“Aes Sedai begin as novices, then become Accepted, then finally full Aes Sedai. You will have degrees, too, but not like theirs. There will be no putting out or sending away among us.” Send away? Light, he would do everything short of tying them hand and foot to stop anyone who wanted to go if he could channel at all. “When a man first comes to the Black Tower . . .” He did not like that name. “. . . he will be called a soldier, because that is what he becomes when he joins us, what you all became, a soldier to fight the Shadow, and not just the Shadow, but anyone who opposes justice or oppresses the weak. When a soldier reaches a certain stage in his skills, he will be called Dedicated, and wear this.” From the bag he took one of the badges the silversmith had made, a small gleaming silver sword, perfect with its long hilt and slanting quillons and slightly curved blade. “Taim.”

Taim walked to the block stiffly, and Rand bent to pin the silver sword to the tall collar of his coat. It seemed to shine even more brightly against the pitch-black wool. Taim’s face had as much expression as the stone beneath Rand’s boots. Rand handed him the bag, whispering, “Give these to whoever you think is ready. Just be sure they are.”

Straightening, he hoped there were enough; he really had not expected anywhere near so many men. “Dedicated who advance their skill far enough will be called Asha’man, and they will wear this.” Taking out the small velvet bag, he held up what it contained. Sunlight sparkled on finely crafted gold and rich red enamel. A sinuous form exactly like the one on the Dragon banner. That went onto Taim’s collar too, on the other side, so sword and Dragon shone at the sides of his throat. “I suppose I was the first Asha’man,” Rand told the students, “but Mazrim Taim is the second.” Taim’s face made stone look soft; what was wrong with the man? “I hope that all of you will become Asha’man eventually, but whether you do or not, remember that all of us are soldiers. There are many battles ahead, maybe not always the ones we expect, and at the end, the Last Battle. The Light send it is the last. If the Light shines on us, we will win. We will win because we must win.”

There should have been some sort of cheer when he stopped. He did not take himself for the sort of speaker who could make men jump and shout, but these men knew why they were here. Telling them they would win should have produced something, however feeble. There was only silence.