Idly, he wondered if the Aes Sedai might let him have the ruby from the Shadar Logoth dagger. He remembered the dagger in only the fuzziest way, but even that was like remembering a terrible injury. His insides knotted tip, and sharp pain dug at his temples. Yet the ruby was clear in his mind, as big as his thumbnail, dark as a drop of blood, glittering like some crimson eye. Surely he had more claim to it than they did, and it had to be worth as much as a dozen farms back home.

They'll probably say it is tainted, too. And likely it was. Still he spun a little fancy of trading the ruby to some of the Coplins for their best land. Most of that family—troublemakers from the cradle, where they were not thieves and liars as well—deserved whatever happened to them and more. But he really did not believe the Aes Sedai would give it back to him, did not relish the notion of carrying it as far as Emond's Field if they did. And the thought of owning the largest farm in the Two Rivers was no longer as exciting as it once had been. Once that had been his biggest ambition, that, and to be known as his father's equal as a horse trader. Now it seemed such a small thing to want. A cramped thing, with the whole wide world just waiting out there.

First off, he decided, he would find Egwene and Nynaeve. Maybe they've come to their senses. Maybe they've given up this foolishness about becoming Aes Sedai. He did not think they would have, but he could not go without seeing them. He would go; that was sure. A visit with them, a day to see the city, perhaps a game with the dice to pad out his purse, and then he would be off for somewhere where there were no Aes Sedai. Before he returned home – I will go home one day. One day, I will – he meant to see something of the world, and without any Aes Sedai making him dance to her tune.

Rummaging around the tray for something more to eat, he was shocked to realize nothing was left but smears and a few crumbs of bread and cheese. The pitchers were both empty. He squinted down at his stomach in wonder. He should have been stuffed to the ears with all that in him, but he felt as if he had hardly eaten at all. He scraped the last bits of cheese together between thumb and forefinger. Halfway to his mouth, his hand froze.

I blew the Horn of Valere. Softly he whistled a bit of tune, then cut it short when the words came to him:

I'm down at the bottom of the well.

It's night, and the rain is coming down.

The sides are falling in,

and there's no rope to climb.

I'm down at the bottom of the well.

"There had better be a bloody rope to climb," he whispered. He let the cheese and crumbs fall on the tray. For the moment he felt sick again. Determinedly he tried to think, tried to penetrate the fog that shrouded everything in his head.

Verin had been bringing the Horn to Tar Valon, but he could not remember if she knew he was the one who had blown it. She had never said anything to make him think so. He was sure of that. He thought he was. So what if she does know? What if they all do? Unless Verin did something with it I don't know about, they have the Horn. They don't need me. But who could say what Aes Sedai thought they needed?

"If they ask," he said grimly, "I never even touched it. If they know... If they know, I'll... I'll handle that when it comes. Burn me, they can't want anything from me. They can't!"

A soft knock on the door brought him swaying to his feet, ready to run. If there had been any place to run to, and if he could have managed more than three steps. But there was not, and he could not.

The door opened.

The woman who came in, dressed all in white silk and silver, shut the door behind her and leaned back against it to study him with the darkest eyes Mat had ever seen. She was so beautiful he almost forgot to breathe, with hair as black as night held by a finely woven silver band, and as graceful in repose as another woman would be dancing. He halfway thought that he knew her, but he rejected the idea out of hand. No man could ever forget a woman like her.

"You may be passable, I suppose, once you fill out again," she said, "but for now, perhaps you could put on something."

For an instant Mat continued to stare at her, then suddenly he realized he was standing there naked. Face scarlet, he shambled to the bed, pulled the blanket around himself like a cloak, and more fell than sat down on the edge of the mattress. "I'm sorry for... I mean, I... that is, I didn't expect... I ... I..." He drew a deep breath. "I apologize for your finding me this way."

He could still feel the heat in his cheeks. For a moment he wished that Rand, whatever he had become, or even Perrin were there to advise him. They always seemed to get on well with women. Even girls who knew that Rand was all but promised to Egwene used to stare at him, and they seemed to think Perrin's slow ways were gentle and attractive.

However hard he tried, he always managed to make a fool of himself in front of girls. As he had just done.

"I would not have visited you in this way, Mat, except that I was here in the… in the White Tower – " She smiled as if the name amused her – "for another purpose, and I wanted to see all of you." Mat's face reddened again, and he tugged the blanket around him tighter, but she seemed not to have been teasing him. More graceful than a swan, she glided to the table. "You are hungry. That's to be expected, the way they do things. Make sure you eat all they give you. You will be surprised at how quickly you put weight back and regain strength."

"Pardon," Mat said diffidently, "but do I know you? Meaning no offense, but you seem... familiar." She looked at him until he began to shift uneasily. A woman like her would expect to be remembered.

"You may have seen me," she said finally. "Somewhere. Call me Selene." Her head tilted slightly; she appeared to be waiting for him to recognize the name.

It tugged at the edges of memory. He thought he must have heard it before, but he could not say when or where. "Are you an Aes Sedai, Selene?"

"No." The word was soft but surprisingly emphatic.

For the first time, he studied her, able now to see more than her beauty. She was almost as tall as he was, slender and, he suspected from the way she moved, strong. He was not sure of her age – a year or two older than he, or maybe as much as ten – but her cheeks were smooth. Her necklace of smooth white stones and woven silver matched her wide belt, but she did not wear a Great Serpent ring. The absence should not have surprised him – no Aes Sedai would ever say right out that she was not – yet it did. There was an air about her – a self-confidence, a surety in her own power to match any queen's, and something more – that he associated with Aes Sedai.

"You aren't by any chance a novice, are you?" He had heard that novices wore white, but he could not really believe it of her. She makes Elayne look like a cringer. Elayne. Another name drifting into his head.

"Hardly that," Selene said with a wry twist to her mouth. "Let us just say that I am someone whose interests coincide with yours. These... Aes Sedai mean to use you, but you will like it, in the main, I think. And accept it. There is no need to convince you to seek out glory."

"Use me?" The memory returned to him of thinking that, but about Rand, that the Aes Sedai meant to use Rand, not him. They've no bloody use for me. Light, they can't have! "What do you mean? I'm no one important. I am no use to anyone but myself. What kind of glory?"

"I knew that would pull you. You, above all."

Her smile made his head spin. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. The blanket slipped, and he caught it hastily before it could fall. "Now listen, they are not interested in me." What about me sounding the Horn? "I am just a farmer." Maybe they think I'm tied to Rand in some way. No, Verin said... He was not sure what Verin had said, or Moiraine, but he thought most Aes Sedai knew nothing at all about Rand. He wanted to keep it that way, at least until he was a long way gone. "Just a simple country man. I only want to see a little of the world and go back to my da's farm." What does she mean, glory?