Mat tugged the hat down lower on his head, scowling as the breeze tried to yank it free. His other hand kept his ashandarei steady across his shoulder as he strolled through the Imperial Gardens. It was a nice day, the sun coming out from behind the clouds to beat down upon them, making Mat quite regret his choice of black this day. But burn him if he was going to go back and change now, with the dozen servants he would undoubtedly send into a frenzy if he tried to do so. Well, by the feeling of the sun, burn was exactly what it was trying to do.
Still scowling, he turned a corner and almost ran into a gardener, who jumped out of the way with a startled curse. When he saw who he had just cursed at, however, he dropped prostrate on the ground.
"I am sorry, Highness." Light, the man was actually trembling like a fallen leaf as he spoke, eyes focused solely on the ground. "If it pleases you, I shall report to the selling block for this grave offense as soon as I am able."
The words made Mat's stomach twist, and he felt his scowl turn a few shades darker. This business of Highness was bad enough, but this man was going to sell himself into a slave for bumping into him? Mat sighed and leaned down, putting a hand on the man's back and bodily hauling the slight individual up. "No need for that. It was mostly my fault, I should have been looking in the first place." The man gasped at him until he remembered to lower his eyes once more, and he began to make protests. Mat slapped him on the shoulder, perhaps more roughly than necessary, and then let go. "Go on your way, man. Blood and bloody ashes if I demanded every person who slightly insulted or inconvenienced me to go be sold a slave, half the world would be da'covale. Now go. That's an order."
For some reason, the last part was the thing that finally seemed to relax the man. He bowed his head and murmured something unintelligible before scurrying on his way, leaving the gardening tools in the dirt where he had been working.
"I need a drink." Mat groaned to himself as he began to walk again, this time making sure not to bump into any unfortunate people. Maybe the drink would drown out the bloody dice in his head. Three and a half years without them, and he had begun to think that they were gone for good, that perhaps Perrin's theory of them not being ta'veren had been right. "Yeah, fat chance of that. When I get my hands on you, you big oaf of a blacksmith…" he let his sentence trail off into a growl as he shook his head and made his way forward. Why did the dice have to start now of all times? It had him looking under every bush and behind every tree for a Myrdrall to try and kill him, or one of the Forsaken to smite him into bits, if any still lived beside Moghedien. Blood and bloody ashes, that had been a shock when Nyneave had identified one of Tuon's personal damane as a bloody Forsaken. You would have thought Nynaeve had just given Tuon a huge gift by the way the short bald woman had beamed, and Nynaeve had actually smiled as well, something that was terrifying on her face. Women, he'd never understand them. If Rand was still around, he probably could have explained it. He had always been better with women than Mat. Perrin had as well, but he had let his senses dull with marriage, and now seemed to have no more clue than Mat did about the inner workings of the opposite sex.
Well, he told himself grudgingly, if the dice hadn't been rolling, he wasn't sure he would have heard the window latch snap in time to stop the assassins. They were the best ones so far, had nearly gotten the best of him quite a few times. He had been so sure the dice would stop once they were felled, but it was not so. That would have been too bloody simple. The noise had lessened, yes, an effect Mat had heard only once or twice before, meaning there were multiple pairs spinning their way through his skull like it was an empty cup, making an enormous ruckus that made it hard to focus on anything, let alone something as important as fighting for your life against three very agile assassins.
"A drink, my lord?" asked a female voice from behind him, and he turned to see a dark-haired woman standing there, a half-grin making her look quite beautiful. She had pale eyes that spoke of her Alqam heritage, and her hair fell in closely curled ringlets around her head, with the back of it shaved, as was the custom of the Low Blood. Behind the woman stood a strikingly tall woman, as tall as some Aiel men Mat had met, with eyes downcast and hands clasped together at her waist, ever-present and ever silent.
"Blood and ashes, Bayeral! Just the woman I wanted to see," Mat exclaimed, feeling a grin breaking out across his face. "And hello, Rinla, nice to see you too." As usual, the tall woman behind Bayeral didn't answer, just dipped her head in a quick nod. He shook his head and focused his attention back on the woman he was actually excited to see.
