There it was again. Rand looked at the students. A sweating, pale-haired youth with blue eyes was having a hard time moving a stone into place. He kept losing saidin, and the rock moved by small leaps across the ground. In a few hours the wagon would be coming out from the Palace with the applicants who had arrived since midday yesterday. Four this time. Some days it was only three, or two, though the numbers had been increasing generally. Eighteen since he brought Taim out here seven days ago, and only three of them could learn to channel. Taim insisted that was a remarkable number considering that they simply walked into Caemlyn looking for the opportunity. He had also pointed out more than once that at this rate, they could match the Tower in six years or so. Rand needed no reminders that he did not have six years. And he did not have time to let them train more slowly.

“How would you do it?”

“Using gateways,” Taim had picked that up right away; he was very quick with everything Rand showed him. “I can visit two or even three villages a day. Villages will be easier in the beginning than even small towns. I’ll leave Flinn to watch the lessons—he’s the furthest along, despite what you saw—and take Grady or Hopwil or Morr. You’ll have to supply some decent horses. The nag that pulls our cart won’t do.”

“What do you intend, though? Just ride in and announce that you’re looking for men who want to channel? You’ll be lucky if the villagers don’t try to hang you.”