The Amyrlin snorted. “You've eaten a meal for five, and you will eat three or four like it every day for days yet, or else you will starve to death. You've just been Healed from a link to the evil that killed every man, woman, and child in Aridhol, and no less strong for near two thousand years waiting for you to pick it up. It was killing you just as surely as it killed them. That is not like having a fish spine stuck in your thumb, boy. We very nearly killed you ourselves trying to save you.”
“I am not hungry,” he maintained. His stomach growled loudly to give him the lie.
“I read you aright the first time I saw you,” the Amyrlin said. “I knew right then you'd bolt like a startled fisherbird if you ever thought someone was trying to hold you. As well I took precautions.”
He eyed them warily. “Precautions?” They looked back, all serenity. He felt as if their eyes were pinning him to the bed.
“Your name and description are on their way to the bridge guards,” the Amyrlin said, “and the dockmasters. I'll not try to hold you inside the Tower, but you will not leave Tar Valon until you are well. Should you try to hide in the city, hunger will drive you back here eventually, or if it doesn't, we will find you before you starve.”
“Why do you want to keep me here so badly?” he demanded. He heard Selene's voice. They want to use you. “Why should you care whether I starve or not? I can feed myself.”
The Amyrlin gave a small laugh with little amusement in it. “With two silver marks and a handful of copper, my son? Your dice would need to be very lucky indeed to buy all the food you'll need in the next few days. We do not Heal people, then let them waste our efforts by dying while they still need care. In addition to which, you may yet need more Healing.”
“More? You said you had Healed me. Why should I need more?”
“My son, you carried that dagger for months. I believe we dug every trace of it out of you, but if we missed even the smallest speck, it could still be fatal. And who knows what effect your having it in your possession so long may have? Half a year from now, a year, and you may wish you had an Aes Sedai to hand to Heal you again.”
“You want me to stay here a year?” he said incredulously, and loudly. Leane shifted her feet and eyed him sharply, but the Amyrlin's calm features were unruffled.
“Perhaps not so long as that, my son. Long enough to be certain, though. Surely you want as much. Would you set sail in a boat when you didn't know whether the caulking would hold, or whether a plank might be rotten?”
“I never had much to do with boats,” Mat muttered. It might be true. Aes Sedai never lied, but there were too many mights and mays in it for him. “I've been gone from home a long time, Mother. My da and my mother probably think I am dead.”
“If you wish to write a letter to them, I will see that it is carried to Emond's Field.”
Mat waited for more, but no more came. 'Thank you, Mother.“ He essayed a small laugh. ”I'm half surprised my da did not come looking for me. He's the kind of man who would." He was not sure, but he thought there was a small hesitation before the Amyrlin answered.
“He did come. Leane spoke to him.”
The Keeper took it up immediately. “We did not know where you were then, Mat. I told him so, and he left before the heavy snows. I gave him some gold to make the journey home easier.”
“No doubt,” the Amyrlin said, “he will be pleased to hear from you. And your mother will, certainly. Give me the letter when you have written it, and I will see to it.”
They had told him, but he had had to ask. And they didn't mention Rand's da. Maybe because they didn't think I would care, and maybe because... Burn me, I don't know. Who can tell with Aes Sedai? “I was traveling with a friend, Mother. Rand al'Thor. You remember him. Do you know if he is all right? I'll bet his da is worried, too.”
“As far as I know,” the Amyrlin said smoothly, “the boy is well enough, but who can say? I have seen him only once, the time I saw you, in Fal Dara.” She turned to the Keeper. “Perhaps he could do with a small piece of pie, Leane. And something for his throat, if he is going to do all this talking. Will you see that it is brought to him?”
The tall Aes Sedai left with a murmured, “As you command, Mother.”
When the Amyrlin turned back to Mat, she was smiling, but her eyes were blue ice. “There are things it would be dangerous for you to talk about, perhaps even in front of Leane. A flapping tongue has killed more men than sudden storms ever did.”
“Dangerous, Mother?” His mouth felt suddenly parched, but he resisted the urge to lick his lips. Light, how much does she know about Rand? If only Moiraine didn't keep so many secrets. “Mother, I don't know anything dangerous. I can hardly remember half of what I do know.”
“Do you remember the Horn?”
“What horn is that, Mother?”
She was on her feet and looming over him so fast he hardly saw her move. “You play games with me, boy, and I will make you weep for your mother to come running. I have no time for games, and neither do you. Now, do—you—remember?”
Clutching the blanket tightly around him, he had to swallow before he could say, “I remember, Mother.”
She seemed to relax, just a little, and Mat shrugged his shoulders queasily. He felt as if he had just been allowed to lift them off a chopping block.
“Good. That is good, Mat.” She sat back down slowly, studying him. “Do you know that you are linked to the Horn?” He mouthed the word “linked” silently, shocked, and she nodded. “I did not think you knew. You were first to blow the Horn of Valere after it was found. For you, it will summon dead heroes back from the grave. For anyone else, it is only a horn — so long as you live.”
He took a deep breath. “So long as I live,” he said in a dull voice, and the Amyrlin nodded. “You could have let me die.” She nodded again. “Then you could have had anyone you want blow it, and it would have worked for them.” Another nod. “Blood and ashes! You mean me to blow it for you. When the Last Battle comes, you mean me to call heroes back from the grave to fight the Dark One for you. Blood and bloody ashes!”
She put an elbow on the arm of the chair and propped her chin on her hand. Her eyes never left him. “Would you pref