Towers of Midnight

53 Gateways

Pevara kept her tongue as she walked through the village of the Black Tower with Javindhra and Mazrim Taim. There was activity all through the place. There was always activity in the Black Tower. Soldiers felling trees nearby; Dedicated stripping the bark away, then slicing the logs into lumber with focused jets of Air. Sawdust coated the path; with a chill, Pevara realized that the stack of boards nearby had probably been cut by Asha’man.

Light! She’d known what she’d find here. It was much harder to face than she’d assumed it would be.

“And you see,” Taim said, walking with one hand folded—fingers making a fist—behind his back. With his other hand, he pointed toward a distant, part-finished wall of black stone. “Guard posts spaced at fifty-foot intervals. Each with two Asha’man atop them.” He smiled in satisfaction. “This place will be impregnable.”

“Yes indeed,” Javindhra said. “Impressive.” Her tone was flat and uninterested. “But the item I wished to speak with you about. If we could choose men with the Dragon pin to—”

“This again?” Taim said. He had fire in his eyes, this Mazrim Taim. A tall, black-haired man with high, Saldaean cheekbones. He smiled. Or the closest he came to such an expression—a half-smile that did not reach his eyes. It looked… predatory. “I have made my will known. And yet you continue to push. No. Soldiers and Dedicated only.”

“As you demand,” Javindhra said. “We will continue our consideration.”

“Weeks pass,” Taim replied, “and still you consider? Well, far be it from me to question Aes Sedai. I care not what you do. But the women outside my gates claim to be from the White Tower as well. Do you not wish me to invite them in to meet with you?”

Pevara felt a chill. He always seemed to know too much, and hint that he knew too much, about internal White Tower politics.

“That won’t be needed,” Javindhra said coldly.

“As you wish,” he said. “You should make your choices soon. They grow impatient, and al’Thor has given them permission to bond my men. They will not suffer my stalling forever.”

“They are rebels. You need pay them no heed at all.”

“Rebels,” Taim said, “with a much larger force than you. What do you have? Six women? From the way you talk, you seem to intend to bond the entirety of the Black Tower!”

“Perhaps we might.” Pevara spoke calmly. “No limit was placed upon us.”

Taim glanced at her, and she had the distinct feeling she was being inspected by a wolf considering whether she’d make a good meal. She shoved that feeling aside. She was Aes Sedai, no easy meat. Still, she couldn’t help remembering that they were only six. Inside a camp filled with hundreds of men who could channel.

“I once saw a skyfisher dying on the city docks of Illian,” Taim said. “The bird was choking, having tried to swallow two fish at once.”

“Did you help the sorry thing?” Javindhra asked.

“Fools will always choke themselves when they grasp for too much, Aes Sedai,” Taim said. “What matters that to me? I had a fine meal of it that night. The flesh of the bird, and of the fish. I must go. But be warned, now that I have a defensible perimeter, you must give me warning if you wish to pass outside.”

“You mean to keep comings and goings that tight?” Pevara asked.

“The world becomes a dangerous place,” Taim said smoothly. “I must think of the needs of my men.”

Pevara had noticed how he saw to the “needs” of his men. A group of young soldiers passed by, saluting Taim. Two bore bruised features, one with an eye swollen shut. Asha’man were beaten brutally for making mistakes in their training, then forbidden Healing.

The Aes Sedai were never touched. In fact, the deference they were shown bordered on mockery.

Taim nodded, then stalked off, meeting up with two of his Asha’man who waited nearby, beside the smithy. They immediately began speaking in hushed tones.

“I don’t like this,” Pevara said as soon as the men were away. Perhaps she said it too quickly, betraying her worries, but this place had her on edge. “This could easily turn to disaster. I’m beginning to think that we should do as I originally stated—bond a few Dedicated each and return to the White Tower. Our task was never to lock down the entire Black Tower, but to gain access to Asha’man and learn about them.”

“That’s what we’re doing,” Javindhra said. “I’ve been learning much these last few weeks. What have you been doing?”

Pevara did not rise to the other woman’s tone. Must she be so contrary? Pevara had leadership of this team, and the others would defer to her. But it didn’t mean that they would always be pleasant about it.

“This has been an interesting opportunity,” Javindhra continued, scanning the Tower grounds. “And I do think he will yield eventually on the subject of full Asha’man.”

Pevara frowned. Javindhra couldn’t honestly think that, could she? After how stubborn Taim had been? Yes, Pevara had yielded to suggestions that they remain in the Black Tower a little longer, to learn of its workings and ask Taim to allow them access to the more powerful Asha’man. But it was obvious now he would not give in. Surely Javindhra saw that.

Unfortunately, Pevara was having great difficulty reading Javindhra lately. Originally, the woman had seemed against coming to the Black Tower, only agreeing to the mission because the Highest had ordered it. Yet now she offered reasons to remain here.

“Javindhra,” Pevara said, stepping closer. “You heard what he said. We now need permission to leave. This place is turning into a cage.”

“I think, we’re safe,” Javindhra said, waving a hand. “He doesn’t know we have gateways.”

“So far as we know,” Pevara said.

“If you order it, I’m sure the others will go,” Javindhra said. “But I intended to continue to use the opportunity to learn.”

