“How did you . . . ?” Elayne said wonderingly. “The flows just . . . vanished.”

At almost the same instant, Nynaeve said in a threatening tone, “Mat Cauthon, you are making the biggest—”

“I said listen!” He poked a finger at Elayne. “You, I’m taking back to Caemlyn, if I can keep Aviendha from killing you. If you don’t want that pretty throat slit, you stay close to me and do what I say, no questions!” The finger shifted to Egwene. “Rand says he’ll send you back to the Wise Ones whenever you want, and if what I’ve seen so far is any indication what you get up to, my advice is to take him up on it now! It seems you know how to Travel”—Egwene gave a small start—“so you can make a gateway to Caemlyn for the Band. I don’t want any argument, Egwene! And you, Nynaeve! I ought to leave you here, but if you want to come, you can. Only, I’m warning you. You yank that braid at me just once, and I swear I’ll warm your bottom!”

They were staring at him as if he had sprouted horns like a Trolloc, but at least they were keeping their mouths shut. Maybe he had managed to get a little sense into their heads. Not that they would ever thank him for saving their hides. Oh, no; not them. As usual, they would say they would have worked everything out for themselves in just a little while longer. If a woman told you you were interfering when you pulled her out of a dungeon, what would she not say?