Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11)

Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11) Page 73

Light, I hate to remember dying, he thought, and the thought turned to a coal burning in his brain. A coal that burned hotter and hotter. He remembered those men’s deaths, not just one but dozens of them. He—remembered—dying.

“Toy, are you ill?” Tuon brought the mare close and peered up into his face. Concern filled her big eyes. “You’ve gone pale as the moon.”

“I’m right as spring water,” he muttered. She was close enough for him to kiss if he bent his head, but he did not move. He could not. He was thinking so furiously he had nothing left for motion. Somehow only the Light knew, the Eelfinn had gathered the memories they had planted in his head, but how could they harvest memory from a corpse? A corpse in the world of men, at that. He was certain they never came to this side of that twisted doorframe ter’angreal for longer than minutes at a time. A way occurred to him, one he did not like, not a scrap. Maybe they created some sort of link to any human who visited them, a link that allowed them to copy all of a man’s memories after that right up to the moment he died. In some of those memories from other men he was white-haired, in some only a few years older than he really was, and everything in between, but there were none of childhood or growing up. What were the odds of that, if they had just stuffed him with random bits and pieces, likely things they considered rubbish or had done with? What did they do with memories, anyway? They had to have some reason for gathering them beyond giving them away again. No, he was just trying to avoid where this led. Burn him, the bloody foxes were inside his head right then! They had to be. It was the only explanation that made sense.

“Well, you look as if you’re about to vomit,” Tuon said, backing the razor away with a grimace. “Who in the show would have herbs? I have some knowledge there.”

“I’m all right, I tell you.” In truth, he did want to sick up. Having those foxes in his head was a thousand times worse than the dice however hard the dice rattled. Could the Eelfinn see through his eyes? Light, what was he going to do? He doubted any Aes Sedai could Heal him of this, not that he would trust them to, not when it meant leaving off the foxhead. There was nothing to be done. He would just have to live with it. He groaned at the thought.

Cantering up to them, Selucia gave him and Tuon each a quick look, as if considering what they might have been up to in their time alone. But then, she had taken her time in catching up, giving them that time. That was hopeful. “Next time, you can ride this gentle creature and I will ride your gelding,” she told Mat. “High Lady, people from those wagons are following us with dogs. They’re afoot, but they will be here soon. The dogs don’t bark.”

“Trained guard dogs, then,” Tuon said, gathering her reins. “Mounted, we can avoid them easily enough.”

“No need to try, and no use,” Mat told her. He should have expected this. “Those people are Tinkers, Tuatha’an, and they’re no danger to anybody. They couldn’t be violent if their lives depended on it. That’s no exaggeration, just simple truth. But they saw you two go haring off, trying to get away from me as it must have seemed, and me chasing after. Now that those dogs have a scent trail, the Tinkers will follow us all the way back to the show if need be to make sure you two haven’t been kidnapped or harmed. We’ll go meet them to save the time and trouble.” It was not the Tinkers’ time he cared about. Luca probably would not care one way or the other if a bunch of Tinkers getting in the way delayed the show setting out, but Mat certainly would.

Selucia scowled at him indignantly, and her fingers flew, but Tuon laughed. “Toy wishes to be commanding today, Selucia. I will let him command and see how he does.” Bloody kind of her.

They trotted back the way they had come—riding around the fallen trees this time, though now and then Tuon would gather her reins as if she meant to jump one, then give Mat a mischievous grin— and it was not long before the Tinkers came into sight running through the trees behind their huge mastiffs like a flight of butterflies, fifty or so men and women in bright colors, often in jarring combinations. A man might be wearing a red-and-blue striped coat and baggy yellow trousers tucked into knee boots, or a violet-colored coat above red trousers, or worse. Some women wore dresses striped in as many colors as there were colors and even colors Mat had no name for, while others wore skirts and blouses as varied in hue and as clashing as the men’s coats and trousers. A fair number had shawls, as well, to add more colors to the eye-scrambling blend. Except for the gray-haired man who had been driving the lead wagon, they all appeared to be short of their middle years. He must be the Seeker, the leader of the caravan. Mat dismounted, and after a moment, Tuon and Selucia did, too.

The Tinkers stopped at that, calling their clogs to heel. The big animals slumped to the ground, tongues lolling out, and the people came on more slowly. None carried so much as a stick, and though Mat wore no weapons that showed, they eyed him warily. The men clustered in front of him, while the women gathered around Tuon and Selucia. There was no threat in it, but as easily as that, Tuon and Selucia were separated from him, off where the Tinker women could make inquiries. Suddenly it occurred to him that Tuon might think it a fine game to claim he was trying to bother her. She and Selucia could ride off while he was trying to contend with Tinkers crowding around him and Pips so he could not climb into the saddle. That was all they would do, but unless he was willing to fight his way clear, they might keep him here for hours, maybe, to give that pair time to “escape.”

The gray-haired man bowed with his hands pressed to his chest. “Peace be on you and yours, my Lord. Forgiveness if we intrude, but we feared our dogs had frightened the ladies’ horses.”

Mat responded with a bow in the same fashion. “Peace be on you always, Seeker, and on all the People. The ladies’ horses weren’t frightened. The ladies are . . . impetuous at times.” What were the women saying? He tried to eavesdrop, but their voices were low murmurs.

“You know something of the People, my Lord?” The Seeker sounded surprised and had a right to. The Tuatha’an kept away from anywhere larger than a moderate-sized village. They would seldom encounter anyone in a silk coat.

“Only a little,” Mat replied. A very little. He had memories of meeting Tinkers, but he himself had never spoken to one before. What were those bloody women saying? “Will you answer me a question? I’ve seen a number of your caravans the past few days, more than I’d have expected to, and all heading toward Ebou Dar.