(A/N – Gosh, Virago. Where would I be without your kind encouragement? Not writing this fic. anymore, most likely. You're right about the whole love triangle thing, which is rather odd, as I never intended the story to develop in that way. I'm going to try and reign in that aspect of the story as I don't write romance at all well, and it would be very OOC for one of the characters in this little tale (I'm sure you can guess which one I mean!). Also, heartfelt thanks to newest recruit CKK for the high praise. Hope you got the homework done ;)

B*gger, now I'm not only writing painfully long fics. but overdrawn author notes as well. Anyway, thanks for the feedback, and hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer** - Yup.

Chapter Twelve

Grassland swayed about her as she stood beneath the budding tree, eyes fixed upon the muted haze in the distance. This was the closest she had allowed herself to come near the place, near the town in which she had spent the last few grim years. Mai huddled a small bundle to her chest, relishing the smooth swell of contentment the contact yielded, her body warming the clothes nestled within the soft cloth.

She would never have to go back there, never have to face Nath and his heavy, stern fists again, never have to endure the hiss of bitter whispers or the bite of stinging stares. Her seemingly endless days of mixing herbs and preparing poultices for thankless tormentors were over, although she could barely bring her self to finally believe it. The breeze stirred the branches above her, swaying the dark boughs now studded with snug buds. The air felt alive with promise, as though it were waiting, silently anticipating things to come. Mai could feel the same quickening within her. Her position had never been so precarious, but she had never felt so at peace. There was safety here, and people who actually seemed to consider her well-being. She smiled to herself as she continued to study the shadow of the small town she had never called home, wondering at how quickly things had changed.

As her lidded gaze wandered from the place she caught sight of movement, and her widening eyes flickered to light upon two mounted figures passing in the distance, their horse's hooves stirring puffs of dust into the soft air. They appeared to be men, curiously garbed and astride horses that trotted imperiously on long, sleek legs. She fought the sudden urge to hide herself behind the broad tree as one of them turned to gaze in her direction, forced her legs to stiffen against the foolish impulse. She had promised herself there would be no more hiding.

The man turned to his companion, who soon joined him in contemplation of her. Emboldened, Mai raised her hand, palm facing the pair of strangers in a gesture of open greeting. Neither responded. Their mute faces gazed at her, blank and unreadable, but she still felt the sharp appraisal of their eyes. She lowered her hand, trying with difficulty to bolster herself against the small withering of rejection.

As one, the men nudged their horses into an easy canter and headed for the village, their white cloaks gleaming in the sunlight. She did not know why they were dressed so similarly, or what the curious symbol on the back of their cloaks could mean, nor did she care enough than to dwell on it for the briefest moment. Mai watched the riders dwindle to specks as they neared the town of Laybridge, cloaks now nothing more than moth flutters of white. As though to soothe the small hurt of the riders dismissal, she reached for the glass phial concealed in her sleeve hem, caught a drop of its contents on her tongue.

I am done with them all.

The words were unbidden, and almost painfully bright in their stark clarity. Of course she was done with them, whoever they were. After all, she would never have to go back to the forsaken place. The phial was nearly empty, but the daylight afforded her enough bravado to convince herself it did not matter. Everything would be better now.

I am half-sick of shadows.

The strange words echoed in her mind, but she paid them no heed. Everything would be better now, that was the only thought she needed to cling to.

Everything would be well.

Cal stared at the patch of grass, frowning at its sickly yellow hue so conspicuous against the surrounding green. A small heap of cold, grey dust was all that remained of his tent now, and only a sun-starved circle yielded any indication that it was once pitched there. Cal sighed as he broke his gaze and kicked at a nearby mound of ashes, stirring drab motes of white and grey into the bright air.

He had taken pains to rid any traces of red from the sullied grass, had hastily ripped or stamped the crimson stains from the ground, but his eyes still strained for any tell tale signs of the hateful colour.

Cal tried to focus his attention to the task at hand, which was currently involved in moving his belongings into new quarters. So far he had managed to heft his blankets into a free tent, upon which a mound of books and a stray boot now forlornly sat, but the rest of his worldly possessions still lay strewn upon the grass. He realised he should move quickly, but the vacant patch was like some great glaring eye, threatening to lure him unto unwelcome contemplation once more.

