he embarrass himself? He liked Old Bob and he didn't want to look foolish in front of him. Nor in front of Halt, he realized, with a little surprise. He was still wondering when Halt's good opinion had come to mean so much to him when he finally fell asleep.
Chapter 13
"S o, you saw it. What did you think?" Sir Rodney asked.
Karel reached across and poured himself another tankard from the jug of beer that was on the table between them. Rodney's quarters were simple enough-even Spartan when it was remembered that he was head of the Battleschool. Battlemasters in other fiefs took advantage of the position to surround themselves with the trappings of luxury, but that wasn't Rodney's style. His room was simply furnished, with a pinewood table for a desk and six straight-backed pine chairs around it.
There was a fireplace in the corner, of course. Rodney might have preferred to live in a simple style, but that didn't mean he enjoyed discomfort, and winters in Castle Redmont were cold. Right now it was late summer and the thick stone walls of the castle buildings served to keep the interiors cool. When the cold weather came, those same thick walls would retain the heat of the fire. On one wall, a large bay window looked out over the Battleschool's drill field. Facing the window, on the opposite wall, was a doorway, screened by a thick curtain, leading to Rodney's sleeping quarters-a simple soldier's bed and more wooden furniture. It had been a little more ornate when his wife Antoinette was still alive, but she had died some years previously and the rooms were now unmistakably masculine in character, without any item in them that wasn't functional and with an absolute minimum of decoration.
"I saw it," Karel agreed. "Not sure that I believed it, but I saw it."
"You saw it only once," said Rodney. "He was doing it constantly throughout the session-and I'm convinced that he was doing it unconsciously."
"As fast as the one I saw?" Karel asked. Rodney nodded emphatically.
"If anything, faster. He was adding an extra stroke to the routines but staying in time with the call." He hesitated, then finally said what they were both thinking. "The boy is a natural." Karel inclined his head thoughtfully. Based on what he'd seen, he wasn't prepared to dispute the fact. And the Battlemaster had been watching the boy for some time during the session, he knew. But naturals were few and far between. They were those unique people for whom the skill of swordplay moved into an entirely different dimension. It became not so much a skill as an instinct to them,
They were the ones who became the champions. The sword masters. Experienced warriors like Sir Rodney and Sir Karel were expert swordsmen, but naturals took the skill to a higher plane. It was as if for them, the sword in their hand became a true extension not just of their bodies, but of their personalities as well. The sword seemed to act in instant communion and harmony with the natural's mind, acting even faster than conscious thought. Naturals were possessed of unique skills in timing and balance and rhythm.
As such, they presented a heavy responsibility to those who were entrusted with their training. For those natural skills and abilities had to be carefully nurtured and developed in a long-term training program to allow the warrior, already highly proficient as a matter of course, to develop his true potential for genius.
"You're sure?" Karel said eventually and Rodney nodded again, his gaze out the window. In his mind he was seeing the boy training, seeing those extra flickers of lightning-fast movement.
"I'm sure," he said simply. "We'll have to let Wallace know that he'll have another pupil next semester."
Wallace was the sword master at the Redmont Battleschool. He was the one who had the responsibility for adding the final polish to the basic skills that Karel and the others taught. In the event of an outstanding trainee-as Horace obviously was-he would give them private
Chapter 13
"S o, you saw it. What did you think?" Sir Rodney asked.
Karel reached across and poured himself another tankard from the jug of beer that was on the table between them. Rodney's quarters were simple enough-even Spartan when it was remembered that he was head of the Battleschool. Battlemasters in other fiefs took advantage of the position to surround themselves with the trappings of luxury, but that wasn't Rodney's style. His room was simply furnished, with a pinewood table for a desk and six straight-backed pine chairs around it.
There was a fireplace in the corner, of course. Rodney might have preferred to live in a simple style, but that didn't mean he enjoyed discomfort, and winters in Castle Redmont were cold. Right now it was late summer and the thick stone walls of the castle buildings served to keep the interiors cool. When the cold weather came, those same thick walls would retain the heat of the fire. On one wall, a large bay window looked out over the Battleschool's drill field. Facing the window, on the opposite wall, was a doorway, screened by a thick curtain, leading to Rodney's sleeping quarters-a simple soldier's bed and more wooden furniture. It had been a little more ornate when his wife Antoinette was still alive, but she had died some years previously and the rooms were now unmistakably masculine in character, without any item in them that wasn't functional and with an absolute minimum of decoration.
"I saw it," Karel agreed. "Not sure that I believed it, but I saw it."
"You saw it only once," said Rodney. "He was doing it constantly throughout the session-and I'm convinced that he was doing it unconsciously."
"As fast as the one I saw?" Karel asked. Rodney nodded emphatically.
"If anything, faster. He was adding an extra stroke to the routines but staying in time with the call." He hesitated, then finally said what they were both thinking. "The boy is a natural." Karel inclined his head thoughtfully. Based on what he'd seen, he wasn't prepared to dispute the fact. And the Battlemaster had been watching the boy for some time during the session, he knew. But naturals were few and far between. They were those unique people for whom the skill of swordplay moved into an entirely different dimension. It became not so much a skill as an instinct to them,
They were the ones who became the champions. The sword masters. Experienced warriors like Sir Rodney and Sir Karel were expert swordsmen, but naturals took the skill to a higher plane. It was as if for them, the sword in their hand became a true extension not just of their bodies, but of their personalities as well. The sword seemed to act in instant communion and harmony with the natural's mind, acting even faster than conscious thought. Naturals were possessed of unique skills in timing and balance and rhythm.
As such, they presented a heavy responsibility to those who were entrusted with their training. For those natural skills and abilities had to be carefully nurtured and developed in a long-term training program to allow the warrior, already highly proficient as a matter of course, to develop his true potential for genius.
"You're sure?" Karel said eventually and Rodney nodded again, his gaze out the window. In his mind he was seeing the boy training, seeing those extra flickers of lightning-fast movement.
"I'm sure," he said simply. "We'll have to let Wallace know that he'll have another pupil next semester."
Wallace was the sword master at the Redmont Battleschool. He was the one who had the responsibility for adding the final polish to the basic skills that Karel and the others taught. In the event of an outstanding trainee-as Horace obviously was-he would give them private
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