A simple life of arising, working, and going to bed held its own sort of peace. The physical labor of each day was not nearly as demanding as my studies at the academy. I wondered if other men lived this way, rising, working, eating, and sleeping with barely a thought beyond doing the same thing the next day. I’ll confess that I felt a strange attraction to such a simple life. When a week had passed by and I’d heard nothing from Sergeant Duril, I sought him out one afternoon. When he opened his door to my knock, the first words he said were, “You didn’t tell me you’d been kicked out of the academy for being fat!” I couldn’t tell if he was outraged on my behalf or angry with me for holding back information.

I spoke evenly, without anger. “That’s because it isn’t true.”

He stared at me, waiting.

“Dr. Amicas gave me a medical discharge from the academy. I wasn’t kicked out. He felt I couldn’t serve as a cavalla officer as I am. If I manage to regain my old shape, I’ll be able to continue my studies.” I wasn’t sure of that, but I had to hold onto the hope or sink into despair.

Duril stood back from his door and motioned me in. His apartments were stuffy after the sunny day, even with the door left ajar. I took a seat at his table. Slowly he sat down across from me and admitted, “I took a lot of pride in your being at the academy. It meant a lot to me to think of you being there and being one of them, and knowing just as much as any of them fancy city boys, thanks to what I’d taught you.”

That took me by surprise. I’d never paused to consider that my success might mean a personal triumph to Sergeant Duril. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I was doing well until this befell me. And once I’ve straightened it out and returned to the academy, I’ll do you proud. I promise.”

As if his first admission had opened a door, he suddenly added, “You never wrote to me. I had sort of hoped for a letter from you.”

That surprised me even more. “I thought you couldn’t read!” I said, and then flinched at how blunt my words were.

“I could have had someone read it to me,” he retorted testily. After a pause he added, “I sent you a letter. When I heard you’d been sick and nearly died.”

“I know. It reached me right before I came home. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said stiffly. He looked away from me as he added,

“I’m not an educated man, Nevare. I’m not even, as you well know, a proper soldier son, born to the career. What I know about soldiering, I taught myself or learned the hard way. And I did my best to pass it on to you. I wanted you to be an officer that, well, understood what it was to really be a soldier. Not the kind of man who sits in his tent and orders men to go out and do what he couldn’t or wouldn’t do himself. Someone who knew what it was like to have to go a couple of days with no water for yourself or your horse, someone who knew about the salt and sweat of soldiering for himself. So you could be a good officer.”