He swept a sobering hand across his brow before bending to grasp the worn handle of a nearby case. He dragged it towards the tent, careless of its worn obvious worth. Sunlight glinted off its tarnished surface, spun small speckles onto his face and, as though captivated, Cal paused to stare at the casket. The growing realisation of what he held prompted him to suddenly relinquish his grip, and the sound of the chest's weight meeting the ground caused a dolorous knell to sound in the air, too loud in the silence. Cal hesitated before resuming his efforts, reluctant to touch the neglected case. Chiding himself for being so easily distracted, he resolved himself into lifting it once more. It was not long, however, before Cal he found himself again caught by the caskets forgotten intricacy, and was surprised to find that he was still so affected by its beauty. He had not uncovered it for some time, usually leaving it crouched in a corner beneath a ragged drape, hunched like some neglected creature. But he was always aware of its presence, of its responsibility. He should have abandoned it a long time ago.

Cal crouched carefully before the chest, fingers tracing the fine etching on its domed lid. It was tarnished, and a thin layer of grease coated his skin as his touch glided along the cool surface. The contact made his flesh feel tainted with something greater than mere physical grime.

His fingers edged closer to the heavy clasps that sealed the case, fingers prying tentatively at the hooked edges before resolving into a push. The latches sprang open with a sharp, metallic snap. Without attempting to raise the lid, he moved his hand over the case, slid his palm down its embossed side.

Cal's hand moved there, as though caressing its sinuous, lilting pattern. His fingers paused for a moment before pressing a small, inconspicuous stud hidden amongst the complex swirls of fashioned metal. There was a series of low clacking sounds, and Cal nodded, lips pursed until they were near bloodless. With a brief glance over his shoulder, he lifted the heavy lid, every muscle in his body tensed as though in readiness for escape.

Neglect had not dimmed its radiance; the thing shone as though it had been carefully brushed in readiness for wear. He gazed at it for a moment, shocked by its brilliance, before sweeping the pristine garment aside.

Beneath it lay the object he had once treasured above all, nestled on its cushion of red velvet. It still thrilled him, this forbidden possession. He curved his fingers beneath it, hands almost cradling as he lifted it into the light. Like the cloak, it defied its containment, shone as though it had been polished in preparation for his touch. Cal could not bring himself to discard or sell it, no matter how much his mind screamed at him to hurl the blighted thing back into its prison and foist it upon the next merchant he saw.

Its gold and silver worked curves and gentle swells belied its strength. It did not require needle fashioned points, spines or hooks to display its deadliness, had no need for any barbarous adornment. Those unfortunate enough to encounter such a weapon knew how devastating it could be. For this reason, its maker had instead imbued it with all the beauty and workmanship he could master. It was both beautiful and terrible, a glorious perversion. Once, he had been honourable enough to carry such a wonderful creation. To wield it now would be a betrayal. Cal slowly lowered the crossbow into its case, hating the low snarl of regret within him, and covered it once more with the white cloak.

He was reluctantly lowering the lid when he heard a sound behind him. Cal slid his eyes closed as the spring casing clasped into position, his heart still thudding from his recent thrill. Rising slowly to his feet, he opened his eyes, and turned to face his witness.

The man stood watching him, eyes bright with what the unenlightened would mistake for bright amusement, but which Cal instantly recognised as the idiot gleam of a zealot.

The pair regarded one another in silence before the newcomer raised his fist to his heart in awed salute. 'May the Light guide and shield you.' The small smile never touched his blazing eyes as he straightened from his low bow. 'Captain Delloraine, Sir, it is very good to see you.'

Mat did not raise his eyes from his contemplation of the Ruler of Flames. It was not the most interesting of things to fixate upon, but studying its painted surface did carry the small advantage of distracting him from Estean. No doubt the man was just blathering for the pleasure of hearing his own voice. As he glared at the lacquered card, Mat realised that he still harboured a keen distaste for the image, despite its innocuous appearance. His eyes continually strayed to the small flame balanced on the Amyrlin's hand as though expecting to see something else held in that tiny palm. He scowled. There was no bloody dagger there, just a stylised curve of fire.

A sharp nudge nearly made him splay his cards across the makeshift table. He turned his glower on his companion. 'What?'

Estean rolled his eyes. 'I asked you a question, Mat, and you ignored me.'

'I was not bloody ignoring you. I was concentrating on the game.'

His companion eyed him with a suspicious gaze. 'Perhaps. Or perhaps you have been spending too much time with that Cal person.' Estean's lips gave a spiteful twitch. 'What was his title again?'

'As far as I am aware, he does not hold one.' Mat grimaced. He knew what was coming next.

