A Wheel of Time Fan Fiction

This is something I have been working on for a long time, even before the TV series came out. It is what I call the Mat Cauthon Restoration Project, and it’s been a passion of mine to recapture Mat’s character the way we all know and love from Robert Jordan’s original writing. This isn’t meant as a critique of Brandon Sanderson’s work, without him, we would never have had the final three books, and I’m incredibly grateful for that. Only Robert Jordan could have done it better. But now, years after A Gathering Storm was first released, many fans have had discussions about how Mat’s portrayal felt a little off.

You could liken this project to fan fiction or even the Star Wars Special Editions, where changes were made to “improve” the originals. Will these changes improve anything? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But that’s not the point. This is a fun thought exercise, a way to spark conversations about Mat and why he feels a little different in the final books, but is not intended to detract or slander the original works in any way. .

Now that I’ve finally finished re-writing one of the chapters, it feels like the right time to share it with others who appreciate Mat’s journey. And for those following along, I’ll also be picking back up the screenplay project in the coming months!

This is a re-imagining of Chapter 27: The Tipsy Gelding of The Gathering Storm, by Brandon adn Robert Jordan, as re-imagined by me. It won’t translate perfectly copying and pasting it here, we may lose some formatting and I have not finished editing it, so there are likely some redundancies. but am interested to know your thoughts.

Disclaimer:

The Mat Cauthon Restoration Project is a fan-based reimagining of select scenes from The Wheel of Time series, originally written by Robert Jordan and completed by Brandon Sanderson. This re-write is intended for educational and entertainment purposes only. It is not intended to infringe upon any copyrights or intellectual property rights held by the creators, their estates, or their publishers.

All characters, settings, and story elements from The Wheel of Time remain the property of the Robert Jordan Estate, Bandersnatch Group, and Tor Books. This project is a thought exercise, created purely for the enjoyment of fans and to explore the nuances of characterization within the series. No financial gain is sought or obtained from this work, and it should not be viewed as an official continuation, alteration, or replacement of the original content.

This project falls under the fair use doctrine, as it serves the purpose of critique, commentary, and discussion among fans of the series.

The Tipsy Gelding

Mat didn’t escape the camp without the Aes Sedai, of course. Bloody women. He rode down the ancient stone roadway, slightly ahead of the others, the hooves of his bay gelding, Pips, clopping against the cracked and weather-worn stones. The road had a worn, forgotten look to it, the kind that made Mat wonder if it had once been something grand. Maybe it had led to some great city or important stronghold, back when this part of the world still mattered. Or maybe it was just a backwater trade route, long abandoned. Still, for a road this wide and once paved, it must have been important. You didn’t lay down stone like this for a goat path.

The towering three-needle pines pressed close, dark and tall, their bark rough with streaks of dried sap that glistened faintly in the cool mountain air. The sky above was a dull gray, heavy with the promise of rain or worse, and the breeze that whispered through the trees had a sharp, cold bite to it, as if warning of a storm to come.

Mat scowled under the wide brim of his battered hat, its once-fine fabric fraying at the edges, though it still did its job shading his eyes. It was bad enough to be stuck with the Aes Sedai, Three Aes Sedai to be exact, Joline, Teslyn, and Edesina, riding in silence behind him, their faces serene, wrapped in fine wool cloaks. Their Warders moved alongside them with that unsettling grace of theirs, blending in and out of sight as their color-shifting cloaks flickered with the shadows. Talmanes, five soldiers, and a pack animal followed too, a right parade. He was leading a bloody parade through the wilderness, complete with a gleeman, Thom. All because the Aes Sedai couldn’t stand to go another night without the comfort of soft beds and warm baths.

His fingers itched to toss dice, to feel the familiar weight of the bone cubes rolling between them, but for now, they rested idly on the reins. The problem wasn’t just the Aes Sedai. This place was dangerous. Seanchan patrols could be anywhere, and that brought his thoughts begrudgingly back to Tuon; Flaming Daughter of the Nine Moons, he thought with a mixture of fondness and irritation, one hand absent mindedly rubbing at the scarf wrapped around his neck. She’d be all right, wouldn’t she? Despite himself, Mat couldn’t help but worry after her safety, even though she had proven more than capable of looking after herself. Light, what a mess.Seanchan patrols were always a concern, but they were far from his only worry. His feelings were tied up tighter than a tangle of sheep’s wool in need of shearing. No matter how hard he pulled, they only seemed to knot up worse.

“Storm’s coming,” Talmanes muttered, his eyes scanning the sky. “We’d best make the village before the roads turn to mud.”

“A bit of rain won’t kill us,” Mat replied with a wry grin. “And if it does, I’ll owe you a drink at the next turning of the Wheel.” Talmanes snorted, but Mat wasn’t about to let the promise of bad weather spoil his mood any worse than it was already anyway. There were worse things to worry about.

Hinderstap loomed ahead, a squat village of stone houses and thatched roofs. It had the look of a place that had seen better days, but Mat wasn’t here to admire the architecture. He was here to resupply the Band. And maybe, just maybe, enjoy a few hours of distraction with dice and ale.

