The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,206

for another mug of ale—Talmanes pulled him aside. “I don’t like this, Mat,” the wiry man said in a low voice, leaning in. Sweat had long since streaked the powder on his shaved forehead, and he’d wiped it away, leaving the skin bare.

“I told you.” Mat took a swig of watery ale. “I know what I’m doing.” Men cheered to the side as one of them drank three mugs, one after another. The air smelt of sweat and muddy ale, spilled to the wood floor then trampled by the boots of those arriving from the pastures.

“Not that,” Talmanes said, glancing at the cheering men. “You can waste your coin if you want, so long as you spare a few coins to buy me a drink now and then. That’s not what’s bothering me, not anymore.”

Mat frowned. “What?”

“Something feels wrong about these folk, Mat.” Talmanes spoke very softly, glancing over his shoulder. “While you’ve been playing, I’ve been talking to them. They don’t care about the world. The Dragon Reborn, the Seanchan, nothing. Not a care.”

“So?” Mat said. “They’re simple folk.”

“Simple folk should worry even more,” Talmanes said. “They’re trapped here between gathering armies. But these just shrug when I talk, then drink some more. It’s as if they’re . . . they’re too focused on their revelry. As if it’s all that matters to them.”

“Then they’re perfect,” Mat said.

“It’ll be dark soon,” Talmanes said, glancing at the window. “We’ve used an hour, probably more. Maybe we should—”

At that moment, the door of the inn slammed open and the burly mayor entered, accompanied by the men who had joined him earlier, although they’d left their axes behind. They didn’t look pleased to find half the village inside the tavern gambling with Mat.

“Mat,” Talmanes began again.

Mat raised a hand, cutting him off. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

“It is?” Talmanes asked.

Mat turned back to the dicing table, smiling. He’d gone through most of his bags of coins, but he had enough for a few more throws—not counting what he’d brought along outside, of course. He picked up the dice and counted out some gold crowns, and the crowd began to throw down coins of their own—many of which, by now, were gold ones they’d won from Mat.

He tossed and lost, causing a roar of excitement from those watching. Barlden looked as if he wanted to toss Mat out—it was getting late, and sunset couldn’t be far off—but the man hesitated when he saw Mat pull out another handful of gold coins. Greed nibbled every man, and strict “rules” could be bent if opportunity walked past and winked suggestively enough.

Mat tossed again, and lost. More roars. The mayor folded his arms.

Mat reached into his pouch and found nothing but air. The men around him looked crestfallen, and one called for a round of drinks to “help the poor young lord forget about his luck.”

Not bloody likely, Mat thought, covering a smile. He stood up, raising his hands. “I see it’s getting late,” he said to the room.

“Too late,” Barlden interjected, pushing past a few smelly goatherds with fur-collared cloaks. “You should be going, outlander. Don’t be thinking I’ll make these men give back what you lost to them fairly, either.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mat said, slurring his words just a tad. “Harnan and Delarn!” he bellowed. “Bring in the chest!”

The two soldiers from outside hurried in a moment later, bearing the small wooden chest from the packhorse. The tavern grew silent as the soldier carried it over to the table and set it down. Mat fished out the key, wobbling slightly, then unlocked the lid and revealed the contents.

Gold. A lot of it. Practically all he had left of his personal coin. “There’s time for one more throw,” Mat said to a stunned room. “Any takers?”

Men began to toss down coins until the pile contained most of what Mat had lost. It wasn’t nearly enough to match what was in his chest. He looked it over, tapping his chin. “That’s not going to be enough, friends. I’ll take a bad bet, but if I’ve only got one more throw tonight, I want a chance of walking out of here with something.”

“It’s all we’ve got,” one of the men said, amid a few calls for Mat to go ahead and toss anyway.

Mat sighed, then closed the lid to the chest. “No,” he said. Even Barlden was watching with a gleam in his eyes. “Unless.” Mat paused. “I came here for supplies. I