"I was?" she said with a raised eyebrow and a quirk of her plump lips. Talmanes had finally settled down, with Aludra of all people but Vanin still needed to find someone, so he kept his eye out for things like plump lips and round bosoms. It was only the right thing to do, after all.
"Yes! I need a bloody drink, and you are the only woman I know who can drink me under a table!" Well, there had been Birgitte of course, and he felt a pang of sadness as he remembered hearing about her death. He hadn't even realized she had died, because she had been riding about the ending strokes of the battle next to Elayne just fine. Hadn't that been a fine joke, the horn bringing her back five minutes after she died. But Light could she drink him into a stupor, and keep going against anyone else in the inn. He let out a wince of remembrance, and apparently, it was more noticeable than he meant it to be.
"Well I'm glad to have such a distinct honor, Highness," she said with bemusement, "Why do you wince? Did I say something wrong?"
Mat pointed a finger at her with a glare. "Not you too, Bayeral! I don't need any of this 'Your Highness' nonsense from you of all people. Mat will do just fine, please, and thank you. And no, I was just remembering people long gone by now."
Her face took on a sadness. "Ah, yes. We all lost people during the Shrouded Days." That was what the general populace had taken to calling the days when the sun had been covered with clouds so thick you could barely see the gleam of it, or if it was even there at all.
"Yeah," he grunted and then motioned away back towards the stables. "So are we going to go or what, Bayeral? The stupid dice are making it hard to remember if you gave me a straight answer."
"The… dice?" He could practically hear the raised eyebrow in her voice, and he grimaced. Stupid things were making him not watch his tongue. Light, he was on edge.
"It's a saying from across the ocean, that's all," he said quickly, hoping she had not heard the clear hesitation.
"I see," she said dryly and fell into step beside him. "We could go to the inn of course, but I have a much more pleasant idea in mind."
He stopped short and turned to her, and she smiled her most innocent, sweet smile. He'd seen more convincing performances of innocent sweetness from Lan. He snorted and shook his head. "And what exactly is better than a good drink in your hand and a dice game in front of you?" Even mentioning the word dice made the bloody ones in his head seem to thunder louder.
Bayeral let out a short bark of laughter. "I think we both know there is not an inn in Seandar that would let you play a dice game in them anymore."
Mat grimaced. It was probably true, burn the woman. "Not an inn that would let me play, true. But a pretty young Lady letting his servant play a round or two for her perhaps?" He raised an eyebrow hopefully and she just shook her head.
"To answer your question, Highness," a quick grin, so small if he had not been staring her in the face he would have missed it, flashed from her beautiful face as she resumed walking, "There is a place, a lovely hill, about an hour's ride outside the city I find most restful to go and clear my head. It is quite… relaxing there, and very secluded." Her eyes flashed back to him, and Mat felt heat rising on his neck, and he grew embarrassed. Blood and ashes, had marriage meddled him out so much that a halfway pretty woman saying it was a secluded and relaxing place would make him blush like a boy getting his first kiss after Bel Tine? No, he would not be scared off so easily, not Mat Cauthon!
"Fine," He growled as he tugged at his scarf, putting aside his images of a nice evening spent playing dice and maybe a quick snuggle with a serving woman, to keep up his reputation after all. "Let's go."
Her eyebrows shot up, and if Mat didn't know any better, he would have said she actually looked relieved. She gave a little nod to Rinla, who hurried away, probably to get her horse prepared. He hurried away as well, finding the first servant, a young woman who was carrying a basket of towels to be washed presumably, and nearly scared her out of her skin.
Seem to be making a habit out of that lately, he thought wryly as she began to prostrate herself on the ground. "No, no time for that. I need you to go get me a quill and parchment, right now." He hauled her up and motioned. "Come on, let's go!"
She scurried away, eyes wide, glancing back at him once or twice over her shoulder. Mat hoped he didn't look as scary as she was making him feel he looked. It was only natural to want to carry around a weapon after you just had to fight for your life that night, blood and bloody ashes but it was. After a few minutes, the same servant came hurrying back, holding his requested items. Mat stood up from where he had been leaning against the tree and took the paper, beginning to write.