Pips snorted, and Mat patted him again. Talmanes now rode just ahead, his back straight in the saddle, eyes scanning the horizon with that ever-present calm of his. He’d probably prefer a nice, quiet tavern where he could sit and play a proper game of cards, something with strategy and decorum. Mat shook his head. Bloody Talmanes. Always too dignified for his own good. Mat, on the other hand, was in the mood for something livelier. Dice, drinks, and good company. Still, it wasn’t like they’d have many choices here. The village was decent-sized, worthy of being called a town, if you squinted at it, but he doubted there’d be more than three or four inns to choose from.

Decent size, Mat thought, a small grin tugging at his lips as he took off his hat and scratched the back of his head. Hinderstap would have three or four inns, maybe five if they were lucky, and here he was calling it small. Light, he remembered when Baerlon had seemed huge. Funny how perspective changed when you’d seen half the world.

A horse pulled up beside him, the rider’s white hair stirring in the breeze. Thom Merrilin was looking at that blasted letter again, the one he’d been carrying for months. Mat glanced at the weathered parchment, his jaw tightening slightly. It had taken a fair bit of persuasion to get Thom to ride down to the village in the first place, and here he was, still staring at that thing like it held all the answers in the world.

“Why don’t you put that away?” Mat said, his voice sharper than he intended. He softened it slightly. “We’re nearly there, Thom. Staring at it won’t make the words change.”

Thom looked up, blinking as if dragged from deep thoughts. He folded the paper with reverent fingers and tucked it away into the folds of his gleeman’s cloak, the patches faded and worn from years of travel. “You’re right, Mat,” Thom said with a sigh. “But it’s been on my mind for so long. Now that I’ve shared it with you… well, I just want to be done with it.”

Mat nodded, his eyes drifting toward the horizon. Moiraine. The Tower of Ghenjei. Bloody snakes and foxes. He could almost see the building looming there in the distance, waiting for him like a shadow he couldn’t shake. That’s where his path pointed, and Caemlyn was just another stop along the way. If Moiraine was still alive, and the thought of that made his stomach twist, how would Rand take it? Light, what would it mean for all of them?

The rescue was another reason he felt the urge to dice tonight. To forget, if only for a few hours, what would be coming. Why had he agreed to go with Thom into that cursed tower? He had no desire to see those burning snakes and foxes again. But there was no denying it now. He couldn’t let Thom go alone.Part of him had known from the start that this was inevitable. They’d gotten the better of him twice already, but this time would be different. They had tied strings around his head, played with his memories, and there was a debt to settle.

Mat didn’t like Moiraine, not really. But Light, he wouldn’t leave her trapped there. Bloody Aes Sedai or not, she didn’t deserve that. He shook his head, grumbling under his breath. He’d probably be fool enough to ride in and save one of the Forsaken if it came to that. Lanfear had fallen through the same portal, after all. Burn him, what would he do if he found her in there? Would he really rescue her too?

You’re a fool, Matrim Cauthon. Not a hero. Just a bloody fool.

“We’ll get to Moiraine, Thom,” Mat said, his voice firm. “You have my word. Burn me, but we will find her. But first, we need to see the Band somewhere safe. And we need information. Bayle Domon says he knows where the tower is, but I won’t be comfortable until we can sniff around a big city and dig up some rumors. Someone has to know something about it. And we’ll need supplies. We won’t find what we need in these mountain villages. Caemlyn’s our best bet, though we might stop in Four Kings if we have to.”

Thom nodded, though Mat could see the worry etched into the lines of his face. The gleeman’s bright blue eyes had that faraway look again, the one they got whenever Moiraine came up. Why did he care so much?What was Moiraine to him, anyway? She was Aes Sedai, like all the others. And wasn’t it Aes Sedai who had cost Thom’s nephew his life?

Mat sighed, shaking his head. “Burn it, Thom. We’re not supposed to be thinking about things like this right now. Tonigh is for dice and laughter, not bloody snakes and foxes. There’ll be time enough for the rest.”

Thom’s face lightened a little, and Mat caught sight of the gleeman’s harp case strapped to the back of his saddle. It had been too long since Thom had played. “What do you say?” Mat added with a grin. “You could pull out your harp and we’ll see if we can’t turn this village into something more than it looks. Maybe I’ll even throw in some juggling for a free meal.”

“Juggling again?” Thom said, his eyes twinkling with the faintest hint of amusement. “Better than trying to play that blasted flute, I suppose.”

Mat snorted. “I never was any good with that thing. Rand took to it better than me, didn’t he?”

The words had barely left his mouth when colors swirled in his vision, unbidden. Bloody flaming colors.They resolved into an image of Rand, sitting alone in a room. The Dragon Reborn, his friend, the man who would either save the world or destroy it, sat slumped, as if the weight of the world had crushed the life out of him. One hand pressed to his forehead, and the other… Light! That hand was gone now, nothing but a stump. Mat’s breath caught. How in the Light had Rand lost his hand? The man barely looked alive, propped up there in his fine embroidered shirt, seemingly staring at nothing.

Burn you, Rand. What are you doing to yourself?

