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A man ought to be able to find a profit in something like that； having events twist themselves around him。 Rand certainly had； in a way。 He himself had never noticed anything twisting around him except the fall of dice。 He would not turn away from some of the things that happened to ta'veren in stories。 Wealth and fame dropped into their pockets as if from the sky； men who wanted to kill them decided to follow instead； and women with ice in their eyes decided to melt。
Not that he was plaining at what he had； really。 And certainly not that he wanted anything like Rand's bargain； the price to get into the game was too high。 It was just that he seemed to be stuck with all the burdens of being ta'veren and none of the pleasure。
〃It is time to go；〃 he told the empty tent； then paused thoughtfully and sipped at the goblet。 〃It is time to get on Pips and ride。 Ride to Caemlyn； maybe。〃 Not a bad city； so long as he avoided the Royal Palace。 〃Or Lugard。〃 He had heard rumors about Lugard。 A fine place； that； for the likes of him。 〃Time to leave Rand in my dust。 He's got a bloody Aiel army and more Maidens than he can count taking care of him。 He doesn't need me。〃
That last was not strictly true。 In some strange way he was tied to Rand's success or failure in Tarmon Gai'don； him and Perrin both； three ta'veren all tangled together。 The histories would probably only mention Rand。 Small chance he or Perrin would find any place in the stories。 And then there was the Horn of Valere。 Which he did not want to think about； and would not。 Not until he had to。 There might be some way out of that particular mess yet。 Any way he looked at it； the Horn was a problem for another day。 A distant day。 With luck； all those bills would e due on a very distant day。 Only； that might take more luck than he had。
The point now was that he had said all of that about going and felt scarcely a twinge。 Not long ago； he had been unable even to speak of leaving； when he got too far from Rand； he had been drawn back like a hooked fish on some invisible line。 Then he had bee able to say it； even to lay plans； but the slightest thing would distract him； make him put off his schemes for stealing away。 Even in Rhuidean； when he had told Rand he was going； he had been sure something would get in the way。 It had； in a manner of speaking； Mat had made it out of the Waste； but he was no further from Rand than before。 This time； he did not think he would be diverted。
〃Not like I was abandoning him；〃 he muttered。 〃If he can't bloody take care of himself by now； he'll never be able to。 I'm not his bloody nursemaid。〃
Draining the goblet； he scrambled into his green coat； settled his knives in their hiding places； arranged a dark yellow silk scarf to hide the hanging scar on his throat； then snatched up his hat and ducked out。
Heat hit him in the face after the relatively cool shade inside。 He was not sure how the seasons changed here； but summer was hanging on too long to suit him。 One thing he had looked forward to on leaving the Waste was the arrival of autumn。 A little coolness。 No luck here。 At least the hat's wide brim kept the sun off。
This hilly Cairhienin forest was a pitiful thing； more clearings than trees and half of them going brown in the drought。 Not a patch on the Westwood； back home。 Low Aiel tents were everywhere； though at any distance they took on the look of a pile of dead leaves or a bare hummock of ground unless the side flaps were up； and even then they were not easy to see。 The Aiel going about their business did not look at him twice。
From one crest as he crossed the encampment； he caught sight of Kadere's wagons； all in a circle； the drivers lying in the shade underneath and the peddler nowhere in view。 Kadere kept to his wagon more and more； seldom poking his nose out except when Moiraine came to inspect the ladings。 The Aiel ringing the wagons； small knots with spears and bucklers； bows and quivers； made little pretense of being anything but guards。 Moiraine must think Kadere or some of his men would try to make off with what she had brought out of Rhuidean。 Mat wondered whether Rand realized that he was giving her anything and everything she asked。 For a while Mat had thought Rand had gotten the upper hand there； but he was not so sure any longer； even if Moiraine did do everything but curtsy and fetch Rand's pipe。
Rand's tent was on a hilltop by itself； naturally； that red banner on a staff at its front。 It rippled in a light breeze； sometimes standing out enough to show the black…and…white disc。 The thing made Mat's skin crawl as much as the Dragon banner had。 If a man wanted to avoid Aes Sedai entanglements； as any but an idiot would； the last thing to do was wave that symbol about。
The slopes of the hill were bare； but Maidens' tents encircled the foot of the hill and spread through the trees up surrounding slopes and down the other side。 That was as usual； too； and so was the Wise Ones' camp within the Far Dareis Mai； dozens of low tents in shouting distance of Rand's hill； with white…robed gai'shain bustling about。
There were only a few of the Wise Ones to be seen； yet they made up for lack of numbers with the stares that followed him。 He had no idea how many could channel in that bunch； but they were a fair equal of Aes Sedai weighing and measuring when it came to stares。 He picked up his pace； making an effort not to shrug unfortably； he could feel those eyes on his back as surely as he could have a poke from a stick。 And he would have to run the same gauntlet ing out。 Well； a few words with Rand； and it would be the last time he had to run it。
Only； when he pulled off his hat and ducked into Rand's tent； no one was there except Natael； lounging on the cushions with his gilded； dragon…carved harp propped against his knee and a gold goblet in his hand。
Mat grimaced； and swore under his breath。 He should have known as much。 If Rand had been here； he would have had to pass through a circle of Maidens right around the tent。 Most likely he was up at that new…built tower。 A good idea； that。 Know the terrain。 That was the second rule； close behind 〃Know your enemy；〃 and not much to choose between them。
The thought put a sour twist to his mouth。 Those rules came from other men's memories； the only rules he wanted to remember were 〃Never kiss a girl whose brothers have knife scars〃 and 〃Never gamble without knowing a back way out。〃 He almost wished those memories of other men were still separate lumps in his brain instead of oozing into his thoughts when he least expected。
〃Trouble with a bilious stomach？〃 Natael asked lazily。 〃One of the Wise Ones might have a root to cure it。 Or you could try Moiraine。〃
Mat could not like the man； he always seemed to be thinking of a joke he did not mean to share。 And he always looked as if he had three servants taking care of his clothes。 All that snowy lace at collar and cuffs； always seeming freshly laundered。 The fellow never appeared to sweat； either。 Why Rand wanted him around was a mystery。 He almost never played anything merry on that harp。 〃Will he be back soon？〃