“We have to keep going,” Mat said. He scrubbed his hand through his hair, then tugged the scarf down above his eyes. “Sooner or later, somebody will let her out, and they'll be after us again.”
“I know,” Rand panted. “I know. Give me a hand.”
Mat pulled him up again, but he wavered there, knowing it was no good. The first time he tried to take a step, he would be flat on his face again.
Holding him upright, Mat waited impatiently for a horsecart, approaching from the village, to pass them. Mat gave a grunt of surprise when the cart slowed to a stop before them. A leatheryfaced man looked down from the driver's seat.
“Something wrong with him?” the man asked around his pipe.
“He's just tired,” Mat said.
Rand could see that was not going to do, not leaning on Mat the way he was. He let go of Mat and took a step away from him. His legs quivered, but he willed himself to stay erect. “I haven't slept in two days,” he said, “Ate something that made me sick. I'm better, now, but I haven't slept.”
The man blew a streamer of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Going to Caemlyn, are you? Was your age, I expect I might be off to see this false Dragon myself.”
“Yes.” Mat nodded. “That's right. We're going to see the false Dragon.”
“Well, climb on up, then. Your friend in the back. If he's sick again, best it's on the straw, not up here. Name's Hyam Kinch.”
Chapter 34
The Last Village
It was after dark when they reached Carysford, longer than Rand had thought it would take from what Master Kinch said when he let them down. He wondered if his whole sense of time was getting skewed. Only three nights since Howal Gode and Four Kings, two since Paitr had surprised them in Market Sheran. Just a bare day since the nameless Darkfriend woman tried to kill them in the stable of The Queen's Man, but even that seemed a year ago, or a lifetime.
Whatever was happening to time, Carysford appeared normal enough, on the surface, at least. Neat, vinecovered brick houses and narrow lanes, except for the Caemlyn Road itself, quiet and outwardly peaceful. But what's underneath? he wondered. Market Sheran had been peaceful to look at, and so had the village where the woman ... He had never learned the name of that one and he did not want to think about it.
Light spilled from the windows of the houses into streets all but empty of people. That suited Rand. Slinking from corner to corner, he avoided the few people abroad. Mat stuck to his shoulder, freezing when the crunch of gravel announced the approach of a villager, dodging from shadow to shadow when the dim shape had gone past.
The River Cary was a bare thirty paces wide there, and the black water moved sluggishly, but the ford had long since been bridged over. Centuries of rain and wind had worn the stone abutments until they seemed almost like natural formations. Years of freight wagons and merchant trains had ground at the thick wooden planks, too. Loose boards rattled under their boots, sounding as loud as drums. Until long after they were through the village and into the countryside beyond, Rand waited for a voice to demand to know who they were. Or worse, knowing who they were.
The countryside had been filling up the further they went, becoming more and more settled. There were always the lights of farmhouses in sight. Hedges and rail fences lined the road and the fields beyond. Always the fields were there, and never a stretch of woods close to the road. It seemed as if they were always on the outskirts of a village, even when they were hours from the nearest town. Neat and peaceful. And with never an indication that Darkfriends or worse might be lurking.
Abruptly Mat sat down in the road. He had pushed the scarf up on top of his head, now that the only light came from the moon. “Two paces to the span,” he muttered. “A thousand spans to the mile, four miles to the league ... I'm not walking another ten paces unless there's a place to sleep at the end of it. Something to eat wouldn't be amiss, either. You haven't been hiding anything in your pockets, have you? An apple, maybe? I won't hold it against you if you have. You could at least look.”
Rand peered down the road both ways. They were the only things moving in the night. He glanced at Mat, who had pulled off one boot and was rubbing his foot. Or they had been. His own feet hurt, too. A tremor ran up his legs as if to tell him he had not yet regained as much strength as he thought.
Dark mounds stood in a field just ahead of them. Haystacks, diminished by winter feeding, but still haystacks.
He nudged Mat with his toe. “We'll sleep there.”
“Haystacks again.” Mat sighed, but he tugged on his boot and got up.
The wind was rising, the night chill growing deeper. They climbed over the smooth poles of the fence and quickly were burrowing into the hay. The tarp that kept the rain off the hay cut the wind, too.
Rand twisted around in the hollow he had made until he found a comfortable position. Hay still managed to poke at him through his clothes, but he had learned to put up with that. He tried counting the haystacks he had slept in since Whitebridge. Heroes in the stories never had to sleep in haystacks, or under hedges. But it was not easy to pretend, anymore, that he was a hero in a story, even for a little while. With a sigh, he pulled his collar up in the hopes of keeping hay from getting down his back.
“Rand?” Mat said softly. “Rand, do you think we'll make it?”
“Tar Valon? It's a long way yet, but — ”
“Caemlyn. Do you think we'll make it to Caemlyn?”
Rand raised his head, but it was dark in their burrow; the only thing that told him where Mat was, was his voice. “Master Kinch said two days. Day after tomorrow, the next day, we'll get there.”
“If there aren't a hundred Darkfriends waiting for us down the road, or a Fade or two.” There was silence for a moment, then Mat said, “I think we're the last ones left, Rand.” He sounded frightened. “Whatever it's all about, it's just us two, now, just us.”
Rand shook his head. He knew Mat could not see in the darkness, but it was more for himself than Mat, anyway. “Go to sleep, Mat,” he said tiredly. But he lay awake a long time himself, before sleep came. Just us.