The image faded, and Mat shook his head to clear it. He was grateful, at least, to not be anywhere near Rand. Friendship was one thing, but being close to Rand when he finally cracked and started killing everyone he knew? That was stupidity. They’d fight together at the Last Battle, of course, no getting out of that, but Light, Mat hoped to be on the opposite end of the battlefield when it came.

“Ah, Rand,” Thom murmured, rubbing at his mustache. “That boy could have made a fine gleeman if things had gone differently. Maybe even a bard if he’d started younger.”

Mat shook his head again, forcing the vision of Rand away. “Better days, you think? The three of us running down the Arinelle with Myrddraal on our heels?”

“Myrddraal, Darkfriends, and worse.” Thom gave a weary chuckle. “Still better than gholam and Forsaken.”

Mat snorted. “That’s like saying you’d rather have a noose around your neck than a sword in your gut.”

Thom nodded thoughtfully. “At least you can escape the noose, Mat. Once the sword’s in, there’s not much you can do about it.”

Mat hesitated, then found himself laughing softly despite himself. He rubbed at the scarf around his neck, his fingers lingering on the cloth. “I suppose you’re right, Thom. I suppose you’re right at that.” He turned to the road ahead. “Well, for tonight, let’s forget about all of it. We’ll pretend things are like they were before.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible, lad,” Thom said, the humor fading from his voice.

“Of course it is,” Mat said, stubbornly.

“Oh?” Thom asked, amused again. “You’re going to go back to thinking old Thom Merrilin is the wisest, most well-traveled man you’ve ever met? And you’ll be the wide-eyed country lout, hanging on every word I say?”

Mat grinned despite himself. “I wasn’t so bad as all that.”

“I hasten to differ, Mat,” Thom said, chuckling.

Mat scratched the back of his head. “Maybe I don’t remember everything. But I do know Rand and I did all right after we split from you. We made it to Caemlyn, didn’t we? And we brought your flaming harp back without a scratch.”

“I recall a few nicks in the frame…”

“Burn you, Thom!” Mat pointed at him, an exasperated grin on his face. “Rand treated that harp better than his own sword. Wouldn’t sell it even when we were so hungry we’d have chewed on our boots if we hadn’t needed them to get to the next town.”

Thom chuckled softly. “We can’t go back, Mat. The Wheel has turned, for better or worse, and it’ll keep on turning. Lights will die, forests will dim, storms will come, and skies will break. But the Wheel won’t stop. It doesn’t care. It just is. Still, as long as it turns, people can hope, and they can care. For every light that fades, another will grow. And each storm, no matter how fierce, will eventually die. So long as the Wheel turns.”

Mat guided Pips around a deep cleft in the broken road, glancing ahead to where Talmanes was speaking quietly with some of their guards. “Sounds like you could make a song out of that, Thom.”

“Aye,” Thom agreed, a touch of melancholy in his voice. “It’s been done already. It’s old Mat, forgotten by most. I’ve found three different versions of it, all with the same words but set to different tunes. This place has me thinking of it, I suppose. They say Doreille herself penned the original.”

“The area?” Mat asked, casting an uneasy glance at the towering pines.

Thom nodded, his eyes distant. “This road is old too, Mat. Older than the song. Ancient. Probably here before the Breaking. Roads like this don’t get forgotten unless they’ve been left to time’s mercy. I think we’re in the Splintered Hills. If that’s true, we’re in what was once Coremanda, right near the Eagle’s Reaches. Climb a few of those taller hills, and I’d wager we’d find some old fortifications and ruins.”

Mat felt a pang of satisfaction at Thom’s words. He’d known it. The road had felt too solid, too well-crafted to have been some forgotten path to nowhere. Even though the stones were cracked and worn, it had the remnants of something grand, something important. Roads like this didn’t just lead to small villages. No, this had once been a highway, likely leading to some great city or stronghold.

“Burn me,” he muttered under his breath, half in awe. A road like this had seen armies pass, maybe even kings. And here he was, trotting his motley parade down it as if it were just another dirt trail. “And what’s that got to do with Doreille?” he asked aloud, still uneasy. “She was Queen of Aridhol, wasn’t she?”

“She visited here,” Thom said, rubbing his chin. “Wrote some of her best poems in the Eagle’s Reaches.”

Mat’s stomach tightened at the mention of Aridhol. Shadar Logoth. The memory stirred deep within him, unwelcome but impossible to ignore. He could almost see it again, the high fort walls, cold as the winds howled around him. The long, twisting roadway below, shattered in places, with an army charging uphill under violet pennants, arrows raining down. And there, on the balcony, stood the Queen herself.

He shivered, forcing the image away. That cursed place. Aridhol had stood in the same age as Manetheren, a time so distant it felt like legend. And the capital of Aridhol… Light, he hadn’t thought of Shadar Logoth in a long while.

That ruby dagger had haunted him for so long, tied to him in ways that still made his skin crawl. He hadn’t felt its pull in ages, but the memory of it lingered, red like his own blood, the weight of its curse heavy in his mind. That old lust, that dark desire, still simmered somewhere deep within, like an ember waiting for a spark.

