"Sebell's amazing," Robinton remarked to Saltor when Sebell had pinned Emfor to the mat in three moves.
Saltor regarded him with amusement. "It's you he's determined to defend, Master Robinton. Keep him at your side and you'll never need to fear."
"Not that I can keep him from my side," Robinton replied, wondering how he had managed to generate such devotion in the lad, kin though he was.
"That goes for every one of "em, you know," Saltor continued, and Robinton felt decidedly uncomfortable. "Just as well, you ask me," the guard added, then walked off to correct a wrestling hold.
Sebell's prowess was by no means limited to such physical skills. Like his adored Master Robinton, he soaked up sufficient expertise and abilities to gain his journeyman's rank almost as quickly as his mentor had. Robinton reluctantly sent him for a turn's teaching in Igen Hold, then found out just how much he had come to rely on the lad and brought him back. As if Sebell could sense where Robinton needed help, the young journeyman assumed many duties so adroitly that both Masters and the older journeymen could not deny the MasterHarper his invaluable assistant.
It was Sebell who suggested a new role for young Traller, an exceedingly mischievous apprentice who sorely tried the patience of every Master in the Hall with his pranks and strategies to get out of any task he did not like. Traller never seemed to be to blame for boyish tricks ... it was always someone else in the dorm. He was never there when work was assigned and always had a plausible excuse for such an absence. He could ride any runner-beast in the beasthold, pin a fly to the wall with his dagger at a hundred paces, survive the best tricks of heavier lads on the wrestling mats, and he was totally without conscience. He possessed a lively wit, however, as well as an inventive mind for excuses. He was the personification of contrariness, and yet Robinton liked him, however often the boy was up before him for disciplinary action. He had had a good treble, lost when he hit puberty, and now his best musical skill was drumming: either in the Tower, where he excelled, or on any surface which had any resonance. He drummed with his fingers -one of his dorm-mates said he drummed with his toes at night against the bedstead – with sticks, and even upon occasion in the dining hall, with the thigh-bones of a fowl.
"It's about Trailer," Sebell said one evening as Robinton was relaxing after dinner.
"Ohhh," Robinton groaned. "What's he done this time?" He had run out of any useful disciplines to curb the lad.
"I was thinking, Master, that he might do better training with Nip," Sebell said, a sly smile on his face as he watched Robinton's reaction to the suggestion. "It seems to me that every time Nip reports in he looks more gaunt and tired. He needs someone else -if only to run back here with messages for you." When he saw that Robinton was considering the notion he added, "It's not as if anyone will ever control Traller, but all that energy could be useful to Nip."
"I think you've hit on a marvellous future for that young man, Sebell. I can't imagine why I didn't think of it myself."
Sebell chuckled. "You do have one or two other matters to worry about."
Robinton agreed vehemently and went back to solving those of the most immediate concern – such as reassigning harpers for the next turn's teaching duties.
But he was ready with Sebell's suggestion the next time Nip eased himself into the Harper's study, followed closely enough by Sebell with food and drink for the man.
"I've someone you might like to train, Nip," Robinton said.
"Huh?" Nip scowled. "I travel faster alone. And safer. Ah, thanks, Sebell, you're remarkable in anticipation of my needs." He bit into a meat roll and chewed while Robinton went on.
"I think you must at least assess young Traller as a possible apprentice," Robinton said firmly.
"Oh, well, if you put it like that, I'll give him a going-over then."
"It's you or back to Keroon for him, because we can't use his ... special ... talents as a harper, that's very obvious. Weren't you saying that you can only be in one place at a time? If I need an assistant, so do you."
Nip gave him complete attention. "Sebell's no lad ..." He shook his head. "I'd hate to put someone in danger, and it's dangerous up there in Fax's."
"More reason than ever for you to have an ... assistant," Sebell remarked pointedly.
Nip made a noise in his throat. "You mean "shadow", don't you?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards Sebell who grinned back, quite willing to make the criticism into a compliment.
Robinton blinked and grinned, then laughed out loud, for there was a faint resemblance – the colour and set of their eyes, the same dark hair almost to the whirls at the crown, and strong features, chin and nose – that spoke of their distant Blood relationship.
Sebell was now as tall as the MasterHarper and, over the turns, had picked up some of Robinton's mannerisms as well. Their eyes met and they grinned with perfect understanding and mutual respect.
"He's outside," Sebell said, indicating the hallway. "I found him on the drum Tower stairwell, trying to see who was making such a late-night entrance."
"Well, now, that sounds promising," said Nip, and himself went to invite Traller into the room. The two stood regarding each other as warily as strange canines. "If you'll pardon us, Robinton, Sebell," Nip said after a long pause and, taking Trailer by the shoulder, he pushed the lad ahead of him out of the door.
The next morning Nip told Robinton to rename the boy "Tuck' and to designate him as an apprentice on special assignment.
"I told you he was a natural," Robinton said somewhat smugly.
Nip snorted. "He will be when I get through with him." Then he grinned in his irrepressible fashion. "He'll be good, too. Thanks, Rob. Oh, and he's coming with me. I've got two runner-beasts ready and willing. Like any well-brought-up' – Nip smiled at that description being applied to Tuck – "Keroonian, he rides like a leech." He paused again at the door. "And he runs like the wind."
Nip took turns with Tuck to deliver reports over the next two turns.
Then one night Tuck appeared unexpectedly late, grinning with delight when he had startled Robinton from reading Term reports on the current apprentices.
"Nip says that there's something odd going on at Ruatha Hold."
"Oh?" And Robinton was glad to find some distraction from the reports. He didn't agree with some of them, and it always annoyed him when any of his favourite "sons' did not measure up to the high standards he wanted them to achieve.
"Well, it seems that it's not prospering. There've been four stewards, and each one has failed to extract any profit from the Hold." Tuck grinned. "It's as if every attempt fails, some way or another. And Fax's not known to be pleased with any sort of failure."
"Hmmm. That's interesting. A kind of subtle rebellion?"
Tuck gave the sort of snort that Nip affected. "With that bunch of drudges? They're the most useless load of incompetents I've seen. And since I've been north" – he gestured with a thumb – "I've seen every sort of way to avoid hard work that's been invented. And then some. The only jobs which get done in a halfway decent fashion are helped along by an overseer with a whip standing over the workers. Fax has only so many men and too many holdings." He grinned broadly. "Though his supply of metal-knotted whips seems inexhaustible."
"'One hold, one holder' is a good adage to remember," Robinton said sententiously.
"To be sure." Tuck glided past that. "Nip specially said to tell you about Ruatha."