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As if his wish had been a signal, Uno spoke up with quiet urgency. "Bloody horsemen coming, my Lord." Scabbards rattled as men who did not already have their blades out bared them. Some leaped into their saddles, snatching up lances. The tension faded as Hurin led the others into the clearing at a trot, and came again as he spoke. "We found the trail, Lord Ingtar." "We followed it almost to Falme," Mat said as he dismounted. A flush in his pale cheeks seemed a mocking of health; the skin was tight over his skull. The Shienarans gathered around, as excited as he was. "It's just Fain, but there isn't anywhere else he could be going. He must have the dagger." "We found Whitecloaks, too," Perrin said, swinging down from his saddle. "Hundreds of them." "Whitecloaks?" Ingtar exclaimed, frowning. "Here? Well, if they do not trouble us, we will not trouble them. Perhaps if the Seanchan are occupied with them, it will help us reach the Horn." His eyes fell on Verin, still seated by the fire. "I suppose you will tell me I should have listened to you, Aes Sedai. The man did go to Falme." "The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," Verin said placidly. "With ta'veren, what happens is what was meant to happen. It may be the Pattern demanded these extra days. The Pattern puts everything in its place precisely, and when we try to alter it, especially if ta'veren are involved, the weaving changes to put us back into the Pattern as we were meant to be." There was an uneasy silence that she did not seem to notice; she sketched on idly with the stick. "Now, however, I think perhaps we should make plans. The Pattern has brought us to Falme at last. The Horn of Valere has been taken to Falme." Ingtar squatted across the fire from her. "When enough people say the same thing, I tend to believe it, and the local people say the Seanchan do not seem to care who comes or goes in Falme. I will take Hurin and a few others into the town. Once he follows Fain's trail to the Horn . . . well, then we shall see what we shall see." With her foot, Verin scrubbed out a wheel she had drawn in the dirt. In its place she drew two short lines that touched at one end. "Ingtar and Hurin. And Mat, as he can sense the dagger if he comes close enough. You do want to go, don't you, Mat?" Mat appeared torn, but he gave a jerky nod. "I have to, don't I? I have to find that dagger." A third line made a bird track. Verin looked sideways at Rand.