'We will feast when the Last Battle has been won and Cairhien's children are safe,' Elayne said. She needed to distract them from their plots, give them work to keep them busy, if possible. 'Move! Pretend the Last Battle is on your doorstep, and will arrive on the morrow!' For, indeed it might.
Mat leaned against a dead tree, looking over his camp. He breathed in and out, smiling, feeling the beautiful comfort of knowing that he was no longer being chased. He had forgotten how good that felt. Better than a pretty serving girl on each knee, that feeling was. Well, better than one serving girl, anyway.
A military camp at evening was one of the most comfortable places in all the world, even if half the camp was empty, the men there having gone to Cairhien. The sun had set, and some of those who remained had turned in. But for those who had pulled afternoon duty the next day, there was no reason to sleep just yet.
A dozen firepits smoldered through the camp, men sitting to share tales of exploits, of women left behind, or of rumors from far off. Tongues of flames flickered as men laughed, sitting on logs or rocks, someone occasionally digging into the coals with a twisted branch and stirring tiny sparks into the air as his friends sang 'Come Ye Maids' or 'Fallen Willows at Noon.'
The men of the Band were from a dozen different nations, but this camp was their true home. Mat strode through them, hat on his head, ashandarei over his shoulder. He had gotten a new scarf for his neck. People knew about his scar, but there was no reason to show it off like one or Luca's bloody wagons.
The scarf he had chosen this time was red. In memory of Tylin and the others who had fallen to the gholam. For a short time, he had been tempted to choose pink. A very short time.
Mat smiled. Though songs rang from several of the campfires, none were loud, and there was a healthy stillness about the camp. Not a silence. Silence was never good. He hated silence. Made him wonder who was trying so hard to sneak up on him. No, this was a stillness. Men snoring softly, fires crackling, other men singing, weeds crunching as those on watch passed by. The peaceful noises of men enjoying their lives.
Mat found his way back to his table outside his darkened tent. He sat down, looking over the papers he had stacked here. The inside of the tent had been too stuffy. Besides, he had not wanted to wake Olver.
Mat's tent rippled in the wind. His seat did look odd, the fine oak table sitting in a patch of hensfoot, Mat's chair beside it, a pitcher of mulled cider on the ground beside him. The papers on his table were weighed down with various rocks he had picked up, lit by a single flickering lamp.
He should not have to have stacks of paper. He should be able to sit at one of those fires and sing 'Dance with Jak o' the Shadows.' He could faintly make out the words of the song from a nearby campfire.
Papers. Well, he had agreed to Elayne's employment, and there were papers for that sort of thing. And papers about setting up the dragon crews. Papers about supplies, discipline reports, and all kinds of nonsense. And a few papers he had been able to wiggle out of her royal majesty, spy reports he had wanted to look over. Reports on the Seanchan.
Much of the news was not new to him; by courtesy of Verin's gateway, Mat had traveled to Caemlyn more quickly than most rumors. But Elayne had gateways of her own, and some of the news from Tear and Illian was fresh. There was talk of the new Seanchan Empress. So Tuon really had crowned herself, or whatever it was the Seanchan did to name a new leader.
That made him smile. Light, but they did not know what they were in for! They probably thought they did. But she would surprise them, sure as the sky was blue. Or, well, it had been gray lately.
There was also talk of Sea Folk in alliance with the Seanchan. Mat dismissed that. The Seanchan had captured enough Sea Folk vessels to give that impression, but it was not the truth. He found some pages with news about Rand, too, most of it unspecific or untrustworthy.
Blasted colors. Rand was sitting around and talking with some people in a tent. Perhaps he was in Arad Doman, but he could not be both there and fighting in the Borderlands, now could he? One rumor said that Rand had killed Queen Tylin. Which bloody idiots thought that?
He turned over the reports on Rand quickly. He hated having to banish those flaming colors over and over again. At least Rand was wearing clothes this time.
The last page was curious. Wolves running in enormous packs, congregating in clearings and howling in chorus? The skies shining red at night? Livestock lining up in the fields, all facing toward the north, watching silently? The footprints of Shadowspawn armies in the middle of fields?
These things smelled of simple hearsay, passed on from farmwife to farm-wife until they reached the ears of Elayne's spies.
Mat looked over the sheet, then—without even thinking of it—realized he had pulled Verin's envelope out of his pocket. The still-sealed letter was looking worn and dirty, but he had not opened it. It seemed like the most difficult thing he had ever done, resisting that urge.
'Now that is a sight of some irregularity,' a woman's voice said. Mat looked up to see Setalle strolling toward him. She wore a brown dress that laced over her ample bosom. Not that Mat spent any time looking at it.
'You like my den?' Mat asked. He set the envelope aside, then put the last of the spy reports on a stack, just beside a series of sketches he'd been doing on some new crossbows, based on the ones Talmanes had bought The papers threatened to blow away. As he had no rock for this stack, he pulled off one of his boots and set it on the top.
'Your den?' Setalle asked, sounding amused.
'Sure,' Mat said, scratching the bottom of his stockinged foot. 'You'll have to make an appointment with my steward if you want to come in.'
'Your steward?'
'The stump right over there,' Mat said, nodding. 'Not the little one, the big one with moss growing on the top.'
She raised an eyebrow.
'He's quite good,' Mat said. 'Hardly ever lets anyone in I don't want to see.'
'You are an interesting creature, Matrim Cauthon,' Setalle said, seating herself on the larger stump. Her dress was after the Ebou Dar style, with the side pinned up to reveal petticoats colorful enough to scare away a Tinker.
'Did you want anything specific?' Mat asked. 'Or did you just drop by so that you could sit on my steward's head?'
'I heard that you visited the palace again today. Is it true that you know the Queen?'
Mat shrugged. 'Elayne's a nice enough girl. Pretty thing, that's for certain.'
'You don't shock me anymore, Matrim Cauthon,' Setalle noted. 'I've realized that the things you say are often intended to do that.'
They were? 'I say what I'm thinking, Mistress Anan. Why does it matter to you if I know the Queen?'
'Merely another piece of the puzzle that you represent,' Setalle said. 'I received a letter from Joline today.'
'What did she want from you?'
'She didn't ask for anything. She merely wanted to send word that they had arrived safely in Tar Valon.'
'You must have read it wrong.'
Setalle gave him a chiding stare. 'Joline Sedai respects you, Master Cauthon. She often spoke highly of you, and the way that you rescued not only her, but the other two. She asked after you in the letter.'
Mat blinked. 'Really? She said things like that?'
Setalle nodded.
'Burn me,' he said. 'Almost makes me feel bad for painting her mouth blue. But you wouldn't have known she thought that way, considering how she treated me.'
'Speaking such things to a man inflates his opinion of himself. One would think that the way she treated you would have been enough.'
'She's Aes Sedai,' Mat muttered. 'She treats everyone like they're mud to be scraped off her boots.'
Setalle glared at him. She had a stately way about her, part grandmother, part court lady, part no-nonsense innkeeper.
'Sorry,' he said. 'Some Aes Sedai aren't as bad as others. I didn't mean to insult you.'
'I'll take that for a compliment,' Setalle said. 'Though I'm not Aes Sedai.'
Mat shrugged, finding a nice small rock at his feet. He used it to replace his boot atop the stack of paper. The rains of the last few days had passed, leaving a crisp freshness to the air. 'I know you said it didn't hurt,' Mat said.
