Cloak flapping like a sail, Egwene braced against the wind and tugged at what felt like a collar of smooth metal. It would not budge; under her frantic fingers, it felt all of one piece, though she knew it had to have some kind of clasp. The silvery coils the woman had carried now trailed over Egwene’s shoulder, their other end joining a bright bracelet on the woman’s left wrist. Balling her fist tightly, Egwene hit the woman as hard as she could, right in her eye—and staggered and fell to her knees herself, head ringing. It felt as if a large man had struck her in the face.
When she could see straight once more, the wind had died. A number of horses wandered loose, Bela and Elayne’s mare among them, and some of the soldiers were cursing and picking themselves up off the ground. Liandrin was calmly brushing dust and leaves from her dress. Min knelt, supporting herself with her hands, groggily trying to rise further. The hook-nosed man stood over her, his hand dripping blood. Min’s knife lay just out of her reach, the blade stained red along one side. Nynaeve and Elayne were nowhere to be seen, and Nynaeve’s mare was gone, too. So were some of the soldiers, and one of the pairs of women. The other two were still there, and Egwene could see now that they were linked by a silver cord just like the one that still joined her to the woman standing over her.
That woman was rubbing her cheek as she squatted beside Egwene; there was a bruise already coming up around her left eye. With long, dark hair and big brown eyes, she was pretty, and perhaps as much as ten years older than Nynaeve. “Your first lesson,” she said emphatically. There was no animosity in her voice, but what almost sounded like friendliness. “I will not punish you further this time, since I should have been on guard with a newly caught damane. Know this. You are a damane, a Leashed One, and I am a sul’dam, a Holder of the Leash. When damane and sul’dam are joined, whatever hurt the sul’dam feels, the damane feels twice over. Even to death. So you must remember that you may never strike at a sul’dam in any way, and you must protect your sul’dam even more than yourself. I am Renna. How are you called?”
“I am not . . . what you said,” Egwene muttered. She pulled at the collar again; it gave no more than before. She thought of knocking the woman down and trying to pry the bracelet from her wrist, but rejected it. Even if the soldiers did not try to stop her—and so far they seemed to be ignoring her and Renna altogether—she had the sinking feeling the woman was telling the truth. Touching her left eye brought a wince; it did not feel puffy, so perhaps she was not actually growing a bruise to match Renna’s, but it still hurt. Her left eye, and Renna’s left eye. She raised her voice. “Liandrin Sedai? Why are you letting them do this?” Liandrin dusted her hands together, never looking in her direction.
“The very first thing you must learn,” Renna said, “is to do exactly as you are told, and without delay.”
Egwene gasped. Suddenly her skin burned and prickled as if she had rolled in stinging nettles, from the soles of her feet to her scalp. She tossed her head as the burning sensation increased.
“Many sul’dam,” Renna went on in that almost friendly tone, “do not believe damane should be allowed names, or at least only names they are given. But I am the one who took you, so I will be in charge of your training, and I will allow you to keep your own name. If you do not displease me too far. I am mildly upset with you now. Do you really wish to keep on until I am angry?”
Quivering, Egwene gritted her teeth. Her nails dug into her palms with the effort of not scratching wildly. Idiot! It’s only your name. “Egwene,” she managed to get out. “I am Egwene al’Vere.” Instantly the burning itch was gone. She let out a long, unsteady breath.
“Egwene,” Renna said. “That is a good name.” And to Egwene’s horror, Renna patted her on the head as she would a dog.
That, she realized, was what she had detected in the woman’s voice—a certain good will for a dog in training, not quite the friendliness one might have toward another human being.
Renna chuckled. “Now you are even angrier. If you intend to strike at me again, remember to make it a small blow, for you will feel it twice as hard as I. Do not attempt to channel; that you will never do without my express command.”
Egwene’s eye throbbed. She pushed herself to her feet and tried to ignore Renna, as much as it was possible to ignore someone who held a leash fastened to a collar around your neck. Her cheeks burned when the other woman chuckled again. She wanted to go to Min, but the amount of leash Renna had let out would not reach that far. She called softly, “Min, are you all right?”