Mat shook his head violently, driving the thoughts away. Burn it,he was supposed to be enjoying himself. No sense in dredging up ghosts from the past.

“What a time we’ve had,” Thom said, his voice casual, though there was something deeper beneath the words. “I feel old these days, Mat. Like a rug left out too long in the wind, the colors faded and frayed. Sometimes I wonder if I’m any use to you anymore. You hardly seem to need me.”

“What?” Mat scoffed, glancing at the gleeman. “Of course, I need you, Thom.”

Thom’s eyes narrowed, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “The trouble with you, Mat, is that you’re too good at lying for your own good. Not like those other two boys.”

“I’m serious,” Mat replied, his tone firmer now. “Burn me, but I do. You could run off, tell your stories and play your harp, but I’d miss your wisdom. Things wouldn’t run half as smooth without you. Light, you’re one of the few friends I know I can trust. I’d trust you with my life any day.”

Thom looked up, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. “Well, Matrim Cauthon, lifting an old man’s spirits when he’s down? Convincing him to stay and do what’s important, instead of running off to chase adventures? That’s downright responsible. What’s gotten into you?”

Mat grimaced, pulling his hat lower. “Marriage, I guess. Burn me, but I’m not giving up drinking or gambling!” Ahead, Talmanes turned and gave Mat an exaggerated eye roll, which Mat pretended not to notice.

Thom chuckled, watching Talmanes. “Well, lad, I didn’t mean to bring your mood down. Just idle talk. I reckon I still have a few stories left in me. If we can free Moiraine… well, we’ll see. And somebody’s going to have to put all this into song one day. There’ll be more than one ballad to come out of it, I’m sure.”

Thom rummaged through his saddlebags and pulled out his patchwork gleeman’s cloak, throwing it over his shoulders with a practiced flourish.

“Well,” Mat said, a grin breaking through despite himself, “when you write about us, you might find a few extra gold marks if you can slip in a verse about Talmanes. Something about how one of his eyes looks at you, while the other watches the horizon. And how he smells like a goat pen after a week on the road.”

“I heard that!” Talmanes called from ahead.

“I meant you to!” Mat shouted back.

Thom adjusted his cloak, chuckling again. “No promises, Mat. Though I think I’ll break off from the group when we get to the village. A gleeman’s ears can hear things that won’t be spoken with soldiers around.”

“Information would be welcome,” Mat said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The road bent up ahead, and Mat reckoned they’d find the village just beyond the turn. “I feel like we’ve been walking through a tunnel for months, no word from the outside world. Burn me, I’d like to know where Rand is, even if just to avoid him.” The colors swirled again, showing him Rand standing alone in a room, no clue as to where he was. Light, these blasted colors. They weren’t any help, as usual.

“Life’s a tunnel most days,” Thom said, his voice low. “People expect a gleeman to bring news, but half the time, it’s just stories dressed up as truth. The ‘news’ we share is often no more real than the ballads of old.”

Mat nodded. Thom was right, of course. It was all stories, in the end.

“And,” Thom added almost as an afterthought, “I’ll see what, if anything I can uncover about the tower.”

Mat shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “We’re more likely to find what we need in Four Kings or Caemlyn.”

“True,” Thom said with a nod. “But Olver made me promise to check. If you hadn’t set Noal to keep him busy, I’d half expect to find the boy hiding in our saddlebags. He was set on coming along.”

Mat sighed. “A night of dancing and gambling is no place for a boy. I only hope the men back at camp aren’t corrupting him worse than a tavern would.”

“At least Noal distracted him with Snakes and Foxes. The lad still believes there’s a way to win that game, and he’s determined to figure it out.”

Thom’s voice grew softer. “He still thinks he’ll be coming with us to the tower. Knows he can’t be one of the three, but he plans to wait outside. Maybe burst in to save us if we don’t come back quickly enough. I’m not sure I want to be there when he realizes the truth.”

Mat’s expression darkened. “I don’t plan to be there myself,” he muttered.

Ahead, the trees gave way to a small valley, green pastures climbing the hillsides, and nestled between them sat a village of several hundred buildings. A stream ran through the middle of it, the houses built of deep gray stone, smoke curling from chimneys. The roofs were sloped steeply, ready to bear the weight of heavy winter snows. Goats and sheep grazed on the slopes, watched over by shepherd boys, while workers moved busily on rooftops, replacing winter-damaged shingles. The town had a peaceful air, balanced between work and quiet ease.

Mat pulled Pips up beside Talmanes and the soldiers. “That’s a fine sight,” Talmanes said, sounding relieved. “I was beginning to think every village in the world had fallen apart or was crammed with refugees. At least this one looks like it’s still standing.”

“Light send it stays that way,” Mat muttered, shivering as he thought of the town in Altara that had vanished into thin air. “Let’s hope they’re willing to deal with a few strangers.” He glanced at the soldiers, his Redarms. They were among his best. “Three of you, go with the Aes Sedai. They’ll likely want to stay at a different inn from the rest of us. We’ll meet up in the morning.”

The soldiers saluted, and Joline sniffed as she rode past, making a point of not looking at Mat. She and the others headed down the slope with three of Mat’s men trailing behind.