'Oh, yes.' Estean's tone was vindicated. 'I remember now.' He leaned closer, allowing Mat a prime view of the man's current hand. There was a goodly amount of silver on the table, and a few glints of gold too. The man would have to be a fool not to fold with those cards, but giving in was not for Estean. Mat could not decide whether the fellow was too mule-headed or too stupid to quit while he had the chance. He was beginning to suspect it was a mixture of both.

Unconcerned by the deepening frown on his opponent's face, Estean ploughed into his tirade. 'That one is the sort who sneers at us noble-born when our backs are turned, the growing breed of commoner with the notion that he is somehow above us. What could put such foolish imaginings into a simple man's head?' His voice was genuinely wondering. 'But his type are becoming more commonplace, Mat, like some sort of plague. Like sun-addled dogs, they would bite the hand that aids them. We must be vigilant against these people, teach them their rightful place.'

Mat had heard this speech, or several very much like it, more times than he cared to recall. The bluster usually occurred when Estean was deeper in his cups than he was at the moment, but the young Lord seemed to be getting more fervent in his strange notions. Humouring him, no matter how much it gnawed at his innards, was always the best way to deal with the rantings. 'Absolutely.' He ground his teeth almost to the point of pain. 'We higher folk must strive to keep the commoners in their rightful place.'

Estean's head bobbed so furiously it looked in danger of toppling off. 'You and I have always seen eye-to-eye, Mat, but then all nobles are cut from the same cloth. The finest cloth, of course.'

There it was, that braying excuse for a laugh. Mat took a swallow of wine to hide his sneer. He had only wandered to the infirmary to check that Estean was recovering well. In the brief interlude between meetings, he had forgotten just how irritating the man was. Unfortunately, Estean has transpired to be healthy enough to rope Mat into a less than enjoyable round of cards, a lacklustre effort worsened by a lack of decent players. The now absent third participant, a worryingly young man with little more than a scuff of downy beard, had politely declined any further games following the first defeat. There had been an irritatingly unguarded expression of awe on the boy's youthful face when he realised exactly who he was playing against. It seemed that the glory of Lord General Mat Cauthon's name had not yet been sullied. He swigged from a nearby bottle of wine. The sooner that bloody nonsense ended, the better.

Their other companion had yielded as a result of his present state of health rather than a bad case of wondering admiration.

The fellow's snuffling snores were an unpleasant accompaniment to Estean's witterings. The unhealthy sounds were the only indication that the man was still breathing, and Mat felt continually obliged to glance at him to check that he has not slid into something more worrying that sleep. He certainly seemed to be less advanced in his recovery than Estean, as did most of the rest of his men. Not that he wished ill health on Estean. Well, nothing serious anyway.

Mat plucked a card from his hand and rearranged its position in the fan. It served no purpose whatsoever, but he enjoyed the nervous tic that suddenly appeared in Estean's cheek. Only now did the man seem to realise just how much of his money lay on the table. He eyed the coin longingly before continuing. 'I suppose that Cal fellow is with Mai. They seem to be spending a lot of time together.'

On this rare occasion, Mat agreed with Estean. The pair certainly did seem to appreciate one another's company, almost to the exclusion of others. He gave no indication of his concurrence, however. The man was insufferable enough as it was without the need for any encouragement.

Estean, however, appeared to be waiting for a response. When none came, he cast a hesitant glance at his companion. 'She seems like a nice girl. A little quiet, perhaps, but pleasant enough. It is a shame that she is such a plain one, but perhaps that not such a bad thing. Father always said it was best to marry the less favourable girls. They are always much more grateful than the pretty ones. She is common-born, of course, but I have put aside any childish notions of marrying into blood.'

'Stay away from her.' The command was soft, but Estean stared as though Mat had snarled the words.

'What?' The man sounded perplexed and almost hurt.

'I said stay away from her. The girl has more than enough on her mind, without the need to worry about avoiding an admirer.'

Estean had drawn back his shoulders, chest puffed with indignanation. 'And what makes you so sure she would avoid my advances?'

Mat lifted the Ruler of Winds to slide beside the Ruler of Flames, a High Lord in curiously unfamiliar garb. 'Because she is not ready for that sort of thing.' Frowning, he raised the chalice wielding Knave of Cups and placed him next to the Ruler of Coins. 'And I would not have her upset over some trifling romance.' Not that the girl would be interested in Estean, he was sure. Mai would have better judgement than that. 'Believe me, Estean, I promise I will make life very unhappy for the person who decides to upset that girl.' He studied the hand before him, satisfied that the Ruler of Winds was now safe between the grave High Lord and smiling knave. A winning hand indeed.

