The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,203

spotted Thom and his gleeman’s cloak. He’d make a stir, but a familiar one. The Aes Sedai, though, would be memorable.

Ah, well, he thought as he and Talmanes rode down the grass-lined road. He would retain his good humor; this time, he would not let the Aes Sedai ruin it.

By the time Mat and Talmanes reached the village, Thom had already gathered a small crowd. He stood upright on his saddle and juggled three colored balls in his right hand while talking of his travels in the south. The villagers here wore vests and green cloaks of a deep, velvety cloth. They looked warm, though upon closer inspection, Mat noticed that many of them—cloaks, vests and trousers—had been torn, and carefully mended.

Another group of people, mostly women, had gathered around the Aes Sedai. Good; Mat had half-expected the villagers to be frightened. One of those standing at the side of Thom’s group eyed Mat and Talmanes appraisingly. He was a sturdy fellow, with thick arms and linen sleeves that were rolled to the elbows despite the chill spring air. His arms curled with dark hair that matched his beard and the locks on his head.

“You have the look of a lord about you,” the man said, approaching Mat.

“He’s a pr—” Talmanes began before Mat cut him off hastily.

“I suppose I do at that,” Mat said, keeping an eye on Talmanes.

“I’m Barlden, the mayor here,” the man said, folding his arms. “You’re welcome to come and trade. Be aware that we don’t have much to spare.”

“Surely you at least have some cheese,” Talmanes said. “That’s what you produce, isn’t it?”

“All that hasn’t molded or spoiled is needed for our custom,” Mayor Barlden said. “That’s just the way of things, these days.” He hesitated. “But if you have cloth or clothing you’ll trade, we might be able to scrape something up to feed you for the day.”

Feed us for a day? Mat thought. All thirteen of us? He’d need to bring a wagonload back at least, not to mention the ale he’d promised his men.

“You still need to hear about the curfew. Trade, warm yourselves by the hearths for a time, but know that all outsiders must be out of the town by nightfall.”

Mat glanced up at the cloud-covered sky. “But that’s barely three hours away!”

“Those are our rules,” Barlden said curtly.

“It’s ridiculous,” Joline said, turning away from the village women. She nudged her horse a little closer to Mat and Talmanes, her Warders—as always—shadowing her. “Master Barlden, we cannot agree to this foolish prohibition. I understand your hesitation during these dangerous times, but surely you can see that your rules should not apply here.”

The man kept his arms folded and said nothing.

Joline pursed her lips, rearranging her hands on her reins so that her great serpent ring was prominently visible. “Does the symbol of the White Tower mean so little these days?”

“We respect the White Tower.” Barlden looked at Mat. He was wise. Meeting the gaze of an Aes Sedai tended to make one’s resolve weaken. “But our rules are strict, my Lady. I’m sorry.”

Joline sniffed. “I suspect that your innkeepers are less than satisfied with this requirement. How are they to make ends meet if they can’t rent rooms to travelers?”

“The inns are compensated,” the mayor said gruffly. “Three hours. Do your business and be on your way. We mean to be friendly to all who pass our way, but we can’t see our rules broken.” With that, he turned and left. As he walked away, he was joined by a small group of burly men, several carrying axes. Not threateningly. Casually, as if they’d been out chopping wood, and just happened to be walking through town. Together. In the same direction as the mayor.

“I should say this is quite the welcome,” Talmanes muttered.

Mat nodded. At that moment, the dice started rattling in his head. Burn it! He decided to ignore them. They were never any help anyway. “Let’s go find a tavern,” he said, heeling Pips forward.

“Still determined to make a night of it, eh?” Talmanes said, smiling as he joined Mat.

“We’ll see,” Mat said, listening to those dice despite himself. “We’ll see.”

Mat spotted three inns on his initial ride through the village. There was one at the end of the main thoroughfare, and it had two bright lanterns burning out front, even though night hadn’t yet fallen. Those whitewashed walls and clean glass windows would draw the Aes Sedai like moths to a flame. That would be the