Pevara took a deep breath. Insufferable woman! Surely she wasn’t going so far as to ignore Pevara’s leadership of the group? After the Highest herself had placed Pevara in charge? Light, but Javindhra was growing erratic.

They parted without another word, Pevara spinning and walking back down the path. She kept her temper with difficulty. That last statement had been close to outright defiance! Well, if she wanted to disobey and remain, so be it. It was time to be returning to the White Tower.

Men in black coats walked all around her. Many nodded with those too-obsequious grins of feigned respect. Her weeks here had not done anything to make her more comfortable around these men. She would make a few of them Warders. Three. She could handle three, couldn’t she?

Those dark expressions, like the eyes of executioners while waiting for the next neck to line up before them. The way some of them muttered to themselves, or jumped at shadows, or held their heads and looked dazed. She stood in the very pit of madness itself, and it made her skin creep as if covered in caterpillars. She couldn’t help quickening her pace. No, she thought. I can’t leave Javindhra here, not without trying one more time. Pevara would explain to the others, give them the order to leave. Then she’d ask them, Tarna first, to approach Javindhra. Surely their united arguments would convince her.

Pevara reached the huts they had been given. She purposely did not look to the side, toward the line of small buildings where the bonded Aes Sedai made their homes. She’d heard what some of them were doing, trying to control their Asha’man using… various methods. That made her skin crawl, too. While she thought most Reds had too harsh an opinion of men, what those women did crossed the line with a heedless leap.

She stepped inside her hut, and there found Tarna at the desk writing a letter. The Aes Sedai had to share their huts, and Pevara had picked Tarna specifically. Pevara might have been made leader of this group, but Tarna was Keeper of the Chronicles. The politics of this particular expedition were very delicate, with so many influential members and so many opinions.

Last night, Tarna had agreed that it was time to leave. She’d work with Pevara on going to Javindhra.

“Taim has locked down the Black Tower,” Pevara said calmly, sitting on her bed in the small, circular chamber. “We now need his permission to leave. He said it offhandedly, as if it weren’t really meant to stop us. Just a rule he’d forgotten to give us a blanket exception to.”

“Likely, that’s just what it was,” Tarna said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Pevara fell still. What? She tried again. “Javindhra still irrationally thinks he will change his mind on letting us bond full Asha’man. It’s time to bond Dedicated and leave, but she’s hinted that she’ll remain regardless of my intentions. I want you to speak to her.”

“Actually,” Tarna said, continuing to write, “I’ve been thinking on what we discussed last night. Perhaps I was hasty. There is much to learn here, and there is the matter of the rebels outside. If we leave, they will bond Asha’man, which should not be allowed.”

The woman looked up, and Pevara froze. There was something different in Tarna’s eyes, something cold. She’d always been a distant one, but this was worse.

Tarna smiled, a grimace that looked completely unnatural on her face. Like the smile on the lips of a corpse. She turned back to her writing.

Something is very, very wrong here, Pevara thought. “Well, you may be right,” she found herself saying. Her mouth worked, though her mind reeled. “This expedition was your suggestion, after all. I will think on it further. If you’ll excuse me.”

Tarna waved ambivalently. Pevara stood, years as an Aes Sedai keeping her profound worry from showing in her posture. She stepped outside, then walked eastward, along the unfinished wall. Yes, guard stations had been set up regularly. Earlier this morning, those hadn’t been manned. Now they were, with men who could channel. One of those men could strike her dead before she could respond. She couldn’t see their weaves, and she couldn’t strike first, because of her oaths.

She turned and walked to a small stand of trees, a place that was to become a garden. Inside, she sat down on a stump, breathing deeply. The coldness—almost lifelessness—she’d seen in Tarna’s eyes still chilled her.

Pevara had been ordered by the Highest not to risk gateways unless the situation were dire. This seemed like a dire situation to her. She embraced the Source and wove the proper weave.

The weave fell apart the moment she completed it. No gateway formed. Eyes wide, she tried again, but got the same result. She tried other weaves, and they worked, but gateways failed every time.

Her chill became frost within her. She was trapped.

They all were.

Perrin clasped hands with Mat. “Good luck, my friend.”

Mat grinned, tugging down the broad brim of his dark hat. “Luck? I hope this all comes down to luck. I’m good with luck.”

Mat carried a bulging pack over one shoulder, as did the bony, gnarled man that Mat had introduced as Noal. Thom had his harp on his back and a similar pack. Perrin still wasn’t clear on what they were bringing. Mat only planned to be at the tower for a few days, so there was no need for a lot of supplies.

The small group stood on the Traveling ground outside Perrin’s camp. Behind them, Perrin’s people shouted back and forth, breaking down the camp. None had any inkling of how important this day could prove. Moiraine. Moiraine was alive. Light, let it be so.

“Are you certain I can’t convince you to take more help?” Perrin asked.

Mat nodded. “Sorry. These things… well, they tend to be particular. The note was clear. Only three of us can enter, otherwise we’ll fail. If we fail anyway… well, I guess it will be her own bloody fault then, won’t it?”

Perrin frowned. “Just be careful. I’m expecting another helping from your pouch of tabac at Master Denezel’s place when you return.”