“That looks like an inn there,” Thom said, pointing toward a larger building on the village’s eastern edge. “I’ll be there. It’s good to arrive ahead of the others. Gives a man the chance to make an entrance.” He waved and kicked his mount into a trot, his gleeman’s cloak flaring out behind him like a banner.

Mat caught Talmanes’ eye, and they shared a look of exasperation before following the road down into the village with two soldiers riding beside them.

Because of the bend in the road, they approached the village from the southwest. To the northeast, the ancient roadway continued, fading into the distance, as if daring anyone to remember where it had once led. The large, weathered stones of the road, still holding together despite the years, suggested that it had once seen more important traffic than simple farmers and traders. Roidelle had claimed it would take them straight into Andor, but Mat had his doubts. The road was too uneven now, too cracked and broken, to be of much use as a major highway. No matter what the maps showed, the road hadn’t passed a major city in ages.

Mat’s mind drifted back to Thom’s earlier musings. Roads like this didn’t just fade away into obscurity without reason. Something big must’ve happened to make people forget about it. He was glad they’d found it, though. The main routes into Murandy were clogged with Seanchan patrols, and he didn’t fancy running into one of those again. Not when his mind was already wrestling with thoughts of Tuon, her bloody flaming Seanchan, and the tangled mess of feelings he had for her.

According to Roidelle’s maps, the village of Hinderstap specialized in producing goat cheese and mutton for the surrounding towns and manors. The locals should be used to the odd outsider. Sure enough, as they rode down the road lined with wild grass, a group of boys came running from the fields, drawn to the sight of Thom’s gleeman’s cloak fluttering behind him. Thom would put on a quite a show. He always did.

Mat let out a breath and adjusted his grip on Pips’ reins. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let the Aes Sedai spoil his mood this time. No matter how much their parade of Warders and followers weighed on him. By the time he and Talmanes reached the village proper, Thom had already gathered a small crowd, juggling colored balls with one hand while recounting some tale from the south.

The villagers were an odd sight, dressed in green cloaks and vests made of thick, velvety cloth that looked warm against the chill spring air. But Mat’s sharp eye caught the details. Many of their clothes, while fine once, had been torn and carefully mended. Cloaks frayed at the edges, trousers patched and re-stitched. Hard times.

Across the way, a small group, mostly women, had gathered around the Aes Sedai. Mat half expected the villagers to be more wary, but it seemed they were accustomed to visitors. One of the men, sturdy and thick-armed, with rolled sleeves despite the chill, stepped forward, his beard thick and dark like the hair on his head.

“You’ve the look of a lord about you,” the man said, eyeing Mat.

“He’s a pri-” Talmanes began, but Mat cut him off with a swift motion. “A prince.” he’d been about to say.

“I suppose I do at that,” Mat said, keeping his tone light but his eyes on Talmanes. Light, man, no need to blurt it out.

The man introduced himself as Barlden, the mayor of the village, folding his arms as he spoke. “You’re welcome to trade, but we don’t have much to spare.”

“Surely you’ve got some cheese,” Talmanes said, leaning forward slightly. “That’s what you’re known for, isn’t it?”

Barlden hesitated, then nodded. “What hasn’t molded or spoiled is already spoken for. That’s just how things are these days.” He paused, then added, “But if you’ve got cloth or clothing to trade, we might be able to scrape together something for the day.”

For a day? Mat thought, frowning. There’s eleven of us, and we’d need more than a wagonload to keep my men happy. He’d promised ale, too.

Before Mat could respond, the mayor continued, “You’ll also need to know about the curfew. Do your trading, warm yourselves by the hearth, but all outsiders must be gone from the village by nightfall.”

Mat glanced up at the cloud-choked sky. “That’s barely three hours from now.”

Barlden’s tone didn’t shift. “Those are our rules.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Joline cut in, nudging her horse closer, her Warders flanking her with their unsettling grace, the color-shifting cloaks making them blend in and out of the background as if they were part of the village itself. “Master Barlden, I understand the need for caution in these times, but surely you can make an exception.”

Barlden met her gaze, folding his arms tighter across his chest. He was wise not to look her in the eye for long, Aes Sedai had a way of breaking a man’s resolve with just a glance.

“Our rules are strict, my Lady,” Barlden said. “Even for Aes Sedai.”

Joline’s mouth tightened, her hands shifting on the reins to prominently display her serpent ring. “Does the White Tower’s symbol mean nothing to you anymore?”

Barlden didn’t flinch, though Mat noted the flicker of irritation in his eyes as they shifted back to him. “We respect the White Tower,” he said evenly. “But our rules are our own. Three hours, my Lady. Then be on your way.”

With that, Barlden turned and walked off, joined by a handful of men, burly, broad-shouldered types, some with axes casually slung over their shoulders as though they’d just come from chopping wood. They walked in the same direction as the mayor, a group that seemed more than happenstance. Casual or not, they were keeping an eye on things.

“Some welcome,” Talmanes muttered under his breath, casting a glance at Mat.