Tuon, I am going out for a ride. I will be back by this evening, or try my best. If I miss the official dinner, you can take it up with Jonara. She is a much better secretary than the stump ever was.
Jonara, I better not find you in my sweets again, or I will hang you upside from from the ceiling for an entire day and night. Learned that trick from the Sea Folk, and you just ask Olver how well it works when his ship pulls in.
Olver, I'm not sure what time your ship comes in, but if I'm not back by then, don't you dare start corrupting Jonara again with that bloody sword. If you have to go practice with it, at least put some padding on it so you don't break your fool skull open on the floor.
With that, Mat signed his name with a flourish and put the pen down. "Here, give this to Tuon will you? She'll probably be in her rooms, after all, it's only noon. You can slip in with the dozen other servants she's got most likely surrounding her." The young woman gave a hurried little nod, and Mat sighed. Women, either berating him or staring at him like he was the bloody Dark One himself. He shooed her off and began to make his way to the stables.
He was on Pips and was almost out the side gate, the servant's entrance he preferred to use when he heard shouts from behind him, deep shouts like a giant and very annoyed bumblebee trying to chase after him. He cursed and laid closer to Pips, spurring the horse on with his heels. The horse put on a burst of speed, and Mat crested the rise of the road and saw the two women sitting a little farther down it, waiting for him. He grinned and began to relax. He had made it! Take that, you bloody Seanchan, he thought with a wide grin.
That was when he felt a rumbling, like a prelude to an earthquake, and a massive hand closed around his horse's reins, and brought them both to an abrupt halt. Mat almost flew from the saddle, he went from moving to going still so quickly. He straightened up and rubbed at his sternum, where the horn had jabbed into him when he briefly tried a career in flying. He gave a glare to the massive hand, already knowing who it belonged to. He could also hear horse hooves galloping desperately behind him and he spun to see just who he did not want to see. The massive hand was attached to a massive face with long drooping eyebrows, underneath rested eyes the size of teacups, but there was nothing soft and warm about them. They were pitiless blackness, like the kaf that these Seanchan loved so much. The nose of the creature was bigger than Mat's whole fist and had ears longer than Mat's forearms, ears that were twitching irritably as the normally placid face glared at Mat.
"Nalara," Mat said with his best grin, looking to his right to see a man in armor like a beetle skid to a stop beside him, wearing the red and green of the Deathwatch guard. "And Barten. How lovely to see you both."
Barten was the captain of his guard, and not for the first time as Mat looked upon the sweating man, he cursed dropping that fingernail on the ground. A man should really not be held accountable for something he did by accident five years ago. It was in the middle of the Last Battle, Tarmon Gai'don curse the Dark One's eyes! If a man couldn't make mistakes then, when could he make them? But it had happened, and this man had been elevated to the Low Blood. And of course, when asked by Tuon what assignment he would like to take, he had shocked everyone by saying he wished to be Captain of the Prince of Ravens guard.
That had sent the entire court into a titter, it most certainly had. Tuon could not outright refuse him, but Deathwatch were the ones who usually guarded the Imperial family. Mat felt amusement remembering the faces of Karede and Hartha at the outrageous request, and Mat could tell how hard they had to strain to keep their mouths shut against what they perceived as the grievous insult. But eventually, a compromise was made, where Barten went and trained with the Deathwatch guard for a year to prove he could hold his own and was allowed to become Captain of his guard. And now he was a constant thorn in Mat's side. If Min had mentioned that in one of her viewings, he would never have allowed it. Why did they never seem useful to him though?
It helped you figure out how to save Moiraine, an annoyingly reasonable voice whispered in the back of his mind, and he pointedly ignored it. If he wanted to be calm and reasonable, he wouldn't be sneaking out of the castle.
Nalara, who was one of the biggest Ogier he had ever had the displeasure of meeting, eleven feet tall, was not taken in by Mat's grin. Probably because he was a different species. "Highness, you know you are not to leave the palace grounds without an escort of guards." The flat voice was hard as granite, no rumbling excitement like Loial or even the bubbly kindness from Erith, whom Mat had met a few times.
