By the time the Weaponsmaster was ready to let them go, it was time for all of them to return to the Collegium, so if the two young men had thought they were going to get off early and sneak off to some sport or other, they were sadly disappointed.
A great bell rang somewhere outside, which was, evidently, the signal for the next class. This lot was off like a flight of arrows from bows even as the first tone still shivered the air. Alberich looked sideways at Dethor, who chuckled.
"Now, why do I think that my new Second is going to be the least popular instructor in the Collegium?" the Weaponsmaster asked the empty air. "Barring me, of course."
"The Weaponsmaster, popularity cannot afford," Alberich said dryly, as he began picking up discarded weapons and returning them to their places.
"True, my friend. Very true. And what did you think of the two young colts who think they're stallions?" Dethor asked.
That was easy to answer. "All spirit, no sense," he replied shortly.
"Ah, but can you drive some sense into them? That's what I want to know." Dethor waited for his answer, head to one side, and interest in his eyes.
Alberich snorted. "Not I. Bruises. Pain teaches, what I cannot."
And Dethor laughed.
"But yes, learn, they will," he continued. "Stupid, they are not. Nor stubborn. Ill-taught, or mis-taught. But unlearn, they can."
The next class was one in archery for younger children, and Dethor took this one himself, although he commended one young lad to Alberich for some special attentions precisely because the youngster was a natural marksman. Alberich soon had him shooting from several different positions and helped him find ways of getting a full draw even when shooting from a prone, partly hidden posture. Following that class was another like the first, weaponswork in the salle, with slightly younger Trainees. This time there was a change in the uniforms, however. Among the Herald-trainee Grays was a boy in pale blue, a boy in a sort of brick-color and a girl in Healer-trainee pale green. The boy in orange was quick, but not very strong; the girl slow, but patient and deliberate. Neither were very good, but eventually their determination would enable them to hit what they aimed at though, for now, as many arrows flew over the targets or buried themselves in the grass in front of it as actually hit.
At least they were both trying to the best of their ability, which was more than could be said for the third child that was not in Trainee Gray. The boy in blue looked bored, and not at all interested in trying; he played at the archery, shooting haphazardly, not really aiming. Alberich waited for Dethor to say something or assign more "special attention" to that boy, but Dethor never did, and Alberich concluded that there must be something special about the blue uniform.
:There is,: Kantor said into his mind, startling him, for the Companion had been silent for most of the day. :He's not a Trainee at all. The students in light blue are the children of some of the nobles in attendance on the King; their parents don't see any reason to hire tutors when the Collegium is here and perfectly capable of educating their children. But the Blues don't have any real consequences to not learning if their parents don't care about their progress, so—: The pause invited him to draw his own conclusions.
:Ah.: That certainly explained things. :Are there consequences for beating their backsides with the flat of a practice blade?:
:Alas, yes,: Kantor said. :Political consequences, I fear. Now, the ones in that orange-red sort of shade are Bardic-trainees. They aren't required to learn weaponswork, but they are encouraged to do so. Bards are often out in the wilds and in dangerous places—and while most of them can talk or entertain themselves out of trouble, it's a good idea to be able to fight your way out as well. But when you work with them, be very, very careful of their hands. The last thing you want to do is injure the hands of a Bard; it would be a catastrophe for them. You could set their musical training back a fortnight or more, depending on how badly the hand was hurt.:
He made a mental note of it. Interesting. He knew what Bards were, of course, but he had never seen one, much less heard one. Something more to look into.
He ignored the boy in blue, but once it was clear that Alberich wasn't going to single him out for attention, the boy watched him with a kind of speculation in his eyes. Alberich wondered if rumor had already begun to spread that the dreaded Karsite Trainee was one and the same with Dethor's new Weapons Second.
:It has,: Kantor confirmed. :Although I don't know that he would have heard it yet; the youngsters from your first class are beginning to put two and two together. I suspect that it will be one of the main topics of conversation over dinner. Certainly, by nightfall the whole Collegium will know.:
Unfortunately, it wouldn't stay there. And once it got out into the Court, the nobles and the rest who hung about here, well, things were likely to get very interesting.
:Things are interesting now,: Kantor said.
If Alberich had been a stag, he'd have thrown up his head and sniffed the breeze at that, trying to find the scent of trouble. The statement boded no good, no matter what language it was spoken in.
Just what does that mean?: he thought probingly at Kantor.
:I'll tell you later,: Kantor promised. But that was all that the Companion would say, and eventually Alberich gave up trying to extract something from him.
Easier to pound sense into a foolish Trainee. So Alberich set about doing just that.
But it was going to be a long afternoon.
5
THE sunset outside the sitting-room window made a fine backdrop for the meal that another servant had brought them. There were not too many different ways that one could roast a pig, nor stew apples in honey, and beans were beans no matter what you did to them, so at least this dinner had not left Alberich with that particularly odd feeling of dislocation when flavors he expected weren't there.
"A remarkable first day," Dethor said, with more than a hint of satisfaction. "Hand me those plates, would you?"
Alberich handed over the stack of soiled plates, and Dethor packed them neatly in a straw container like the one that their dinner had come in. The servant that had appeared just after darkness fell waited patiently to take it away; the clean plates it contained, evidently meant for tomorrow, (so that was where they came from!) were already stowed in Dethor's sitting-room cupboard.
Alberich could only shrug. "And I would know this, how?" he asked logically.
Dethor laughed, a sight which would, no doubt, have astonished his pupils. Weaponsmasters, of course, never laughed. They also, according to popular repute, never ate, never slept, and were possessed of the ability to know instantly whenever one of their pupils had done something he shouldn't, because he was always punished for it with an extra-hard lesson the next day. It obviously never occurred to boys that their guilty expressions always gave them away....