“Oh, I wouldn’t consider downplaying the Dragon’s importance,” Verin said, chuckling. “But you can’t hide your light in his shadow, Matrim Cauthon. Not in the presence of any but the blind, at least. In any other time, you’d undoubtedly be the most powerfully ta’veren individual alive. Probably the most powerful to have lived in centuries.”
Mat shifted on the bench. Bloody ashes, he hated the way that made him look as if he was squirming. Maybe he should just stand up. “What are you talking about, Verin?” he said instead. He folded his arms and tried to at least pretend that he was comfortable.
“I’m talking about how you yanked me halfway across the continent.” Her smile widened as a soldier entered with a steaming cup of mint tea. She took it gratefully, and the soldier retreated.
“Yanked you?” Mat said. “You were looking for me.”
“Only after I determined that the Pattern was tugging me somewhere.” Verin blew on her tea. “That meant you or Perrin. It couldn’t have been Rand’s fault, since I’d been able to leave that one easily.”
“Rand?” Mat asked, dismissing yet another flash of colors. “You were with him?”
Verin nodded.
“How . . . did he seem?” Mat said. “Is he . . . you know. . . .”
“Mad?” Verin asked.
Mat nodded.
“I’m afraid so,” Verin said, lips downturning slightly. “I think he’s still in control of himself, however.”
“Bloody One Power,” Mat said, reaching beneath his shirt to touch the comforting foxhead medallion.
Verin looked up. “Oh, I’m not convinced young al’Thor’s problems are completely due to the Power, Matrim. Many would like to blame his temperament on saidin, but to do that is to ignore the incredible stresses that we’ve settled on that poor boy’s shoulders.”
Mat raised an eyebrow, glancing at Thom.
“Either way,” Verin sipped her tea, “one cannot blame too much on the taint, as it will no longer affect him.”
“It won’t?” Mat asked. “He’s decided to stop channeling?”
She laughed. “A fish would sooner stop swimming. No, the taint will no longer affect him because the taint is no more. Al’Thor cleansed saidin.”
“What?” Mat asked sharply, sitting up.
Verin sipped her tea.
“Are you serious?” Mat asked.
“Quite,” she replied.
Mat glanced at Thom again. Then he plucked at his coat and ran a hand through his hair.
“What are you doing?” Verin asked with amusement.
“I don’t know,” Mat said, feeling sheepish. “I guess I just think I should feel different, or something. The whole world up and changed on us, didn’t it?”
“You could say that,” Verin said, “though I would argue that the cleansing itself is more like a pebble thrown into a pond. The ripples will take some time to reach the shore.”
“A pebble?” Mat asked. “A pebble?”
“Well, perhaps more of a boulder.”
“A bloody mountain if you ask me,” Mat muttered. He settled back on the awful bench.
Verin chuckled. Flaming Aes Sedai. Did they have to be like that? It was probably another oath they took and told nobody about, something to do with acting mysterious. He stared at her. “What was that chuckle for?” he finally demanded.
“Nothing,” she said. “I merely suspect that you will soon feel a little of what I did this last month.”
“Which was?”
“Well,” she said. “I believe I was talking about that before we got sidetracked on irrelevant topics.”
“On the flaming cleansing of the True Source,” Mat muttered. “Honestly.”
“I experienced the most curious of events,” Verin continued. Ignoring Mat, of course. “You may not be aware of this, but in order to Travel from a location, you need to spend time in it. Usually, stopping in a place for an evening is enough. Consequently, after parting from the Dragon, I made my way to a nearby village and took a room at the inn. I settled down, learning the room and preparing to open a Gateway in the morning.
“In the middle of the night, however, the innkeeper arrived. He explained with chagrin that I needed to be moved to another room. It appeared that a leak had been discovered in the roof above my room, and it would soon seep through my ceiling. I protested, but he was insistent.
