He’d go among them and demand to be trained. They’d take him in, and would treat him poorly, but eventually they’d respect him and let him train with their warriors. There were stories about that. It was how things happened.
After he knew their secrets, he’d go to the Snakes and Foxes and receive answers on how to locate the Shaido who had murdered his father. From there, tracking and killing them would be a quest worthy of its own story.
I’ll take Noal, he thought. He’s been everywhere. He can be my guide. He .. .
Noal was dead.
Sweat crawled down the side of Olver’s face as he stared at the rocky path ahead. They passed more of those terrible trees, and now everyone gave them a wide berth. Beside the path, though, one of the men pointed out a large patch of that killing mud. It looked brown and thick, and Olver spotted several bones peeking out.
This place was horrible!
He wished Noal were here. Noal had gone everywhere, seen everything. He’d know how to get them out of this place. But Noal was gone. Olver had only heard the news recently, filtered through things that the Lady Moiraine had shared about what happened at the Tower of Ghenjei.
Everyone’s dying, Olver thought, eyes still forward. Everyone . . .
Mat had run off to the Seanchan, Talmanes to fight alongside Queen Elayne. One by one, everyone in this group was being eaten by trees, mud or monsters.
Why did they all leave Olver alone?
He rubbed at his bracelet. Noal had given it to him, shortly before leaving. Woven of rough fibers, it was of a type warriors wore in a faraway land, so Noal had told him. It was the mark of a man who had seen battle and lived.
Noal . . . dead. Would Mat die, too?
Olver felt hot, tired and very frightened. He nudged Bela forward, and fortunately she obeyed, trotting a little faster up the slope so Olver moved up the line. They’d abandoned the wagons, then left for some place called the Blasted Lands, which required them to climb some foothills. In the morning, they’d entered a pass between the mountains. Though he felt warm, the air was getting cooler as they climbed. He didn’t mind that at all. It still smelled awful, though. Like rotting corpses.
Their group had started with fifty soldiers and almost half as many wagon drivers and workers. There were also a handful of others like Olver, Setalle and the half-dozen members of Lady Faile’s bodyguard.
So far, they’d lost fifteen people to hazards of the Blight, including five killed by some horrible three-eyed things that had attacked the camp yesterday morning. He’d overheard Lady Faile saying that she considered them lucky to have lost only fifteen so far, that it could have been worse.
It didn’t seem lucky to Olver. This place was awful and he wanted to be out of it. The Waste wouldn’t be as bad as this, would it? Cha Faile’s men and women acted like Aiel. A little bit like Aiel. Maybe they’d done as Olver wanted to, and trained in the Waste. He’d have to ask them.
He rode on for another half-hour or so. Eventually, he coaxed Bela up to the front of the line. Lady Faile’s brilliant black mare looked fast. Why couldn’t Olver have been given a horse like that one?
Faile had Mat’s chest tied to the back of her horse. At first, Olver had been pleased with that, as he figured Mat would want that tabac pretty badly. Mat always complained about not having good tabac. Then Olver had heard Faile explaining to someone else that the chest had simply been a convenient place to stow some of her things. Had she thrown away the tabac? Mat wouldn’t like that.
Faile looked at him, and Olver grinned, giving it as much confidence as he could. It wouldn’t do for her to see how scared he was.
Most women liked his grin. He’d been practicing it, though he didn’t use Mat’s grin as a model. Mat’s always made him look guilty. You learned grins when you were forced to fend for yourself, and Olver needed one that made him seem innocent. And he was innocent. Mostly.
Faile did not smile back. Olver figured that she was pretty good to look at, despite that nose. She wasn't very soft, though. Bloody ashes, but she had a glare that could rust good iron.
Faile rode between Aravine and Vanin. Though they spoke softly, Olver could hear what they were saying. He made sure to stare in the other direction, so they'd think he wasn’t eavesdropping. And he wasn’t. He just wanted to be out of the trail dust of the other horses.
"Yes", Vanin was whispering. "It may not seem it, but we're close to the Blasted Lands. Burn my own mother, I can’t believe we're going there. But do you feel the air? Its getting cooler. We haven’t seen anything really nasty since those three-eyed things yesterday morning".
"We are close", Aravine agreed. "Soon, we will be near the Dark One, in a land where nothing grows, corrupted or not, where there is no life, not even the nastier things from the Blight".
"I suppose that should be a comfort".
"Not really", Vanin said, wiping his brow. "Because the Shadowspawn up here are more dangerous. If we survive, it will be because there’s a bloody war going on. The Shadowspawn are all locked in battle. If we're lucky, the Blasted Lands, except right around Shayol Ghul, will be as empty as a man’s purse after a deal with the bloody Sea Folk. Pardon my language, my Lady".
Olver squinted at the approaching mountain peak.
That’s where the bloody Dark One lives, Olver thought. And that’s probably where Mat is, not Merrilor. Mat talked about staying away from danger, but he always found his way to it anyway. Olver figured that Mat was just trying to be humble, but was bad at it. Why else would you say you don’t want to be a hero, then always bloody end up charging right into danger?
"And this path?" Faile asked Vanin. "You said there might have been traffic here recently. Wouldn’t that indicate that this place is far from as empty as you so colorfully described?"
Vanin grunted. "It does look used".
"So someone has been moving wagons through the area", Aravine said.
"I don’t know if that is a good sign or a bad one".
"I don’t think there are any good signs up here", Vanin said. "Maybe we should just pick someplace nearby and hole up, waiting". He sighed, wiping his brow again, though Olver didn’t see why. It was growing pretty cold—he could tell, even through the course of the day. And there seemed to be fewer plants, too. He was just fine with that.
He glanced over his shoulder at the stand of trees that had taken that poor man’s life. There didn’t seem to be any others like it nearby, particularly not ahea
