Abruptly, the pain was gone as if it had never been; only the memory remained. Suroth's blue velvet slippers, dirtstained 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 it 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, darkhaired 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 blueeyed 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 blueeyed 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