“Rest, Moiraine,” Thom said softly. “We’ll be out of here in two strums of a harp.”

Mat looked at her, lying there, helpless. “Burn me. I’m not going to let it end like this!”

“They’re coming, lad,” Thom said. “I can hear them.”

Mat turned to look through the opening. He could see what Thom had heard. The Aelfinn crept through the corridor, sinuous and deadly. They smiled, and he could see fanglike incisors at the forefront of those smiles. They could have been human, save for those fangs. And those eyes. Those unnatural, slitted eyes. They moved sleekly. Terrible, eager.

“No,” Mat whispered. “There has to be a way.” Think, he told himself. Mat, you fool. There has to be a way out. How did you escape the last time? Noal had asked. That was no help.

Thom, looking desperate, unhooked his harp from his back. He began to play it. Mat recognized the tune, “Sweet Whispers of Tomorrow.” A mournful sound, played for the fallen dead. It was beautiful.

Remarkably, the music did seem to soothe the Aelfinn. They slowed, the ones at the front beginning to sway to the beat of the melody as they walked. They knew. Thom played for his own funeral.

“I don’t know how I got out last time,” Mat whispered. “I was unconscious. I woke up being hanged. Rand cut me down.”

He raised a hand to his scar. His original Aelfinn answers revealed nothing. He knew about the Daughter of the Nine Moons, he knew about giving up half the light of the world. He knew about Rhuidean. It all made sense. No holes. No questions.

Except….

What did the Eelfinn give you?

“If I had my way,” Mat whispered, staring at the oncoming Aelfinn, “I would want those holes filled.”

The Aelfinn slithered forward, wearing those cloths of yellow wrapping their bodies. Thom’s music spun in the air, echoing. The creatures approached with steady, slow steps. They knew they had their prey now.

The two Aelfinn at the front carried swords of gleaming bronze, dripping red. Poor Noal.

Thom began to sing. “Oh, how long were the days of a man. When he strode upon a broken land.”

Mat listened, memories blossoming in his mind. Thom’s voice carried him to days long ago. Days in his own memories, days of the memories of others. Days when he had died, days when he had lived, days when he had fought and when he had won.

“I want those holes filled…” Mat whispered to himself. “That’s what I said. The Eelfinn obliged, giving me memories that were not my own.”

Moiraine’s eyes had closed again, but she smiled as she listened to Thom’s music. Mat had thought Thom was playing for the Aelfinn, but now he wondered if he was playing for Moiraine. A last, melancholy song for a failed rescue.

“He sailed as far as a man could steer,” Thom sang, voice sonorous, beautiful. “And he never wished to lose his fear.”