“My rage was not wise,” nodded the premer, “but I will not concede that it was uncalled for. Gather the rest of the mages on this ship. Call a meeting of them below in my cabin. I will be down as soon as possible.”

“As you wish,” nodded General Valatosa.

After the general left, Premer Doralin walked over to the mage he had hit. He leaned against the rail alongside the man.

“I apologize,” stated the premer. “My actions were uncalled for.”

The mage glared at the premer but did not speak. Doralin watched as the flotilla of small ships fled from the battle. He was glad to see that less than half of them survived.

“Have all of the ships been notified with my orders?” asked Doralin.

“They are all aware of the new instructions,” scowled the mage.

“You are not making this apology easy for me,” frowned the premer. “How can I make this up to you?”

“Striking a mage is forbidden,” spat the mage. “You are not fit to live.”

Doralin smiled tautly and shrugged as he drove the knife into the mage’s back. The mage cried out in alarm, and several sailors turned to see what was happening. The premer hoisted the mage’s body over the rail and tossed it into the sea. He turned to stare at the sailors who had observed the murderous act. One of the sailors ran straight for the premer, and Doralin braced for a confrontation.

The sailor smiled broadly as he approached. He stopped short and bent down to wipe the blood off the deck that had been spilled by the knifing.

“Sorry, Premer,” grinned the sailor. “I guess some of the men must have missed a spot cleaning the deck this morning.”

Premer Doralin grinned and placed his hand on the sailor’s shoulder.

“Hardly possible, sailor,” chuckled the premer. “You men at least are very efficient. You make me proud.”

The other sailors laughed and nodded at the premer as he walked aft. Doralin made his way to his cabin where General Valatosa had the other mages waiting for the meeting.