“And so I moved across the hall and began learning that room. Just when I was feeling I knew it well enough to open a gateway, I was interrupted again. This time, the innkeeper—more embarrassed—explained that his wife had lost her ring in that room during early morning cleaning. The woman awoke in the night and was very upset. The innkeeper—looking quite tired—apologetically wanted to move me again.”
“And?” Mat asked. “Coincidence, Verin.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, then smiled as he shifted on the bench again. Burn it all, he wasn’t squirming!
“I refused to be moved, Matrim,” she said. “I told the innkeeper he was quite welcome to search the room after I left, and promised that I would not take any rings I discovered with me. Then I firmly shut the door on him.” She sipped her drink. “A few minutes later, the inn caught fire—a coal from the hearth rolled to the floor and ended up burning the entire place to the ground. Everyone escaped, fortunately, but the inn was a loss. Tired and bleary-eyed, Tomas and I had to move on to the next village and find rooms there instead.”
“So?” Mat said. “Still sounds like a coincidence.”
“This continued for three days,” Verin said. “I was interrupted even when I tried to learn a place outside a building. Random passersby asking to share the fire, a falling tree crashing down in camp, a flock of sheep wandering by, an isolated storm. Various random events always contrived to keep me from learning the area.”
Talmanes whistled softly. Verin nodded. “Each time I tried to learn an area, something went wrong. I was inevitably moved for some reason. However, when I decided I wasn’t going to do anything to learn a location and wasn’t planning to make a gateway, nothing happened. Another person might have simply moved on and given up on Traveling for the time, but my nature asserted itself, and I found myself studying the phenomenon. It was quite regular.”
Bloody ashes. That was the sort of thing Rand was supposed to do to people. Not Mat. “By your account, you should still be in Tear.”
“Yes,” she said, “but I soon started to feel a tugging on me. Something pulling me, yanking me. As if. . . .”
Mat shifted again. “As if someone’s got a bloody fishhook inside of you? And is standing far away, pulling gently—but insistently—on it?”
“Yes,” Verin said. She smiled. “What a clever description.”
Mat didn’t respond.
“I decided to use more mundane means to make my voyage. I thought that maybe my inability to Travel had something to do with al’Thor’s proximity, or perhaps the gradual unraveling of the Pattern due to the Dark One’s influence. I secured a place in a merchant caravan traveling northward toward Cairhien. They had an empty wagon they were willing to rent for a reasonable rate. I was quite fatigued from my days spent staying up all hours because of fires, crying babies and constant moves from one inn room to another. As such, I fear I slept much longer than I should have. Tomas napped as well.
“When we awoke, we were surprised to discover that the caravan had taken a turn to the northwest instead of heading toward Cairhien. I spoke with the caravan master, and he explained that he’d received a last-minute tip that his goods would fetch a much better price in Murandy than in Cairhien. As he considered it, he mentioned that he really should have told me about the change, but it had slipped his mind.”
She took another sip of tea. “It was then that I knew for certain that I was being directed. Most wouldn’t have noticed it, I suspect, but I have made a study of the nature of ta’veren. The caravan hadn’t moved far toward Murandy—only one day—but mixed with the tugging, it was enough
. I spoke with Tomas, and we determined to avoid going where we were being pulled. Skimming is an inferior substitute for Traveling, but does not have the same limitation of knowing the area. I opened a gateway, but when we reached the end of our journey, we stepped not into Tar Valon, but a small village in northern Murandy!
“That shouldn’t have been possible. However, as we considered it, Tomas and I realized he had been speaking fondly of a hunting trip he’d gone on once in the village of Trustair, and I’d opened the gateway at that moment. I must have let myself focus on the wrong location.”
“And here we are,” Tomas said, arms folded, looking dissatisfied as he stood behind his Aes Sedai’s chair.
“Indeed,” Verin said. “Curious, wouldn’t you say, young Matrim? I accidentally end up here, in your path, right when you have great need of someone to create a gateway for your army?”
“Still could be coincidence.”
