Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13)

Perrin lifted the note. It smelled faintly of perfume. He turned it over, then held it up to a candle.

“Doesn’t work,” Mat said.

Perrin grunted. “So what do you think it says?”

“Don’t know,” Mat said. “Bloody insane Aes Sedai. I mean, they’re all odd. But Verin’s fallen completely off her stone. Don’t suppose you’ve heard from her?”

“I haven’t.”

“Hope she’s all right,” Mat said. “She sounded worried something might happen to her.” He took the note back, then tapped it on the table.

“You going to open it?”

Mat shook his head. “I’ll open it when I get back. I—”

A knock came at the door, then it creaked open, revealing the innkeeper, a younger man named Denezel. He was tall, with a lean face and a head he kept shaved. The man was all but Dragonsworn, from what Perrin had seen, even going so far as to have a portrait of Rand commissioned and hung in the common room. It wasn’t a bad likeness.

“I apologize, Master Crimson,” Denezel said, “but Master Golden’s man insisted on speaking with him.”

“It’s all right,” Perrin said.

Grady poked his weathered face into the room and Denezel retreated.

“Ho, Grady,” Mat said, waving. “Blown up anyone interesting lately?”

The tanned Asha’man frowned, looking to Perrin. “My Lord. Lady Faile asked me to remind you when midnight arrived.”

Mat whistled. “See, this is why I left my wife in another kingdom.”

Grady’s frown deepened.

“Thank you, Grady,” Perrin said with a sigh. “I hadn’t realized the time. We’ll be going soon.”

The Asha’man nodded, then withdrew.

“Burn him,” Mat said. “Can’t the man at least smile? Flaming sky is depressing enough without people like him trying to imitate it.”

“Well, son,” Thom said, pouring some ale, “some just don’t find the world particularly humorous lately.”

“Nonsense,” Mat said. “The world’s plenty humorous. The whole bloody place has been laughing at me, lately. I’m telling you, Perrin. With those drawings of us about, you need to keep your head low.”

“I don’t see how I can,” Perrin said. “I’ve got an army to lead, people to care for.”

“I don’t think you’re taking Verin’s warning seriously enough, lad,” Thom said, shaking his head. “You ever heard of the Banath people?”

“No,” Perrin said, looking at Mat.

“They were a group of savages who roamed what is now Almoth Plain,” Thom said. “I know a couple fine songs about them. See, their various tribes always painted the skin of their leader red to make him stand out.”

Mat took another bite of his cheese. “Bloody fools. Painted their leader red? That would make him a target for every soldier on the field!”

“That was the point,” Thom said. “It was a challenge, you see. How else would their enemies be able find him and test their skill against him?”

Mat snorted. “I’d have painted a few decoy soldiers red to distract them from me, then had my archers feather their leader with arrows while everyone was trying to hunt down the fellows they thought were leading my army.”

“Actually,” Thom said, taking a sip of his ale, “that’s exactly what Villiam Bloodletter did during his first, and last, battle with them. ‘The Song of a Hundred Days’ talks about it. Brilliant maneuver. I’m surprised you’ve heard of that song—it’s very obscure, and the battle happened so long ago, most history books don’t even remember it.”

For some reason, the comment made Mat smell nervous.

“You’re saying that we’re making ourselves targets,” Perrin said.

“I’m saying,” Thom replied, “that you boys are getting harder and harder to hide. Everywhere you go, banners proclaim your arrival. People talk about you. I’m half-convinced you have only survived this long because the Forsaken didn’t know where to find you.”

Perrin nodded, thinking of the trap his army had nearly fallen into. Assassins in the night would come. “So what should I do?”

“Mat’s been sleeping in a different tent each night,” Thom said. “And sometimes in the city. You should try something like that. Grady can make gateways, right? Why not have him make one for you into the middle of your tent each night? Sneak out and sleep someplace else, then Travel back in the morning. Everyone will assume you’re in your tent. If assassins strike, you won’t be there.”

Perrin nodded thoughtfully. “Even better, I could leave five or six Aiel inside, on alert, waiting.”

“Perrin,” Mat said, “that’s downright devious.” He smiled. “You’ve changed for the better, my friend.”

“From you, I’ll try to accept that as a compliment,” Perrin said. He paused, then added, “It will be difficult.”

Thom chuckled. “He’s right, though. You’ve changed. What happened to the soft-spoken, unsure boy I helped escape the Two Rivers?”

“He passed through the blacksmith’s fire,” Perrin said softly.

Thom nodded, seeming to understand.

“And you, Mat?” Perrin said. “Can I do something to help you? Maybe let you Travel between tents?”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

“How are you going to protect yourself?”

“With my wits.”

“Planning to find some of those, then?” Perrin said. “About time.”

Mat snorted. “What is it with everyone and my wits lately? I’ll be fine, trust me. Remind me to tell you about the night when I first figured out I could win whatever dice game I wanted to. It’s a good story. Involves falling off bridges. One bridge, at least.”

“Well…you could tell us now,” Perrin said.

“Not the right time. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. See, I’m leaving soon.”

Thom smelled excited.

“Perrin, you will lend us a gateway, won’t you?” Mat asked. “Hate to leave the Band. They’ll be inconsolable without me. At least they have those dragons