Mat nodded, feeling the dice start to rattle in his head. Light, not now! He’d had enough of those dice and the trouble they brought with them. But there was no stopping them once they started. “Let’s find a tavern,” he said, nudging Pips forward.

“Still planning to make a night of it, eh?” Talmanes said with a small smile as he caught up to Mat’s side.

“We’ll see,” Mat muttered. He could still hear the dice rattling, ominous as ever, despite his best efforts to ignore them.

They passed three inns as they rode through the village. One stood at the end of the main road, with bright lanterns glowing even though night hadn’t yet fallen. Whitewashed walls and gleaming windows made it clear this inn catered to merchants and travelers with deep pockets. The Aes Sedai would be drawn to it like moths to flame. Mat grimaced. They’d better not expect him to join them there.Outsiders weren’t allowed to stay the night anyway, and he wondered just how long that prohibition had been in place. He didn’t buy Barlden’s talk about the inns being “compensated.” It smelled off.

He turned his attention elsewhere. Thom had likely chosen the next inn, off the main road on a wide street to the northeast. It was respectable, the sort of place where folks didn’t spend more than they had to but still wanted a clean bed. Mat would’ve bet his boots that locals came here for a drink when their wives were keeping a close eye on them.

But it wasn’t Mat’s kind of place either. No, the last inn would be harder to find, though he knew just where to look. It was tucked away three streets back, in the far west corner of the village. No sign swung over the door, just a rough wooden board carved with the image of a drunken horse in one of the windows. None of those windows had glass, and Mat could already hear the laughter and chatter spilling from inside.

Mat dismounted, tying Pips to a post outside, and flashed a grin at Talmanes. “They probably water the drinks.” Talmanes grunted.

“Then we’ll just order twice as many,” Mat replied, stuffing a few bags of coin into his coat as he motioned for the soldiers to stay with the horses.

“All right,” Talmanes said, though he sighed in resignation. “But when we reach Four Kings, I’m dragging you to a proper tavern. You’ll need the experience, Mat. You’re a prince now, after all.”

Mat waved him off and stepped toward the door. Bloody prince, indeed. He took a breath and entered the tavern.

Inside, men crowded around the tables, their cloaks hanging from pegs or slung over chairs. The air was thick with the smell of ale and sweat, the hum of low voices filling the room. Most of the men wore patched clothing, once fine, now worn and mended with care. Odd, for a village that seemed well-off. They had sheep, after all, which should mean plenty of wool.

Mat pushed the thought aside. This wasn’t the time to start worrying over village economics. He spotted a dice game going at a nearby table. A familiar sight. The game was Cat’s Paw, at least that’s what they’d called it when Mat had first learned. The name changed depending on where you played. Perfect for his purposes. He tossed a gold coin to the barmaid, flashing a smile as he did. That got the attention of the room, and Talmanes hissed under his breath.

“What are you doing?” Talmanes leaned in, his voice a harsh whisper. “Do you want to get us killed?”

Mat just smiled. Let the dice roll where they may.

Mat took a deep breath, pulling his chair over to the table. He placed a gold crown in the center of the table, directly in the wet ring left by someone’s mug. The short fellow holding that mug, with his thinning mousy hair, nearly choked on his ale.

“Care if I make a throw?” Mat asked the men at the table, his tone casual as if this was nothing more than passing time on a lazy afternoon.

“I… don’t know if we can match that,” said a man with a short black beard, his voice hesitant but respectful as he tacked on, “M’lord.”

“My gold against your silver,” Mat said, his words laced with easy confidence. “I haven’t had a good game of dice in ages.”

Talmanes settled into his chair, eyeing Mat’s wager with a knowing look. He’d seen Mat work his magic at the dice many times, and no matter the stakes, Mat always seemed to walk away with more than he’d started. But tonight, Mat had something different in mind. He wasn’t here to walk away with a heavy purse of silver or gold, he was here for something much more valuable to the Band: supplies.

The men hesitantly laid down their silver coins, shuffling a little in their seats as Mat shook the dice. He tossed, and the dice clattered across the table, coming to a stop with a single pip showing on one and two on the other, an instant loss.

Talmanes blinked in surprise. The men around the table looked equally baffled, not sure if they should be pleased or worried about besting a lord so easily. Mat, unfazed, merely smiled.

“Well, look at that,” Mat said, rolling the gold crown to the center of the table for the men to split among themselves. “It’s yours.”

The men hesitated, eyes flicking between one another. A lord losing with such grace wasn’t what they expected, and it set them on edge. But Mat just slapped down two more gold crowns, this time drawing more eager hands to place bets. He threw again and lost, nearly sending Talmanes into a fit.

Leaning in, Talmanes whispered urgently, “Mat, maybe it’s time to stop. Everyone has an off night. Let’s finish our drinks and see what we can buy before night falls.”

But Mat wasn’t listening. He laid down more gold, this time smiling wider. “Don’t look so grim, Talmanes,” Mat said softly, lifting his mug to his lips. The watery ale wasn’t worth half what he paid, but that didn’t matter. “This is what I wanted.”

Talmanes raised an eyebrow, lowering his own mug. “How can losing be what you wanted?”