Splaying the polished cards on the table, Mat gazed at his mute opponent, lips stretched in an almost vulpine grin. 'And I always keep my promises.'

Mai unwound the tight bandages, letting them trail to the floor to lie like pennants at her bare feet. She took a deep sigh, grateful for the way the breath eased into her without constriction. The simple pleasure caused a brief swell of contentment, until the consciousness of her nudity struck her. Her sharp panic eased a little when she remembered that Per had rather vehemently promised that no one would near the tents until she emerged from her bath. Mai was grateful to the little man. He had shown her nothing but kindness since her arrival, although his awkward formality could be a little intrusive at times.

Steam eddied lazily about the tent, and grey sheets lay draped on drooping lines strung haphazardly about the spacious area. The large barrels that served as bathing tubs were generously filled with clear water, and she gazed at them longingly. Arms wrapped tightly about her, Mai approached the nearest tub, noting with approval that the surface danced cheerily with swirls of silvery steam. It looked ridiculously inviting. She raised a tentative foot to the water before plunging her leg into its depths. Ignoring the almost painful heat, she quickly lowered herself into the tub. Her pale skin flushed pink almost immediately, but there was a cleansing quality to the heat that felt even more purifying than the water. This was to be a ritual of renewal, a scouring of all the accumulated dirt that clung to her, both externally and symbolically. This was the beginning of her new start.

The steam eddied about her, falling to her hair and face, forming soft droplets. She felt the tense muscles relax in her neck and heavy limbs, sighed as the comforting weight of the water swirled gently against her fading bruises, easing their rawness.

She lowered her hair into the water, smiled at the sound of water cascading from its length when she raised herself. Per had given her some kind of soap to use. It was an unappealing dark green colour and was not particularly feminine in its fragrance. Mai was a little disappointed. She had clear memories of the wealthier village women talking of a particular soap that scented their pampered skin of flowers, a pleasant fragrance that lingered prettily in the air even after they had departed. Mai had always hoped to try the mysterious lather, although there had been little chance of that living with Nath. But the curious soap she held did yield a faint aroma of fresh, clean herbs, which she found appealing. In fact, it was very reminiscent of the scent that had brushed her when Cal had kissed her hand. With a small smile, she decided that it was a pleasant fragrance after all.

She rubbed the cake of soap between her hands, worked it into a lather that she quickly ran over her hair. Mai winced as her fingers encountered matted snarls that clung to her fingers and pulled at her scalp. Why had she neglected herself so? It took a great deal of untangling, and a few quiet curses, before her fingers could run easily through her hair, and the water now swirled with knotted lengths of her brown locks. She picked at them with distaste, draping them over the edge of the tub so they would not tangle around her any further. She attacked her hair once more with the soap before moving onto her body. Mai had not realised how thin she had become, and felt a little perturbed by the bones that clearly protruded against her wan flesh. She resolved to nurture her appetite, and to eat as much Per's stews and concoctions as possible, providing there were no apples involved in their preparation.

With a sigh, Mai settled deeper into the comfortably warm water, face flushed with heat, hands draped limply over the sides of the tub.

A soft rustle at the entrance of the tent caused her to gasp. She lay still a moment, eyes unblinking, taking care not to stir the water. Silence. Probably just the wind worrying the tent. She draped a forearm over her eyes, trying to relax.

After an almost indecently long time, she finally resolved to leave the bath, her fogged mind reminding her that she would shrivel to nothing if she remained immersed for much longer. With a regretful sigh she raised herself a little, blinking as the light filled her eyes. She frowned as a limp towel stirred in the muggy air, as though it had been touched by something more substantial that the shroud of mist than surrounded it. With rising alarm, Mai saw the pale blur of a shadow slide beyond the whiteness of the sheet. Gasping, she heaved upright, the sound of the water sluicing from her deafening in the silence. The slow shadow halted, as though hesitant. Mai was breathing hard. Perhaps the person didn't realise it was she who occupied the tent, although some rational part of her mind chided the fool for attempting to bathe so recently after an illness.

