Mat stepped over the branch in his way as softly as he could, his boot sinking into the snow the other side, His breathe wisped in front of him, remaining white for a few seconds before disappearing on the slight wind. Although the sun hung high in the sky, the air still held the remembrance of a frosty morning. They were heading speedily through Kandor, close to the border with Arafel, chasing the Light knew what.
Mat eyed Nynaeve briefly out of the corner of his eye, as she in turn watched the surrounding undergrowth, her features marred by a slight frown though Mat himself heard nothing that should rouse her suspicions. She had bee off hand about the purpose of this high speeded quest but then Nynaeve always told you only what she believed to be right which was, at present, nothing. That being said, the Wisdom of his village had changed. The cloak was deep blue and fur lined, much more grand than anything he had ever seen her in yet no talk of 'stout Two River woollens' passed her lips. Her dress was richer still, yet more blue worked with silver embroidery, though slightly dishevelled from travelling. She walked much the same, self assured and ready to bully anyone who had stood in her way but her stride had shortened, giving way to an almost glide. But there was something else, betrayed in the tightness around her eyes and the unsmiling lips that did not turn upwards no matter how he tried. He had watched her the night before, sitting staring into the flames of the fire unaware of his scrutiny. Something in her eyes gave her a haunted, plagued look and it scared him more than he cared to admit. Through all the years of knowing her, since he was a child barely able to stand, Nynaeve had never looked frightened, never showing fear. But now she looked at the small bed Vlad prepared every night as though the blanket would bite her. She had been still awake when he succumbed to sleep and had been the first to rise, the dark circles under her eyes and stiffness of movement betrayed the fact that it was she who had kept the fire burning all night. What troubled her? What did she fear in the world of dreams?
Vlad glared at him and Mat realised that he had been staring. Nynaeve herself had not noticed, her thoughts absorbed by the trees, but her right hand man had seen all. Light, the man was almost as big as Perrin! Mat forced himself to grin and the other man returned it with a snarl, his lip curling making him even uglier that he already was. Blood and ashes, I would not like to face him in a tavern brawl Mat shivered and pulled his cloak closer to his body, flashing a knife from his sleeve as though testing. It had the desired effect. The bigger man's eyes widened before shifting his attention back to Nynaeve and the path ahead. Yes, he would have to be watched, Mat thought sourly as he smiled toothily at his little trick but his inattention caused him to almost walk into the back side of Nynaeve's black stallion as the owner stopped. The horse turned its regal head to snort at him.
"Blood and ashes Nynaeve, what now?" Mat sighed, exasperated.
"Be quiet and mind your language."
Mat rolled his eyes as he listened to the surrounding forest, slowly creeping a knife from his sleeve to hide in his palm, reading to hit any target which emerged from the green. A bird chirruped in the distance and the soft crunch of snow was heard as a rabbit or fox skipped through but nothing heavier to suggest a man. Nynaeve was no longer scanning the ground but instead had turned her gaze upward to the treetops. Mat followed her example not expecting anything but he caught sight of a glint. Nynaeve's head snapped to it and half opened her mouth but before she could get out a sound Mat tackled her from behind. The two slammed into the ground in a flurry of snow and half scream from Nynaeve before her mouth was filled with wet powder at the same time an arrow pounded into the ground where Nynaeve had been standing.
Nynaeve immediately began to struggle underneath him, spitting out snow and demanding that he unhand her but Mat ignored her flailing limbs. Instead he gathered her closer, pulling her tight to his chest as he rolled them both to the cover of the undergrowth. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Vlad doing the same thing though no shafts followed.
The two came to a stop beneath a bush and only then did Mat realise that only one arrow had been fired. Nynaeve scrambled away from him, standing up despite attempts to keep her down, hastily straightening her clothes and eyes blazing.
"How dare you!" she spluttered, her face a brilliant red with hair that escaped her braid hanging around her face as she, for once, towered over him. Unconsciously Mat began to shrink back as he had when he was a child, fearful of an adult's rage. "Don't you ever try to man handle me again, you wool headed fool!" And before Mat could stop her, Nynaeve stalked back into the clearing, hands held wide to display her lack of weapons. She pulled the arrow shaft from the ground and examined it. With a sigh Mat stepped up beside her, seeing finally that the arrow shaft was painted yellow.
"Forgive us," Nynaeve called to the forest as Vlad poked his head up. "My cousin does not know your ways and is a little over protective." A rumble of laughter echoed through the trees, as impossible to trace as the direction the arrow had come from.
"As we have witnessed my lady," called a disembodied voice. "Please state your name and business."
"I am Nynaeve al'Meara and this my cousin Matrim Cauthon of Andor. We are simple travellers, looking to enjoy your beautiful country. Andor holds no quarrel with Kandor."
"And Kandor holds no quarrel with Andor."
There was a rustle of leaves as five men dropped from surrounding trees, only Nynaeve's hand on his arm stopped him from reaching for a blade.
The shortest man stepped forward, the leader of these men though his chest was unadorned by any decorations. He was clean-shaven and his face was heavily lined, stained brown by wind and sun. Grey streaked through his hair. He bowed low and awkwardly, one leg extended with the opposite arm mirroring it while his hand was held in a fist over his heart. Nynaeve inclined her head, as a noble would, and pressed her hand to her own heart, this time open with palm resting on the blue of her dress. Mat simply inclined his head. The man smiled at Nynaeve's greeting.
