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he’d thought he had. For a long moment he couldn’t find anything to say. He could have defended himself, could have sought to justify his behaviour . . . but he had only to look in their eyes to see there was no point. So he just drew himself up, looked them both square in the face, and silently defied them. Hawk and Fisher crashed to a halt before him, and something in the way they looked and something in the way they held themselves had the watching students decide this was a good time to start backing away. Because whatever was about to happen, they really didn’t want to be a part of it.
    “Anton,” said Hawk, “I didn’t want to believe it. I had no idea you were so . . . insecure.”
    “I had no idea you were such a small-minded, mean-spirited little prick,” said Fisher.
    “You’ll have to go, Anton,” said Hawk.
    “I’m not going anywhere,” said la Vern. His voice was flat and firm, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not going, because you can’t make me. I’m a Bladesmaster. You know what that means. Unbeatable with a sword in my hand. I’m a master of steel, while you’re just two burned-out mercenaries hiding behind the reputation of someone else’s names.”
    Hawk kicked him really hard in the groin. Anton made a low, shocked noise, and then his eyes squeezed shut. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He tried to suck in a new breath, and found he couldn’t. He dropped to his knees. One hand scrabbled numbly for the sword at his side. Fisher leaned over and rabbit-punched him with vicious force on the back of his exposed neck, and Anton la Vern crumpled unconscious to the floor.
    “Unbeatable, yes. But only with a sword actually in your hand,” said Hawk. “You really think you’re the first Bladesmaster I’ve had to deal with?” He gestured to the two nearest students. “Pick that piece of crap up and haul him out of here. Hand him over to security, and tell them to take away his sword, strap him onto a mule facing backwards, and then send him on his way.”
    The students moved quickly forward, and gathered up the unconscious Bladesmaster. One of them looked uncertainly at Hawk.
    “What if he comes back?”
    “If he’s dumb enough to show his face here again, we’ll let the sorcery students practice on him,” said Fisher. “There’s a reason we keep that big lily pond of frogs down on the basement level.”
    Hawk and Fisher wandered on through the gleaming wooden corridors, not headed anywhere in particular, thinking their own individual thoughts. Hawk had approved la Vern’s position as tutor, and he hated to be wrong about people. Fisher was thinking about what was for dinner. She’d never been much of a one for self-recrimination. People passed them by in the corridors, nearly always with a nod and a smile. The current Hawk and Fisher were popular, respected heads of the Hero Academy, though they would both have been surprised to hear it. They liked to think of themselves as cool and distant governors.
    “How long have we been here?” Fisher said finally.
    “Longer than I ever expected,” said Hawk. “What’s the matter? You getting tired of all this?”
    “You know I’m not,” said Fisher. “I like it here—doing good work, changing the world for the better, one hero at a time.”
    “It was either this or retire and run a tavern somewhere,” said Hawk. “And that always seemed far too much like hard work to me. This . . . suits me better.”
    They paused by a large open window to watch a line of rather nervous-looking students file uncertainly out along a broad branch of the Tree. They took their time getting into position, checked that they were an arm’s length apart, and then looked glumly down at the long drop below. A gusting wind tousled their hair and plucked at their clothes with a rough hand. To a man and a woman, the students all looked like they’d much rather be somewhere else. Anywhere else. A few were quietly praying, a few were quietly