“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.

Nynaeve leaned out of her saddle to peer around the screen of prickly leafed shrubs. Scattered trees met her eyes, some with leaves turning color. The expanses of grass and brush between seemed empty. Nothing moved that she could see except the thinning column of smoke, wavering in a breeze, from the leatherleaf.

That had been her work, the leatherleaf, and once the lightning called from a clear sky, and a few other things she had not thought to try until those two women tried them on her. She thought they must work together in some way, though she could not understand their relation to each other, apparently leashed as they were. One wore a collar, but the other was chained as surely as she. What Nynaeve was sure of was that one or both were Aes Sedai. She had never had a clear enough sight of them to see the glow of channeling, but it had to be.

I’ll certainly take pleasure in telling Sheriam about them, she thought dryly. Aes Sedai don’t use the Power as a weapon, do they?

She certainly had. She had at least knocked the two women down with that lightning strike, and she had seen one of the soldiers, or his body rather, burn from the ball of fire she made and hurled at them. But she had not seen any of the strangers at all in some time now.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, and it was not all from exertion. Her contact with saidar was gone, and she could not bring it back. In that first fury of knowing that Liandrin had betrayed them, saidar had been there almost before she knew it, the One Power flooding her. It had seemed she could do anything. And as long as they had chased her, rage at being hunted like an animal had fueled her. Now the chase had vanished. The longer she had gone without seeing an enemy at whom she could strike, the more she had begun to worry that they might be sneaking up on her somehow, and the more she had had time to worry about what was happening to Egwene, and Elayne, and Min. Now she was forced to admit that what she felt most was fear. Fear for them, fear for herself. It was anger she needed.

Something stirred behind a tree.

Her breath caught, and she fumbled for saidar, but all the exercises Sheriam and the others had taught her, all the blossoms unfolding in her mind, all the imagined streams that she held like riverbanks, did no good. She could feel it, sense the Source, but she could not touch it.

Elayne stepped from behind the tree in a wary crouch, and Nynaeve sagged with relief. The Daughter-Heir’s dress was dirty and torn, her golden hair was a tangle of snarls and leaves, and her searching eyes were as wide as those of a frightened fawn, but she held her short-bladed dagger in a steady hand. Nynaeve picked up her reins and rode into the open.

Elayne gave a convulsive jump, then her hand went to her throat and she drew a deep breath. Nynaeve dismounted, and the two women hugged, taking comfort in having found each other.

“For a moment,” Elayne said as they finally stepped apart, “I thought you were. . . . Do you know where they are? There were two men following me. Another few minutes and they would have caught me, but a horn sounded and they turned their horses and galloped off. They could see me, Nynaeve, and they just left.”

“I heard it, too, and I haven’t seen any of them since. Have you seen Egwene, or Min?”

Elayne shook her head, slumping to sit on the ground. “Not since. . . . That man hit Min, knocked her down. And one of those women was trying to put something around Egwene’s neck. I saw that much before I ran. I don’t think they got away, Nynaeve. I should have done something. Min cut the hand that was holding me, and Egwene. . . . I just ran, Nynaeve. I realized I was free, and I ran. Mother had better marry Gareth Bryne and have another daughter as soon as she can. I am not fit to take the throne.”

“Don’t be a goose,” Nynaeve said sharply. “Remember, I have a packet of sheepstongue root among my herbs.” Elayne had her head in her hands; the gibe did not even produce a murmur. “Listen to me, girl. Did you see me stay to fight twenty or thirty armed men, not to mention the Aes Sedai? If you had waited, the most li

kely thing by far is that you would be a prisoner, too. If they didn’t just kill you. They seemed to be interested in Egwene and me for some reason. They might not have cared whether you remained alive or not.” Why are they interested in Egwene and me? Why us in particular? Why did Liandrin do this? Why? She had no more answers now than she had had the first time she asked herself these questions.

“If I had died trying to help them—” Elayne began.

“—you’d be dead. And little good you’d be then, to yourself or them. Now get on your feet and brush off your dress.” Nynaeve rummaged in her saddlebags for a hairbrush. “And fix your hair.”

