The Gathering Storm

"And here we are,' Tomas said, arms folded, looking dissatisfied as he stood behind his Aes Sedai's chair.

"Indeed," Verin said. "Curious, wouldn't you say, young Matrim? I accidentally end up here, in your path, right when you have great need of someone to create a gateway for your army?"

"Still could be coincidence."

"And the tugging?"

He didn't know what to say to that.

"Coincidence is how being ta'veren works," Verin said. "You find a discarded object that is of great use to you, or happen to meet an individual at just the right time. Random chance randomly works in your favor. Or haven't you noticed?" She smiled. "Care to throw some dice on it?"

"No," he said reluctantly.

"One thing bothers me, however," Verin said. "Was there no other person who could have happened into your path? Al'Thor has those Asha'man scouring the countryside looking for men who can channel, and I suspect rural areas like this are top on their list, as it is more likely that channelers could stay unnoticed in such places. One of them could have happened into your path and given you a gateway."

"Not bloody likely," Mat said, shivering. "I'm not trusting the Band to the likes of them."

"Not to get to Andor in a heartbeat?" Verin asked.

Mat hesitated. Well, maybe.

"7 had to be here for some reason," she said thoughtfully.

"I still think you're reading too much into this," he replied, shifting yet again on the burning bench.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. First, we should negotiate my price for taking you to Andor. I assume you want to reach Caemlyn?"

"Price?" Mat said. "But you think the Pattern forced you here! Why demand a price of me?"

"Because," she said, raising a finger, "while I waited to find you—I honestly didn't know if it would be you or young Perrin—I realized that there were several things I could provide you that no other could." She reached into a pocket of her dress, pulling out several pieces of paper. One was the picture of Mat. "You didn't ask where I got this."

"You're Aes Sedai," Mat said, shrugging. "I figured you . . . you know, saidared it."

"Saidared it?" she asked flatly.

He shrugged.

"I received this paper, Matrim—"

"Call me Mat," he said.

"I received this paper, Matrim, from a Darkfriend," she said, "who told me—thinking me a servant of the Shadow—that one of the Forsaken had commanded that the men in these pictures be killed. You and Perrin are in grave danger."

"I'm not surprised," he said, hiding the chill her announcement made him feel. "Verin, Darkfriends have been trying to kill me since the day I left the Two Rivers." He paused. "Burn me. Since the day before I left the Two Rivers. What does it change?"

"This is different," Verin said, growing stern. "The level of danger you are in ... I ... Well, let us simply agree that you are in great, great danger. I suggest that you be very careful during the next few weeks."

"I'm always careful," Mat said.

"Well, be more so," she said. "Go into hiding. Don't take chances. You will be essential before this is through."

He shrugged. Go into hiding? He could do that. With Thorn's help, he could probably do himself up so that even his sisters wouldn't recognize him. "I can do that," he said. "Bloody simple cost. How long will it take you to get us to Caemlyn?"

"That wasn't my cost, Matrim," she said, amused. "That was a suggestion. One I think you should listen to with great prejudice." She slipped a small folded piece of paper out from under the picture. It was sealed with a drop of blood-red wax.

Mat took it hesitantly. "It is?"

"Instructions," Verin said. "Which you will follow on the tenth day after I leave you in Caemlyn."