those dark figures, whose faces he couldn't see save for an occasional flash of teeth or insane eyes reflecting the dying light. It reminded him, briefly, of another night, killing Shadowspawn in the dark. Save these figures he fought didn't have the grace of a Myrddraal. They didn't even have the coordination of Trollocs.
For a moment, it seemed Mat fought the shadows themselves— shadows made by sputtering firelight, random and uncoordinated, yet all the more deadly for his inability to anticipate them. He narrowly escaped getting his skull crushed by attacks that made no sense. During the day, those attacks would have been laughable, but from this darkened pack of men—and women—who didn't care what they hit or who they hurt, the attacks were overwhelming. Mat found himself fighting just to stay alive, spinning his
A shadow moved just a short distance away, and Mat instantly recognized a sword-form. Rat Gnawing the Grain? A villager wouldn't know that. Good man!
Mat spun toward that shadow, slashing two other shadows across the chest, earning grunts and howls of pain. Delarn's figure fell beneath a pile of several others, and Mat bellowed in denial, leaping across a fallen body and landing with his spear descending in a broad sweep. Shadows bled where he struck, the blood just another patch of darkness, and Mat used the butt of his weapon to beat back another. He reached down, pulling one of the shadows to its feet, and heard a muttered curse. It was Delarn.
'Come on,' Mat said, pulling the man toward Pips, who stood firm, snorting, in the darkness. The attacking men seemed to ignore animals, which was fortunate. Mat shoved the stumbling Delarn toward the horse, then turned and engaged the pack he'd known would chase after him. Again, Mat danced with the darkness, striking again and again, trying to disengage so that he could climb into the saddle. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and found that Delarn had managed to get onto Pips' back—but the soldier sat slumped, a huddled mound. How badly was he wounded? He barely seemed able to keep himself upright. Blood and bloody ashes!
Mat turned back to the attackers, spinning his spear, trying to force them back. But they didn't care about being wounded, they didn't care how dangerous Mat was. They just kept coming! Surrounding him. Coming at him from every side. Bloody ashes! He twisted just in time to see a dark shape rush him from behind.
Something flashed in the night, reflecting some very distant light.
The dark figure behind Mat slumped to the ground. Another flash, and one of the ones in front of Mat fell. Suddenly, a figure on a white horse rushed past, and another knife flashed in the air, dropping a third man.
'Thorn!' Mat called, recognizing the cloak.
'Get on your horse!' Thorn's voice called back. 'I'm running out of knives!'
Mat swept out with his spear, dropping two more villagers, then dashed forward and leaped into his saddle, trusting Thorn to cover his retreat. Indeed, he heard a few cries of pain from behind. A moment later, a thundering sound on the road announced the imminent approach of horses. Mat pulled himself into his saddle as the creatures tore through the black morass, scattering the villagers.
'Mat, you fool!' Talmanes shouted from one of the horses, barely visible as a silhouette against the night.
Mat smiled gratefully at Talmanes, turning Pips, and caught Delarn as the man almost slid free. The Redarm was alive, for he struggled weakly, but there was a slick wet patch at his side. Mat held the man in front of him, ignoring the reins in the darkness and controlling Pips with a quick twist of the knees. He didn't know horseback battle commands himself, but those blasted memories did, and so he'd trained Pips to obey.
Thorn galloped past, and Mat turned Pips to follow, steadying Delarn with one hand and carrying his spear in the other. Talmanes and Harnan rode to either side of him, charging down the corridor of madness toward the inn at the end.
'Come on, man,' Mat whispered to Delarn. 'Hang on. The Aes Sedai are just ahead. They'll fix you up.'
Delarn whispered something back.
Mat leaned forward. 'What was that?'
'. . . and toss the dice until we fly,' Delarn whispered. 'To dance with Jak o' the Shadows. . . .'
'Great,' Mat muttered. There were lights ahead, and he could see they were coming from the inn. Perhaps they'd find one place in this flaming village where the people's brains hadn't turned inside out.
But no. Those bursts of light were familiar. Balls of fire, flashing in the upper-story windows of the inn.
'Well,' Talmanes noted from his left, 'looks like the Aes Sedai still live. That's something, at least.'
Figures clustered around the front of the inn, fighting in the darkness, their forms periodically lit from above by the flashes in the windows.
'Round to the back,' Thorn suggested.
'Go,' Mat said to them, charging past the fighting figures. Tal-manes, Thorn and Harnan followed close on Pips' hooves. Mat blessed his luck that they didn't hit a hole or rut in the ground as they crossed the softer earth coming around behind the inn. The horses could easily have tripped and broken a leg, throwing all of them into disaster.
The back of the inn was silent, and Mat reined in. Thom leaped from his horse, his agility defying his earlier complaints about his age. He took up position watching the side of the building to see that they weren't followed.
'Harnan!' Mat said, thrusting his spear toward the stables. 'Get the women's horses out and ready them. Saddle them if you can, but be ready to go without those if we have to. Light willing, we won't have to ride far, just a mile or so to get out of the village and away from this insanity.'
Harnan saluted in the darkness, then dismounted and dashed over to the stables. Mat waited long enough to determine that nobody was going to jump out at him from the darkness, then spoke to Delarn, still held in front of him. 'You still conscious?'
Delarn nodded weakly. 'Yes, Mat. But I've taken a gut wound. I____'
'We'll get the Aes Sedai,' Mat said. 'All you need to do is sit right here. Stay in the saddle, all right?'
Delarn nodded again. Mat hesitated at the weakness in the man's motions, but Delarn took Pips' reins, and seemed determined. So Mat slid out of the saddle, holding his
'Mat,' Delarn said from the saddle.
Mat turned back.
'Thank you. For coming back for me.'
'I wasn't going to leave a man to that,' Mat said, shivering. 'Dying on the battlefield is one thing, but to die out there, in that darkness. . . . Well, I wasn't going to let it happen. Talmanes! See if you can find some light.'
'Working on it,' the Cairhienin said from beside the inn's back door. He had found a lantern hanging there. A few strikes of flint and steel later, and a small, soft glow lit the backyard of the inn. Talmanes quickly closed the shield, keeping the light mostly hidden.
Thom trotted back to them. 'No one following, Mat,' he said.
Mat nodded. By the lanternlight, he could see that Delarn was in bad shape. Not just the gut wound, but scrapes across the face, rips in his uniform, one eye swollen shut.
Mat whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it against the gut wound, standing beside Pips and reaching up to the man in the saddle. 'Hold this tight. How'd the wound happen? They don't use weapons.'
'One got my own sword away from me,' Delarn said with a grunt. 'He used it well enough once he had it.'
Talmanes had opened the back door of the inn. He looked to Mat and nodded. The way inside was clear.
'We'll be back soon,' Mat promised Delarn. Holding his
The door led to the kitchens. Mat scanned the dark room, and Talmanes nudged him, pointing at several lumps on the floor. The sliver of lantern light revealed a pair of kitchen boys, barely ten years old, dead on the ground, their necks twisted. Mat glanced away, steeling himself, and inched into the room. Light! Only lads, and now dead by this insanity.
Thorn shook his head grimly, and the three of them crept forward. They found the cook in the next hallway, grunting as he beat on the head of what appeared to be the innkeeper. It was a man in a white apron, at least. He was already dead. The fat cook turned toward Mat and Talmanes the moment they entered the hallway, feral rage in his eyes. Mat reluctantly struck, silencing him before he could howl and bring more people against them.
'There's fighting on the stairs,' Talmanes said, nodding forward.