“You’ll have it,” Thom said, taking Perrin’s offered hand. He hesitated, smiling, a faint twinkle in his eyes.

“What?” Perrin asked.

Thom repositioned his pack. “Is every last farmboy I know going to transform into a nobleman by the time this is through?”

“I’m no nobleman,” Mat said.

“Oh?” Thom asked. “Prince of the Ravens?”

Mat pulled his hat down. “People can call me what they want. That doesn’t mean I’m one of them.”

“Actually,” Thom said, “it—”

“Open the gateway so we can get going,” Mat said. “No more nonsense.”

Perrin nodded to Grady. The air rent, a twisting beam of light opening a portal that overlooked a broad, slow-moving river. “This is as close as he can get,” Perrin said. “At least, not without a better description of the place.”

“It’ll do,” Mat said, poking his head through the gateway. “You’ll open one for us to get back?”

“Each day at noon,” Grady said, repeating Perrin’s orders to him. “Into that exact spot.” He smiled. “Take care you don’t get your toes cut off when it appears, Master Cauthon.”

“I’ll do my best,” Mat said. “I’m attached to those toes.” He took a breath and stepped through the gateway. Quiet Noal followed, smelling of determination. That one was a lot tougher than he looked. Thom nodded to Perrin, mustaches wagging, then hopped through. He was spry, though he still bore the stiff leg from fighting that Fade two years ago.

Light guide you, Perrin prayed, raising a hand to the three as they trudged along the river’s bank.

Moiraine. Perrin should send word to Rand. The colors appeared, showing Rand speaking with a group of Borderlanders. But… no. Perrin couldn’t tell Rand until he was certain she lived. To do otherwise would be too cruel, and would be an invitation for Rand to meddle in Mat’s mission.

Perrin turned as the portal closed. As he stepped, he felt a faint throbbing from his leg, where Slayer’s arrow had hit him. He had been Healed or that wound, and from what he’d been able to tell, the Healing had been complete. There was no injury. But his leg… it felt like it could remember the wound anyway. It was like a shadow, very faint, almost unnoticeable.

Faile walked up to him, her face curious. Gaul was with her, and Perrin smiled at the way he kept glancing over his shoulder at Bain and Chiad. One carried his spears, the other his bow. So that he didn’t have to, apparently.

“I missed the sendoff?” Faile asked.

“As you intended,” Perrin replied.

She sniffed. “Matrim Cauthon is a bad influence. I’m surprised he didn’t drag you off to another tavern before leaving.”

Amusingly, the colors appeared, showing him Mat—who had just left—walking along the river. “He’s not as bad as all that,” Perrin said. “Are we ready?”

“Aravine has everyone organized and moving,” Faile said. “We should be ready to march within the hour.”

That proved a good estimate. In about a half-hour, Perrin stood to the side as an enormous gateway split the air, created by Grady and Neald linked together with the Aes Sedai and Edarra. Nobody had questioned Perrin’s decision to move. If Rand was traveling to this place known as the Field of Merrilor, then that was where Perrin wanted to be. It was where he needed to be.

The land beyond this gateway more rugged than southern Andor. Fewer trees, more prairie grass. Some ruins lay in the distance. The open area before them was filled with tents, banners, and camps. It looked as if Egwene’s coalition was gathered.

Grady peered through, then whistled softly. “How many people is that?”

“Those are the Crescent Moons of Tear,” Perrin noted, pointing toward a banner. “And that’s Illian. Camped on opposite sides of the field.” A green banner set with nine golden bees marked that army.

“A large number of Cairhienin Houses,” Faile said, looking out off the rise. “Not a few Aiel… No Borderlander flags.”

“I’ve never seen so many troops in one place,” Grady said.

It’s really happening, Perrin thought, heart thumping. The Last Battle.

“Do you think they’ll be enough to stop Rand?” Faile asked. “To help us keep him from breaking the seals?”

“Help us?” Perrin asked.

“You told Elayne that you’d go to the Field of Merrilor,” Faile said. “Because of what Egwene had asked.”

“Oh, I told her I needed to be there,” Perrin said. “But I never said I was going to take Egwene’s side. I trust Rand, Faile, and it seems right to me that he’d need to break the seals. It’s like making a sword. You usually don’t want to forge one out of the pieces of a broken and ruined weapon You get new good steel to make it. Rather than patch the old seals, he’ll need to make new ones.”

“Perhaps,” Faile said. “But this is going to be a fine line to walk. So many armies in one place. If some side with Rand and others with the White Tower…”

Nobody would win if they turned against one another. Well, Perrin would have to make sure that didn’t happen.

The soldiers were already gathered in lines, preparing to march. Perrin turned to them. “Rand sent us away to search for an enemy,” he bellowed. “We return to him having found allies. Onward, to the Last Battle!”

Only the ones at the front could hear him, but they cheered and passed the word back. Rand or Elayne would have given a far more inspiring speech. But Perrin wasn’t them. He’d have to do things his way.

“Aravine,” Perrin called to the plump Amadician. “Go through and make sure that nobody fights over where to set up their camps.”

“Yes, Lord Goldeneyes.”