The shadow moved again, grew steadily darker against the spectral opacity of the sheet. The intruder was getting closer. She had enough time to see a man's hand curve around the edge of the white cloth before panic overwhelmned her. She sank beneath the water, heart beating hard. Per had promised he would not let anyone into the tent. Where under the Light was he? Mai opened her eyes to the sting of soapy water. Now what was she to do? Why hadn't she just told the man to leave when she had the chance? The growing pain in her eyes caused her to whine a garbled cry, and water instantly flooded her nose and mouth, burning her throat. She tried to open her eyes once more, and caught a fleeting sight of a silhouette above the surface of the water. She squeezed her eyelids tightly shut against the maddening hurt. The flaming man was above her.

Her chest was burning now, the exhausted air rasping in her breast. She couldn't stay beneath the water for much longer. Anger burned amongst the pain. She would have to face whoever it was, decency be blighted. Mai burst upward, spraying water as she winced against the fever in her eyes. She could sense the shadow of a figure above her.

Knuckling her eyes, Mai peered at the intruder. She lowered herself deeper into the water, hoping that the scant froth of soap would be concealing enough. The man stared at her, his eyes blank and unwavering.

She swallowed. 'As you can see, I am not prepared for visitors.' Her voice wavered, making her sound uncertain. 'Please leave.' The command emerged as a strangled croak.

The man did not respond, merely continued to stare at her with those strange eyes. She swallowed again, willing strength back into her voice. 'If you do not leave immediately, I shall scream for someone to escort you from here.' Her growing anger fuelled her threat. How had the man got past Per? He had promised to guard the tent.

Nothing except that blank, unwavering gaze. She was drawing a deep breath in readiness for a suitably loud scream when the man's lips begin to move. Her breath guttered to a stop as she strained to hear him, thinking that perhaps her ears were clogged with water. The words failed to reach her. But she could the gentle lapping of the water on the wooden sides of the tub, caught the distant piercing cry of a Larksedge. The man continued to mouth his voiceless words, his pained expression now increasingly imploring.

Her flesh prickled in rebellion of the stiflingly hot water. The began to bend over her, his efforts to speak laboured now. Mai felt tears of fear and shame slide down her wet face. They felt hot enough to brand her flesh. The man drew ever closer, his eyes seemingly fixed upon her tears. His gaze had lost their vacant glaze as he watched her cry, an almost sorrowful expression softened his face as he followed the journey of her tears, watched with avid fascination as they trickled through the other rivulets of water. She frowned as his large, mournful eyes seem to darken somehow, as though welling with some strange shadow. Mai shuddered at the sight, and the man smiled sadly, as though in reassurance. The movement caused the flesh around his eyes to crease, forced the curious darkness to swell and trickle slowly onto his face.

Mai watched the ruby tear course stealthily down his pallid skin, leaving a ribbon of crimson on a sallow cheek. The dark droplet trembled on his flesh before merging with the water, blooming and disintegrating like a fading nightflower.

She couldn't move. Another crimson tear fell, caught on her lip where it burned with the fierceness of ice. The man leaned closer, an expression of almost unbearable pain upon his pale face. His lips were almost upon hers when the cold hand found her slender neck, encircling and squeezing with exquisite slowness, as the sweet tang of blood welled in her throat.

'So, as I was saying, it really is necessary to consider all the eventualities of an uprising. Mark me, Mat, it will happen, and sooner than you think. And no doubt led by the likes of that Cal fellow.' Estean finally paused for long enough to take a swig of wine. How the man could prattle for so long without drawing a breath was a complete mystery to Mat, and he would have long escaped from his company had Estean not been so determined to win his money back. There was not much chance of that happening. Mat's luck was running high, he could feel it coursing around him, an unnameable sensation that he had come to accept and even anticipate. Estean would not collect winnings this day. He was beginning to think that the game hadn't been a complete waste of time after all when the sound reached him.

The first scream caused the High cards in Mat's hand to trickle soundlessly to the floor. By the time the second pierced the air he was already running, feet pounding the grass. The last cry was brief, breaking off instead of fading. Mat followed the direction of the terrible clamour, desperately trying to fathom what calamity could cause such sounds.

He jolted past a trembling Per, burst into the bathing tent. There was something in one of the tubs, a flailing of white limbs cascading water to the floor. He almost slid as he ran for her, cursing as he plunged his hands into the raging water. Something tore at his arm but he ignored the brief flash of pain, wrenched the girl from the tub. Water poured from her mouth and nose as she gasped and coughed breath into her body, still struggling and fighting his efforts. He finally twisted her to the ground, his arms clamped around her middle as he all but shouted into her ear. 'Mai, it's me. It's Mat. You're all right. Everything's all right.' His repeated the soothing litany for what seemed like an age before the girl gradually stopped fighting, her struggles diminishing to shudders.

