To cover her shaking, she bent from her saddle to the gently swaying litter. Mat’s blankets had become disarrayed, exposing a curved dagger in a golden sheath clutched in one hand, a ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg capping the hilt. Careful not to touch the dagger, she eased the blankets back over his hand. He was only a few years older than she, but gaunt cheeks and sallow skin had aged him. His chest barely moved as he breathed hoarsely. A lumpy leather sack lay at his feet. She shifted the blanket to cover that, too. We have to get Mat to the Tower, she thought. And the sack.

Nynaeve leaned down as well, and felt Mat’s forehead. “His fever is worse.” She sounded worried. “If only I had some worrynot root or feverbane.”

“Perhaps if Verin tried Healing again,” Elayne said.

Nynaeve shook her head. She smoothed Mat’s hair back and sighed, then straightened before speaking. “She says it is all she can do to keep him alive, now, and I believe her. I—I tried Healing last night myself, but nothing happened.”

Elayne gasped. “Sheriam Sedai says we mustn’t try to Heal until we’ve been guided step by step a hundred times.”

“You could have killed him,” Egwene said sharply.

Nynaeve sniffed loudly. “I was Healing before I ever thought of going to Tar Valon, even if I didn’t know I was. But it seems I need my medicines to make it work for me. If I only had some feverbane. I do not think he has much time left. Hours, maybe.”

Egwene thought she sounded almost as unhappy about knowing, about how she knew, as she did about Mat. She wondered again why Nynaeve had chosen to go to Tar Valon for training at all. She had learned to channel unknowingly, even if she could not always control the act, and had passed the crisis that killed three out of four women who learned without Aes Sedai guidance. Nynaeve said she wanted to learn more, but often she was as reluctant about it as a child being dosed with sheepstongue root.

“We will have him in the White Tower soon,” Egwene said. “They can Heal him there. The Amyrlin will take care of him. She will take care of everything.” She did not look at where Mat’s blanket covered the sack at his feet. The other two women were studiously not looking at it, either. There were some secrets they would all be relieved to shed.

“Riders,” Nynaeve said suddenly, but Egwene had already seen them. Two dozen men appearing over a low rise ahead, white cloaks flapping as they galloped, angling toward them.

“Children of the Light,” Elayne said, like a curse. “I think we have found your storm, and Hurin’s trouble.”