Sitting slowly back on her heels, Min nodded, then put a hand to her head as if she wished she had not moved it.
Jagged lightning crackled across the clear sky, then struck among the trees some distance off. Egwene jumped, and suddenly smiled. Nynaeve was still free, and Elayne. If anyone could free her and Min, Nynaeve could. Her smile faded into a glare for Liandrin. For whatever the reason the Aes Sedai had betrayed them, there would be a reckoning. Someday. Somehow. The glare did no good; Liandrin did not look away from the palanquin.
The bare-chested men knelt, lowering the palanquin to the ground, and Suroth stepped down, carefully arranging her robe, then picked her way to Liandrin on soft-slippered feet. The two women were much of a size. Brown eyes stared levelly into black.
“You were to bring me two,” Suroth said. “Instead, I have only one, while two run loose, one of them more powerful by far than I had been led to believe. She will attract every patrol of ours within two leagues.”
“I brought you three,” Liandrin said calmly. “If you cannot manage to hold them, perhaps our master should find another among you to serve him. You take fright at trifles. If patrols come, kill them.”
Lightning flashed again in the near distance, and moments later something roared like thunder not far from where it struck; a cloud of dust rose into the air. Neither Liandrin nor Suroth took any notice.
“I could still return to Falme with two new damane,” Suroth said. “It grieves me to allow an . . . Aes Sedai”—she twisted the words like a curse—“to walk free.”
Liandrin’s face did not change, but Egwene saw a nimbus abruptly glow around her.
“Beware, High Lady,” Renna called. “She stands ready!”
There was a stir among the soldiers, a reaching for swords and lances, but Suroth only steepled her hands, smiling at Liandrin over her long nails. “You will make no move against me, Liandrin. Our master would disapprove, as I am surely needed here more than you, and you fear him more than you fear being made damane.”
Liandrin smiled, though white spots marked her cheeks with anger. “And you, Suroth, fear him more than you fear me burning you to a cinder where you stand.”
“Just so. We both fear him. Yet even our master’s needs will change with time. All marath’damane will be leashed eventually. Perhaps I will be the one who places the collar around your lovely throat.”
“As you say, Suroth. Our master’s needs will change. I will remind you of it on the day when you kneel to me.”
A tall leatherleaf perhaps a mile away suddenly became a roaring torch.
“This grows tiresome,” Suroth said. “Elbar, recall them.” The hook-nosed man produced a horn no bigger than his fist; it made a hoarse, piercing cry.
“You must find the woman Nynaeve,” Liandrin said sharply. “Elayne is of no importance, but both the woman and this girl here must be taken with you on your ships when you sail.”
“I know very well what has been commanded, marath’damane, though I would give much to know why.”
“However much you were told, child,” Liandrin sneered, “that is how much you are allowed to know. Remember that you serve and obey. These two must be removed to the other side of the Aryth Ocean and kept there.”
Suroth sniffed. “I will not remain here to find this Nynaeve. My usefulness to our master will be at an end if Turak hands me over to the Seekers for Truth.” Liandrin opened her mouth angrily, but Suroth refused to allow her a word. “The woman
will not remain free for long. Neither of them will. When we sail again, we will take with us every woman on this miserable spit of land who can channel even slightly, leashed and collared. If you wish to remain and search for her, do so. Patrols will be here soon, thinking to engage the rabble that still hides in the countryside. Some patrols take damane with them, and they will not care what master you serve. Should you survive the encounter, the leash and collar will teach you a new life, and I do not believe our master will trouble to deliver one foolish enough to let herself be taken.”
“If either is allowed to remain here,” Liandrin said tightly, “our master will trouble himself with you, Suroth. Take them both, or pay the price.” She strode to the Waygate, clutching the reins of her mare. Soon it was closing behind her.
The soldiers who had gone after Nynaeve and Elayne came galloping back with the two women linked by leash, collar, and bracelet, the damane and the sul’dam riding side by side. Three men led horses with bodies across the saddles. Egwene felt a surge of hope when she realized the bodies all wore armor. They had not caught Nynaeve or Elayne, either one.
