The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,276

the floor. Thom sat on the floor on the other side of the room, watching Verin with calculating eyes. They were all in Mat’s smaller audience tent, which was intended only for short conferences between officers. Mat hadn’t wanted to bring Verin to his actual sitting tent, as it was still spread out with his plans for raiding Trustair.

“I ask myself the same question, Master Cauthon,” Verin said, smiling, her aging Warder standing behind her chair. “How did I end up here? It certainly wasn’t my intention. And yet here I am.”

“You say it almost as if it were an accident, Verin Sedai,” Mandevwin said. “But we’re speaking of a distance of several hundred leagues!”

“Plus,” Mat added, “you can Travel. So if you intended to go to the White Tower, then why not just bloody Travel there and be done with it?”

“Good questions,” Verin said. “Indeed. Might I have some tea?”

Mat sighed, shifting on the devil bench again, and waved for Talmanes to give the order. Talmanes rose and ducked outside for a moment to pass the word, then returned and sat down again.

“Thank you,” Verin said. “I find myself quite parched.” She projected that familiar distracted air that was so common to sisters from the Brown Ajah. Because of the holes in his memory, Mat’s first meeting with Verin was fuzzy to him. In fact, his memory of her at all was fuzzy. But he did seem to remember thinking she had the temperament of a scholar.

This time, studying her, her mannerisms seemed too exaggerated to him. As if she were leaning on the preconceptions about Browns, using them. Fooling people, like a street performer taking in country boys with a clever game of three-card shuffle.

She eyed him. That smile on the corner of her lips? That was the smile of a jackleg who didn’t care that you were on to her con. Now that you understood, you could both enjoy the game, and perhaps together you could dupe someone else.

“Do you realize how strongly ta’veren you are, young man?” Verin asked.

Mat shrugged. “Rand’s the one you want for that sort of thing. Honestly, I’m barely anything compared to him.” Blasted colors!

“Oh, I wouldn’t consider downplaying the Dragon’s importance,” Verin said, chuckling. “But you can’t hide your light in his shadow, Matrim Cauthon. Not in the presence of any but the blind, at least. In any other time, you’d undoubtedly be the most powerfully ta’veren individual alive. Probably the most powerful to have lived in centuries.”

Mat shifted on the bench. Bloody ashes, he hated the way that made him look as if he was squirming. Maybe he should just stand up. “What are you talking about, Verin?” he said instead. He folded his arms and tried to at least pretend that he was comfortable.

“I’m talking about how you yanked me halfway across the continent.” Her smile widened as a soldier entered with a steaming cup of mint tea. She took it gratefully, and the soldier retreated.

“Yanked you?” Mat said. “You were looking for me.”

“Only after I determined that the Pattern was tugging me somewhere.” Verin blew on her tea. “That meant you or Perrin. It couldn’t have been Rand’s fault, since I’d been able to leave that one easily.”

“Rand?” Mat asked, dismissing yet another flash of colors. “You were with him?”

Verin nodded.

“How . . . did he seem?” Mat said. “Is he . . . you know. . . .”

“Mad?” Verin asked.

Mat nodded.

“I’m afraid so,” Verin said, lips downturning slightly. “I think he’s still in control of himself, however.”

“Bloody One Power,” Mat said, reaching beneath his shirt to touch the comforting foxhead medallion.

Verin looked up. “Oh, I’m not convinced young al’Thor’s problems are completely due to the Power, Matrim. Many would like to blame his temperament on saidin, but to do that is to ignore the incredible stresses that we’ve settled on that poor boy’s shoulders.”

Mat raised an eyebrow, glancing at Thom.

“Either way,” Verin sipped her tea, “one cannot blame too much on the taint, as it will no longer affect him.”

“It won’t?” Mat asked. “He’s decided to stop channeling?”

She laughed. “A fish would sooner stop swimming. No, the taint will no longer affect him because the taint is no more. Al’Thor cleansed saidin.”

“What?” Mat asked sharply, sitting up.

Verin sipped her tea.

“Are you serious?” Mat asked.

“Quite,” she replied.

Mat glanced at Thom again. Then he plucked at his coat and ran a hand through his hair.

“What are you doing?” Verin asked with amusement.

“I don’t know,” Mat said, feeling sheepish. “I