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t random； they had targets as surely as an arrow。 He turned to run； and there was a Myrddraal striding toward him like a black snake on legs； its pasty…faced； eyeless stare sending shivers into his bones。 At thirty paces he hurled the knife straight at where an eye should have been； at that distance he could hit a knothole no larger than an eye four times in five。
The Fade's black sword blurred as it knocked the dagger away； almost casually； it did not even break stride。 〃Time to die； Hornsounder。〃 Its voice was a red adder's dry hiss； warning of death。
Mat backed away。 He had a knife in either hand； now； though he did not remember drawing them。 Not that knives would be much good against a sword； but running meant that black blade in his back as sure as five sixes beat four threes。 He wished he had a good quarterstaff。 Or a bow； he would like to see this thing try to deflect a shaft from a Two Rivers longbow。 He wished he were somewhere else。 He was going to die； here。
Suddenly a dozen Trollocs roared out of a side hallway； piling onto the Fade in a frenzy of chopping axes and stabbing swords。 Mat stared in amazed disbelief。 The Halfman fought like a black…armored whirlwind。 More than half the Trollocs were dead or dying before the Fade lay in a twitching heap； one arm flexed and thrashed like a dying snake three paces away from the body； still with that black sword in its fist。
A ram…horned Trolloc peered toward Mat； snout lifted to sniff the air。 It snarled at him； then whined and began licking a long gash that had laid open mail and hairy forearm。 The others finished cutting the throats of their wounded； and one barked a few harsh； guttural words。 Without another glance at Mat； they turned and trotted away； hooves and boots making hollow sounds on the stone floor。
Away from him。 Mat shivered。 Trollocs to the rescue。 What had Rand gotten him into now？ He saw what he had drawn with the wine … an open door … and scrubbed it out angrily。 He had to get away from here。 He had to。 And he could also feel that urge in the back of his head； that it was time to go back to the Stone。 He pushed it away angrily； but it kept buzzing at him。
He caught a snatch of talk from the table to his right； where the lean…faced fellow with the curling mustaches was holding forth in a heavy Lugarder accent。 〃Now this Dragon of yours is a great man no doubt； I'll not be denying it； but he's not a patch on Logain。 Why； Logain had all of Ghealdan at war； and half of Amadicia and Altara； as well。 He made the earth swallow whole towns that resisted him； he did。 Buildings； people and all entire。 And the one up in Saldaea； Maseem？ Why； they say he made the sun stand still till he defeated the Lord of Bashere's army。 'Tis a fact； they do say。〃
Mat shook his head。 The Stone fallen and Callandor in Rand's hand； and this idiot still thought he was another false Dragon。 He had sketched that doorway again。 Rubbing a hand through it； he grabbed up the mug of wine； then stopped with it halfway to his mouth。 Through the motion his ear had picked out a familiar name spoken at a nearby table。 Scraping back his bench； he made his way to that table； mug in hand。
The people around it were the sort of odd mixture made in taverns in the Maule。 Two barefoot sailors wearing oiled coats over bare chests； one with a thick gold chain close around his neck。 A once fat man with sagging jowls； in a dark Cairhienin coat with slashes of red and gold and green across his chest which might have indicated that he was a noble； though one sleeve was torn at the shoulder； a good many Cairhienin refugees had e down far in the world。 A gray…haired woman all in subdued dark blue； with a hard face and a sharp eye and heavy gold rings on her fingers。 And the speaker； the fork…bearded fellow； with a ruby the size of a pigeon's egg in his ear。 The three silver chains looped across the straining chest of his dark； reddish coat named him a Kandori master merchant。 They had a guild for merchants in Kandor。
The talk ceased and all eyes swung to Mat when he stopped at their table。 〃I heard you mention the Two Rivers。〃
Forkbeard ran a quick eye over him； the unbrushed hair； the tight expression on his face and the wine in his fist； the gleaming black boots； the green coat with its gold scrollwork； open to the waist to reveal a snowy linen shirt； but both coat and shirt heavily wrinkled。 In short； the very image of a young noble sporting himself among the moners。 〃I did； my Lord；〃 he said heartily。 〃I was saying there'll be no tabac out of there this year； I'll wager。 I have twenty casks of the finest Two Rivers leaf； though； than which there is none finer。 Fetch an excellent price later in the year。 If my Lord wishes a cask for his own stock。。。〃 He tugged one point of his yellow beard and laid a finger alongside his nose。 〃。 。 。 I am certain I could manage to …〃
〃You'll wager that； will you？〃 Mat said softly； cutting him short。 〃Why would there be no tabac out of the Two Rivers？〃
〃Why； the Whitecloaks； my Lord。 The Children of the Light。〃
〃What about Whitecloaks？〃
The master merchant peered around the table for help； there was a dangerous note in that quiet tone。 The sailors looked as if they would leave if they dared。 The Cairhienin was glaring at Mat； sitting up too straight and smoothing his worn coat as he swayed； the empty mug in front of him was obviously not his first。 The gray…haired woman had her mug to her mouth； her sharp eyes watching Mat over the rim in a calculating way。
Managing a seated bow； the merchant put on an ingratiating tone。 〃The rumor is； my Lord； that the Whitecloaks have gone into the Two Rivers。 Hunting the Dragon Reborn； it's said。 Though of course； that cannot be； since the Lord Dragon is here in Tear。〃 He eyed Mat to see how that had been taken； Mat's face did not change。 〃These rumors can run very wild； my Lord。 Perhaps it's only wind in a bucket。 The same rumor claims the Whitecloaks are after some Darkfriend with yellow eyes； too。 Did you ever hear of a man with yellow eyes； my Lord？ No more have I。 Wind in a bucket。〃
Mat set his mug on the table and leaned closer to the man。 〃Who else are they hunting？ According to this rumor。 The Dragon Reborn。 A man with yellow eyes。 Who else？〃
Beads of sweat formed on the merchant's face。 〃No one； my Lord。 No one that I heard。 Only rumor； my Lord。 Straws in the wind； no more。 A puff of smoke； soon vanished。 If I might have the honor of presenting my Lord a cask of Two Rivers tabac？ A gesture of appreciation。。。 the honor of。。。 to express my。。。〃
Mat tossed an Andoran gold crown onto the table。 〃Buy your drink on me till that runs out。〃
As he turned away he heard mutters from the table。 〃I thought he'd cut my throat。 You know these lordlings when they're full of wine。〃 That from the fork…bearded merchant。 〃An odd young man；〃 the woman said。 〃Dangerous。 Do not try your ploys on that kind； Paetram。〃 〃I do not think he is a lord at all；〃 another man said petulantly。 The Cairhienin； Mat supposed。 His lip curled。 A lord？ He would not be a lord if it was offered to him。 Whitecloaks in the Two Ri