He snatched at a nearby sheet, used it to wrap around her shivering form whilst trying to manoeuvre her clasping arms. She clung to him, shaking violently with sobs and cold.

Mat patted her awkwardly, painfully aware how strange the situation would look to the gaggle of men who has inevitably responded to the horrifying cries. Sure enough he heard voices outside the tent, quiet yet urgent sounding. He patted her shoulder a little more briskly. 'Mai? Are you all right? Would you like me to call Per?'

She shook her head forcefully, wet hair water into his face. 'Not him. He promised he would stop anyone from coming in here.' Her voice was low and rasping, so different from the splitting screams she had vented. 'He promised...' She broke off with a grimace, her hand clutching at her throat as though to wrest something from there.

'Who, Mai? Who was in here?' He shook her a little. 'Was it Per?' Mat couldn't imagine what had startled her so. Surely she would not have reacted in this way just because someone accidentally entered the tent?

Her hair showered him again as she gestured her denial. 'No, not Per. There was a man here. He was bleeding. He tried to hurt me.'

She refused to speak any further, no matter how much he coaxed her into an explanation. He began gently disentangling himself from her now lax limbs and tried to help her to her feet. 'Come on, let's get you into something warm.'

The girl gazed at him dazedly but she managed to dutifully heave herself upright, tugging the sheet more tightly around her.

He led her to the entrance of the tent where they were met by a small group of obviously curious men. A wide-eyed Estean was the first to see the pair. He gawped at Mat, a forgotten fan of cards in one hand and an equally forgotten cudgel in the other, the latter presumably brought in the event of a struggle. The rest of the men soon joined Estean in mute study, eyes raking over Mat's fine clothes, which were now drenched with suds and water, before focusing on Mai, a sight with her pallor clearly visible beneath the reddening effects of the hot bath.

Mat shook warm droplets from his sleeves as he gave a reassuringly genial smile. 'As you can see, everything is fine. Nothing at all to be worried about.' He barely withheld a wince as the now cooling water began to seep into his left boot. 'The whole thing was a misunderstanding.' The small rabble of men continued to gaze at him, frankly disbelieving. The smile slid from his face. 'As I said, everything is fine. I give you permission to leave.'

Finally taking their cue the men began to depart in a lacklustre fashion, throwing confused glances over shoulders as they skulked away. Mat silently thanked the sole Redarm who soon began to chivvy them into a trot, his assured commands diminished only by frequent, racking coughs. The beardless young man who had been so reluctant to battle him at cards was casting decidedly hostile looks in Mat's direction as he grudgingly walked away. It was only marginally better than the awed stares he had received from him earlier.

Per crept towards them, hands wringing themselves into whiteness. His large eyes took in Mai's state of undress and Mat's splashed attirey. 'Is everything all right with the young lady, my Lord?'

Mat grasped the man by his elbow and unceremoniously dragged him to one side. 'What just happened? Or should I ask which bloody fool thought it would be funny to go in there and scare the wits out of the girl?'

'I'm sorry, My Lord, I do not know what you mean.'

'Who went in there? It's a simple question, Per.'

'In there? Why, no one my Lord.'

Mat frowned. 'Are you certain?'

'Absolutely, I was keeping watch the whole time.' He flushed suddenly. 'To make sure no one went in, I mean.'

With a careful sigh, Mat released Per's arm and brushed past the motionless Mai to enter the tent. After a cursory look around, he hastily swept the girl's cloak from the floor and bundled it into a small wad. There was no one hiding in the place, of that he was certain, and if there had been they would have surely been spotted haring from the tent. As he turned to leave Mat noticed a swathe of sorry looking bandages at his feet. After a moment of bemused consideration, he grabbed the tangle of strips and stuffed them into his dripping coat.

When Mat emerged he saw that Mai was now staring steadfastly at her feet. The girl was somehow managing to look mortified and outraged at once, although her shoulders still quivered with reaction. He swept the cloak around her and guided her into movement. 'Per, would you be so good as to bring us some spiced wine? The potent kind?'

Per nodded vehemently, evidently grateful for an excuse to be somewhere else.

Awkwardly patting the trembling girl's shoulder, Mat herded her towards the nearest infirmary, head all but spinning with confused reaction. Worse still he had the unhappy feeling he hadn't seen the last of the days surprises.