The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,217

soldiers. Either way, you all stay here. I can’t worry about a whole group right now.”

He didn’t give them a chance to argue. Within minutes, Mat and Thom were on their horses, riding down the path back toward Hinderstap.

“Lad,” Thom said, “what is it you expect to find?”

“I don’t know,” Mat replied. “If I did, I wouldn’t be so keen to look.”

“Fair enough,” Thom said softly.

Mat spotted the oddities almost immediately. Those goats out on the western pasture. He couldn’t tell for certain in the dawn light, but it looked like someone was herding them. And were those lights winking on in the village? There hadn’t been a single one of those all night long! He hastened Pips’ pace, Thom following silently.

It took the better part of an hour to arrive—Mat hadn’t wanted to risk camping too close, though he’d also been disinclined to hunt a way around and back to the army in the dark. It was fully light, if still very early, by the time they rode back into the inn’s yard. A couple of men in dun coats were working on the back door, which had apparently been broken off its hinges sometime after Mat and the others left. The men looked up as Mat and Thom rode into the yard, and one of them pulled off his cap, looking anxious. Neither one made a threatening move.

Mat slowed Pips to a halt. One of the men whispered to the other, who ran inside. A moment later, a balding man with a white apron stepped out through the doorway. Mat felt himself go pale.

“The innkeeper,” Mat said. “Burn me, I saw you dead!”

“Best go get the mayor, son,” the innkeeper said to one of the working men. He glanced back at Mat. “Quickly.”

“What in the bloody name of Hawkwing’s left hand is going on here?” Mat demanded. “Was it all some kind of twisted show? You—”

A head stuck out of the inn door, peeking around the innkeeper toward Mat. The pudgy face had curly blond hair. Last time he’d seen this man, the cook, Mat had been forced to gut the man and slit his throat.

“You!” he said, pointing. “I killed you!”

“Calm down, now, son,” the innkeeper said. “Come in, we’ll get you some tea, and—”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, spirit,” Mat said. “Thom, you seeing this?”

The gleeman rubbed his chin. “Perhaps we should hear the man out, Mat.”

“Ghosts and spirits,” Mat muttered, turning Pips. “Come on.” He urged Pips forward, charging around to the front of the inn, Thom following. Here he caught a glimpse of many workers inside, carrying buckets of white paint. To fix the places where Aes Sedai fire had scored the building, likely.

Thom pulled up beside Mat. “I’ve never seen anything like this, Mat,” he said. “Why would spirits need to paint walls and repair doors?”

Mat shook his head. He’d spotted the place where he’d fought the villagers to save Delarn. He pulled Pips to a halt suddenly, making Thom curse and round his own mount around to come back.

“What?” Thom asked.

Mat pointed. There was a stain of blood on the ground and across several rocks beside the road. “Where they stabbed Delarn,” he said.

“All right,” Thom said. Around them, men passed on the street, gazes averted. They gave Mat and Thom a wide berth.

Blood and bloody ashes, Mat thought. I’ve gotten us surrounded again. What if they attack? Bloody fool!

“So there’s blood,” Thom said. “What did you expect?”

“Where’s the rest of the blood, Thom?” Mat growled. “I killed a good dozen men here, and I saw them bleed. You dropped three with your knives. Where’s the blood?”

“It vanishes,” a voice said.

Mat spun Pips to find the burly, hairy-armed mayor standing on the road a short distance away. He must have been near already; there was no way the workers could have fetched him that quickly. Of course, the way things seemed to be going in this village, who could tell that for certain? Barlden wore a cloak and shirt with several fresh rips in them.

“The blood vanishes,” he said, sounding exhausted. “None of us have seen it. We just wake up and it’s gone.”

Mat hesitated, looking around the village. Women peeked out of houses, holding children. Men left for the fields, carrying crooks or hoes. Save for the air of anxiety at Mat and Thom’s presence, one would never know anything had gone wrong in the village.

“We won’t hurt you,” the mayor said, turning away from Mat. “So you needn’t look