“Keep us away from the other armies for now,” Perrin said, pointing. “Have Sulin and Gaul pick a good site. Pass the word to each of the armies as we set up. We’re not to interact with, or look the wrong way at, any of those other forces. And don’t let people go wandering off southward either! We’re not in the wilderness anymore, and I don’t want the local farmers complaining of mischief.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she said.

He’d never asked Aravine why she didn’t join one of the groups that had been sent back to Amadicia. It was probably because of the Seanchan, though. She was obviously noble, but didn’t say much of her past. He was glad to have her. As his camp steward, she was his liaison between the various factions that made up his army.

The Wolf Guard had drawn first lot, so they led the way through the gateway. The large column began to move. Perrin went down the line, giving orders, mostly reinforcing that he didn’t want trouble with the locals or the other armies. He stopped as he met Whitecloaks waiting their turn. Berelain was riding next to Galad again; they seemed very amenably lost in conversation. Light, but the woman had spent pretty much every waking hour with Galad these last few days.

Perrin hadn’t put the Whitecloaks and Mayeners together, yet they seemed to have somehow ended up that way. As they started moving, Galad’s Whitecloaks rode in a perfect line, four across, their white tabards set with sunbursts. Perrin still had a gut reaction akin to panic whenever he saw them, but they’d made surprisingly little trouble since the trial.

Mayene’s Winged Guard rode along the other side, Gallenne just behind Berelain, their lances held high. Red streamers came from the lances, and breastplates and helms were shined to perfection. It seemed they were ready to parade. And maybe they were. If you were going to ride to the Last Battle, you did it with lance held high and armor polished.

Perrin continued on. Alliandre’s army came next, riding in a tight formation of heavy cavalry, eight men across, Arganda at their head. He called orders when he saw Perrin, and the serpentine column of soldiers turned and saluted.

Perrin returned their salute. He’d asked Alliandre, and she’d indicated that was the appropriate response. She rode with Arganda, sidesaddle, in a slim maroon gown with gold trim. An impractical outfit for riding, but they wouldn’t be in the saddle very long. Three hundred paces and as many leagues.

He could see her satisfaction as he saluted her soldiers. She was pleased to see him stepping into his role as leader of the coalition. In fact, many in camp reacted the same way. Perhaps before, they’d been able to sense how much he resented leadership. How did people do that, without being able to smell emotions?

“Lord Perrin,” Alliandre said, riding past him. She gave a bowing sort of sway that was the equivalent of a horseback curtsy. “Should you not be riding?”

“I like my feet,” Perrin said.

“It looks more authoritative when a commander rides.”

“I’ve decided to lead this bunch, Alliandre,” Perrin said gruffly, “but I’ll do it my way. That means walking when I want to.” They were only going a few feet through the gateway. His feet would serve him well enough.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Once we’re settled, I want you to send some men back to Jehannah. See if you can recruit anyone else, pick up whatever city guard you have. Bring them here. We’re going to need everyone we can get, and I want to train them as much as possible before this war hits.”

“Very well, my Lord.”

“I’ve sent to Mayene already,” Perrin said. “And Tam’s been gathering what extras he can from the Two Rivers.” Light, but he wished he could let them stay behind, on their farms, to live in peace while the storm raged elsewhere. But this really was the end. He could feel it. Lose this fight and they lost everything. The world. The Pattern itself. Facing that, he’d field boys who could barely swing a sword and grandfathers who had trouble walking. It twisted his stomach to admit it, but it was the truth.

He continued down the line and gave some orders to several other groups. As he was finishing up with the last, he noticed a handful of Two Rivers men passing by. One, Azi, held the wolfhead banner. Jori Congar hung back. He stopped, then waved the other three on before trotting up to Perrin. Was something wrong?

“Lord Perrin.” Jori drew himself up, long and lanky, like a bird standing on one leg. “I…”

“Well?” Perrin said. “Out with it.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Jori said, words coming in a rush.

“For what?”

“For some things I said,” Jori said, looking away. “I mean, some foolish words. It was after you were ill, you see, and you were taken to the First’s tent and… well, I—”

“It’s all right, Jori,” Perrin said. “I understand.”

Jori looked up, smiling. “It’s a pleasure to be here with you, Lord Perrin. A real pleasure. We’ll follow you anywhere, the others and I.”

With that, Jori saluted, then ran off. Perrin scratched at his beard, watching the man go. Jori was one of a good dozen Two Rivers men who had approached Perrin over the last few days to apologize. It seemed all of them felt guilty for spreading rumors about Perrin and Berelain, though none would say it straight out.

Bless Faile for what she had done there.

Everyone seen to, Perrin took a deep breath, then walked up the column and stepped through the gateway.

Come quickly, Rand, he thought, colors blossoming in his vision. I can feel it starting.

Mat stood with Thom at his left and Noal at his right, looking up through the trees at the spire ahead. A trickling, musical stream gurgled behind them, a tributary of the nearby Arinelle. A grassy plain spread behind them, and beyond that, the grand river itself.

Had he passed this way before? So much of his memory from that time was fragmented. And yet, this tower remained clear in his mind, viewed from a distance. Even the darkness of Shadar Logoth had not been able to excise it from his mind.

