them in time with Thom’s music. The shadows continued to move out there, however.

  “Your…comforts will not slow us, son of battles,” a voice said from behind. Mat spun, lowering his weapon. Another Eelfinn stood there, just inside the shadows. A female, with a crest of red running down her back, the leather straps crossing her breasts in an ‘X’ pattern. Her red lips smiled. “We are the near ancient, the warriors of final regret, the knowers of secrets.”

  “Be proud, son of battles,” another voice hissed. Mat spun again, sweat dampening his brow. The female vanished back into the shadows, but another Eelfinn strolled through the light. He carried a long, wicked bronze knife, with a crosswork pattern of roses along its length and thorns sticking out near the top of the crossguard. “You draw out our most skilled. You are to be…savored.”

  “What—” Mat began, but the lean, dangerous-looking Eelfinn stepped back into the shadows and vanished. Too quickly. As if the darkness had absorbed him.

  Other whispers began in the shadows, speaking in low voices, overlapping each other. Faces appeared from the darkness, inhuman eyes wide, lips curled in smiles. The creatures had pointed teeth.

  Light! There were dozens of Eelfinn in the room. Shifting, moving about, dancing into the light, then jumping back into the dark. Some were casual, others energetic. All looked dangerous.

  “Will you bargain?” one asked.

  “You come without treaty. Dangerous,” said another.

  “Son of battles.”

  “The savor!”

  “Feel his fear.”

  “Come with us. Leave your terrible light.”


  “A bargain must be made. We will wait.”

  “Patient we are. Ever patient.”

  “The savor!”

  “Stop it!” Mat bellowed. “No bargains! Not until we reach the center.”

  At his side, Thom lowered the flute. “Mat. I don’t think the music is working anymore.”

  Mat nodded curtly. He needed Thom ready with weapons. The gleeman tucked away his flute, getting out knives. Mat ignored the whispering voices and tossed the dice onto the ground.

  As they rolled, a figure scuttled from the darkness beside the nearest pillar. Mat cursed, lowering his spear and striking at the Eelfinn, which moved across the ground on all fours. But his blade passed right through it, as if it were smoke.

  Was it an illusion? A trick of the eyes? Mat hesitated long enough for another creature to snatch the dice and leap back toward the shadows. Something sparkled in the air. Thom’s dagger found its mark, striking the creature in the shoulder. This time the blade pierced and stayed, releasing a spray of dark blood.

  Iron, Mat thought, cursing his stupidity. He spun the ashandarei around, using the side banded with iron. He shivered as he saw the Eelfinn’s blood on the ground begin to steam. White steam, as in the other chambers, but this had shapes in it. They looked like twisted faces, appearing briefly and yelling before vanishing.

  Burn them! He couldn’t get distracted. He had other dice. He reached for his pocket, but an Eelfinn ducked from the shadows, as if to grab at his coat.

  Mat spun his weapon, striking the side of the fox male’s face with the banded iron. He crushed bone, tossing the creature to the side like a bundle of sticks.

  Hisses and growls surrounded them. Eyes shifted in the darkness, reflecting torchlight. The Eelfinn moved, cloaked in blackness, surrounding Mat and the others. Mat cursed, taking a step in the direction of the Eelfinn he had struck.

  “Mat!” Thom said, grabbing the cuff of his coat. “We can’t wade into that.”

  Mat hesitated. It seemed that the stink from before was stronger, the scent of beasts. Shadows moved all about, more frantic now, their whispers angry and mixed with yipping calls.

  “They control the darkness,” Noal said. He stood with his back to Mat and Thom, wary. “Those yellow lights are to distract us; there are breaks in them and sheltered alcoves. It’s all a trick.”

  Mat felt his heart beating rapidly. A trick? No, not just a trick. There was something unnatural about the way those creatures moved in the shadow. “Burn them,” Mat said, shaking Thom’s hand free but not chasing into the darkness.

  “Gentlemen,” Noal said. “Gather arms….”

  Mat glanced over his shoulder. There were Eelfinn stalking from the shadows behind them, a double wave, one group sliding on all fours before a second group. The second group carried those wicked-looking bronze knives.

  The shadows from the depths of the room seemed to be extending with the Eelfinn, closing on Mat and his group. His heart beat even faster.

  The Eelfinn eyes shone, and those on all fours began to lope forward. Mat swung as the Eelfinn reached his group, but they split, ducking to the sides. Distracting him.

  Behind! Mat thought with alarm. Another group of Eelfinn jumped out of the darkness there.

  Mat turned on them, swinging. They ducked back before he hit. Light! They were all around, seething out of the darkness, coming close enough to be dangerous, then backing away.

  Thom whipped out a pair of daggers, throwing, and Noal kept his shortsword at the ready, waving his torch with his other hand, his banded staff on the floor at his feet. One of Thom’s knives flashed, seeking flesh, but missed and passed into the darkness.

  “Don’t waste knives!” Mat said. “Bloody sons of goats, they’re trying to make you waste them, Thom!”

  “They’re harrying us,” Noal growled. “They’ll overwhelm us eventually. We have to move!”

  “Which way?” Thom asked, urgent. He cursed as a pair of Eelfinn appeared from the shadows carrying bronze-ended lances. They thrust forward, forcing Mat, Thom, and Noal to back away.

