So what happened to them? Mat demanded. Moiraine looked around the room with only a slight tightening of her mouth for the charnel. Gold marks glittered up at him in the lamplight, every one of them bearing the damning Flame of Tar Valon. Men rode forward gingerly with knives; even for battle-hardened Shienarans it was no easy task, cutting down the flayed corpses of men they knew.
Mat licked his lips and swallowed; his grip shifted uneasily on the dagger. It is not real. It felt as if a large man had struck her in the face. Laughter, scorn, an accusation of being a Darkfriend, of being mad.
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