“And the tugging?”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
“Coincidence is how being ta’veren works,” Verin said. “You find a discarded object that is of great use to you, or happen to meet an individual at just the right time. Random chance randomly works in your favor. Or haven’t you noticed?” She smiled. “Care to throw some dice on it?”
“No,” he said reluctantly.
“One thing bothers me, however,” Verin said. “Was there no other person who could have happened into your path? Al’Thor has those Asha’man scouring the countryside looking for men who can channel, and I suspect rural areas like this are top on their list, as it is more likely that channelers could stay unnoticed in such places. One of them could have happened into your path and given you a gateway.”
“Not bloody likely,” Mat said, shivering. “I’m not trusting the Band to the likes of them.”
“Not to get to Andor in a heartbeat?” Verin asked.
Mat hesitated. Well, maybe.
“I had to be here for some reason,” she said thoughtfully.
“I still think you’re reading too much into this,” he replied, shifting yet again on the burning bench.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. First, we should negotiate my price for taking you to Andor. I assume you want to reach Caemlyn?”
“Price?” Mat said. “But you think the Pattern forced you here! Why demand a price of me?”
“Because,” she said, raising a finger, “while I waited to find you—I honestly didn’t know if it would be you or young Perrin—I realized that there were several things I could provide you that no other could.” She reached into a pocket of her dress, pulling out several pieces of paper. One was the picture of Mat. “You didn’t ask where I got this.”
“You’re Aes Sedai,” Mat said, shrugging. “I figured you . . . you know, saidared it.”
“Saidared it?” she asked flatly.
He shrugged.
“I received this paper, Matrim—”
“Call me Mat,” he said.
“I received this paper, Matrim, from a Darkfriend,” she said, “who told me—thinking me a servant of the Shadow—that one of the Forsaken had commanded that the men in these pictures be killed. You and Perrin are in grave danger.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said, hiding the chill her announcement made him feel. “Verin, Darkfriends have been trying to kill me since the day I left the Two Rivers.” He paused. “Burn me. Since the day before I left the Two Rivers. What does it change?”
“This is different,” Verin said, growing stern. “The level of danger you are in . . . I . . . Well, let us simply agree that you are in great, great danger. I suggest that you be very careful during the next few weeks.”
“I’m always careful,” Mat said.
“Well, be more so,” she said. “Go into hiding. Don’t take chances. You will be essential before this is through.”
He shrugged. Go into hiding? He could do that. With Thom’s help, he could probably do himself up so that even his sisters wouldn’t recognize him. “I can do that,” he said. “Bloody simple cost. How long will it take you to get us to Caemlyn?”
“That wasn’t my cost, Matrim,” she said, amused. “That was a suggestion. One I think you should listen to with great prejudice.” She slipped a small folded piece of paper out from under the picture. It was sealed with a drop of blood-red wax.
Mat took it hesitantly. “It is?”
“Instructions,” Verin said. “Which you will follow on the tenth day after I leave you in Caemlyn.”
He scratched his neck, frowning, then moved to break the seal.
“You aren’t to open them until that day,” Verin said.
“What?” Mat demanded. “But—”
“That is my cost,” Verin said simply.
“Bloody woman,” he said, looking back at the paper. “I’m not going to swear to something unless I know what it is.”
“I doubt you will find my instructions harsh, Matrim,” she noted.
Mat scowled at the seal for a moment, then stood up. “I pass on it.”
She pursed her lips. “Matrim, you—”
“Call me Mat,” he said, grabbing his hat off the top of a cushion. “And I said there’s no deal. I’ll be in Caemlyn in twenty days of marching, anyway.” He pushed open the tent flaps, gesturing out. “I’m not going to have you tying strings around me, woman.”
She didn’t move, though she did frown. “I had forgotten how difficult you can be.”
“And proud of it,” Mat said.
“And if we have a compromise?” Verin asked.
“You’ll tell me what is in that bloody paper?”
“No,” Verin said. “Because I might not need you to go through with the contents. I hope to be able to return to you and relieve you of the letter and send you on your way. But if I cannot. . . .”