The tower looked to be of pure metal, its solid steel gleaming in the overcast sunlight. Mat felt an iciness between his shoulder blades. Many travelers along the river thought it some relic from the Age of Legends. What else did you make of a column of steel rising out of the forest, seemingly uninhabited? It was as unnatural and out of place as the twisted red doorways were. Those warped the eyes to look at them.

The forest felt too still here, quiet save for the footsteps of the three. Noal walked with a long staff, taller than he was. Where had he gotten it? It had that smooth, oiled look of wood that had spent more years as a walking staff than it originally had as a tree. Noal had also put on a dark blue—nearly black—pair of trousers and a shirt that was of an odd, unknown style. The shoulders were stiffer than the cuts Mat was familiar with, and the coat longer, going almost all the way down to Noal’s knees. It buttoned to the waist, then split at the legs. Strange indeed. The old man never would answer questions about his past.

Thom had opted for his gleeman’s clothing. It was good to see him in that again, rather than the frilly court bard apparel. The patchwork cloak, the simple shirt that tied up the front, the tight breeches tucked into boots. When Mat had asked about the choice, Thom had shrugged, saying, “It feels like what I should wear if I’m going to see her.”

“Her” meant Moiraine. But what had the snakes and foxes done to her? It had been so long, but burn him if he was going to let another hour pass. He had chosen clothing of forest greens and earthy browns, along with a deep brown cloak. He carried his pack slung over one arm and his ashandarei in his hand. He had practiced with the new iron counterweight on the butt, and was pleased.

The Eelfinn had given him the weapon. Well, if they dared stand between him and Moiraine, then they would see what he could do with their gift. Burn him, but they would.

The three men stepped up to the tower. It did not appear to have a single opening anywhere on its two-hundred-foot-tall height. Not a window, not a seam, not a scratch. Mat looked up, feeling disoriented as he stared along its gleaming length toward the distant gray sky. Did the tower reflect too much light?

He shuddered and turned to Thom. Mat gave a single nod.

Hesitating only briefly, Thom slid a bronze knife from its sheath on his belt and stepped over to set the tip against the tower. He grimly slid the knife in the shape of a triangle, about a palm wide, point down. Metal scraped against metal, but left no trail. Thom finished by making a wavy line through the center, as one did at the start of any game of Snakes and Foxes.

All stood silently. Mat glanced at Thom. “Did you do it right?”

“I think so,” Thom said. “But how do we know what ‘right’ is? That game has been passed down for—”

He cut off as a line of light appeared on the tower front. Mat jumped back, leveling his spear. The glowing lines formed a triangle matching the one that Thom had drawn, and then—quick as a single beat of a moth’s wings—the steel in the center of the triangle vanished.

Noal eyed the palm-sized hole. “That’s a tad small to get through.” He stepped up to it and looked through. “Nothing but darkness on the other side.”

Thom looked down at the knife. “Guess that triangle is actually a doorway. That’s what you’re drawing when you start the game. Should I try a bigger one?”

“Guess so,” Mat said. “Unless the gholam taught you how to squeeze through holes the size of a fist.”

“No need to be unpleasant,” Thom said, using the knife to draw another triangle around the first, this one large enough to walk through. He finished with the wavy line.

Mat counted. It took seven heartbeats for the lines of white to appear. The steel between them faded away, opening a triangular corridor leading into the tower. The inside looked to be solid steel.

“Light burn me,” Noal whispered. The corridor disappeared into darkness; the sunlight seemed hesitant to enter the opening, though it was probably just a trick of the light.

“And so we begin the game that cannot be won,” Thom said, sliding the knife back into its sheath.

“Courage to strengthen,” Noal whispered, stepping forward, holding up a lantern with a flickering flame. “Fire to blind. Music to dazzle. Iron to bind.”

“And Matrim Cauthon,” Mat added. “To bloody even the odds.” He stepped through the doorway.

Light flashed, brilliant white, blinding. He cursed, squeezing, his eyes shut and lowering his ashandarei in what he hoped was a threatening posture. He blinked and the whiteness faded. He was in the center of a wide room with a triangular opening behind him, freestanding, with the point down at the floor. It was pure black, made of twisting cords that in some places seemed metal and in other places seemed wood.

The room was black as well, shaped like an off-kilter square. Rippling white steam poured up from holes at all four corners; that mist glowed with a white light. There were four hallways extending from the room, one in each direction.

The chamber was not exactly square. Each side was a slightly different length than the others, making for an odd meeting of angles at the corners. And that steam! It gave off a sulphurous stench that made him want to breathe through his mouth. The onyx-colored walls were not stone, but were of some reflective material, like the scales of enormous fish. The steam collected at the ceiling, glowing faintly with a soft light.

Burn him! This was not like the first place he had visited, with its twisting coils and circular doorways, but nor was it like the second one, with the star-shaped rooms and lines of yellow light! Where was he? What had he gotten himself into? He turned about, nervous.

Thom stumbled through the doorway, blinking, dazed. Mat dropped his pack and caught the gleeman by one arm. Noal came next. The bony man kept his footing, but was obviously blinded, his lantern held forward defensively.