  No time for dice. They would just snatch those anyway. Mat yanked open his pack and pulled out a nightflower. “Once this goes off, I’m going to close my eyes and spin about.”

  “What?” Thom said.

  “It’s worked before!” Mat said, lighting the nightflower and throwing it as hard as he could into the darkness. There was a count of five, and the boom that followed rattled the room. All three of them averted their eyes, but the colorful flash was bright enough to see through eyelids.

  Eelfinn screamed in pain, and Mat distinctly heard pings as weapons were dropped. No doubt hands were raised to eyes.

  “Here we go!” Mat said, spinning.

  “This is flaming insane,” Thom said.

  Mat kept going, trying to feel for it. Where was that luck? “That way!” he said, pointing in a random direction.

  He opened his eyes in time to leap over the dark form of an Eelfinn huddling on the ground. Noal and Thom followed, and Mat led them straight into the darkness. He charged ahead until his friends were barely visible. All he could see were those lines of yellow.

  Oh, bloody ashes, he thought. If my luck fails me now….

  They burst into a five-sided corridor, the darkness vanishing around them. They had not been able to see this corridor from the other room, but here it was.

  Thom let out a whoop. “Mat, you wood-headed shepherd! For this, I’ll let you play my harp!”

  “I don’t want to play your bloody harp,” Mat said, glancing over his shoulder. “But you can buy me a mug or two when we’re out.”

  He heard screams and screeches from the dark room. That was one trick used up; they would be expecting nightflowers now. Birgitte, you were right, he thought. You probably walked past the corridor you needed several times, never knowing it was only a few feet away.

  Never choose the card a man wants you to. Mat should have realized that. It was one of the oldest cons in creation. They hastened forward, passing five-sided doorways leading into large star-shaped caverns. Thom and Noal glanced into them, but Mat kept on. Straight forward. This was the way his luck had sent them.

  Something was different from when he had visited before. There was no dust on the floor to make footprints. Had they known he was coming, and used the dust to confuse him? Or had they cleaned the place this time, knowing that visitors might arrive? Who knew in a realm such as this?

  It had been a long walk before. Or had it been a short one? Time blended here. It seemed that they ran for many hours, yet it also felt like moments.

  And then the doorway was in front of them, appearing like a striking adder. It had not been there a moment before. The rim of the opening was intricately carved wood, with an impossible pattern of weaving vines that seemed to double back on one another and make no sense.

  All three pulled to a halt. “Mirrors,” Noal said. “I’ve seen it before. That’s how they do it, obscuring things with mirrors.” He sounded unnerved. Where did one hide mirrors in a bloody straight tunnel?

  They were in the right place; Mat could smell it. The stink of the Eelfinn was strongest here. He set his jaw and stepped through the doorway.

  The room beyond was as he remembered it. No columns here, though the room was distinctly star-shaped. Eight tips and only the one doorway. Those glowing yellow strips ran up the sharp ends of the room, and eight empty pedestals stood, black and ominous, one at each point.

  It was exactly the same. Except for the woman floating at its center.

  She was clothed only in a fine white mist that shifted and shone around her, the details of her figure obfuscated but not hidden. Her eyes were closed, and her dark hair—curly but no longer in perfect ringlets—fluttered as if in a wind blowing up from beneath. Her hands rested atop her stomach, and there was a strange bracelet of something that looked like aged ivory on her left wrist.

  Moiraine.

  Mat felt a surge of emotions. Worry, frustrati
on, concern, awe. She was the one who had started this all. He had hated her at times. He also owed her his life. She was the first one who had meddled, yanking him this way and that. Yet—looking back—he figured that she had been the most honest about it of anyone who had used him. Unapologetic, unyielding. And selfless.

  She had dedicated everything to protecting three foolish boys, all ignorant of what the world would demand of them. She had determined to take them to safety. Maybe train them a little, whether they wanted it or not.

  Because they needed it.

  Light, her motives seemed clear to him now. That did not make him any less angry with her, but it did make him grateful. Burn her, but this was a confusing set of emotions! Those bloody foxes—how dare they keep her like this! Was she alive?

  Thom and Noal were staring—Noal solemn, Thom disbelieving. So Mat stepped forward to pull Moiraine free. As soon as his hands touched the mist, however, he felt a blazing pain. He screamed, pulling back, shaking his hand.

  “It’s bloody hot,” Mat said. “It—”

  He cut off as Thom stepped forward.

  “Thom…” Mat said warningly.

  “I don’t care,” the gleeman said. He stepped up to the mist, reaching in, his clothing beginning to steam, his eyes watering from the pain. He did not flinch. He dug into that mist and took hold of her, then pulled her free. Her weight sank into his arms, but his aging limbs were strong, and she looked frail enough that she must not have weighed much.

  Light! Mat had forgotten how small she was. A good head shorter than he was. Thom knelt, pulling off his gleeman’s cloak and wrapping her in it. Her eyes were still closed.

  “Is she…” Noal asked.

  “She lives,” Thom said quietly. “I felt her heartbeat.” He took the bracelet off her arm. It was in the shape of a man bent backward with his wrists bound to his ankles, clothed in a strange suit of clothing. “It looks like a ter’angreal of some sort,” Thom said, tucking it into his coat pocket. “I—”

  “It is an angreal,” a voice proclaimed. “Strong enough to be nearly sa’angreal. It can be part of her price, should you wish to pay it.”