“Talmanes, you have the command until I get back, but you don’t stir unless somebody jumps on the Band with both boots. These four will tell you what you might have to face. Vanin, you’re with me. Olver, stay close to Daerid, in case he needs messages carried. You can teach him to play Snakes and Foxes,” he added with a grin at Daerid. “He tells me he’d like to learn.” Daerid’s jaw dropped, but Mat had already moved on. A fine thing if he ended up hauled into Salidar by a Warder with a lump on his head. How to reduce the chance of that? The banners caught his eye. “You stay here,” he told the grizzled bannerman. “You other two come with me. And keep those things furled.”
His strange little party caught up to Aviendha quickly. If anything could convince the Warders to let them through unhindered, one look should. No threat in a woman and four men, and obviously making no effort to avoid notice, not carrying two banners. He checked the second squadmen. There was still no breeze, but they held the banners clutched to the staffs. Their faces were tight. Only a fool would want to ride in among Aes Sedai and have those spread in a sudden breeze.
Aviendha glanced at him sideways, then tried to push his boot out of the stirrup. “Let me up,” she ordered curtly.
Why under the Light did she want to ride now? Well, he was not going to have her scrambling up and very likely knocking him out of the saddle in the process; he had seen Aiel get on a horse once or twice.
Slapping another fly, he leaned down and caught her hand. “Hold on,” he said, and heaved her up behind him with a grunt. She was nearly as tall as he was, and solid to boot. “Just put your arm around my waist.” She only gave him a look and twisted about awkwardly until she sat astride, legs bared above the knee and not at all concerned with it. Nice legs, but he would not have involved himself with another Aiel woman even if she was not moonstruck over Rand.
After a time, she spoke to his back. “The boy, Olver. The Shaido killed his father?”
Mat nodded without looking around at her. Would he even see any Warders before it was too late? Leading the way, Vanin rode slumped like a sack of suet as always, but he had a sharp eye out.
“His mother died of hunger?” Aviendha asked.
“That, or maybe sickness.” Warders wore those cloaks that could blend into anything. You could walk past one without seeing him. “Olver wasn’t too clear, and I didn’t press him. He buried her himself. Why? Do you think you owe him something since Aiel cost him his family?”
“Owe?” She sounded startled. “I killed neither, and if I had, they were treekillers. How would I have toh?” Without a pause she went on as if continuing in the same line. “You do not care for him properly, Mat Cauthon. I know men know nothing about raising children, but he is too young to spend all of his time with grown men.”
Mat did look at her then, and blinked. She had her headkerchief off and was busily running a polished greenstone comb through her dark reddish hair. That seemed to be taking all her concentration. That and not falling off. She had donned an intricately worked silver necklace, too, and a wide bracelet of carved ivory.
Shaking his head, he went back to studying the forest. Aiel or not, they were all alike in some ways. If the world is ending, a woman will want time to fix her hair. If the world’s ending, a woman will take time to tell a man something he’s done wrong. It would have been enough to make him chuckle if he was not so busy wondering whether Warders were watching him right that moment.
The sun climbed to its zenith and tipped over by the time the forest gave way abruptly. Fewer than a hundred paces of cleared ground separated trees from village, and the ground looked as if it had not been cleared long. Salidar itself was a considerable village of gray stone buildings and thatched roofs, and the streets were full and busy. Mat shrugged into his coat; the finest green wool, embroidered with gold on cuffs and tall collar, it should be good enough to meet Aes Sedai in. He left it hanging open, though; even for Aes Sedai he would not die from heat.
No one tried to stop him as they rode in, but people paused and every eye turned to him and his strange little company. They knew, all right. Everyone knew. He gave up counting Aes Sedai faces after reaching fifty; that number was reached too quickly for any peace of mind. There were no soldiers in the crowd, unless you counted Warders, some in those color-shifting cloaks, some fingering a sword hilt as they watched him pass. No soldiers in the village simply meant they were all in the camps Vanin had mentioned. And all the soldiers being in the camps meant they were ready to do something. Mat hoped Talmanes was holding to his instructions. Talmanes had some sense, but he could be almost as eager to go off and charge somebody as Nalesean. He would have left Daerid in charge—Daerid had seen too many battles to be eager—but the noblemen would never have stood for it. There did not seem to be any flies in Salidar, either. Maybe they know something I don’t.
A woman caught his eye, a pretty woman in odd clothes, wide yellow trousers and a short white coat, her golden hair in an elaborate braid to her waist. She was carrying a bow, of all things. Not many women took up the bow. She saw him looking and ducked down a narrow alleyway. Something about her tickled his memory, but he could not say what. That was one trouble with all those old memories; he was always seeing people who reminded him of somebody who turned out to be a thousand years dead when he finally figured it out. Maybe he had even really seen somebody who looked like her. Those holes in what he remembered of his own life were fuzzy around the edges. Probably another Hunter for the Horn, he thought wryly, and put her out of his head.
There was no point in riding about until somebody spoke, because it seemed nobody was going to. Mat reined in and nodded to a thin, dark-haired woman who looked up at him, coolly questioning. Pretty, but too skinny for his taste even without that ageless face. Who wanted to be poked by bones every time you gave a hug? “My name is Mat Cauthon,” he said neutrally. If she wanted bowing and scraping, she could take a leap, but antagonizing her would just be foolish. “I’m looking for Elayne Trakand and Egwene al’Vere. And Nynaeve al’Meara, I suppose.” Rand had not mentioned her, but she had gone off with Elayne, he knew.
The Aes Sedai blinked in surprise, yet serenity returned in a flash. She studied him and the others one by one, pausing on Aviendha, then looked at the squadmen so long Mat wondered whether she could see the Dragon and the black-and-white disc through the folded cloth. “Follow me,” she said finally. “I will see whether the Amyrlin Seat can see you.” Gathering her skirts,