Elayne got up slowly, and took the brush with a small laugh. “You sound like Lini, my old nurse.” She began to run the brush through her hair, wincing as tangles pulled. “But how are we going to help them, Nynaeve? You may be as strong as a full sister when you are angry, but they have women who can channel, too. I cannot think they’re Aes Sedai, but they might as well be. We do not even know in which direction they took them.”

“West,” Nynaeve said. “That creature Suroth mentioned Falme, and that’s as far west on Toman Head as you can go. We will go to Falme. I hope Liandrin is there. I will make her curse the day her mother laid eyes on her father. But first I think we had better find some clothes of the country. I’ve seen Taraboner and Domani women in the Tower, and what they wear is nothing like what we have on. We would stand out in Falme as strangers.”

“I would not mind a Domani dress—though Mother would surely have a fit if she ever found out I’d worn one, and Lini would never let me hear the end of it—but even if we find a village, can we afford new dresses? I have no idea how much money you have, but I have only ten gold marks and perhaps twice that in silver. That will keep us two or three weeks, but I don’t know what we will do after that.”

“A few months as a novice in Tar Valon,” Nynaeve said, laughing, “has not stopped you thinking like the heir to a throne. I don’t have a tenth what you do, but altogether it will keep us two or three months, in comfort. Longer, if we are careful. I have no intention of buying us dresses, and they won’t be new in any case. My gray silk dress will do us some good, with all those pearls and that gold thread. If I can’t find a woman who will trade us each two or three sturdy changes for that, I will give you this ring, and I will be the novice.” She swung up into her saddle and reached a hand down to pull Elayne up behind her.

“What are we going to do when we reach Falme?” Elayne asked as she settled on the mare’s rump.

“I won’t know that until we are there.” Nynaeve paused, letting the horse stand. “Are you sure you want to do this? It will be dangerous.”

“More dangerous than it is for Egwene and Min? They would come after us if our circumstances were reversed; I know they would. Are we going to stay here all day?” Elayne dug her heels in, and the mare started off.

Nynaeve turned the horse until the sun, still short of its noonday crest, shone at their backs. “We are going to have to be cautious. The Aes Sedai we know can recognize a woman who can channel just by being within arm’s length of her. These Aes Sedai may be able to pick us out of a crowd if they are looking for us, and we had better assume they are.” They were certainly looking for Egwene and me. But why?

“Yes, cautious. You were right before, too. We will not do them any good letting ourselves be caught as well.” Elayne was silent for a moment. “Do you think it was all lies, Nynaeve? What Liandrin told us about Rand being in danger? And the others? Aes Sedai do not lie.”

It was Nynaeve’s turn to be silent, remembering Sheriam telling her of the oaths a woman took on being raised to full sisterhood, oaths spoken holding a ter’angreal that bound her to keep them. To speak no word that is not true. That was one, but everyone knew that the truth an Aes Sedai said might not be the truth you thought you heard. “I expect Rand is warming his feet in front of Lord Agelmar’s fire in Fal Dara this minute,” she said. I can’t worry about him, now. I have to think about Egwene and Min.

“I suppose he is,” Elayne said with a sigh. She shifted behind the saddle. “If it is very far to Falme, Nynaeve, I expect to ride in the saddle half the time. This is not a very comfortable seat. We will never reach Falme at all if you let this horse set her own pace the whole way.”

Nynaeve booted the mare to a quick trot, and Elayne yelped and caught at her cloak. Nynaeve told herself that she would take a turn riding behind and not complain if Elayne put the horse to a gallop, but for the most part she ignored the gasps of the woman bouncing behind her. She was too busy hoping that by the time they reached Falme, she could stop being afraid and start being angry.

The breeze freshened, cool and brisk with a hint of cold yet to come.

CHAPTER

41

Disagreements

Thunder rumbled across the slate-dark afternoon sky. Rand pulled the hood of his cloak further up, hoping to keep at least some of the cold rain off. Red stepped through muddy puddles doggedly. The hood hung sodden around Rand’s head, as the rest of the cloak did around his shoulders, and his fine black coat was just as wet, and as cold. The temperature would not have far to drop before snow or sleet came down instead of rain. Snow would fall soon, again; the people in the village they had passed through said two snows had already come this year. Shivering, Rand almost wished it was snowing. Then, at least, he would not be soaked to the skin.