The two others blinked, tears streaming from Noal’s eyes, but they eventually got their bearings and glanced about. The room, like the hallways extending in all four directions, was empty.

“This doesn’t look like what you described, Mat,” Thom said. His voice echoed faintly, though the sounds seemed eerily warped. Almost like whispers thrown back at them. It made the hair on Mat’s neck rise.

“I know,” Mat said, pulling a torch from his pack. “This place doesn’t makes sense. The stories agree about that, at least. Here, light this, Noal.”

Thom got out a torch of his own and both lit from Noal’s lantern. They had strikers from Aludra, but Mat wanted to save those. He had been half-afraid that in the tower, flames would go out once lit. But the lights burned steady and true. That heartened him somewhat.

“So where are they?” Thom asked, walking around the perimeter of the black room.

“They’re never here when you come through,” Mat said, holding up his own torch and inspecting a wall. Was that writing, carved into the not-stone? The unfamiliar script was so fine and delicate he could barely see it. “But watch yourself. They can appear behind you, faster than an innkeeper who heard coins clink in your pouch.”

Noal inspected the triangular opening they had come through. “Do you suppose we can use this to get back?” It resembled the stone ter’angreal Mat had stepped through before. Just a different shape.

“I hope so,” Mat said.”

“Maybe we should try,” Noal said.

Mat nodded to him. He did not like being separated, but they did need to know if this was a way back or not. Noal looked determined and stepped through. He vanished.

Mat held his breath for a long moment, but the aged man did not return. Was it a trick? Had this doorway been placed here to— Noal stumbled back into the room through the opening. Thom set his torch on the floor and dashed over to help. Noal recovered more quickly this time, blinking away the blindness. “It sealed me out,” he explained. “I had to draw another triangle to get back in.”

“At least we know we’ve got a means of escape,” Thom said.

Assuming those bloody Aelfinn or Eelfinn don’t move it, Mat thought, remembering his previous visit, the one that had ended with him being hanged. That time, the rooms and corridors had shifted mysteriously, in total defiance of what was right.

“Will you look at that?” Thom said.

Mat lowered his spear and Noal had an iron shortsword in his hand in a moment. Thom was pointing at his torch, which burned fitfully where he had set it on the floor beside one of the glowing steam vents.

The white steam pushed away from the flames, like it was being blown by a breeze. Only, no breeze ever made steam move so unnaturally. It curved around the fire in a loop. Thom stepped over and picked up the torch. He moved it toward the column of steam, and it bowed out of the way. Thom rammed the torch directly into the steam’s path, and the steam split, going around the flame and melding together into a single stream again above.

Thom glanced at the others.

“Don’t ask me,” Mat said, scowling. “I said this place doesn’t make sense. If that’s the oddest thing we see here, I’ll be a Murandian’s mustache. Come on.”

Mat picked one of the hallways and began to walk down it. The other two hurried to catch up. The steam glowed on the ceiling, bathing the black hallway with its milky light. The floor was made of interlocking triangular tiles that, once again, looked discomfortingly like scales. The corridor was wide and long, the other end distant and dark.

“To think,” Noal said, holding up his lantern, “all of this hidden in that single tower.”

“I doubt we’re in the tower anymore,” Mat said. Up ahead, he could see a slice out of the side of the wall, a kind of window. It was set up a little too high up to feel natural.

“Then where…” Noal trailed off as they reached the window, which was an off-center square. Through it, they could look out at an unnatural landscape. They were up several floors in some kind of spire, but that certainly was not Andor outside.

The window looked out over a canopy of dense vegetation that was too yellow. Mat recognized the wispy trees with a drooping umbrella of branches at the top, though before he had seen them from below. The fernlike trees with their spreading fans of leaves were familiar as well, though those had deep black fruits hanging from them now. The large fruits caused the leaves to droop.

“Mercy of the Winnower,” Noal whispered, a phrase Mat had never heard before.

Noal had reason to be astonished; Mat remembered looking out at that forest for the first time, realizing that the twisted doorway had not brought him to another place, but another world entirely.

Mat looked to the side. Could he see the three spires he had noted on his first visit? They did not seem to be about, though in this place, the very next window they passed could show a different scene. They could…

He paused, then glanced sharply through the window. He could make out a spire to the left. And then he knew. He was in one of the spires he had seen in the distance during his first visit.

He stifled a shiver and turned away. At least he knew for certain he was in the same place. Did that mean that the worlds of the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn were the same? He hoped so. Moiraine had fallen through the second of the twisted red doorways, which meant she had most likely been taken by the Eelfinn, the foxes.

They were the ones who had hanged Mat; the snakes, at least, had only tossed him out of their realm without any useful answers. He bore them a grudge, but the foxes… they had refused to answer his questions, and had given him these bloody memories instead!

Mat and the others continued down the hallway, their footsteps echoing against the flooring. Soon, Mat began to get the sense that he was being watched. He had felt it before, on his other visits. He turned to the side, and caught a glimpse of faint motion far behind.

He spun, preparing to toss his torch aside and fight with his ashandarei, but saw nothing. The other two froze, looking about, anxious. Mat continued on sheepishly, though he felt less so after Thom did the same thing a short time later. Thom went so far as to throw a knife at a darkened patch of the wall.