Min started to rise to her feet, but the hook-nosed man planted a boot between her shoulder blades and drove her to the ground. Gasping for breath, she twitched there weakly. “I beg permission to speak, High Lady,” he said. Suroth made a small motion with her hand, and he went on. “This peasant cut me, High Lady. If the High Lady has no use for her . . . ?” Suroth motioned slightly again, already turning away, and he reached over his shoulder for the hilt of his sword.
“No!” Egwene shouted. She heard Renna curse softly, and suddenly the burning itch covered her skin again, worse than before, but she did not stop. “Please! High Lady, please! She is my friend!” Pain such as she had never known wracked her through the burning. Every muscle knotted and cramped; she pitched on her face in the dirt, mewling, but she could still see Elbar’s heavy, curved blade come free of its sheath, see him raise it with both hands. “Please! Oh, Min!”
Abruptly, the pain was gone as if it had never been; only the memory remained. Suroth’s blue velvet slippers, dirt-stained now, appeared in front of her face, but it was at Elbar that she stared. He stood there with his sword over his head and all his weight on the foot on Min’s back . . . and he did not move.
“This peasant is your friend?” Suroth said.
Egwene started to rise, but at a surprised arching of Suroth’s eyebrow, she remained lying where she was and only raised her head. She had to save Min. If it means groveling. . . . She parted her lips and hoped her gritted teeth would pass for a smile. “Yes, High Lady.”
“And if I spare her, if I allow her to visit you occasionally, you will work hard and learn as you are taught?”
“I will, High Lady.” She would have promised much more to keep that sword from splitting Min’s skull. I’ll even keep it, she thought sourly, as long as I have to.
“Put the girl on her horse, Elbar,” Suroth said. “Tie her on, if she cannot sit her saddle. If this damane proves a disappointment, perhaps then I will let you have the head of the girl.” She was already moving toward her palanquin.
Renna pulled Egwene roughly to her feet and pushed her toward Bela, but Egwene had eyes only for Min. Elbar was no gentler with Min than Renna with her, but she thought Min was all right. At least Min shrugged off Elbar’s attempt to tie her across her saddle and climbed onto her gelding with only a little help.
The odd party started off, westward, with Suroth leading and Elbar slightly to the rear of her palanquin, but close enough to heed any summons immediately. Renna and Egwene rode at the back with Min, and the other sul’dam and damane, behind the soldiers. The woman who had apparently meant to collar Nynaeve fondled the coiled silver leash she still carried and looked angry. Sparse forest covered the rolling land, and the smoke of the burning leatherleaf was soon only a smudge in the sky behind them.
“You were honored,” Renna said after a time, “having the High Lady speak to you. Another time, I would let you wear a ribbon to mark the honor. But since you brought her attention on yourself. . . .”
Egwene cried out as a switch seemed to lash across her back, then another across her leg, her arm. From every direction they seemed to come; she knew there was nothing to block, but she could not help throwing her arms about as if to stop the blows. She bit her lip to stifle her moans, but tears still rolled down her cheeks. Bela whinnied and danced, but Renna’s grip on the silver leash kept her from carrying Egwene away. None of the soldiers even looked back.
“What are you doing to her?” Min shouted. “Egwene? Stop it!”
“You live on sufferance . . . Min, is it?” Renna said mildly. “Let this be a lesson for you as well. So long as you try to interfere, it will not stop.”
Min raised a fist, then let it fall. “I won’t interfere. Only, please, stop it. Egwene, I’m sorry.”
The unseen blows went on for a few moments more, as if to show Min her intervention had done nothing, then ceased, but Egwene could not stop shuddering. The pain did not go away this time. She pushed back the sleeve of her dress, thinking to see weals; her skin was unmarked, but the feel of them was still there. She swallowed. “It was not your fault, Min.” Bela tossed her head, eyes rolling, and Egwene patted the mare’s shaggy neck. “It wasn’t yours, either.”