Barten, from his right, sat up, having caught his breath. "Highness, you must stop trying to sneak out of the palace without us! Just because the civil war has stopped, does not mean that there are not still brigands or riots that can happen." He shook his head and pulled off his beetle helmet, running his fingers through his brown hair, which was damp with sweat. How long had these men been chasing him? "Brigands in Seandar itself. What has the world come to?"
"The Fourth Age, man!" said Mat, exasperated. "Blood and ashes you were there on the Fields of Merrilor! You think after that bloody stewpot a few brigands will kill me?" He swept his hat off grandly, revealing his eye path to the sun, and pointed at it. "Don't you know? When the Prince of Ravens dices with death, he always comes out on top."
"There is always a first time," Nalara rumbled, looking extremely unimpressed. "We will be coming with you. Wherever you go, it is not our business to pass judgment. But we will go with you."
"If I didn't think you'd slip away, I would go back and gather the rest of your guard, but I think we both know that is exactly what you would do," Barten said as he picked up his reins, and Nalara released Pips.
Mat scowled at the both of them and pulled his hat back on his head, shading his eyepatch once more from the sun. Not for the first time he regretted keeping with the black for the eyepatch, it got hot against his skin so quickly. He had chosen the eyepatch once he had arrived at Seanchan and was given his own personal tailors to make demands of. Not that they actually listened any better than that fussy old woman Tuon had attended him had, but a specific eyepatch was one of the few things he had gotten from them as he wanted it. Blood and bloody ashes you would think that being second only to the Empress herself would make people listen, but it seemed the opposite was true.
He cantered up to the two waiting women in their horses and heard the hooves of the horse behind him along with the thudding footsteps of Nalara. How the Ogier could move so swiftly while decked out in his full armor and wielding an ax larger than Mat's own body was beyond him, but he did.
"Are they coming with us?" Bayeral asked, a distinct tone of displeasure touching her tone.
"Yeah, I'm not happy about it either," Mat replied back and then waved forward. "But if this hill is as nice as you say, maybe they'll fall asleep for all the relaxation." To his left, he felt more than saw Nalara stiffen with indignation at the insult, and Barten audibly gnashed his teeth.
Good, serves those sons of goats right. "Onward!"
She and Rinla traded looks before quickly looking away again, and Bayeral turned swiftly on her mate and began to canter away. "Catch up if you can, Matrim Cauthon!" she shouted into the wind as she quickly disappeared up the road.
Mat leaned down once more, this time without jabbing himself in the stomach, and dug in his heels. Pips shot off like an arrow released from a Two Rivers bow, and they were pounding down the road. Everyone assumed that because Pips looked nondescript and slightly rounded, that he would be an easy horse to outrace. But his Da had taught him well how to choose horses, and after a few minutes he nodded to Bayeral and Rinla as he passed them on the road, Barten and Narla close on his heels. He slowed himself to a stop, and though the Ogier tried to hide it, he was breathing hard. Oh yes, he knew how to pick out a horse alright. Pips hardly seemed winded, and once the women rounded the corner he nodded to them. "Well, Bayeral, what took you so long?"
She rolled her eyes and let out a sniff, very reminiscent of Nynaeve, but a hint of a smile ruined the effect. "Enough of these games. I want to get to the hill before all the daylight runs out, after all. Come." She moved her mare ahead, and they followed in silence. Mat leaned back in his saddle, closing his eyes and letting the clip-clop of hooves relax him. Without even noticing, he began to whistle to himself under his breath, as the elevation changed and Pips started to climb upwards, hoping to drown out the rattling dice.
"There's some delight in ale and wine, And some in girls with ankles fine, But my delight, yes, always mine, is to dance with Jak o' the Shadows." A soft voice sang beside him, and Mat snapped his eyes open and looked to the right. His eye locked on Barten, who blushed furiously and looked away. "I… heard them singing it at the battle of Khoweal's Straight." He said quietly, still not looking at Mat. "I know I don't have the greatest singing voice, but I couldn't resist…" he shook himself and seemed to regain control of his emotions, and straightened in the saddle, though his head was still bowed. "Sorry, Highness. My eyes are lowered."
