The Dragon Reborn - By Robert Jordan Page 0,104

I live,” he said in a dull voice, and the Amyrlin nodded. “You could have let me die.” She nodded again. “Then you could have had anyone you want blow it, and it would have worked for them.” Another nod. “Blood and ashes! You mean me to blow it for you. When the Last Battle comes, you mean me to call heroes back from the grave to fight the Dark One for you. Blood and bloody ashes!”

She put an elbow on the arm of the chair and propped her chin on her hand. Her eyes never left him. “Would you prefer the alternative?”

He frowned, then remembered what the alternative was. If someone else had to sound the Horn. . . . “You want me to blow the Horn? Then I’ll blow the Horn. I never said I would not, did I?”

The Amyrlin gave an exasperated sigh. “You remind me of my uncle Huan. No one could ever pin him down. He liked to gamble, too, and he’d much rather have fun than work. He died pulling children out of a burning house. He wouldn’t stop going back as long as there was one left inside. Are you like him, Mat? Will you be there when the flames are high?”

He could not meet her eyes. He studied his fingers as they plucked irritably at his blanket. “I’m no hero. I do what I have to do, but I am no hero.”

“Most of those we call heroes only did what they had to do. I suppose it will have to be enough. For now. You must not speak to anyone but me of the Horn, my son. Or of your link to it.”

For now? he thought. It’s all you are going to bloody get, now or ever. “I don’t mean to bloody tell everybo—” She arched an eyebrow, and he made his voice smooth again. “I do not want to tell anyone. I wish nobody knew. Why do you want to keep it such a secret? Don’t you trust your Aes Sedai?”

For a long moment he thought he had gone too far. Her face hardened, and her look could have carved axe handles.

“If I could make it so that only you and I knew,” she said coldly, “I would. The more people know a thing, the more the knowledge spreads, even with the best will. Most of the world believes the Horn of Valere is only legend, and those who know better believe one of the Hunters has yet to find it. But Shayol Ghul knows it has been found, and that means at least some Darkfriends know.

But they do not know where it is, and, if the Light shines on us, they do not know you sounded it. Do you really want Darkfriends coming after you? Halfmen, or other Shadowspawn? They want the Horn. You must know that. It will work as well for the Shadow as for the Light. But if it is to work for them, they must take you, or kill you. Do you want to risk that?”

Mat wished he had another blanket, and maybe a goose-down comforter. The room suddenly felt very cold. “Are you telling me Darkfriends could come after me here? I thought the White Tower could keep Darkfriends out.” He remembered what Selene had said about the Black Ajah, and wondered what the Amyrlin would say to that.

“A good reason to stay, wouldn’t you say?” She got to her feet, smoothing her skirts. “Rest, my son. Soon you will feel much better. Rest.” She closed the door softly behind her.

For a long time Mat lay staring up at the ceiling. He barely noticed when a serving woman came with his piece of pie and another pitcher of milk, taking the tray of empty dishes when she went. His stomach rumbled loudly at the warm smell of apples and spices, but he paid that no mind, either. The Amyrlin thought she held him like a sheep in a pen. And Selene. . . . Who in the Light is she? What does she want? Selene had been right about some things; but the Amyrlin had told him she meant to use him, and how. In a way. There were too many holes in what she had said to suit him, too many holes she could slip something deadly through. The Amyrlin wanted something, and Selene wanted something, and he was the rope they were tugging between them. He thought he would rather face Trollocs than