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ll； Narishma shifted； relaxing。
The refreshments arrived； then； borne by a stately procession following Boreane； a line of Illianers and Cairhienin and Tairens in their various liveries。 There was a servant bearing a silver tray and pitcher for each kind of wine； and two more with trays of silver mugs for hot punch and spiced wines and fine blown goblets for the others。 A pink…faced fellow in green…and…yellow carried a tray on which to do the pouring； and a dark woman in black…and…gold was there to actually handle the pitchers。 There were nuts and candied fruits； cheeses and olives； each sort requiring a serving man or woman。 Under Boreane's direction； they flowed in a formal dance； bowing； curtsying； one giving way to another as they made their offerings。
Accepting spiced wine； Rand hoisted himself onto the edge of the table and sat the steaming mug beside him untouched as he busied himself with the letter。 There was no address； no preamble of any kind。 Taim hated giving Rand any sort of title； though he tried to hide the fact。
I have the honor to report that twenty…nine Asha'man； ninety…seven Dedicated and three hundred twenty…two Soldiers are now enrolled at the Black Tower。 There have been a handful of deserters； unfortunately； whose names have been stricken； but losses in training remain acceptable。
I now have as many as fifty recruiting parties in the field at any given time； with the result that three or four men are added to the rolls almost every day。 In a few months； the Black Tower will equal the White； as I said it would。 In a year； Tar Valon will tremble at our numbers。
I harvested that blackberry bush myself。 A small bush； and thorny； but a surprising number of berries for the size。
Mazrim Taim
M'Hael
Rand grimaced； putting the。。。 the blackberry bush。。。 out of his mind。 What had to be done； had to be done。 The whole world paid a price for his existence。 He would die for it； but the whole world paid。
There were other things to grimace over； anyway。 Three or four new men a day？ Taim was optimistic。 In a few months； at that rate； there would be more men who could channel than Aes Sedai； true； but the newest sister had years of training behind her。 And part of that specifically taught how to deal with a man who could channel。 He did not want to contemplate any encounter between Asha'man and Aes Sedai who knew what they were facing； blood and regret could be the only oute； whatever happened。 The Asha'man were not aimed at the White Tower； though； no matter what Taim thought。 It was a convenient belief； however； if it made Tar Valon step warily。 An Asha'man only needed to know how to kill。 If there were enough to do that at the right place and time； if they lived long enough to； that was all they had been created for。
〃How many deserters； Torval？〃 he said quietly。 He picked up the wine mug and took a swallow； as if the answer were unimportant。 The wine should have been warming； but the ginger and sweet serrel and mace tasted bitter on his tongue。 〃How many losses in training？〃
Torval was recovering himself over the refreshments； rubbing his hands and arching an eyebrow at the choice of wines； making a great show of knowing the best； making a show of lording it。 Dashiva had accepted the first offered； and stood glowering into his twist…stemmed goblet as though it held swill。 Pointing to one of the trays； Torval cocked his head thoughtfully； but he had the words ready on his tongue。 〃Nineteen deserters； so far。 The M'Hael； he has ordered them killed whenever they are found； and their heads brought back for examples。〃 Plucking a bit of glazed pear from the proffered tray； he popped it into his mouth and smiled brightly。 〃Three heads hang like fruit on the Traitor's Tree at this moment。〃
〃Good；〃 Rand said levelly。 Men who ran now could not be trusted not to run later； when lives depended on them standing。 And these men could not be allowed to go their own way； those fellows back on the hills； if they escaped in a body； were less dangerous than one man trained in the Black Tower。 The Traitor's Tree？ Taim was a great one for naming things。 But men needed the trappings； the symbols and the names； the black coats and the pins； to help hold them together。 Until it was time to die。 〃The next time I visit the Black Tower； I want to see every deserter's head。〃
A second piece of candied pear； halfway to Torval's mouth； dropped from his fingers and streaked the front of his fine coat。 〃It might interfere with recruiting； making that sort of effort；〃 he said slowly。 〃The deserters； they do not announce themselves。〃
Rand held the other man's gaze until it fell。 〃How many losses in training？〃 he demanded。 The sharp…nosed Asha'man hesitated。 〃How many？〃
Narishma leaned forward； staring intently at Torval。 So did Hopwil。 The servants continued their smooth； silent dance； offering their trays to men who no longer saw them。 Boreane took advantage of Narishma's preoccupation to make sure his silver mug held more hot water than spiced wine。
Torval shrugged； too casually。 〃Fifty…one； all told。 Thirteen burned out； and twenty…eight dead where they stood。 The rest。。。 The M'Hael； he adds something to their wine； and they do not wake。〃 Abruptly his tone turned malicious。 〃It can e suddenly； at any time。 One man began screaming that spiders were crawling beneath his skin on his second day。〃 He smiled viciously at Narishma and Hopwil； and nearly so at Rand； but it was to the other two he addressed himself； swinging his head between them。 〃You see？ Not to worry if you slide into madness。 You'll not hurt yourselves or a soul。 You go to sleep。。。 forever。 Kinder than gentling； even if we knew how。 Kinder than leaving you insane and cut off； yes？〃 Narishma stared back； taut as a harp…string； his mug forgotten in his hand。 Hopwil was once more frowning at something only he could see。
〃Kinder；〃 Rand said in a flat voice； setting the mug back beside him on the table。 Something in the wine。 My soul is black with blood； and damned。 It was not a hard thought； not biting or edged； a simple statement of fact。 〃A mercy any man might wish for； Torval。〃
Torval's cruel smile faded； and he stood breathing hard。 The sums were easy； one man in ten destroyed； one man in fifty mad； and more surely to e。 Early days yet； and no way till the day you died to know you had beaten the odds。 Except that the odds would beat you； one way or another； in the end。 Whatever else； Torval stood under that threat； too。
Abruptly Rand became aware of Boreane。 It took a moment before he recognized the expression on her face； and when he did； he bit back cold words。 How dare she feel pity！ Did she think Tarmon Gai'don could be won without blood？ The Prophecies of the Dragon demanded blood like rain！
〃Leave us；〃 he told her； and she quietly gathered the servants。 But she still carried passion in her eyes as she herded them out。
Casting around for a way to change the mood； Rand found nothing。 Pity weakened as surely as fear； and they had to be strong。 To face what they had to face； they all must be steel。 His making； his responsibility。
Lost in his own thoughts； Narishma peered into the steam rising from his wine； and Hopwil still tried to stare through the side of the tent。 Torval cast sideways glances at Rand and struggled to put the scornful twist back on his mouth。 Dashiva alone appeared unaffected； with his arms folded； studying Torval as a man might study a horse offered for sale。
Into the painfully stretching silence burst a husky； windblown young man in black； with the Sword and Dragon on his collar。 Of an age with Hopwil； still not old enough to marry most places； Fedwin Morr wore intensity more closely than his shirt； he moved on his toes； and his eyes had the look of a hunting cat that knew itself hunted in turn。 He had been different； once； and not so long ago。 〃The Seanchan will move from Ebou Dar soon；〃 he said as he saluted。 〃They mean to e against Illian next。〃 Hopwil gave a start and a gasp； jolted out of his dark study。 Once again； Dashiva's response was to laugh； mirthlessly this time。