The hair on the back of Mat’s neck stirred. One of those holes in the air that Rand used had been opened here. Bad enough that Aiel had tried to kill him, but they had been sent by somebody who could make one of those . . . gateways, Rand called them. Light, if he was not safe from the Forsaken with the Band around him, where was he safe? He wondered how he was going to sleep from now on with watch fires around his tent. And guards; a guard of honor, he could call it to take some of the sting away, to stand sentry around his tent. Next time it would probably be a hundred Trollocs, or a thousand, instead of a handful of Aiel. Or was he important enough for that? If they decided he was too important, the next time it could be one of the Forsaken. Blood and ashes! He had never asked to be ta’veren, never asked to be tied to the Dragon bloody Reborn.

“Blood and bloody—!”

Soil crunching underfoot warned him, and he spun swinging the spear with a snarl. Barely in time he stopped the slashing blade, as Olver screamed and fell flat on his back, staring wide-eyed at the spearpoint.

“What in the bloody Pit of Doom are you doing here?” Mat snapped.

“I . . . I. . . .” The boy stopped to swallow. “They say fifty Aiel tried to kill you in your sleep, Lord Mat, but you killed them first, and I wanted to see if you were all right, and. . . . Lord Edorion bought me some shoes. See?” He raised a shod foot.

Muttering under his breath, Mat hauled Olver to his feet. “That wasn’t what I meant. Why aren’t you in Maerone? Didn’t Edorion find somebody to look after you?”

“She just wanted Lord Edorion’s coin, not me. She had six children of her own. Master Burdin gives me lots to eat, and all I have to do is feed and water his horses, and rub them down. I like that, Lord Mat. He will not let me ride them, though.”

A throat cleared. “Lord Talmanes sent me, my Lord.” Nerim was short even for a Cairhienin, a skinny gray-haired man with a long face that seemed to say nothing was going well at the moment and in the long run, this was a better day than most. “If my Lord will pardon me for saying, those bloodstains will never come out of my Lord’s smallclothes, but if my Lord will allow it, I may be able to do something for the tears in my Lord.” He had his sewing box under one arm. “You, boy, fetch some water. No back talk. Water for my Lord, and quickly.” Nerim combined picking up the lantern with a bow. “If my Lord will step inside? Night air is bad for wounds.”