The Dragon Reborn (The Wheel of Time #3)

The Dragon Reborn (The Wheel of Time #3) Page 82

Mat slid down the staff to his knees. None of the Aes Sedai even glanced his way. One of the Accepted did, a plump girl he might have liked to ask for a dance if she were not going to be an Aes Sedai. She frowned at him, sniffed, and turned back to peering at what the Aes Sedai were doing around Galad.

Gawyn was on his feet, Mat noted with relief. He pulled himself up as Gawyn came over. Mustn't let them know. I'll never get out of here if they decide to nurse me from sunup to sunup. Blood darkened the redgold hair on the side of Gawyn's head, but there was neither cut nor bruise apparent.

He pushed two silver marks into Mat's hand with a dry, “I think I will listen next time.” He noticed Mat's glance, touched his head. “They Healed it, but it was not bad. Elayne has given me worse more than once. You are good with that.”

“Not as good as my da. He's won the quarterstaff at Bel Tine every year as long as I can remember, except once or twice when Rand's da did.” That interested look came back into Gawyn's eyes, and Mat wished he had never mentioned Tam al'Thor. The Aes Sedai and the Accepted were all still clustered around Galad. “I... I must have hurt him badly. I did not mean to do that.”

Gawyn glanced that way — there was nothing to be seen but two rings of women's backs, Accepted's white dresses making the outer ring as they peered over the shoulders of crouching Aes Sedai — and laughed. “You did not kill him — I heard him groaning — so he should be on his feet by now, but they are not going to let this chance pass, now they have their hands on him. Light, four of them are Green Ajah!” Mat gave him a confused look — Green Ajah? What does that have to do with anything? — and Gawyn shook his head. “It doesn't matter. Just rest assured that the worst Galad has to worry about is finding himself Warder to a Green Aes Sedai before his head clears.” He laughed. “No, they would not do that. But I will wager you those two marks of mine in your hand that some of them wish they could.”

“Not your marks,” Mat said, shoving them in his coat pocket, “mine.” The explanation had made little sense to him. Except that Galad was well. All he knew of what passed between Warders and Aes Sedai were the pieces he remembered of Lan and Moiraine, and there was nothing there like what Gawyn seemed to be suggesting. “Do you think they'd mind if I collected my wager from him?”

“They very likely would,” Hammar said dryly as he joined them. “You are not very popular with those particular Aes Sedai right now.” He snorted. “You'd think even Green Aes Sedai would be better than girls just loose from their mother's apron strings. He isn't that goodlooking.”

“He is not,” Mat agreed.

Gawyn grinned at both of them, until Hammar glared at him. “Here,” the Warder said, pushing two more silver coins into Mat's hand. “I will collect from Galad later. Where are you from, lad?”

“Manetheren.” Mat froze when he heard the name come out of his mouth. “I mean, I'm from the Two Rivers. I have heard too many old stories.” They just looked at him without saying anything. “I... I think I will go back and see if I can find something to eat.” Not even the Midmorning bell had rung yet, but they nodded as if it made sense.

He kept the quarterstaff — no one had told him to put it back — and walked slowly until the trees hid him from the practice yard. When they did, he leaned on the staff as though it were the only thing holding him up. He was not sure it was not.

He thought that if he parted his coat, he would see a hole where his stomach should have been, a hole growing larger as it pulled the rest of him in. But he hardly thought of hunger. He kept hearing voices in his head. You speak the Old Tongue, lad? Manetheren. It made him shiver. Light help me, I keep digging myself deeper. I have to get out of here. But how? He hobbled back toward the Tower proper like an old, old man. How?

Chapter 25

(Crescent Moon and Stars)

Questions

Egwene lay across Nynaeve's bed, chin in her hands, watching Nynaeve pace back and forth. Elayne sprawled in front of the fireplace, which was still full of the ashes of last night's fire. Yet again Elayne was studying the list of names Verin had produced, patiently reading every word one more time. The other pages, the list of ter'angreal, sat on the table; after one shocked reading they had not discussed that one further, though they had talked of everything else. And argued, too.

Egwene stifled a yawn. It was only the middle of the morning, but none of them had gotten much sleep. They had had to be up early. For the kitchens, and breakfast. For other things that she refused to think about. The little sleep she herself had managed had been filled with unpleasant dreams. Maybe Anaiya could help me understand them, those that need understanding, but... But what if she is Black Ajah? After staring at every woman in that chamber last night, wondering which was Black Ajah, she was finding trust for anyone but her two companions hard to come by. But she did wish she had some way of interpreting those dreams.

The nightmares about what had happened inside the ter'angreal last night were easy enough to understand, though they had made her wake up weeping. She had dreamed of the Seanchan, too, of women in dresses with lightning bolts woven on their breasts, collaring a long line of women who wore Great Serpent rings, forcing them to call lightning against the White Tower. That had started her awake in a cold sweat, but that had to be just a nightmare, too. And the dream about Whitecloaks binding her father's hands. A nightmare brought on by homesickness, she supposed. But the others...

She glanced at the other two women again. Elayne was still reading. Nynaeve still paced with that steady tread.

There had been a dream of Rand, reaching for a sword that seemed to be made of crystal, never seeing the fine net dropping over him. And one of him kneeling in a chamber where a parched wind blew dust across the. floor, and creatures like the one on the Dragon banner, but much smaller, floated on that wind, and settled into his skin. There had been a dream of him walking down into a great hole in a black mountain, a hole filled with a reddish glare as from vast fires below, and even a dream of him confronting Seanchan.

About that last, she was uncertain, but she knew the others had to mean something. Back when she had been sure she could trust Anaiya, back before she had left the Tower, before she learned the reality of the Black Ajah, a little cautious questioning of the Aes Sedai — done, oh, so carefully, so Anaiya would think it no more than the curiosity she showed about other things — had revealed that a Dreamer's dreams about ta'veren were almost always significant, and the more strongly ta'veren, the more “almost always” becam