Mat waved that comment away. Blood and ashes, did they have to feel shame over everything? They were more touchy than an Ebou Dari with a new knife, and that was the Dark One's own truth. "It's fine, Barten. Truth be told, I didn't even realize I was whistling it until you started singing." His eye narrowed as the rest of the sentence registered in his head. "What do you mean, at Khoweal's Straight you heard it?"
"We're here!" said Bayeral, cutting into the conversation as she stopped her mare and Rinla hurried over to help her Lady down. Mat slowed Pips to a stop, and the horse whickered softly and bent his head to begin nuzzling at the grass. Mat slid off his gelding, and tied Pips to one of the trees, scanning the area for danger. He didn't think there was any to be found, just like he didn't think Pips would actually run away, but it was better to be safe than sorry as long as those dice were going. He then looked around and took in the hill and the view. Bayeral hadn't been lying about that, it was really quite a stunning view. The trees rippled in the breeze, the only thing that kept Mat from melting into a puddle of his own sweat, and they all seemed to be specifically grown to have a clearing in the center. And in that clearing lay the trunk of a tree, tipped over now to rest on its side. The thing was so covered in moss that he couldn't even see the wood underneath, but it looked like a soft moss so Mat didn't mind. After nearly an hour in the saddle, his behind could do with some padding. Wildflowers grew in patches, and as he made his way over to Bayeral, who had already settled herself down on the log, he leaned down and plucked a few of the flowers from the ground and wove them together into a small headband. Mat hadn't had any idea how to weave flowers into headbands himself, but he found his fingers just do it. Burn him but some of the men in his head had known very weird things and he couldn't help but pick them up. If he was asked how to sew a petticoat to hide a hidden knife, or a pair of boots to store a few emergency coins, he could tell you that as well.
He presented the woven crown to Bayeral, who let out a delighted laugh and took the makeshift crown from him, placing it on her head. "You never fail to surprise me, Mat."
"Well if I did, then I'd be boring. And who wants to be around a boring man?" Mat replied with a grin and sat himself on the moss-covered log beside her, placing his ashandarei next to him against the log. A quick glance behind him showed that Rinla was watching from a few feet away, and the two Deathwatch guards were standing near the cluster of trees, scanning the area with hard eyes, hands on weapons. Mat put them out of his mind, if they wanted to bore themselves to death they could bloody well do that, and turned his gaze outward. Bayeral had not been lying, the view really was quite spectacular. He could see for miles in any direction if he so chose, and looking straight ahead he could see across the city and to the sparkling expanse of the Ayrth Ocean, with its crashing waves and ships always coming and leaving from Seandar. And then there was Seandar itself. His memory was fuzzy of those days way back when he, Rand, and Perrin had all first left the Two Rivers, but he thought he remembered them all exclaiming about how Beralon was a grand and majestic city when in reality it had only been a moderately sized town with a wall. Looking at Seandar, he got the same feeling. To think that he had ever called Caemlyn or Cairhien a Great City? The thought was almost laughable now. Seandar could swallow up either one of those two cities and still have room to spare for the bloody Stone of Tear.
It sprawled out under his gaze, the buildings all shapely things made of wood. Mat had been surprised to learn that the ones with stone houses were considered to be the poorer of the city dwellers, and to have your house shaped out of wood by Damane tree shapers was considered to be a majestic sign of wealth. The sprawling city swept out in all directions, the stone houses surrounding the inner city of shaped wood houses, and above it all rose the palace that he had spent his days at for the last year. It was the only building in Seandar that had metal on it, three gold roofed domes, two small ones, and one huge one that Mat knew by now was where Tuon held court. It had a wall around it, this also made of metal, blood, and ashes a wall made of pure metal, that allowed no one to get through except for a very few select entrances, and they had a very nasty trick of having small spikes set into the top of the wall for anyone attempting to climb over it. Mat rubbed at his forearm, where he had learned that particular secret the hard way one night.
