Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13)

Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13) Page 118

“We know what they want.” Mat glanced at those flames.

“What?” Noal asked.

“Us,” Mat replied. “Look, they can see what’s going to happen. They did it to me, they did it to Moiraine, if that letter is any clue. They knew she would leave a letter for you, Thom. They knew it. And they still answered her questions.”

“Maybe they had to,” Thom said.

“Yes, but they don’t have to answer straightforwardly,” Mat said. “They didn’t with me. They answered knowing she would come back to them. And they gave me what they did knowing I’d get pulled back, too. They want me. They want us.”

“You don’t know that for certain, Mat.” Thom set his mug of ale on the floor between his feet and got out his pipe. To Mat’s right, men cheered a dice game. “They can answer questions, but that doesn’t mean they know everything. Could be like Aes Sedai foretellings.”

Mat shook his head. The creatures put memories into his head. He figured they were the memories of people who had touched the tower or been into it. The Aelfinn and the Eelfinn had those memories, and burn him, they probably had his, too. Could they watch him, see through his eyes?

He wished again for his medallion, though it would do no good against them. They were not Aes Sedai; they would not use channeling. “They do know things, Thom,” Mat said. “They’re watching. We won’t surprise them.”

“Makes them hard to defeat, then,” Thom said, lighting a tinder twig with the fire, then using it to light his pipe. “We can’t win.”

“Unless we break the rules,” Mat repeated.

“But they’ll know what we’re doing,” Thom said, “if what you say is true. So we should trade with them.”

“And what did Moiraine say, Thom?” Mat said. “In that letter you read every night.”

Thom puffed on his pipe, raising an absent hand to his breast pocket, where he kept the letter. “She said to remember what we knew of the game.”

“She knows there’s no way to win when dealing with them,” Mat said. “No trades, Thom, no bargains. We go in fighting and we don’t leave until we have her.”

Thom hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his pipe beginning to puff.

“Courage to strengthen,” Noal said. “Well, we have enough of that, with Mat’s luck.”

“You don’t have to be part of this, you know, Noal,” Mat said. “You have no reason to risk yourself on this.”

“I’m going,” Noal said. “I’ve seen a lot of places. Most places, actually. But never this one.” He hesitated. “It’s something I need to do. And that’s the end of it.”

“Very well,” Mat said.

“Fire to blind,” Noal said. “What do we have?”

“Lanterns and torches,” Mat said, knocking his foot against the sack beside his chair. “And some of those firesticks from Aludra, so we can light them. A few surprises from her, too.”

“Fireworks?” Noal asked.

“And a few of those exploding cylinders we used against the Seanchan. She calls them roarsticks.”

Thom whistled. “She let you have some?”

“Two. When I presented her with Elayne’s agreement, she was ready to let me have almost anything I asked for.” Mat grimaced. “She wanted to come along to light them. Herself! Burn me, but that was a tough argument to end. But we’ve got a whole lot of nightflowers.” He tapped the sack beside his chair with the edge of his foot.

“You brought them?” Thom asked.

“I wanted to keep them close,” Mat said. “And she only gave them to me today. They’re not going to explode by accident, Thom. That doesn’t happen very often.”

“Well at least move them back from the hearth!” Thom said. He glanced at his pipe and cursed, then scooted his chair a few inches from Mat.

“Next,” Noal said, “music to dazzle.”

“I got us a variety,” Thom said. “I’ll bring my harp and flute, but I found us some hand drums and hand cymbals. They can be strapped to the side of your leg and hit with one hand. I also bought an extra flute.” He eyed Mat. “A simple one, designed for those with thick, slow fingers.”

Mat snorted.

“And finally, iron to bind,” Noal said, sliding forward a pack of his own. It clinked faintly as he untied the top, the contents reflecting the deep orange hearthlight. “A set of throwing knives for each of us and two shortswords. Each of pure iron, no steel. I got us some chains, too, and a band of iron to clip around the butt of Mat’s spear. It might throw the weight off, though.”

“I’ll take it,” Mat said.

Noal did up his pack again, and the three of them sat before the hearth for a time. In a way, these things they’d gathered were an illusion. A way to reassure themselves that they were doing something to prepare.

But Mat remembered those twisted places beyond the gateways, the angles that were not right, the unnatural landscape. The creatures called snakes and foxes because they defied standard description.

That place was another world. The preparations he did with Thom and Noal might help, but they might also be useless. There was no telling until they stepped into that tower. It felt like not knowing if you had the right antidote until after the snake’s teeth were already clamped down on your arm.

Eventually, he bade the other two a good night. Noal wanted to head back to the Band’s camp, which was now only a ten-minute ride from the city. Thom agreed to go with him, and they took Mat’s pack full of nightflowers—though both men looked as if they would rather be carrying a sack full of spiders.

Mat belted his sword on over his coat, took up his staff, then headed back toward his inn. He did not go directly there, though, and instead found himself trailing through the alleys and streets. Shanties and tents had sprung up beside solid buildings as the city-outside-the-city spread along the walls, like mold growing on a loaf of bread.

The sky was dark, but the night was still busy, touts calling from within the lit doorways of inns. Mat made sure the shortsword was visible. There were many who would think to exploit a lone wanderer at night, particularly outside the city walls, where the arm of the law was a little on the flabby side.

The air smelled of impending rain, but it often did these days. He wished it would go on and storm or bloody clear up. It felt as if the air were holding its breath, waiting for something. A blow that never fell, a bell that never rang, a set of dice that never stopped spinning. Just like the ones th