The iron weapon clanked against the surface. The dull ring echoed for far too long in the hallway.

“Sorry,” Thom said.

“It’s all right,” Mat said.

“They’re watching us, aren’t they?” Noal asked. His voice was soft faintly nervous. Light! Mat felt as if he was going to jump out of his skin and run away, leaving it behind. Compared to that, Noal seemed steady.

“I suspect they are, at that,” Mat said.

Within a few moments, they reached the end of the too-long hallway Here, they entered a chamber that was identical to the first, save it had no doorway in the center. It split off in four directions, each corridor disappearing into the distant darkness.

They picked another direction, memorizing the path they were taking, unseen eyes scratching at their backs. His footsteps grew more hurried as they traversed the length of the hallway and entered another chamber. It was exactly like the previous one.

“Easy to be disoriented in a place like this,” Noal said. He opened his pack and got out a sheet of paper and a charcoal pencil. He made three dots on his paper, then connected them by lines, representing the corridors and rooms they’d gone through. “It’s all a matter of keeping a good map. A good map can mean life or death; you can trust me on that.”

Mat turned around, looking back the way they had come. Part of him wanted to keep going, not look backward, but he had to know. “Come on,” he said, going back the way they had come.

Thom and Noal shared looks, but once again hurried to catch up. It took them a good half-hour to retrace their steps back to the first chamber, the one that should contain the doorway. They found it empty. Those columns of steam rose from the corners. They had in the other two rooms, too.

“Impossible!” Noal said. “We retraced our steps perfectly! The way out should be here.”

In the distance—faint and almost inaudible—Mat heard laughter. A hissing, dangerous laughter. Malicious.

Mat’s skin grew icy. “Thom,” he said, “you ever hear a story about Birgitte Silverbow and her visit to the Tower of Ghenjei?”

“Birgitte?” Thom asked, looking up from his inspection—with Noal—of the floor. They seemed convinced that the doorway must have been pulled down into some hidden trapdoor. “No, can’t say that I have.

“What about a story of a woman trapped for two months in a maze of corridors inside a fortress?”

“Two months?” Thom said. “Well, no. But there’s the tale of Elmiara and the Shadoweyes. She spent a hundred days wandering in a maze, looking for the infamous healing spring of Sund to save her lover’s life.”

That was probably it. The story had survived; it had changed forms, the way so many of them did. “She didn’t get out, did she?”

“No. She died at the end, only two steps away from the fountain, but separated from it by a wall. She could hear it bubbling; it was the last sound she heard before dying from thirst.” He glanced about uncomfortably, as if uncertain he wanted to be sharing such a story in this place.

Mat shook his head, worried. Burn him, but he hated these foxes. There had to be a way to—

“You have broken the bargain,” a soft voice said.

Mat spun and the other two cursed, standing up, hands on weapons. A figure stood in the hallway behind them. It was one of the creatures Mat remembered, perhaps the exact same one who had met him last time. Short, bright red hair sprouted from the creature’s pale scalp. A pair of ears clung to the head, slightly pointed at the tips. The figure was willowy and tall, the shoulders disproportionately wide for the waist, and it wore pale leather straps crossed the chest—Mat still did not want to think about what those might have been made of—and a long black kilt below.

It was the face that was most distinctive. Large, unnatural eyes, pale with a shade of iris in the center. A narrow jaw and angular features. Like a fox. One of the Eelfinn, masters of this realm.

It had come to play with the mice.

“There is no bargain this way,” Mat said, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice. “We can bloody bring what we want.”

“Having no bargain is dangerous,” the Eelfinn said in a smooth voice. “For you. Fortunately, I can take you where you desire.”

“Well, then,” Mat said. “Do it.”

“Leave your iron,” the Eelfinn said. “Your implements of music. Your fire.”

“Never,” Mat said.

The Eelfinn blinked large eyes. Slowly, deliberately. It stepped forward, footsteps soft. Mat raised his ashandarei, but the Eelfinn made no directly threatening moves. It glided around the three of them, speaking softly.

“Come now,” it said. “Can we not speak with civility? You have come to our realm seeking. We have power to grant what you wish, what you need. Why not show good faith? Leave behind your implements of fire. Those only, and I promise to lead you for a time.”

Its voice was hypnotic, soothing. It did make sense. What need had they of fire? It was light enough with that mist. It…

“Thom,” Mat said. “Music.”

“What?” Thom said, shaking a little bit.

“Play anything. It doesn’t matter what.”

Thom took out his flute, and the Eelfinn narrowed its eyes. Thom began playing. It was a familiar song, “The Wind That Shakes the Willows” Mat had intended to soothe the Eelfinn, maybe put it off guard. But the familiar tune seemed to help dispel the cloud on Mat’s mind.

“This isn’t needed,” the Eelfinn said, glaring at Thom.

“Yes it is,” Mat said. “And we’re not bloody leaving our fire. Not unless you promise to take us all the way to the central chamber and give us back Moiraine.”

“I cannot make that bargain,” the creature said, continuing to walk around them. Mat turned to follow it, never letting his back to the thing. “I have not the authority.”

“Bring someone who can.”

