“I am not a lord,” he broke in again, and now he was angry. He leaned toward the woman, spittle on his lips, and though her face did not change, her hands twitched as if they wanted to clutch her dress. “There is no lord but the Lord Dragon, in whom the Light dwells, and I am but one humble voice of the Lord Dragon. Remember that! High or low, blasphemers earn the scourge!”
“Forgive me,” the begemmed woman murmured, spreading her skirts in a curtsy fit for a queen's court. “It is as you say, of course. There is no lord save the Lord Dragon, and I am but a humble follower of the Lord Dragon — blessed be the name of the Lord Dragon — who comes to hear the wisdom and guidance of the Prophet.”
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Masema was suddenly cold. “You wear too much gold. Do not let earthly possession seduce you. Gold is dross. The Lord Dragon is all.”
Immediately she began plucking rings from her fingers, and before the second was off, the weedy fellow scurried to her side, pulling a pouch from his coat pocket and holding it for her to drop them in. The bracelet and necklace followed as well.
Nynaeve looked at Uno and raised an eyebrow.
“Every penny goes to the poor,” he told her in a low voice that barely reached her ear, “or somebody who needs it. If some merchant hadn't bloody given him her house, he'd be in a bloody stable, or one of those huts outside the city.”
“Even his food comes as a gift,” Ragan said just as quietly. “They used to bring him dishes fit for a king, until they learned he just gave away everything but a little bread, and soup or stew. He hardly drinks wine, now.”
Nynaeve shook her head. She supposed it was one way to find money for the poor. Simply rob anyone who was not poor. Of course, that would just make everyone poor in the end, but it might work for a time. She wondered if Uno and Ragan knew the whole of it. People who claimed they were collecting money to help others often had a way of letting a good bit stick in their own pockets, or else they liked the power that spreading it about gave them, liked it far too much. She had better feeling for the man who freely gave one copper from his own purse than for the fellow who wrested a gold crown from someone else's. And less for fools who abandoned their farms and shops to follow this... this Prophet, with no idea where their next meal would come from.
Inside the room, the woman curtsied to Masema even more deeply than before, spreading her skirts wide and bowing her head. “Until I once again have the honor of the Prophet's words and counsel. The name of the Lord Dragon be blessed in the Light.”
Masema waved her away absently, already half forgotten. He had seen them in the hall, and was looking at them with as close to pleasure as his dour face could come. It was not very close. The woman swept out, not even appearing to see Nynaeve or the two men. Nynaeve sniffed as the weedy fellow in the red coat waved anxiously for them to come in. For someone who had just given up her jewelry on demand, that woman managed a fine queenly air.
The skinny man scampered back to his place by the door as the other three men shook hands in the Borderlands fashion, gripping forearms.
“Peace favor your sword,” Uno said, echoed by Ragan.
“Peace favor the Lord Dragon” was the reply, “and his Light illumine us all.” Nynaeve's breath caught. There was no doubt to his meaning; the Lord Dragon was the source of the Light. And he had the nerve to speak of blasphemy from others! “Have you come to the Light at last?”
“We walk in the Light,” Ragan said carefully. “As always.” Uno kept silent, his face blank.
Weary patience made an odd play on Masema's sour features. “There is no way to the Light save through the Lord Dragon. You will see the way and the truth in the end, for you have seen the Lord Dragon, and only those whose souls are swallowed in the Shadow can see and not believe. You are not such. You will believe.”
In spite of the heat and the wool shawl, goose bumps crawled along Nynaeve's arms. Total conviction filled the man's voice, and this close she could see a glint in his nearly black eyes that bordered on madness. He swept those eyes over her, and she stiffened her knees. He made the most rabid Whitecloak she had ever seen appear mild. Those fellows in the alley were only a pale imitation of their master.
“You, woman. Are you ready to come to the Light of the Lord Dragon, abandoning sin and flesh?”
“I walk in the Light as best I can.” She was irritated to find herself speaking as carefully as Ragan. Sin? Who did he think he was?
“You are too concerned with the flesh.” Masema's gaze was withering as it swept over her red dress and the shawl wrapped tightly around her.
“And what do you mean by that?” Uno's eye widened in startlement, and Ragan made small shushing motions, yet she could as soon have flown as stopped. “Do you think you have a right to tell me how to dress?” Before she quite realized what she was doing, she had untied the shawl and looped it over her elbows; it really was much too hot, anyway. “No man has that right, for me or any other woman! If I chose to go naked, it would be none of your concern!”
Masema contemplated her bosom for a moment — not so much as a hint of admiration lit his deep eyes, only acid contempt — then raised that stare to her face. Uno's real eye and painted made a perfect match, scowling at nothing, and Ragan winced, surely muttering to himself inside his head.
Nynaeve swallowed hard. So much for guarding her tongue. For perhaps the first time in her life, she truly regretted speaking her mind without thinking first. If this man could order men's hands cut off, order men hung, with only a jackfool excuse of a trial, what was he not capable of? She thought she was angry enough to channel.
But if she did... If Moghedien or any Black sisters were in Samara... But if I don't...! She wanted very much to wrap the shawl back around her, up to her chin. But not with him staring at her. Something in the back of her mind shouted at her not to be a complete woolhead — only men let pride overcome sense — but she met Masema's gaze defiantly, even if she did have to stop herself from swallowing again.
His lip curled. “Such garments are worn to entice men, and for no other reason.” She could not understand how his voice could be so fervent and so icy at the, same time. “Thoughts of the flesh distract the mind from the Lord Dragon and the Light. I have considered banning dresses that distract men's eyes, and minds. Let women who would waste time in attracting men, and men who would attract women, be scourged until they know that only in perfect contemplation of the Lord Dragon and the Light can joy be found.” He was not really looking at her any longer. That dark burning stare looked through her, to something distant. “Let taverns, and places that sell strong drink, and all places that would take the minds of people from that perfect contemplation, be closed and burned to the ground. I frequented such places in my days of sin, but now I heartily regret, as all should regret their transgressions. There is only the Lord Dragon and the Light! All else is illusion, a snare