Next to the gold-roofed palace stood a huge tower also inside the walls. It had a much more dangerous air than the palace, with a dark countenance and even from so far away Mat could see the iron cages that hung from them, some with prisoners in them, others with grotesquely twisted skeletons. He shivered in spite of himself. He really had to talk to Tuon about changing that particular custom. If he was the bloody Prince of Ravens, he should be able to decree what the Tower of Ravens would look like, yes he bloody should. Tomorrow though. He could do it tomorrow. For tonight, he was just looking forward to seeing Olver again.
His eye continued to roam, and in the distance he could see the great ships, the ones that had caused so much terror at Falme all those years ago, bobbing gently on the waves. Their red sails were emblazoned with the symbol of the double ravens, the crest of the Imperial family was prominent even from here, and he could see tiny people scurrying around on them. Even as he watched he could see another massive ship, red sails being a giveaway as to what type of ship it was, even if the size wasn't. Mat had been shocked when, after peace had been restored in Seanchan, people began to sign up to move here from the Westlands. At first, it had been Altarans and Amidicians mostly, maybe a few Taraboners as well, but then people from places beyond the Seanchan-controlled lands had packed up their families and keepsakes and made the decision to travel to Seanchan, hearing it was a prosperous and open country, with many places for a man to settle down and have a good chunk of land to start a good life. At first, it had just been the wealthy, but when Tuon had learned how much the ship captains were charging for people to be brought across, she had made them all da'covale and appointed more reasonable people. He moved on and saw dozens upon dozens of smaller vessels as well all coming in after a long day of fishing, slinking into the smaller docks like tired old dogs in need of a good rest by the fire. Even thinking of fire made him acutely aware of the heat, and he tugged at his scarf once more. Maybe he should just take it off. It didn't really matter anyway, it seemed every burning person from beggar to tavern girl knew that the Prince of Ravens had a scar around his neck, when he had outwitted Death himself, at a game of Snakes and Foxes. That rumor was a little too bloody close to the truth for Mat to be comfortable with.
Almost against his will, his mind began to assess the defenses of Seandar, battles springing up in his mind. It was a good position, a bloody good one in all honesty, with rivers on three sides and an ocean on the other. With the farms that were inside the river borders, which were not many but there were a few, and able to fish, the city held out indefinitely against invaders.
"It's good to get out here again. I don't get many chances to get away from those vultures much anymore." She said with a sigh leaning forward and staring out over the same view that he was, probably without a thousand bloody dead men telling him how exactly it could be defended though. The things some people took for granted.
"Burn me, but why did you do it then?" He asked, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts of defense and attack.
"Do what?" She asked, seeming surprised. Knowing women, she had probably expected the question and had prepared the conversation for the next ten steps though. If they put half that thought into commanding armies, he suspected the Blight would have been long destroyed.
"Why did you come to Seandar, the Imperial Court, in the first place if you knew those vultures were gonna surround and try and milk you for every bloody coin they can squeeze out of you?"
"You know why, Mat. I had to come to give my respects to the new Empress, may she live forever after my entire province went into rebellion." She gave him a small pat on the hand, and then rested it there, giving him a patronizing smile. Mat didn't pull his hand away, it was an impolite thing to do, but he wanted to. He didn't idea of not being able to get to his knives immediately if something came out of those trees and attacked him. Blood and bloody ashes, those dice in his head were making him paranoid. He saw Bayeral's hand fiddling with the moss, the one that wasn't covering his own at least and felt slightly better. At least he wasn't the only one slightly nervous today. He forced himself to relax and continued on with the conversation.
"Politics. In Mayedrar they just stabbed you in the back with an actual knife and got it bloody over with. Much easier way to know who your enemies were or not." Mat muttered shaking his head. He knew Daes D'mar, but he hated playing it. A spear in one hand and an enemy in front of you was a much more preferable way to decide things. The Ebou Dari had some things figured out at least, even if they were too bloody sensitive by half about finding reasons to stab one another.
