“Your what?”
“My thanks, Master Cauthon,” Teslyn said dryly. “This trip did not be easy upon any of us. There have been moments of…tension. I do not say that I agree with each decision you made. That do not remove the fact that without you, I would still be in Seanchan hands.” She shivered. “I pretend, during my more confident moments, that I would have resisted them and eventually escaped on my own. It do be important to maintain some illusions with yourself, would you not say?”
Mat rubbed his chin. “Maybe, Teslyn. Maybe indeed.”
Remarkably, she held out her hand to him. “Remember, should you ever come to the White Tower, you do have women there who are in your debt, Matrim Cauthon. I do not forget.”
He took the hand. It felt as bony as it looked, but it was warmer than he had expected. Some Aes Sedai had ice running in their veins, that was for certain. But others were not so bad.
She nodded to him. A respectful nod. Almost a bow. Mat released her hand, feeling as unsettled as if someone had kicked his legs out from underneath him. She turned to walk back toward her own tent.
“You’ll be needing horses,” he said. “If you wait to leave until I get up in the morning, I’ll give you some. And some provisions. Wouldn’t do for you to starve before you get to Tar Valon, and from what we’ve seen lately, the villages you’ll pass won’t have anything to spare.”
“You told Joline—”
“I counted my horses again,” Mat said. Those dice were still rattling in his head, burn them. “I did another count of the Band’s horses. Turns out, we have some to spare. You may take them.”
“I did not come to you tonight to manipulate you into giving me horses,” Teslyn said. “I do be sincere.”
“So I figured,” Mat said, turning lifting up the flap to his tent. “That’s why I made the offer.” He stepped into the tent.
There, he froze. That scent…
Blood.
Chapter 9
Blood in the Air
Mat ducked immediately. That instinct saved his life as something swung through the air above his head.
Mat rolled to the side, his hand hitting something wet as it touched the floor. “Murder!” he bellowed. “Murder in the camp! Bloody murder!”
Something moved toward him. The tent was completely black, but he could hear it. Mat stumbled, but luck was with him as again something swished near him.
Mat hit the ground and rolled, flinging his hand to the side. He had left…
There! He came up beside his sleeping pallet, his hand grasping at the long wooden haft there. He threw himself backward to his feet, hauling the ashandarei up, then spun and slashed—not at the form moving through the tent toward him, but at the wall.
The fabric cut easily and Mat leaped out, clutching his long-bladed spear in one hand. With his other hand, he reached for the leather strap at his neck, his fingernails ripping at his skin in his haste. He pulled the foxhead medallion off and turned in the brush outside the tent.
A weak light came from a nearby lantern on a post at an intersection of camp pathways. By it, Mat made out the figure sliding out the rip in the tent. A figure he had feared to see. The gholam looked like a man, slender with sandy hair and unremarkable features. The only thing distinct about the thing was the scar on its cheek.
It was supposed to look harmless, supposed to be forgettable. If most people saw this thing in a crowd, they would ignore it. Right up to the point where it ripped their throat out.
Mat backed away. His tent was near a hillside, and he backed up to it, pulling the foxhead medallion up and wrapping it tightly by its leather strap to the side of his ashandarei’s blade. It was far from a perfect fit, but he had practiced this. The medallion was the only thing he knew that could hurt the gholam. He worked swiftly, still yelling for help. Soldiers would be no use against this thing, but the gholam had said before that it had been ordered to avoid too much notice. Attention might frighten it away.
It did hesitate, glancing toward the camp. Then it turned back to Mat, stepping forward. Its movements were as fluid as silk rippling in the wind. “You should be proud,” it whispered. “The one who now controls me wants you more than anyone else. I am to ignore all others until I have tasted your blood.”
In its left hand, the creature carried a long dagger. Its right hand dripped blood. Mat felt a freezing chill. Who had it killed? Who else had been murdered in Matrim Cauthon’s stead? The image of Tylin flashed in his mind again. He had not seen her corpse; the scene was left to his imagination. Unfortunately, Mat had a pretty good imagination.
That image in his head, smelling the blood on the air, he did the most foolish thing he could have. He attacked.
Screaming in the open darkness, Mat spun forward, swinging the ashandarei. The creature was so fast. It seemed to flow out of the way of his weapon.
It rounded him, like a circling wolf, footsteps barely making a sound in the dried weeds. It struck, its form a blur, and only a backward jump by reflex saved Mat. He scrambled through the weeds, swinging the ashandarei. It seemed wary of the medallion. Light, without that, Mat would be dead and bleeding on the ground!
It came at him again, like liquid darkness. Mat swung wildly and clipped the gholam more by luck than anything else. The medallion made a searing hiss as it touched the beast’s hand. The scent of burned flesh rose in the air, and the gholam scrambled back.
“You didn’t have to kill her, burn you,” Mat yelled at it. “You could have left her! You didn’t want her; you wanted me!”
The thing merely grinned, its mouth an awful black, teeth twisted. “A bird must fly. A man must breathe. I must kill.” It stalked forward, and Mat knew he was in trouble. The cries of alarm were loud now. It had only been a few moments, but a few more, and help would arrive. Only a few more moments…
“I’ve been told to kill them all,” the gholam said softly. “To bring you out. The man with the mustache, the aged one who interfered last time, the little dark-skinned woman who holds your affection. All of them, unless I take you now.”
Burn that gholam; how did the thing know about Tuon? How? It was impossible!
He was so startled that he barely had time to raise the ashandarei as the gholam leaped for him. Mat cursed, twisting to the side, but too late. The creature’s knife flashed in the air. Then the weapon jerked and ripped sideways from its fingers. Mat started, then felt something wrap around him and jerk him backward, out of the reach of
