Rand jumped down from the stone block, and Taim snapped, “Disperse to lessons and chores.” The students—the soldiers—went their ways almost as silently as they had stood, with only a murmur of quiet words. Taim motioned toward the farmhouse. He was holding the bag of sword pins so tightly it was a wonder none of them stabbed him through the cloth. “If my Lord Dragon has time for a cup of wine?”

Rand nodded; he wanted to get to the bottom of this before returning to the Palace.

The front room of the farmhouse was just what might be expected, a bare floor swept spotless, mismatched ladder-back chairs arranged in front of a red brick fireplace so clean it seemed impossible it had ever held a fire. A white cloth edged with embroidered flowers covered a small table. Sora Grady entered silently and set a wooden tray atop the cloth, with a bright blue pitcher of wine and two white-glazed mugs. Rand had thought her gaze would not hurt after all this time, but the accusation in her eyes made him glad when she left. She had been sweating, he realized. Taim tossed the bag onto the tray and emptied a mug straight away.

“Don’t you teach the women that trick of concentrating?” Rand asked. “It’s cruel to make them sweat when their men don’t.”

“Most want no part of it,” Taim said curtly. “Their husbands and sweethearts try to teach them, but most refuse even to listen. It might have to do with saidin, you see.”

Rand peered into his mug at the dark wine. He had to feel his way here. No blowing up just because irritation prickled. “I’m pleased to see the recruiting going so well. You said you’d match the Tower . . . the White Tower . . .” White Tower; Black Tower. What would the stories make of that? If there were any. “. . . in less than a year, and if you keep on at this rate, you will. I don’t see how you find so many.”

“Sift enough sand,” Taim said stiffly, “and you will find a few grains of gold eventually. I leave that to others now, except for a trip or two. Damer, Grady, there are a dozen men I can trust alone for a day; they have enough years not to do anything stupid, and there are enough younger men with the strength to make a gateway, if not much more, to accompany the older who don’t. You will have your thousand before the year. What of those I send on to Caemlyn? Have you made an army of them yet? You have your thousand there, and times over.”