“The compromise, then?” Mat said.
“You may choose not to open the letter,” Verin said. “Burn it. But if you do so, you wait fifty days in Caemlyn, just in case it takes me longer to return than I had expected.”
That gave him pause. Fifty days was a long time to wait. But if he could do it in Caemlyn, rather than traveling on his own. . . .
Was Elayne in the city? He’d worried about her, since her escape from Ebou Dar. If she was there, he might at least be able to get production started quickly on Aludra’s dragons.
But fifty days? Waiting? Either that, or open the bloody letter and do what it said? He didn’t like either option. “Twenty days,” he said.
“Thirty days,” she said, rising, then raised a finger to cut off his objection. “A compromise, Mat. Among Aes Sedai, I think you shall find me to be far more amenable to those than most.” She held out her hand.
Thirty days. He could wait thirty days. He looked at the letter in his hands. He could resist opening it, and thirty days of waiting didn’t really lose him any time. It was only a little longer than he’d take to reach Caemlyn on his own. In fact, this was a bloody bargain! He needed a few weeks to get the dragons going, and he wanted time to find out more about the Tower of Ghenjei and the snakes and foxes. Thom couldn’t complain—when it would take them two weeks to reach Caemlyn anyway.
Verin eyed him, a hint of worry on her face. He couldn’t let her know how pleased he was. Let a woman know that, and she’d find some way to make you pay her back.
“Thirty days,” Mat said reluctantly, taking her hand, “but at the end of them, I can go.”
“Or you can open the letter after ten days,” Verin said, “and do what it says. One of the two, Matrim. I have your word?”
“You do,” he said. “But I’m not going to open the bloody letter. I’m going to wait thirty days, then be off on my business.”
“We shall see,” she said, smiling to herself and releasing his hand. She folded up the picture of him, then took a small leather-bound satchel from her pocket. She opened it, sliding the picture inside, and as she did, he noticed that she had a small stack of folded, sealed pieces of paper
inside just like the one he was holding. What was the purpose of those?
Once the letters were safely tucked in her pocket, she took out a carved piece of translucent stone—a brooch, shaped like a lily. “Begin breaking down your camp, Matrim. I need to make your gateway as soon as possible. I myself need to Travel shortly.”
“Fine.” Mat looked down at the sealed, folded paper in his hands. Why was Verin being so cryptic?
Burn it! he thought. I’m not going to open it. I’m not. “Mandevwin,” he said. “Get Verin Sedai her own tent to wait in as we break camp and assign a couple of soldiers to fetch for her anything she needs. Also, inform the other Aes Sedai that she’s here. They’ll probably be interested to hear of her arrival, Aes Sedai being Aes Sedai.”
Mat tucked the folded paper into his belt, then started to leave. “And have somebody burn that bloody bench. I can’t believe we carted the thing this far.”
Tuon was dead. Gone, cast aside, forgotten. Tuon had been the Daughter of the Nine Moons. She was now just a notation in the histories.
Fortuona was empress.
Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag kissed the soldier lightly on the forehead as he knelt, head bowed, on the short grass. The muggy Altaran heat made it feel as if summer had already arrived, but the grass—which had seemed lush and full of life just weeks before—had grown stunted and was beginning to yellow. Where were the weeds and thistles? Recently seeds didn’t sprout as they should. Like grain, they were going bad, dying before they truly came alive.
The soldier before Fortuona was one of five. Behind those five stood two hundred members of the Fists of Heaven—the most elite of her attack forces. They wore dark leather breastplates and helms of light wood and leather, shaped like insects. Both helms and breastplates were emblazoned with the sign of the clenched fist. Fifty sul’dam and damane pairs, including Dali and her sul’dam Malahavana, whom Fortuona had given to the cause. She had felt the need to sacrifice something personal to this most important of missions.
Hundreds of to’raken milled in the pens behind, walked by their handlers, who were preparing them for the flight to come. Already, a flock of raken circled above, graceful.