The great hunt - By Robert Jordan Page 0,106

at him.

“Ouch!” Mat rubbed his arm. “I was just asking. I mean, all those fancy clothes, and all that talk about being a lord. Well, that isn’t exactly right in the head.”

“I was trying to get rid of you, fool! I was afraid I’d go mad and hurt you.” His eyes dropped to the banner, and his voice lowered. “I will, eventually, if I don’t stop it. Light, I don’t know how to stop it.”

“That is what I’m afraid of,” Mat said, standing. “No offense, Rand, but I think I will just sleep as far away from you as I can, if you don’t mind. That’s if you are staying. I heard about a fellow who could channel, once. A merchant’s guard told me. Before the Red Ajah found him, he woke one morning, and his whole village was smashed flat. All the houses, all the people, everything but the bed he was sleeping in, like a mountain had rolled over them.”

Perrin said, “In that case, Mat, you should sleep cheek by jowl with him.”

“I may be a fool, but I intend to be a live fool.” Mat hesitated, looking sideways at Rand. “Look, I know you came along to help me, and I am grateful. I really am. But you just are not the same anymore. You understand that, don’t you?” He waited as if he expected an answer. None came. Finally he vanished into the trees, back toward the camp.

“What about you?” Rand asked.

Perrin shook his head, shaggy curls swinging. “I don’t know, Rand. You are the same, but then again, you aren’t. A man channeling; my mother used to frighten me with that, when I was little. I just do not know.” He stretched out his hand and touched a corner of the banner. “I think I would burn this, or bury it, if I were you. Then I’d run so far, so fast, no Aes Sedai would ever find me. Mat was right about that.” He stood up, squinting at the western sky, beginning to turn red with the sinking sun. “Time to get back to the camp. You think on what I said, Rand. I’d run. But maybe you can’t run. Think of that, too.” His yellow eyes seemed to look inward, and he sounded tired. “Sometimes you can’t run.” Then he was gone, too.

Rand knelt there, staring at the banner spread out on the ground. “Well, sometimes you can run,” he muttered. “Only, maybe she gave me this to make me run. Maybe she has something waiting for me, if I run. I won’t do what she wants. I won’t. I’ll bury it right here. But she said my life may depend on it, and Aes Sedai never lie so you can see it. . . .” Suddenly his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Now I’m talking to myself. Maybe I am going mad already.”

When he returned to the camp, he carried the banner wrapped in the canvas once more, tied with knots less neat than Moiraine’s had been.

The light had begun to fail and the shadow of the rim covered half the hollow. The soldiers were settling in, all with their horses by their sides, lances propped to hand. Mat and Perrin were bedding down alongside their horses. Rand gave them a sad look, then fetched Red, standing where he had been left with his reins dangling, and went to the other side of the hollow, where Hurin had joined Loial. The Ogier had given over reading and was examining the half-buried stone on which he had been sitting, tracing something on the stone with the long stem of his pipe.

Hurin stood and gave Rand something just short of a bow. “Hope you don’t mind me making my bed here, Lord—uh—Rand. I was just listening to the Builder here.”

“There you are, Rand,” Loial said. “You know, I think this stone was worked once. See, it’s weathered, but it looks as if it was a column of some kind. And there are markings, also. I can’t quite make them out, but they look familiar, somehow.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to see them better in the morning,” Rand said. He pulled the saddlebags from Red. “I’ll be glad of your company, Hurin.” I’m glad of anybody’s company who isn’t afraid of me. How much longer can I have it, though?

He shifted everything into one side of the saddlebags—spare shirts and breeches and woolen stockings, sewing kit, tinder box, tin plate and cup, a greenwood box with