Mat only shrugged, his eyes on the growing crowd around the table. “I can lose when I want to,” he said, his voice just loud enough for Talmanes to hear. “Sometimes losing is the best way to win.”

Talmanes still looked unconvinced, but Mat just kept on losing. The gold from his pouch disappeared into the eager hands of the men around him, drawing more villagers into the tavern, eyes gleaming with the promise of more easy coin. The mood grew livelier, with each loss pulling more cheers from the crowd, and more bets piling up in anticipation of Mat’s next toss.

But Mat wasn’t here to line his pockets. He was here to loosen theirs. He won a few throws to keep things even, not wanting to raise suspicion with a streak of failures, but the losses were intentional. Bit by bit, his gold slipped away, as planned. The crowd grew, the room buzzing with excitement. The Tipsy Gelding was quickly becoming the center of the village.

At one point, during a break between throws, Talmanes leaned in again, voice low. “I don’t like this, Mat,” he said, glancing nervously at the gathering crowd. “There’s something off about these folk. I’ve been talking to them. They don’t seem to care about the world outside. Not about the Dragon Reborn, not about the Seanchan. Nothing.”

“They’re simple folk,” Mat replied, not taking his eyes off the table.

“Simple folk should worry more,” Talmanes said, his voice tight. “They’re caught between armies, yet all they do is drink and gamble. It’s as if they’re… too focused. Too eager for this.”

Mat glanced around, considering Talmanes’s words. He could see it now, the odd way the villagers clung to their revelry, as though nothing else mattered. Their eyes were too bright, too sharp. But instead of worry, Mat only smiled.

“Then they’re perfect,” Mat said, setting down more coins.

Talmanes grumbled something under his breath, but Mat didn’t hear it. He was watching the door as it swung open with a bang, and Mayor Barlden stepped in, followed by the burly men from before. They’d left their axes behind, but the hard looks on their faces hadn’t softened.

“Mat,” Talmanes began, but Mat raised a hand.

“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Mat said, his grin returning as he turned back to the dicing table. He still had enough coin for a few more throws, and so he tossed the dice again and lost, to the cheers of the crowd. Barlden watched closely, his arms folded, clearly torn between his rules and the sizeable pile of gold coins now overflowing the table. Cheers from the crowd as Mat lost another gold coin to that glittering pile. That much gold could ransom a king, well, or at least a minor Lord in most areas.

Mat reached into his pouch and found nothing but air. The men around him looked crestfallen, and one of them called for a round of drinks to “help the poor young lord forget about his bad luck.”

“Mat.” Talmanes hissed at his shoulder, worry painting his face, “Light man, let’s be off now!”

“Burn me, we’re staying,” He said, meeting Talmanes eyes. “I’ve never backed down from a bet before,” and groaned audibly as the dice in his head thundered to a stop with his statement. …and I don’t plan to now.

“I see it’s getting late,” he said, a deliberate hint of a slur to his words.

“Too late,” Barlden cut in, pushing his way through the press of onlookers. His face was tight with worry, a hint of desperation was unmistakable in his eyes. “You should be going, outlander, now, and don’t think I’ll ask these men to give back what you lost to them, either.”

“There’s time for one more toss,” Mat responded to the Mayor, who grimaced. Mat raised his voice, slurring his words just enough to seem hapless. Harmless. Helpless. “Bring in the chest!” he called.

Two of Mat’s soldiers, Harnan and Delarn, hurried in with the small wooden chest carreid betwee them, setting it on the dice table in front of Mat. The tavern buzzed in anticipation. Mat produced a simple key from a pocket inside his worn red coat, and unlocked the chest, revealing it to be full of gleaming gold inside, and the tavern was suddenly quiet, as the villagers gazed at the fortune in shock. Almost all that remains of my personal coin. Mat thought. Luck, don’t fail me now.

“Well?” he challeneged the room with a wolfish grin. “Who’s in?”

Coins clinked and chirs were knocked over as men rushed to place their bets against his gold. All manner of silver, coppers, trinkets and baubles. Even Barlden seemed transfixed, though he seemed to fidget nervously, growing more tense by the moment, as the evening shadows deepend outside the tavern doors and windows.

“That’s not nearly enough,” Mat said, shaking his head slowly. “If this is going to be the last throw, I want a chance to win something worthwhile.”

“It’s all we’ve got,” one of the men piped in defensively. The others in the rom murmering various forms of agreement, and the collective enthusiasm seemed to waver as shadows lengthened outside.

Mat snapped the chest shut with a resigned sigh. “No, that won’t do.” He paused, then looked up. “Unless… I’ll take barter. Keep your coins, but I’ll bet this chest for supplies. Food for my men, some ale, and a cart with a team to carry it on.”

“There isn’t time!” Barlden snapped, his voice almost a growl as he glanced at the rapidly fading light outside the window. The sunset was a blaze behind the clouds, streaks of orange and red casting long, anxious shadows.

“Surely there is,” Mat said, leaning forward, his voice low and persuasive. “I’ll leave right after the toss. You have my word on it.”

