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
