The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,198

anything in the tent that is dear to you?” Lelaine asked, looking back at the tent. Through the lamplight, she could see the shadowy insects scurrying up the walls.

Romanda spared a thought for her journal, but knew that she’d never be able to touch those pages after her tent had been infested this way. “Nothing that I’d care to keep now,” she said, weaving Fire. “And nothing I can’t replace.”

The others joined her, and the tent burst into flames, Rorik jumping back as they channeled. Romanda thought she heard the insects popping and sizzling inside. The Aes Sedai moved back from the sudden heat. In moments, the entire tent was an inferno. Women rushed out of nearby tents to look.

“I do no think that was natural,” Magla said softly. “Those did be four-spine roaches. Sailors do see them on ships that visit Shara.”

“Well, it isn’t the worst we’ve seen from the Dark One,” Siuan said, folding her arms. “And we’ll see worse yet, mark my words.” She eyed Shemerin. “Come, I want that map from you.”

They left with Rorik and the others, who would alert the camp that the Dark One had touched it this night. Romanda stood watching the tent burn. Soon it was only smoldering coals.

Light, she thought. Egwene is right. It is coming. Fast. And the girl was imprisoned now; she’d met with the Hall the night before in the World of Dreams, informing them of her disastrous dinner with Elaida and the aftermath of insulting the false Amyrlin. And yet Egwene still refused rescue.

Torches were lit and Warders roused as a precaution against more evil. She smelled smoke. That was the remains of all she had owned in the world.

The Tower needed to be whole. Whatever it took. Would she be willing to bow before Elaida to make that happen? Would she put on an Accepted dress again if it would bring unity for the Last Battle?

She couldn’t decide. And that disturbed her nearly as much as those scuttling roaches had.

CHAPTER 27

The Tipsy Gelding

Mat didn’t escape the camp without the Aes Sedai, of course. Bloody women.

He rode down the ancient stone roadway, no longer followed by the Band. He was, however, accompanied by the three Aes Sedai, two Warders, five soldiers, Talmanes, a pack animal and Thom. At least Aludra, Amathera and Egeanin hadn’t insisted on coming. This group was too big as it was.

The three-needle pines guarded the road, smelling of pine sap, and the air was melodic with mountain finches’ calls. It was still several hours until sundown; he’d halted the Band near noon. He rode slightly ahead of the clustered Aes Sedai and Warders. After he’d refused Joline horses and funds, they hadn’t been about to let him win another point. Not when they could force him to take them down to the village, where they could spend at least one night in an inn with soft beds and warm baths.

He didn’t argue too loudly. He hated to have more tongues wagging about the Band, and women did gossip, even Aes Sedai. But there was little chance of the Band passing without causing a stir in the village anyway. If any Seanchan patrols made it through these twisting mountain paths. . . . Well, Mat would just have to keep the Band on a steady pace northward and that was that. No use crying about it.

Besides, he was beginning to feel right again, riding Pips down that road, spring breeze crisp in the air. He’d taken to wearing one of his older coats, red with brown trim, unbuttoned to show his old tan shirt beneath.

This was what it was about. Traveling to new villages, throwing dice in the inns, pinching a few barmaids. He would not think of Tuon. Flaming Seanchan. She’d be all right, wouldn’t she?

No. His hands almost itched to be at the dicing. It had been far too long since he’d sat down in a corner somewhere and thrown with the ordinary sort. They’d be a little dirtier of face and coarser of language, but as good of heart as any man. Better than most lords.

Talmanes rode just ahead. He’d probably wish for a nicer tavern than Mat, a place to join a game of cards rather than throwing dice. But they might not have much of a choice. The village was of decent size, probably worthy of being called a town, but was unlikely to have more than three or four inns. Their choices would be limited.

Decent size, Mat