The column plodded along, keeping a wary eye on the rolling country. Ingtar’s Gray Owl hung heavily even when the wind gusted. Hurin sometimes pulled his cowl back to sniff the air; he said neither rain nor cold had any effect on a trail, certainly not on the kind of trail he was seeking, but so far the sniffer had found nothing. Behind him, Rand heard Uno mutter a curse. Loial kept checking his saddlebags; he did not seem to mind getting wet himself, but he worried continually about his books. Everyone was miserable except for Verin, who appeared too lost in thought to even notice that her hood had slid back, exposing her face to the rain.

“Can’t you do something about this?” Rand demanded of her. A small voice in the back of his head told him he could do it himself. All he need do was embrace saidin. So sweet, the call of saidin. To be filled with the One Power, to be one with the storm. Turn the skies to sunlight, or ride the storm as it raged, whip it to fury and scour Toman Head clean from the sea to the plain. Embrace saidin. He suppressed the longing ruthlessly.

The Aes Sedai gave a start. “What? Oh. I suppose. A little. I couldn’t stop a storm this big, not by myself—it covers too much area—but I could lessen it some. Where we are, at least.” She wiped rain from her face, seemed to realize for the first time that her hood had slipped, and pulled it back up absently.

“Then why don’t you?” Mat said. The shivering face peering out from under his hood looked at death’s door, but his voice was vigorous.

“Because if I used that much of the One Power, any Aes Sedai closer than ten miles would know someone had channeled. We don’t want to bring these Seanchan down on us with some of their damane.” Her mouth tightened angrily.

They had learned a little of the invaders in that village, called Atuan’s Mill, though most of what they had heard hatched more questions than it answered. The people had babbled one moment and clamped their mouths shut the next, trembling and looking over their shoulders. They all shook with fear that the Seanchan would return with their monsters and their damane. That women who should have been Aes Sedai were instead leashed like animals frightened the villagers even more than the strange creatures the Seanchan commanded, things the folk of Atuan’s Mill could only describe in whispers as coming from nightmares. And worst of all, the examples the Seanchan had made before leaving still chilled the people to their marrow. They had buried their dead, but they feared to clean away the large charred patch in the village square. None of them would say what had happened there, but Hurin had vomited as soon as they entered the village, and he would not go near the blackened ground.

Atuan’s Mill had been half deserted. Some had fled to Falme, thinking the Seanchan would not be so harsh in a town they held fast, and others had gone east. More had said they were thinking of it. There was fighting on Almoth Plain, Taraboners battling Domani it was said, but such houses and barns as were burned there were kindled by torches in the hands of men. Even a war was easier to face than what the Seanchan had done, what they might do.

“Why did Fain bring the Horn here?” Perrin muttered. The question had been asked by each of them at one time or another, and no one had an answer. “There’s war, and these Seanchan, and their monsters. Why here?”

Ingtar turned in his saddle to look back at them. His face appeared almost as haggard as Mat’s. “There are always men who see chances for their own advantage in the confusion of war. Fain is one like that. No doubt he thinks to steal the Horn again, from the Dark One this time, and use it for his own profit.”

“The Father of Lies never lays simple plans,” Verin said. “It may be that he wants Fain to bring the Horn here for some reason known only in Shayol Ghul.”

“Monsters,” Mat snorted. His cheeks were sunken, now, his eyes hollow. That he sounded healthy only made it worse. “They saw some Trollocs, or a Fade, if you ask me. Well, why not? If the Seanchan have Aes Sedai fighting for them, why not Fades and Trollocs?” He caught Verin staring at him and flinched. “Well, they are, on leashes or not. They can channel, and that makes them Aes Sedai.” He glanced at Rand and gave a ragged laugh. “That makes you Aes Sedai, the Light help us all.”

Masema came galloping from ahead, through the mud and the steady rain. “There is another village ahead, my Lord,” he said as he pulled in beside Ingtar. His eyes only swept past Rand, but they tightened, and he did not look at Rand again. “It’s empty, my Lord. No villagers, no Seanchan, nobody at all. The houses all look sound, though, except for two or three that . . . well, they aren’t there anymore, my Lord.”