The Gathering Storm

Tuon was dead. Gone, cast aside, forgotten. Tuon had been the Daughter of the Nine Moons. She was now just a notation in the histories.

Fortuona was empress.

Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag kissed the soldier lightly on the forehead as he knelt, head bowed, on the short grass. The muggy Altaran heat made it feel as if summer had already arrived, but the grass—which had seemed lush and full of life just weeks before—had grown stunted and was beginning to yellow. Where were the weeds and thistles? Recently seeds didn't sprout as they should. Like grain, they were going bad, dying before they truly came alive.

The soldier before Fortuona was one of five. Behind those five stood two hundred members of the Fists of Heaven—the most elite of her attack forces. They wore dark leather breastplates and helms of light wood and leather, shaped like insects. Both helms and breastplates were emblazoned with the sign of the clenched fist. Fifty sul'dam and damane pairs, including Dali and her sul'dam Malahavana, whom Fortuona had given to the cause. She had felt the need to sacrifice something personal to this most important of missions.

;Yes," Verin said. She smiled. "What a clever description."

Mat didn't respond.

"I decided to use more mundane means to make my voyage. I thought that maybe my inability to Travel had something to do with al'Thor's proximity, or perhaps the gradual unraveling of the Pattern due to the Dark One's influence. I secured a place in a merchant caravan traveling northward toward Cairhien. They had an empty wagon they were willing to rent for a reasonable rate. I was quite fatigued from my days spent staying up all hours because of fires, crying babies and constant moves from one inn room to another. As such, I fear I slept much longer than I should have. Tomas napped as well.

"When we awoke, we were surprised to discover that the caravan had taken a turn to the northwest instead of heading toward Cairhien. I spoke with the caravan master, and he explained that he'd received a last-minute tip that his goods would fetch a much better price in Murandy than in Cairhien. As he considered it, he mentioned that he really should have told me about the change, but it had slipped his mind."

She took another sip of tea. "It was then that I knew for certain that I was being directed. Most wouldn't have noticed it, I suspect, but I have made a study of the nature oita'veren. The caravan hadn't moved far toward Murandy—only one day—but mixed with the tugging, it was enough. I spoke with Tomas, and we determined to avoid going where we were being pulled. Skimming is an inferior substitute for Traveling, but does not have the same limitation of knowing the area. I opened a gateway, but when we reached the end of our journey, we stepped not into Tar Valon, but a small village in northern Murandy!

"That shouldn't have been possible. However, as we considered it, Tomas and I realized he had been speaking fondly of a hunting trip he'd gone on once in the village of Trustair, and I'd opened the gateway at that moment. I must have let myself focus on the wrong location."

"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—"