“Impossible,” the Eelfinn said. “Listen to me. Fire isn’t needed. I will lead you half of the way to the central chamber, the Chamber of Bonds, should you leave behind that terrible fire. It offends us. We wish only to meet your desires.”

The creature was obviously trying to lull them again, but its cadence was off, at odds with Thom’s playing. Mat watched it, then began to sing along with the flute playing. He did not have the best voice among those he knew, but he was not terrible either. The Eelfinn yawned, then settled down beside the wall and closed its eyes. In moments, it was sleeping.

Thom lowered the flute form his lips, looking impressed.

“Nicely done,” Noal whispered. “I had no idea you were so fluent in the Old Tongue.”

Mat hesitated. He had not even realized they had been speaking in it.

“My Old Tongue is rusty,” Noal said, rubbing his chin, “but I caught a lot of that. Problem is, we still don’t know the way through this place. How will we make our way without one of them to guide us?”

He was right. Birgitte had wandered for months, never knowing if her goal was merely a few steps away. The chamber where Mat had met the Eelfinn leaders… she had said that once you were there, they had to bargain with you. That must be the Chamber of Bonds the Eelfinn had mentioned.

Poor Moiraine. She had come through one of the red doorways; she should have been protected by whatever treaty the Eelfinn had with the ancient Aes Sedai. But that doorway had been destroyed. No way back.

When Mat had come originally, they had praised him as wise for thinking to ask for a leave-taking. Though he grumbled, still, about the Eelfinn not answering his questions, he could see that was not what they did. The Aelfinn were for questions; the Eelfinn granted requests. But they twisted those requests, and took whatever price they wanted. Mat had unwittingly asked for his memory filled, for a way to be free of the Aes Sedai, and a way out of the Tower.

If Moiraine had not known this, and had not asked for passage out as he had done… or if she had asked for passage back to the doorway, not knowing it had been destroyed…

Mat had asked for a way out. They had given it to him, but he could not remember what it was. Everything had gone black, and he had awakened hanging from the ashandarei.

Mat pulled something from his pocket, holding it tightly in his fist. “The Aelfinn and the Eelfinn get around in here somehow,” his whispered. “There has to be a correct pathway.”

“One way,” Noal said. “Four choices, followed by four choices, followed by four choices… The odds against us are incredible!”

“Odds,” Mat said, holding out his hand. He opened it, revealing a pair of dice. “What do I care for odds?”

The two looked at his ivory dice, then looked back up at his face. Mat could feel his luck surge. “Twelve pips. Three for each doorway. If I roll a one, a two, or a three, we go straight. Four, five, or six, we take the right path, and so on.”

“But Mat,” Noal whispered, glancing at the sleeping Eelfinn. “The rolls won’t be equal. You can’t roll a one, for example, and a seven is far more likely to—”

“You don’t understand, Noal,” Mat said, tossing the dice to the floor. They rattled against the scale-like tiles, clacking like teeth. “It doesn’t matter what is likely. Not when I’m around.”

The dice came to a rest. One of them caught in a rut between two tiles and froze precariously, one of the corners to the air. The other came to rest with a single pip showing.

“How about that, Noal,” Thom said. “Looks like he can roll a one after all.”

“Now that’s something,” Noal said, rubbing his chin.

Mat fetched his ashandarei, then picked up the dice and walked straight ahead. The others followed, leaving the sleeping Eelfinn behind.

At the next intersection, Mat rolled again, and got a nine. “Back the way we came?” Thom asked, frowning. “That’s—”

“Just what we’re going to do,” Mat said, turning and going back. In the other room, the sleeping Eelfinn was gone.

“They could have wakened him,” Noal pointed out.

“Or it could be a different room,” Mat said, tossing the dice again. Another nine. He was facing the way he had come, so a nine meant going back again. “The Aelfinn and the Eelfinn have rules,” Mat said, turning and running down the corridor, the other two chasing after him. “And this place has rules.”

“Rules have to make sense, Mat,” Noal said.

“They have to be consistent,” Mat said. “But they don’t have to follow our logic. Why should they?”

It made sense to him. They ran for a time—this hallway seemed much longer than the others. He was starting to feel winded when he reached the next room. He tossed the dice again, but suspected what he would see Nine. Back to the first room again.

“Look, this is foolish!” Noal said as they turned and ran back the other way. “We’re never going to get anywhere this way!”

Mat ignored him, continuing to run. Soon they approached the first room again.

“Mat,” Noal said, pleadingly. “Can we at least…”

Noal trailed off as they burst into the first chamber. Only it was not the first chamber. This room had a white floor, and was enormous, with thick, black columns rising toward an unseen ceiling far above.

The glowing white steam that pooled atop their corridor poured into the room and fell upward into that blackness, like a waterfall going in the wrong direction. Though the floor and the columns looked like glass, Mat knew they would feel porous, like stone. The room was lit by a series of glowing yellow stripes that ran up each column, marking places where the carved glass-stone was fluted to a point.

Thom clapped him on the shoulder. “Mat, lad, that was insane. And effective. Somehow.”

“About what you should expect from me,” Mat said, pulling down the brim of his hat. “I’ve been in this room before. We’re on track. If Moiraine still lives, then she’ll be somewhere past here.”