“I was just wondering what conditions were like on the other side of the river.” I might as well find that out, too. “Good for traveling? It can't be muddy, unless you have had more rain than I know about.”
“Which side of the river?” the guardsman asked placidly. His eyes did not lift from the oiled rag he was running along his blade.
“Uh... east. The east side.”
“No mud. Whitecloaks.” The man leaned to one side to spit, but his voice did not change. “Whitecloaks do be poking their noses into every village for ten miles. They have no hurt anyone yet, but them just being there do upset the folk. Fortune prick me if I do no think they wish to provoke us, for they do look as if they would attack if they could. No good for anyone who do want to travel.”
“What about west, then?”
“The same.” The guardsman raised his eyes to Mat's. “But you will no be crossing, lad, east or west. Your name do be Matrim Cauthon, or Fortune abandon me. Last night a sister, herself in person, did come to the bridge where I did stand guard. She did drill your features at us till each could speak them back to her. A guest, she did say, and no to be harmed. But no to be allowed out of the city, either, if you must be tied hand and foot to keep you from it.” His eyes narrowed. “Is it that you did steal something from them?” he asked doubtfully. “You do no have the look of those the sisters do guest.”
“I didn't steal anything!” Mat said indignantly. Burn me, I didn't even get a chance to work around to it easy. They must all know me. “I'm no thief!”
“No, it is no that I do see in your face. No thievery. But you do have the look of the fellow who did try to sell me the Horn of Valere three days gone. So he did claim it did be, all bent and battered as it did be. Do you have a Horn of Valere to sell? Or mayhap it do be the Dragon's sword?”
Mat gave a jump at the mention of the Horn, but he, managed to keep his voice level. “I was sick.” Others of the guardsmen were looking at him now. Light, they'll all know I am not supposed to leave, now. He forced a laugh. “The sisters Healed me.” Some of the guardsmen frowned at him. Perhaps they thought other men should show more respect than to call the Aes Sedai sisters. “I guess the Aes Sedai don't want me to go before I have all my strength back.” He tried willing the men, all of those watching him now, to accept that. Just a man who was Healed. Nothing more. No reason to trouble yourself about him any further.
The Illianer nodded. “You do have the look of sickness in your face, too. Perhaps that do be the reason. But never did I hear of so much effort to keep one sick man in the city.”
“That's the reason,” Mat said firmly. They were all still looking at him. “Well, I need to be going. They said I have to take walks. Lots of long walks. To build up strength, you know.”
He felt their eyes following him as he left, and he scowled. He had simply meant to find out how well his description had been passed around. If only the officers among the bridge guards had had it, he might have been able to slip by. He had always been good at slipping into places unseen. And out. It was a talent you developed when your mother always suspected you were up to some mischief and you had four sisters to tell on you. And now I've made sure half a barracks full of guardsmen will know me. Blood and bloody ashes!
Much of the Tower grounds were gardens full of trees, leatherleaf and paperbark and elms, and he soon found himself walking along a wide, twisting graveled path. It could have led through countryside, if not for the towers visible over the treetops. And the white bulk of the Tower itself, behind him but pressing on him as if he carried it on his shoulders. If there were ways out of the Tower grounds that were not watched, this seemed the place to find them. If they existed.
A girl in novice white appeared ahead on the path, striding purposefully toward him. Wrapped in her own thoughts, she did not see him at first. When she came close enough for him to make out her big, dark eyes and the way her hair was braided, he grinned suddenly. He knew this girl — memory drifting up from shrouded depths — though he would never have expected to find her here. He had never expected to see her again at all. He grinned to himself. Good luck to balance bad. As he remembered, she had quite an eye for the boys.
“Else,” he called to her. “Else Grinwell. You remember me, don't you? Mat Cauthon. A friend and I visited your father's farm. Remember? Have you decided to become Aes Sedai, then?”
She stopped short, staring at him. “What are you doing up and out?” she said coldly.
“You know about that, do you?” He moved closer to her, but she stepped back, keeping her distance. He stopped. “It's not catching. I was Healed, Else.” Those large, dark eyes seemed more knowing than he remembered, and not nearly so warm, but he supposed studying to be an Aes Sedai could do that. “What is the matter, Else? You look like you don't know me.”
“I know you,” she said. Her manner was not as he remembered, either; he thought she could give Elayne lessons now. “I have... work to be about. Let me by.”
He grimaced. The path was broad enough for six to walk abreast without crowding. “I told you it isn't catching.”
“Let me by!”
Muttering to himself, he stepped to one edge of the gravel. She went past him along the other side, watching to make sure he did not come closer. Once by, she quickened her steps, glancing over her shoulder at him until she was out of sight around a bend.
Wanted to make sure I didn't follow her, he thought sourly. First the guardsmen, and now Else. My luck is not in, today.
He started off again, and soon heard a ferocious clatter from one side ahead, like dozens of sticks being beat together. Curious, he turned off toward it, into the trees.
A little way brought him to a large expanse of bare ground, the earth beaten hard, at least fifty paces across and nearly twice as long. At intervals around it under the trees stood wooden stands holding quarterstaffs, and practice swords made of strips of wood bound loosely together, and a few real swords and axes and spears.
Spaced across the open ground, pairs of men, most stripped to the waist, flailed at each other with more practice swords. Some moved so smoothly it almost seemed they danced with one another, flowing from stance to stance, stroke to counterstroke in continuous motion. There was nothing quickly apparent aside from skill to mark them from the others, but Mat was sur