“So I believe you’ve told me,” Talmanes said. “Three or four times so far. I half believe that if I were to peek into your tent at night, I’d find you mumbling it in your sleep. ‘I’m going to keep bloody gambling! Bloody, bloody gambling and drinking! Where’s my bloody drink? Anyone want to gamble for it?’ ” He said it with a perfectly straight face, but once again, there was that hint of a smile in his eyes, if you knew just where to look.
“I just want to make sure everyone knows,” Mat said. “I don’t want anyone to start thinking I’m getting soft just because of . . . you know.”
Talmanes shot him a consoling look. “You won’t go soft just because you got married, Mat. Why, some of the Great Captains themselves are married, I believe. Davram Bashere is for certain, and Rodel Ituralde. No, you won’t go soft because you’re married.”
Mat nodded sharply. Good that was settled.
“You might go boring though,” Talmanes noted.
“All right, that’s it,” Mat declared. “Next village we find, we’re going to go dicing at the tavern. You and me.”
Talmanes grimaced. “With the kind of third-rate wine these little mountain villages have? Please, Mat. Next you’ll be wanting me to drink ale.”
“No arguing.” Mat glanced over his shoulder as he heard familiar voices. Olver—ears sticking out to the sides, diminutive face as ugly as any Mat had seen—sat astride Wind, chatting with Noal, who rode beside him on a bony gelding. The gnarled old man was nodding appreciatively to what Olver was saying. The little boy looked astonishingly solemn, and was undoubtedly explaining yet another of his theories on how to best sneak into the Tower of Ghenjei.
“Ho, now,” Talmanes said. “There’s Vanin.”
Mat turned to spot a rider approaching along the rocky path ahead. Vanin always looked so ridiculous, perched like a melon atop the back of his horse, his feet sticking out to the sides. But the man could ride, there was no doubting that.
“It is Mount Sardlen,” Vanin proclaimed as he rode up to them, wiping his sweaty, balding brow. “The village is just ahead; it’s called Hinderstap on the map. These are bloody good maps,” he added grudgingly.
Mat exhaled in relief. He’d begun to think that they might end up wandering these mountains until the Last Battle came and went. “Great,” he began, “we can—”
“A village?” a curt female voice demanded.
Mat turned with a sigh as three riders forced their way up to the front of the column. Talmanes reluctantly raised a hand to the soldiers behind, halting the march as the Aes Sedai descended on poor Vanin. The rotund man squatted down in his saddle, looking for all the world as though he’d rather have been discovered stealing horses—and therefore on his way to execution—than have to sit there and be interrogated by Aes Sedai.
Joline led the pack. Once, Mat might have described her as a pretty girl, with her slender figure and large, inviting brown eyes. But that ageless Aes Sedai face was an instant warning for him now. No, he wouldn’t dare think of the Green as pretty now. Begin letting yourself think of Aes Sedai as pretty, and in two clicks of the tongue you’d find yourself wrapped around her finger and hopping at her command. Why, Joline had already hinted that she’d like to have Mat as a Warder!
&nb
sp; Was she still sore at him because he’d paddled her? She couldn’t hurt him with the Power, of course—even without his medallion, since Aes Sedai were sworn not to use the Power to kill except in very specific instances. But he was no fool. He’d noticed that those oaths of theirs didn’t say anything about using knives.
The two with Joline were Edesina, of the Yellow Ajah, and Teslyn, of the Red. Edesina was pleasant enough to look at, save for that ageless face, but Teslyn was about as appetizing as a stick. Sharp of face, the Illianer woman was bony and scrappy, like an aged cat left too long on its own. But she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, from what Mat had seen, and he’d found her treating him with some measure of respect sometimes. Respect from a Red. Imagine that.
Still, from the way each of those Aes Sedai looked at Mat in turn as they reached the front of the line, you’d never know that they owed him their lives. That was the way of it with women. Save her life, and she’d inevitably claim that she’d been about to escape on her own, and therefore owed you nothing. Half the time, she’d berate you for messing up her supposed plans.
Why did he bother? One of these days, burn him, he was going to get smart and leave the next lot crying in their chains.
“What was this?” Joline demanded of Vanin. “You’ve finally determined where we are?”
“Bloody well have,” Vanin said, then unabashedly scratched himself. Good man, Vanin. Mat smiled. Treated all people the same, Vanin did. Aes Sedai and all.
Joline stared Vanin straight in the eyes, looming like a gargoyle atop some lord’s mansion stonework. Vanin actually cringed, then wilted, then finally looked downward, abashed. “I mean, I have indeed, Joline Sedai.”
Mat felt his smile fade. Burn it all, Vanin!
“Excellent,” Joline said. “And there is a village ahead, I heard? Finally, perhaps, we’ll find a decent inn. I could use something other than the ‘fare’ these ruffians of Cauthon’s call food.”
“Here now,” Mat said, “that isn’t—”
“How far do we be from Caemlyn, Master Cauthon?” Teslyn cut in. She did her best to ignore Joline. The two of them seemed at one another’s throats lately—in the most cool-faced and outwardly amiable of ways, of course. Aes Sedai didn’t squabble. He’d gotten a talking to once for calling their “discussions” “squabbles.” Never mind that Mat had sisters, and knew what a good squabble sounded like.
“What did you say earlier, Vanin?” Mat asked, looking at him. “That we’re about two hundred leagues from Caemlyn?”
Vanin nodded. The plan was to head for Caemlyn first, as he needed to meet up with Estean and Daerid and secure needed information and supplies. After that, he could make good on his promise to Thom. The Tower of Ghenjei would have to wait a few more weeks.
“Two hundred leagues,” Teslyn said. “How long until we arrive, then?”