“We don’t bend rules here,” the mayor said through gritted teeth, though his gaze kept straying to the chest of gold, the temptation clear despite his protest. “The price is too high.”

Mat’s grin faltered for just a heartbeat. He had played his part well, losing intentionally to lure them into a final, desperate wager. If they turned him away now, it would be for nothing. He opened the chest again, the gold gleaming like the sunset outside, a last flash of light before night took over.

“I’ll give you the ale,” the innkeeper said suddenly, breaking the silence. “And Mardry’s got a wagon and team.”

“Yes,” Mardry said, his bluff face lighting up. “I’ll bet that.”

Villagers began shouting out offers, grain, potatoes, anything they could scrape together. The urgency in their voices mirrored the rising tension in the air, and the mayor’s anxiety deepened with every passing moment. All of them seemed to be racing the setting sun as the warm golden light of dusk gave way to the muted reds and purples of twilight. Mat locked eyes with Barlden. “We’ve still got a bit of daylight left,” Mat said, raising an eyebrow. “Let’s see what they can offer.”

Barlden hesitated, his stern expression wavering as his gaze flicked to the chest of gold. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he gave in. The villagers cheered, scattering as the mayor leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. “I know what you’re up to,” he said. The room was nearly empty now, the villagers hurrying off to collect their offerings.

Mat turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“I won’t have you cheating us with a miracle win at the end,” Barlden said, folding his arms, his gaze hard and unyielding. “You’ll use my dice. No tricks, no fancy tosses. You throw slow, so we can all see.”

“You’re welcome to search me,” Mat said, raising his hands innocently. No loaded dice here.

Barlden’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a clever scheme, dressing as a lord, loading dice to lose instead of win. I’ve never heard of a man bold enough to throw away gold to convince the others it’s real.”

“If you’re so sure I’m a cheat,” Mat said with a half-smile, “why go through with it?”

“Because I know how to stop you,” the mayor replied, his voice flat. “Like I said, you’ll use my dice. Better yet…” He paused, a sinister gleam lighting his eyes. “I’ll make the throw for you.” Talmanes groaned audibly. “Mat…”

Mat’s smile tightened, but he gave no other outward sign of unease. Would his luck hold if someone else, made the throw? “Go ahead,” he said, waving a hand. “Your throw, but it’s the same as if I had thrown, a winning throw means I take it all. Agreed?”

Barlden’s mouth twisted, clearly shocked that Mat hadn’t backed down. The look in his eyes said he was beginning to wonder if this upstart “lord” might be more than just bold, perhaps a bit mad. But after a moment, he nodded. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “Outside, the lot of you, and keep your distance. This may be a small village, but I know enough of the world, fast hands, and cutpurses to know your sort is likely to try some trick. You won’t get any chance to switch these dice.”

They all filed outside, Mat’s chest carried by his men, the last light of the setting sun barely clinging to the horizon. A chill hung in the air, sharper than before, creeping up on them like a shadow. The unease simmering among the villagers seemed to grow as more of them gathered, some now returning with armloads of goods and a small wagon hitched to a pair of sturdy ponies. Mat’s eyes drifted over them, marking their health; he’d inspect them closer later, but they looked decent enough. The villagers hurried to pile their offerings into the wagon, tripping over each other in their haste. The earlier excitement, the bubbling thrill at the prospect of fortune, had curdled into something else, something driven by fear.

Everything seemed rushed. The air crackled with tension, and Mat could feel it building, like a clock ticking toward some unseen deadline. Barlden’s fingers rattled the dice in his fist, his anxious energy barely hidden behind a mask of stern authority. There was desperation here, thick in the air, as if the village itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Barlden met Mat’s eyes one last time, then threw the dice. They clattered on the ground, louder than they should have been, like tiny thunderbolts cracking the silence. Mat crouched low to see the roll clearly, held his breath as they tumbled and came to rest, two fours, a winning throw.

Relief flooded Mat as he released a long breath, but the faces around him turned dark, a collective disappointment rolling through the gathered villagers. Barlden’s face hardened, and without a word, he turned on his heel. “Take your spoils and go,” he said, his voice tight, clipped. “Now. Leave this place and never return.”

Mat tipped his hat, giving the mayor a lazy salute. “Thank you kindly for the game,” he said with a grin. “We’ll just, “

“GO!” Barlden roared, his voice carrying down the streets, echoing off the walls of the buildings, the last sliver of the sun disappearing below the horizon. He hurried the villagers back toward the inn, slamming the door behind them, leaving Mat, Talmanes, and the soldiers standing alone somewhat stunned in the sudden stillness. Mat’s mouth hung open for a moment before he snapped it shut, slowly straightening as he listened.

The silence pressed in, thick and unnatural. There were no voices from inside the tavern, no clink of mugs, no grumbled complaints over the game. Not just the tavern, everything was quiet. The whole village seemed suddenly empty, and as still as a tomb. As if it had drawn a long breath and was holding it, waiting. Waiting for… for something big. Odd, that.

Straightening, Mat turned to Talmanes and shrugged. “Well, that’s that,” he said, his own voice echoing slightly in the stillness of the deserted street. “See? Nothing to worry about, “

And then the screams began.