"Where is Mayedrar?" Bayeral asked, and Mat cursed himself quietly in his head. These blasted dice weren't only making him jump at every shadow, they were making his tongue looser than the time he had tried to out-drink Aludra. That woman put on a stern appearance but she could hold her ale better than few people he had ever met. He had been glad the next morning that Nynaeve hadn't been around, otherwise he would have gotten a taste of that disgusting brew she called a hangover cure.
"Nowhere important. One of the small cities in the Borderlands I passed through once." Mat replied hurriedly, hoping she didn't know much about them. It was technically true, it had been a small city near the Blight border. It had just been swallowed up several centuries ago when the Trollocs came streaming out during the opening moves of the Trolloc Wars. They had been known for their warriors, some of the best on the border, but even they couldn't stand up to the force of hundreds of thousands that overwhelmed their walls. Mat rubbed at his side, feeling where the arrow had gone through, and pierced his lungs while he had been defending the city. That had been one of the more brutal deaths, him slowly feeling his lungs fill with blood as he commanded his men and then eventually took the gate himself, spitting a Trolloc with his sword before he drowned in his own blood.
"Mat, can you hear me?" A voice drifted through his mind, and he started back to himself suddenly, looking around him. He found that he was panting heavily, as if struggling to breathe, and his hand was gripping the uncomfortable log tightly. He had been vigilant about keeping watch for whatever those dice were trying to warn him about he had just let one of those memories sneak up on him and make himself look like a complete fool. Mat felt himself flushing, as he looked to where Bayeral was leaning over him with a concerned expression, and if Mat hadn't known any better he would have said there was an underlying tone of relief in it as well. Barten and Narla were a few feet closer than they had been, as well as Rinla. Blood and ashes when had that happened?
He straightened up and flushed even more. That had been embarrassing, and now she was holding his other hand as well, both being indisposed. Mat felt a little lightheaded still, but he must have managed to say something for she responded. The conversation faded into a blur for Mat, and he stared out across the land to the sea, wishing he could be back there. Burn him for a fool but he actually found himself missing Perrin, the big oaf, and even his sisters, even if he didn't want to get within a mile of the White Tower if he didn't have to. Light, both of his sisters were going to become Aes Sedai? It was bad enough when they spied on him back during the Emond Field days and told on him to his mother. He doubted any amount of Aes Sedai training would help them kick those habits. In fact, thinking of Jolene, it would probably only make them worse.
Suddenly, he felt a rush of air on the side of his face and his head was suddenly exposed. "Are you even paying attention to me, Mat?" Bayeral said in mock sternness, though he could see her grinning behind the hat. "I repeated myself three times already! Only when I took your precious hat are you even looking at me now!"
On instinct, while his annoyance was still registering, he was trying to snatch the hat back, and they were caught in a tug-of-war. It was only a few seconds before he got control back of it and shoved it on his head. "What in the Dark One's flam-" he began to reply furiously, anger rising. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and all the little pieces that had been floating around in the back of his mind snapped into place as the medallion grew cold against his chest.
He thrust out a foot and kicked at his ashandarei, hoping to catch it in midair, while with his hands he produced a knife and twisted around, half-rising from the log. He could see Barten and Narla running forward at full speed, but they seemed to be moving in slow motion, just like everything else. He could see now what Bayeral had been doing with her hands. She had not just been twisting her fingers in a nonsensical pattern, picking at the moss, but pulling it off and tossing it away from the log. Except it's not a bloody log, you sheep-brained idiot! He watched in horror as Rinla, who had covered the fifteen feet or so during the time he had been blinded by Bayeral, laid her hands on what he could now see was the rough gray of a column of stone showing through the moss, and the medallion grew even colder. He whipped a knife, which hit her square in the throat… and bounced off of nothing, clattering to the grass. Barten and Narla were almost upon her, and Mat snatched the ashandarei out of the air without looking and began to spin it toward her. But it was too late. It was far too bloody late. That prickling of his skin, as if every pore on his body suddenly decided to open at once washed over him, a sensation he had only ever experienced once before, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Here we go.