"My Lord, My Lady," he began, his voice deep and rumbling. " I am Quinn Badru, Captain of the Second Unit of the Third Legion of Kandor's Borderland Guards. Please, my Lord, my Lady these are unsafe times but rest assured we would not allow any harm to befall you. Please, accept our hospitality for the remainder of this day and night and the promise of an escort while you are in our constituency for you and your Lady, my Lord."
Mat opened his mouth to say it was not necessary but Nynaeve increased the pressure of her grip.
"That would be delightful Captain Badru," Nynaeve half sighed, her eyes flaring dangerously up at Mat.
Badru bowed again, motioning for one of his men to take her horses reins, as the trees were too low for them to ride.
"Please, follow us."
Mat fell into step beside Nynaeve, with Vlad giving everyone a sour look.
"Where did all that come from?" Mat asked keeping his voice low. "All that Andor holds no quarrel, the bowing and that arrow?"
"In Kandor, that is the traditional greeting between unknown strangers," Nynaeve whispered, her lips barely moving as she watched Badru's back. "An open fist while bowing is usually between men, but can also mean 'Ready to serve'. The open hand is a woman's signal but means we are ready to accept his service. There are many particulars such as how many fingers showing but you just need to remember to bow with a fist and very slightly. Vlad you must bow lower with a fully extended arm."
Vlad nodded seriously, hanging on her every word.
"And the arrow," Nynaeve continued. "Is a way of communicating without use of words. Yellow means halt with no harm intended, red is a warning and unpainted…" She trailed off and looked up at him for the first time in days with amusement in her eyes. "Well, your dead."
"Oh," was all that Mat could say at this barrage of information. "And how do you know that?"
All amusement drained from her face as she returned to looking forward. If possible her voice became even quieter.
"You can learn much in the Black Ajah."
XXXXXX
The black warhorse's nerves were running high and the whole of the Palace's stable crew knew it. The magnificent had grown tired of staying within the walls for so long and longed to run. The slightest glint of metal, sounds of voices raised in anger would have the horse desperate to get loose. The lad leading him held the reins gingerly and at arm's length. The stable hands had drawn lots to decide who would lead the fierce looking horse and Dab had chosen the short straw.
Suddenly a shout went up at the gate but for what no one knew. Immediately the horse reared up, pulling the leather cords from Dab's young hands. The stable hand immediately retreated trying to avoid the metal clad hooves that flailed so wildly but the lad stumbled over his own feet in his haste to escape. He fell to the cobbled floor as men came running, hearing the horses shrieks and Dab instantly curled himself into a tight ball. Closing his eyes he began to pray to the Creator, to anything that might save him. He did not want to be trampled to death. Dab dreamed of battle, of the love of a beautiful noblewoman, of glory that he so dearly wanted, of songs sung of his deeds in the next Age and the next. He wanted immortality, to be more than a stable hand.
Abruptly he realised that hooves no longer thundered around his head, threatening to break every bone in his body. Slowly he eased one eye open as he unfurled his limbs. A man held the horses reins, a hand gently stroking the animal's snout as he crooned softly, the wind mixing the dark hair of the man with the black of the horses mane.
With the horse pacified the man turned to him, extending a calloused hand towards him. Cautiously the boy took it allowing himself to be effortlessly be pulled to standing.
The man was a giant to the lad, well muscled with a half mystical sword strapped to his back. His black hair was grey at the temples but his face was as hard as stone, his eyes as cold as snow though to the boy he exuded power, grace and inspiration. The cold eyes surveyed him steadily with no emotion.
"You're alright lad, a few bruises for you to contend with but fine all the same," the man said in a rich and, to the stable hand, cultured voice. The ebony horse whickered as if in agreement with his master's word while a second horse was being loaded with light saddlebags.
Dab helped the man saddle the horse himself, overcoming his wariness as he watched the man's skill with dealing with him. Light touches and soft words to keep the horse calm but a strong masterful hand to command.
Finally the giant man mounted, glancing up to a balcony of the palace. Dab followed his gaze to see four women watching attentively. Immediately he recognized the golden curls of his Queen, the short, slim figure of the young Amyrlin, the tall proud but strange Aiel, the Queen's closets friend and the Captain of the Bodyguard who was often found in the guardroom drinking. They all nodded down at the Lord who returned it as Dab made a hasty bow. Suddenly a gate way appeared in the middle of the courtyard, opening to reveal a snowy landscape. Dab gave a jump back wards almost tripping and he was such that amusement had drifted across the man's face, just for a split second.
The stable hand composed himself quickly, turning back to the Lord, passing the reins of the packhorse and giving Mandarb one last, ginger pat.
"If you remember one thing boy," the Lord said. "Let it be this; Women are bad enough at the best of times but when you are in love, that is when you give up any sense and reason along with your heart and soul." With that the Lord spurred his horse forward through the gateway that winked closed behind the butterscotch coloured packhorse.
Lan had no idea what that boy he had saved from death and had left staring at the place the gateway had stood would be when he was a man.
Perhaps he would join the palace guard, lying about his age to enter early to serve against those who might strike against his Queen and country.
Perhaps he would remain in the stables, working his way up to become Horse Master, to breed the best horses ever seen.
Perhaps he would fall in love with a noblewoman whose horse he attended and she would return his affection in total disregard to her father's disgust.
And perhaps he would become Dab Horsetamer, the greatest horseman who ever lived, able to shoot a bow from the animal's back with such precision it was almost godlike. His deeds would be sung across the continent and eventually he would become one of the heroes bonded to the Horn of Valere. Immortalised, perhaps.
But then perhaps, he would never forget the advice given by the uncrowned King of Malkier.