The Great Hunt (69 page)

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?”

“Not men.” Renna chuckled. “All
sul’dam
are women. If a man put on this bracelet, most of the time it would be no different than if it were hanging on a peg on the wall.”

“And sometimes,” the blue-eyed
sul’dam
put in harshly, “you and he would both die screaming.” The woman had sharp features and a tight, thin-lipped mouth, and Egwene realized that anger was apparently her permanent expression. “From time to time the Empress plays with lords by linking them to a
damane.
It makes the lords sweat and entertains the Court of the Nine Moons. The lord never knows until it is done whether he will live or die, and neither does the
damane.
” Her laugh was vicious.

“Only the Empress can afford to waste
damane
in such a way, Alwhin,” Renna snapped, “and I do not mean to train this
damane
only to have her thrown away.”

“I have not seen any training at all so far, Renna. Only a great deal of chatter, as if you and this
damane
were girlhood friends.”

“Perhaps it is time to see what she can do,” Renna said, studying Egwene. “Do you have enough control yet to channel at that distance?” She pointed to a tall oak standing alone on a hilltop.

Egwene frowned at the tree, perhaps half a mile from the line followed by the soldiers and Suroth’s palanquin. She had never tried anything much beyond arm’s reach, but she thought it might be possible. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Try,” Renna told her. “Feel the tree. Feel the sap in the tree. I want you to make it all not only hot, but so hot that every drop of sap in every branch flashes to steam in an instant. Do it.”

Egwene was shocked to discover an urge to do as Renna commanded. She had not channeled, or even touched
saidar
, in two days; the desire to fill herself with the One Power made her shiver. “I”—in half a heartbeat she discarded “will not”; the weals that were not there still burned too sharply for her to be quite that foolish—“cannot,” she finished instead. “It is too far, and I’ve never done anything like that before.”

One of the
sul’dam
laughed raucously, and Alwhin said, “She never even tried.”

Renna shook her head almost sadly. “When one has been a
sul’dam
long enough,” she told Egwene, “one learns to tell many things about
damane
even without the bracelet, but with the bracelet one can always tell whether a
damane
has tried to channel. You must never lie to me, or to any
sul’dam
, not even by a hair.”

Suddenly the invisible switches were back, striking at her everywhere. Yelling, she tried to hit Renna, but the
sul’dam
casually knocked her fist away, and Egwene felt as if Renna had hit her arm with a stick. She dug her heels into Bela’s flanks, but the
sul’dam
’s grip on the leash nearly pulled her out of her saddle. Frantically she reached for
saidar
, meaning to hurt Renna enough to make her stop, just the kind of hurt she herself had been given. The
sul’dam
shook her head wryly; Egwene howled as her own skin was suddenly scalded. Not until she fled from
saidar
completely did the burn begin to fade, and the unseen blows never ceased or slowed. She tried to shout that she would try, if only Renna would stop, but all she could manage was to scream and writhe.

Dimly, she was aware of Min shouting angrily and trying to ride to her side, of Alwhin tearing Min’s reins from her hands, of another
sul’dam
speaking sharply to her
damane
, who looked at Min. And then Min was yelling, too, arms flapping as if trying to ward off blows or beat away stinging insects. In her own pain, Min’s seemed distant.

Their cries together were enough to make some of the soldiers twist in their saddles. After one look, they laughed and turned back. How
sul’dam
dealt with
damane
was no affair of theirs.

To Egwene it seemed to go on forever, but at last there was an end. She lay sprawled weakly across the cantle of her saddle, cheeks wet with tears, sobbing into Bela’s mane. The mare whickered uneasily.

“It is good that you have spirit,” Renna said calmly. “The best
damane
are those who have spirit to be shaped and molded.”

Egwene squeezed her eyes shut. She wished she could close her ears, too, to shut out Renna’s voice.
I have to get away. I have to, but how? Nynaeve, help me. Light, somebody help me.

“You will be one of the best,” Renna said in tones of satisfaction. Her hand stroked Egwene’s hair, a mistress soothing her dog.