The Gathering Storm

there. He'd paid the butcher too much so far. He wanted out of this hangman's noose of a country.

'Well,' Mat said, reining Pips back to ride beside Vanin, 'which of those mountains is it? Maybe we should go ask Master Roidelle again.'

The map belonged to the master mapmaker; it was only because of his presence that they'd been able to find this roadway in the first place. But Vanin insisted on being the one to guide the troop—a mapmaker wasn't the same thing as a scout. You didn't have a dusty cartographer ride out and lead the way for you, Vanin insisted.

In truth, Master Roidelle didn't have a lot of experience being a guide. He was a scholar, an academic. He could explain a map for you perfectly, but he had as much trouble as Vanin making sense of where they were, since this roadway was so disjointed and broken, the pines high enough to obscure landmarks, the hilltops all nearly identical.

Of course, there was also the fact that Vanin seemed threatened by the presence of the mapmaker, as if he were worried about being unseated from his position guiding Mat and the Band. Mat had never expected such an emotion from the overweight horsethief. It might have been enough to make him amused if they weren't lost so much of the flaming time.

Vanin scowled. 'I think that has to be Mount Sardlen. Yes. It's got to be.'

'Which means . . . ?'

'Which means we keep heading along the roadway,' Vanin said. 'The same thing I told you an hour ago. We can't bloody march an army through a forest this thick, now can we? That means staying on the stones.'

'I'm just asking,' Mat said, pulling down the brim of his hat against the sun. 'A commander's got to ask things like this.'

'I should ride ahead,' Vanin said, scowling again. He was fond of scowls. 'If that is Mount Sardlen, there should be a village of fair size an hour or two further along. I might be able to spot it from the next rise.'

'Go, then,' Mat said. They had advance scouts out, of course, but none of them were as good as Vanin. Despite his size, the man could sneak close enough to an enemy fortification to count the whiskers in the camp guards' beards and never be seen. He'd probably make off with their stew, too.

Vanin shook his head as he regarded the map again. 'Actually,' he muttered, 'now that I think about it, maybe that's Favlend Mountain. . . .' He set off at a trot before Mat could object.

Mat sighed, heeling Pips to catch up to Talmanes. The Cairhienin shook his head. He could be an intense one, Talmanes. Early in their association, Mat had assumed him to be stern, unable to have fun. He was learning better. Talmanes wasn't stern, he was just reserved. But at times, there seemed to be a twinkle to the nobleman's eyes, as if he were laughing at the world, despite that set jaw and his unsmiling lips.

Today, he wore a red coat, trimmed with gold, and his forehead was shaved and powdered after Cairhien in fashion. It looked bloody ridiculous, but who was Mat to judge? Talmanes might have terrible fashion sense, but he was a loyal officer and a good man. Besides, he had excellent taste in wine.

'Don't look so glum, Mat,' Talmanes said, puffing on his gold-rimmed pipe. Where'd he gotten that, anyway? Mat didn't remember him having it before. 'Your men have full bellies, full pockets, and they just won a great victory. Not much more than that a soldier can ask for.'

'We buried a thousand men,' Mat said. 'That's no victory.' The memories in his head—the ones that weren't his—said he should be proud. The battle had gone well. But there were still those dead who had depended on him.

'There are always losses,' Talmanes said. 'You can't let them eat you up, Mat. It happens.'

'There aren't losses when you don't fight in the first place.'

'Then why ride to battle so often?'

'I only fight when I can't avoid it!' Mat snapped. Blood and bloody ashes, he only fought when he had to. When they trapped him! Why did that seem to happen every time he turned around?

'Whatever you say, Mat,' Talmanes said, taking out his pipe and pointing it at Mat knowingly. 'But something's got you on edge. And it isn't the men we lost.'

Flaming noblemen. Even the ones you could stand, like Talmanes, always thought they knew so much.

Of course, Mat was now a nobleman himself. Don't think about that, he told himself. Talmanes had spent a few days calling Mat 'Your Highness' until Mat had lost his temper and yelled at the man— Cairhienin could be such sticklers for rank.

When Mat had first realized what his marriage to Tuon meant, he'd laughed, but it had been the laughter of incredulous pain. And men called him lucky. Well why couldn't his luck have helped him avoid this fate! Bloody Prince of the Ravens? What did that mean?

Well, right now he had to worry about his men. He glanced over his shoulder, looking along the ranks of cavalrymen, with crossbowmen riding behind. There were thousands of both, though Mat had ordered their banners stowed. They weren't likely to pass many travelers on this backwater path, but if anyone did set them, he didn't want their tongues wagging-

Would the Seanchan chase him? He and Tuon both knew they were

on opposing sides now, and she'd seen what his army could do.

Did she love him? He was married to her, but Seanchan didn't think like regular people. She'd stayed in his possession, enduring captivity, never running. But he had little doubt that she'd move against him if she thought it best for her empire.

Yes, she'd send men after him, though potential pursuit didn't trouble him half as much as the worry that she might not make it back to Ebou Dar safely. Someone had offered a very large pile of coin for Tuon's head. That Seanchan traitor, the leader of the army Mat had destroyed. Had he been working alone? Were there others? What had Mat released Tuon into?

The questions haunted him. 'Should I have let her go, do you think?' Mat found himself asking.

Talmanes shrugged. 'You gave your word, Mat, and I think that rather large Seanchan fellow with the determined eyes and the black armor wouldn't have reacted well if you'd tried to keep her.'

'She could still be in danger,' Mat said, almost to himself, still looking backward. 'I shouldn't have let her out of my sight. Fool woman.'

'Mat,' Talmanes said, pointing at him with the pipe again. 'I'm surprised at you. Why, you're starting to sound downright husbandly.'

That gave Mat a start. He twisted around in Pips' saddle. 'What was that? What does that mean?'

'Nothing, Mat,' Talmanes said hurriedly. 'Just that, the way you're mooning after her, I—'

'I'm not mooning,' Mat snapped, pulling the lip of his hat down, then adjusting his scarf. His medallion was a comfortable weight around his neck. 'I'm just worried. That's all. She knows a lot about the Band, and she could give away our strengths.'

Talmanes shrugged, puffing his pipe. They rode for a time in silence. The pine needles soughed in the wind, and Mat occasionally heard women's laughter from behind, where the Aes Sedai rode in a little cluster. For all the fact that they didn't like one another, they usually got along just fine when others could see them. But, as he'd said to Talmanes, women were only enemies with one another as long as there wasn't a man around to gang up on.

The sun was marked by a blazing patch of clouds; Mat hadn't seen pure sunlight in days. He hadn't seen Tuon in as long either. The two events seemed paired in his head. Was there a connection?

Bloody fool, he thought to himself. Next you'll start thinking like her.

reading portents into every little thing, looking for symbols and meaning every time a rabbit runs across your path or a horse lets wind.

That kind of fortunetelling was all nonsense. Though he had to admit, he now cringed every time he heard an owl hoot twice.

'Have you ever loved a woman, Talmanes?' Mat found himself asking.

'Several,' the short man replied, riding with pipe smoke curling behind him.

'Ever consider marrying one of them?'

'No, thank the Light,' Talmanes said. Then, apparently, he thought better of what he'd just said. 'I mean, it wasn't right for me at the time, Mat. But I'm certain it will work out fine for you.'