Mat stopped beside a tall pine, its lowest branches a good two feet above his head, leaning against the trunk. The line of crossbowmen weren't practicing their aim so much as their coordination. You didn't really aim in most battles, which was why the crossbows worked so well. They required a tenth the training of a longbow. Sure, the latter could fire faster and farther, but if you didn't have a lifetime to spare practicing, then these crossbows were a fine substitute.

Besides, the crossbow reloading process made it easier to train the ranks to fire together. The squad's captain stood on the far side, slapping a rod against the side of a tree once every two seconds to give a beat. Each crack of the wood was an order. Raise crossbows to the shoulder on the first. Fire on the second. Lower on the third. Crank on the fourth. Up to the shoulder again on the fifth. The men were getting good—firing in coordinated waves made for more consistent killing. Each fourth crack let loose a wave of bolts into the trees.

We'll need more of those, Mat thought, noticing how many of the bolts splintered during the training shots. You wasted more ammunition practicing than you did fighting, but each bolt now could be worth two or three in combat. The men were getting good indeed. If he'd had a few banners worth of these when he'd fought at Bioodwash Falls, perhaps Nashif would have learned his lesson a lot sooner.

Of course, they'd be more useful if they could fire faster. The cranking was the slow point. Not the turn of the crank itself, but the necessity of lowering the crossbow each time. It cost four seconds just to move the weapon about. These new cranks and boxes that Talmanes had learned to make from that mechanic in Murandy sped things up greatly. But the mechanic had been on his way to sell the cranks in Caemlyn, and who knew who else had bought them along the way? Before too long, everyone might have them. An advantage was negated if both you and your enemies had it.

Those boxes had given a lot to Mat's success in Altara against the Seanchan. He was loath to surrender the advantage. Could he find a way to make the bows fire even faster?

Thoughtful, he checked on a few more things in the camp—the Al-tarans they'd recruited into the Band were settling in well, and other than feed for the horses and perhaps crossbow bolts, supplies looked good. Satisfied, he went looking for Aludra.

She had established herself near the back of the camp, alongside a little cleft in the rocky hillside. Though this spot was much smaller than the glade of trees the Aes Sedai and their attendants used, it was noticeably more secluded. Mat had to weave around three separate cloth sheets hanging between trees—placed carefully to block any view into Aludra's workspace—before he reached her. And he had to stop when Bayle Domon held out a hand, holding Mat back until Aludra gave leave for him to enter.

The slender, dark-haired Illuminator sat on a stump in the center of her little camp, powders, rolls of paper, a writing board for notes and tools neatly arranged on strips of cloth on the ground around her. She no longer wore her braids, and her long hair fell loose around her shoulders. That made her look odd to Mat. Still pretty, though.

Burn it, Mat. You're married now, he told himself. Aludra was pretty, though.

Egeanin was there, holding a nightflower shell upright for Aludra to work on. Aludra's full-lipped face frowned in concentration as she tapped lightly on the shell. Egeanin's dark hair was growing out, making her look less and less like one of the Seanchan nobility. Mat still had trouble trying to decide what to call the woman. She wanted to be known as Leilwin, and sometimes he thought of her like that. It was foolish to go about changing your name just because someone said you had to, but he didn't really blame her for not wanting to rile Tuon. She was a bloody stubborn one, Tuon was. He found himself glancing to the south again, but caught himself. Blood and ashes! She'd be just fine.

Anyway, Tuon was gone now. So why did Egeanin continue the charade of calling herself Leilwin? Mat had actually called her by her old name once or twice after Tuon's departure, but had received a curt reprimand. Women! They made no sense, and Seanchan women least of all.

Mat glanced at Bayle Domon. The muscular, bearded Illianer leaned against a tree near the entrance to Aludra's camp, two flapping white sheets of cloth extending in either direction near him. He still held out a warning hand. As if this entire camp weren't Mat's in the first place!

Mat didn't push his way past, though. He couldn't afford to offend Aludra. She was flaming close to being done with those dragon designs of hers, and he meant to have those. But Light, if it didn't smart to have to pass a checkpoint in his own camp!

Aludra looked up from her work, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She noted Mat, then looked back to her nightflower and began tapping with the hammer again. Bloody ashes! Seeing that reminded him why he visited Aludra so infrequently. The checkpoint was bad enough, but did the woman have to pound on something explosive with a hammer? Had she no sense at all? The entire lot of Illuminators were that way, though. Short a few foals of a full herd, as Mat's father might say.

"He may enter," Aludra said. "Thank you, Master Domon."

"It do be a pleasure, Mistress Aludra," Bayle said, lowering his hand and nodding amiably to Mat. Mat straightened his coat and walked forward, intent on asking about crossbows. Something immediately caught his eye, however. Spread out on the ground behind Aludra were a series of neat pages with detailed drawings, along with a list of notations with numbers beside them.

"Are these the plans for the dragons?" Mat asked eagerly. He knelt down on one knee to inspect the sheets, without touching them. Aludra could be particular about that kind of thing.

"Yes." She was still tapping with her hammer. She eyed him, looking just faintly uncomfortable. Because of Tuon, he suspected.

"And these figures?" Mat tried to ignore the awkwardness.

"Supply requirements," she said. She put down her hammer and inspected the cylindrical nightflower from all sides. She nodded to Leilwin.

Bloody ashes, but the figures were large! A mountain of charcoal, sulphur and . . . bat guano? The notes claimed there was a city specializing in producing it over in the northern reaches of the Mountains of Mist. What city specialized in gathering bat guano, of all things? There were requirements for copper and tin as well, though for some reason there were no numbers beside those. Just a little star notation.

Mat shook his head. How would the common people react if they knew that the majestic nightflowers were just a paper, powder and—of all things—bat dung? No wonder Illuminators were so secretive with their craft. It wasn't just about preventing competition. The more you knew about the process, the less wondrous and more ordinary it became.

"This is a lot of material," Mat said.

"A miracle, that is what you asked me for, Matrim Cauthon," she replied, handing her nightflower to Leilwin and picking up her writing board. She made some notations on the sheet strapped to the front. "That miracle, I have broken down into a list of ingredients. A feat which is in itself miraculous, yes? Do not complain of the heat when someone offers you the sun in the palm of her hands."

"Doesn't seem so manageable to me," Mat muttered, mostly to himself. "Is this figure the costs?"

"I am not a scribe," Aludra said. "Those are estimates only. The calculations, I have taken them as far as I can go, but the rest will have to be figured by those more proficient. The Dragon Reborn, he can afford such costs." Leilwin watched Mat with a curious expression. Things had changed with her, too, because of Tuon. But not in the way he'd expected.