The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,199

thought, grinning to himself as he took off his hat and scratched at the back of his head. Hinderstap would only have three or four inns, and that made it a “small” town. Why, Mat could remember when he’d thought Baerlon a large city, and it probably wasn’t much larger than this Hinderstap!

A horse pulled up beside him. Thom was looking at that blasted letter again. The lanky gleeman’s face was thoughtful, his white hair stirring in the breeze, as he stared down at the words. As if he hadn’t read them a thousand times already.

“Why don’t you put that away?” Mat said. Thom looked up. It had taken some talking to get the gleeman to come down to the village, but Thom needed it, needed some distraction.

“I mean it, Thom,” Mat said. “I know you’re eager to go for Moiraine. But it’ll be weeks before we can break away, and reading over those words won’t do anything but make you anxious.”

Thom nodded and folded the paper with reverent fingers. “You’re right, Mat. But I’d been carrying this letter for months. Now that I’ve shared it, I feel. . . . Well, I just want to be on with it.”

“I know,” Mat said, looking up toward the horizon. Moiraine. The Tower of Ghenjei. Mat almost felt as if he could see the building out there, looming. That’s where his path pointed, and Caemlyn was just a stepping-stone along the way. If Moiraine was still alive . . . Light, what would that mean? How would Rand react?

The rescue was another reason Mat felt he needed a good night dicing. Why had he agreed to go with Thom into the tower? Those burning snakes and foxes—he had no desire to see them again.

But . . . he also couldn’t let Thom go alone. There was an inevitability to it. As if a part of Mat had known all along that he had to go back and face those creatures again. They’d gotten the better of him twice now, and the Eelfinn had tied strings around his brain with those memories in his head. He had a debt to settle with them, that was for certain.

Mat had little love for Moiraine, but he wouldn’t leave her to them, no matter that she was Aes Sedai. Bloody ashes. He’d probably be tempted to ride in and save one of the Forsaken themselves if they were trapped there.

And . . . maybe one was. Lanfear had fallen through that same portal. Burn him, what would he do if he found her there? Would he really rescue her as well?

You’re a fool, Matrim Cauthon. Not a hero. Just a fool.

“We’ll get to Moiraine, Thom,” Mat said. “You have my word, burn me. We’ll find her. But we have to see the Band someplace safe, and we need information. Bayle Domon says he knows where the tower is, but I won’t be comfortable until we can go to some large city and sniff for rumors and stories about this tower. Someone has to know something. Besides, we’ll need supplies, and I doubt we’ll find what we need in these mountain villages. We need to reach Caemlyn if possible, though maybe we’ll stop at Four Kings on the way.”

Thom nodded, though Mat could see he chafed at leaving Moiraine trapped, being tortured or who knows what. Thom’s brilliant blue eyes got a far-off look to them. Why did he care so much? What was Moiraine to him but another Aes Sedai, one of those who had cost the life of Thom’s nephew?

“Burn it,” Mat said. “We’re not supposed to be thinking about things like this, Thom! We’re going to have a good night of dice and laughter. There’ll probably be some time for a song or two as well.”

Thom nodded, face growing lighter. He had his harp case strapped to the back of his horse; it would be good to see him open it again. “You plan to try juggling for your supper again, apprentice?” Thom asked, eyes twinkling.

“Better than trying to play that blasted flute,” Mat grumbled. “Never was very good at that. Rand took to it right fine, though, didn’t he?”

Colors swirled in Mat’s head, resolving to an image of Rand, sitting alone in a room by himself. He sat splay-legged in a richly embroidered shirt, a coat of black and red tossed aside and crumpled next to the log wall beside him. Rand had one hand to his forehead as if trying to squeeze