“It was your fault, Egwene,” Renna said. She sounded so patient, dealing so kindly with someone who was too dense to see the right, that Egwene wanted to scream. “When a damane is punished, it is always her fault, even if she does not know why. A damane must anticipate what her sul’dam wants. But this time, you do know why. Damane are like furniture, or tools, always there ready to be used, but never pushing themselves forward for attention. Especially not for the attention of one of the Blood.”
Egwene bit her lip until she tasted blood. This is a nightmare. It can’t be real. Why did Liandrin do this? Why is this happening? “May . . . may I ask a question?”
“Of me, you may.” Renna smiled. “Many sul’dam will wear your bracelet over the years—there are always many more sul’dam than damane—and some would have your hide in strips if you took your eyes off the floor or opened your mouth without permission, but I see no reason not to let you speak, so long as you are careful in what you say.” One of the other sul’dam snorted loudly; she was linked to a pretty, dark-haired woman in her middle years who kept her eyes on her hands.
“Liandrin”—Egwene would not give her the honorific, not ever again—“and the High Lady spoke of a master they both serve.” The thought came into her head of a man with almost healed burns marring his face, and eyes and mouth that sometimes turned to fire, but even if he was only a figure in her dreams that seemed too horrible to contemplate. “Who is he? What does he want with me and—and Min?” She knew it was silly to avoid naming Nynaeve—she did not think any of these people would forget her just because her name was not mentioned, especially the blue-eyed sul’dam stroking her empty leash—but it was the only way she could think of fighting back at the moment.
“The affairs of the Blood,” Renna said, “are not for me to take notice of, and certainly not for you. The High Lady will tell me what she wishes me to know, and I will tell you what I wish you to know. Anything else that you hear or see must be to you as if it never was said, as if it never happened. This way lies safety, most especially for a damane. Damane are too valuable to be killed out of hand, but you might find yourself not only soundly punished, but absent a tongue to speak or hands to write. Damane can do what they must without these things.”
Egwene shivered, though the air was not very cold. Pulling her cloak up onto her shoulders, her hand brushed the leash, and she jerked at it fitfully. “This is a horrible thing. How can you do this to anyone? What diseased mind ever thought of it?”
The blue-eyed sul’dam with the empty leash growled, “This one could do without her tongue already, Renna.”
Renna only smiled patiently. “How is it horrible? Could
we allow anyone to run loose who can do what a damane can? Sometimes men are born who would be marath’damane if they were women—it is so here also, I have heard—and they must be killed, of course, but the women do not go mad. Better for them to become damane than make trouble contending for power. As for the mind that first thought of the a’dam, it was the mind of a woman who called herself Aes Sedai.”
Egwene knew incredulity must be painting her face, because Renna laughed openly. “When Luthair Paendrag Mondwin, son of the Hawkwing, first faced the Armies of the Night, he found many among them who called themselves Aes Sedai. They contended for power among themselves and used the One Power on the field of battle. One such, a woman named Deain, who thought she could do better serving the Emperor—he was not Emperor then, of course—since he had no Aes Sedai in his armies, came to him with a device she had made, the first a’dam, fastened to the neck of one of her sisters. Though that woman did not want to serve Luthair, the a’dam required her to serve. Deain made more a’dam, the first sul’dam were found, and women captured who called themselves Aes Sedai discovered that they were in fact only marath’damane, Those Who Must Be Leashed. It is said that when she herself was leashed, Deain’s screams shook the Towers of Midnight, but of course she, too, was a marath’damane, and marath’damane cannot be allowed to run free. Perhaps you will be one of those who has the ability to make a’dam. If so, you will be pampered, you may rest assured.”
Egwene looked yearningly at the countryside through which they rode. The land was beginning to rise in low hills, and the thin forest had dwindled to scattered thickets, but she was sure she could lose herself in them. “Am I supposed to look forward to being pampered like a pet dog?” she said bitterly. “A lifetime of being chained to men and women who think I am some kind of animal?”
The Great Hunt Page 65
