Miranda was obviously tired from the magic she had employed to keep the boat off the rocks, and more talkative in five minutes than she had been the entire trip. Erik wondered if it was just because of the magic she used, or from some other reason, but was reluctant to ask if everything was all right. Then he considered that nothing associated with the voyage was right. Miranda was far closer to the truth of this mission than Erik, and Erik knew enough to expect they might not be coming back. He imagined she must be even more worried than he was. Finally he said, “Are you all right?”
She looked at him in open surprise, her expression frozen for a long moment, then laughed. Erik was unsure of the cause of that laughter, but finally she gripped his arm, through the heavy fur cloak he wore, and said, “Yes, I’m all right.” She sighed. “The sighting spells I was using along the way were a whisper in the noise of a market at noon. The spell I just cast to keep us from the rocks was a shriek in the night. If someone is looking for us, or if wards have been set to detect magic . . .” Shaking her head, she turned away.
“Miranda?” asked Erik.
She halted and looked over her shoulder. “Yes, Erik?”
“Are we going to get home, do you think?”
Whatever amusement she had revealed a moment before vanished. She paused only briefly when she said, “Probably not.”
Erik resumed his position, watching the murk for sudden danger. After another few hours, Alfred, the corporal from Darkmoor, came and said, “I’m relieving you, Sergeant.”
Erik said, “Very well,” and returned to the rowing oars. Once he had broken Alfred down, stripped him of the rank and attitude that had made him a bully and brawler back home, the man had turned into a first-rate soldier. Erik considered it likely that he would be one of the first to be promoted to corporal when they returned to Krondor . . . then amended the thought to if they returned to Krondor.
Other than the tiny cabin where the Captain and Miranda slept, the only place to sleep was either leaning over the extra oars behind the last rowers’ bench, like a galley slave, or lying on the deck between the rowers. They slept in shifts. Lesser-trained men might have come to blows, given the cramped quarters, the months at sea, and the coming danger, but de Loungville and Calis had picked the sixty most disciplined men in the company. Any temper was deferred, and any discomfort was kept to oneself.
Erik lay down and almost instantly dropped off to sleep. Fatigue was a constant companion, and after years of soldiering and grabbing sleep when he could, little could stir his mind enough to keep him awake. But as he fell into slumber, he did wonder in passing how his friends back home were doing. He wondered if Roo was making any progress toward being a rich man, and how Jadow’s leg had healed, and how the other men in the command were training. He wished he had Greylock to talk to, and then he thought of Nakor. That funny little man, and Sho Pi, had not returned from Stardock with the Captain, and Erik pondered what they must be up to as sleep overtook him.
A dozen young men and women laughed, while twice that number scowled, muttered, or jeered.
“It’s true!” insisted Nakor.
Sho Pi stood beside the man he had claimed as his master, looking to defend him should any of the angry students decide it was time to take matters into their own hands. He wasn’t concerned over Nakor’s ability to defend himself against up to a half dozen of them—he knew exactly how adept Nakor was at open-handed fighting, the Isalani style taught at the temple of Dala—but against a full dozen or more he would need help.
“Sit down,” cried one of those who had been laughing at one of those nearby who was jeering.
“Why don’t you make me?” demanded the object of the instruction.
Nakor said, “Wait a minute.” He crossed to where the two young men were standing opposite one another and grabbed each by the ear.
It was a beautiful dawn at Stardock, and Nakor had gotten into a discussion with a student at the predawn breakfast. As the sun began to rise in the east, Nakor had decided to conduct a class outside, away from the musty dark halls that usually served for places of instruction. As he led the two howling young men into the center of the large circle, all three factions of students began to laugh.
Sho Pi glanced up at the high window overlooking the lawn upon which the lesson was being conducted, and saw the faces at that window. Since being left in charge of the Academy, Nakor had left most of the daily operation as he had found it, though from time to time he had taken it upon himself to teach a lesson on one thing or another.
Most of his time was spent with the nameless, mindless beggar who was now a fixture of the island. Each morning, two students were delegated to throwing the beggar into the lake, a marginal effort toward keeping the man clean. Once in a while one or another of the more ambitious students would try to apply soap to the man, often resulting in a bloody nose or black eye.