instruction in advanced techniques. Karel curled his bottom lip thoughtfully as he thought about the time frame Rodney had suggested.
"Not until then?" he said. The next semester was almost three months away. "Why not get him started straightaway? From what I saw, he's already mastered the basic stuff." But Rodney shook his head.
"We haven't really assessed his personality yet," he said. "He seems a nice enough lad, but you never know. If he turns out to be a misfit of some kind, I don't want to give him the sort of advanced instruction that Wallace can provide."
Once he thought of it, Karel agreed with the Battlemaster. After all, if it should turn out that Horace had to be disqualified from Battleschool because of some other failing, it might be embarrassing, not to mention dangerous, if he were already on the road to being a highly trained swordsman. Disqualified trainees often reacted with resentment.
"And another thing," Rodney added. "Let's keep this to ourselves-and tell Morton the same. I don't want the boy hearing any word of this yet. It might make him cocky and that could be dangerous for him."
"That's true enough," Karel agreed. He finished the last of his beer in two quick drafts, set his tankard down on the table and stood. "Well, I'd better be getting along. I've got reports to finish."
"Who hasn't?" the Battlemaster said with some feeling, and the two old friends exchanged rueful grins. "I never knew there was so much paper involved in running a Battleschool." Karel snorted in derision.
"Sometimes I think we should forget the weapons training and just throw all the paper at the enemy-bury them in it." He gave an informal salute just touching one finger to his forehead-that was in keeping with his seniority. Then he turned and headed for the door. He paused as Rodney added one last point to their discussion.
"Keep an eye on the boy, of course," he said. "But don't let him become aware of it."
"Of course," Karel replied. "We don't want him to start thinking there's something special about him."
At that moment, there was no chance that Horace would think there was anything special about him-at least, not in any positive sense. What he did feel was that there was something about him that attracted trouble.
Word had gone around about the strange scene at the training ground. His classmates, not understanding what had happened, all assumed that Horace had somehow annoyed the Battlemaster and now waited for the inevitable retribution. They knew that the rule during the first semester was that, when one member of a class made a mistake, the entire class paid for it. As a result, the atmosphere in their dormitory had been strained, to say the least. Horace had finally made his way out of the room, intending to head for the river to escape the condemnation and blame he could feel from the others. Unfortunately, when he did so, he walked straight into the waiting arms of Alda, Bryn and Jerome.
The three older boys had heard a garbled version of the scene at the practice yard. They assumed that Horace had been criticized for his sword work and decided to make him suffer for it.
However, they knew that their attentions would not necessarily meet with the approval of the Battleschool staff. Horace, as a newcomer, had no way of knowing that this sort of systematic bullying was totally disapproved of by Sir Rodney and the other instructors. Horace simply assumed that was the way things were supposed to be and, not knowing any better, went along with it, allowing himself to be bullied and insulted.
It was for this reason that the three second-year cadets marched Horace to the riverside, where he had been heading anyway, and away from the sight of instructors. Here, they made him wade thigh-deep into the river, then stand to attention.
"Baby can't use his sword properly," said Alda.
Bryn took up the refrain. "Baby made the Battlemaster angry. Baby doesn't belong in Battleschool. Babies shouldn't be given
"Not until then?" he said. The next semester was almost three months away. "Why not get him started straightaway? From what I saw, he's already mastered the basic stuff." But Rodney shook his head.
"We haven't really assessed his personality yet," he said. "He seems a nice enough lad, but you never know. If he turns out to be a misfit of some kind, I don't want to give him the sort of advanced instruction that Wallace can provide."
Once he thought of it, Karel agreed with the Battlemaster. After all, if it should turn out that Horace had to be disqualified from Battleschool because of some other failing, it might be embarrassing, not to mention dangerous, if he were already on the road to being a highly trained swordsman. Disqualified trainees often reacted with resentment.
"And another thing," Rodney added. "Let's keep this to ourselves-and tell Morton the same. I don't want the boy hearing any word of this yet. It might make him cocky and that could be dangerous for him."
"That's true enough," Karel agreed. He finished the last of his beer in two quick drafts, set his tankard down on the table and stood. "Well, I'd better be getting along. I've got reports to finish."
"Who hasn't?" the Battlemaster said with some feeling, and the two old friends exchanged rueful grins. "I never knew there was so much paper involved in running a Battleschool." Karel snorted in derision.
"Sometimes I think we should forget the weapons training and just throw all the paper at the enemy-bury them in it." He gave an informal salute just touching one finger to his forehead-that was in keeping with his seniority. Then he turned and headed for the door. He paused as Rodney added one last point to their discussion.
"Keep an eye on the boy, of course," he said. "But don't let him become aware of it."
"Of course," Karel replied. "We don't want him to start thinking there's something special about him."
At that moment, there was no chance that Horace would think there was anything special about him-at least, not in any positive sense. What he did feel was that there was something about him that attracted trouble.
Word had gone around about the strange scene at the training ground. His classmates, not understanding what had happened, all assumed that Horace had somehow annoyed the Battlemaster and now waited for the inevitable retribution. They knew that the rule during the first semester was that, when one member of a class made a mistake, the entire class paid for it. As a result, the atmosphere in their dormitory had been strained, to say the least. Horace had finally made his way out of the room, intending to head for the river to escape the condemnation and blame he could feel from the others. Unfortunately, when he did so, he walked straight into the waiting arms of Alda, Bryn and Jerome.
The three older boys had heard a garbled version of the scene at the practice yard. They assumed that Horace had been criticized for his sword work and decided to make him suffer for it.
However, they knew that their attentions would not necessarily meet with the approval of the Battleschool staff. Horace, as a newcomer, had no way of knowing that this sort of systematic bullying was totally disapproved of by Sir Rodney and the other instructors. Horace simply assumed that was the way things were supposed to be and, not knowing any better, went along with it, allowing himself to be bullied and insulted.
It was for this reason that the three second-year cadets marched Horace to the riverside, where he had been heading anyway, and away from the sight of instructors. Here, they made him wade thigh-deep into the river, then stand to attention.
"Baby can't use his sword properly," said Alda.
Bryn took up the refrain. "Baby made the Battlemaster angry. Baby doesn't belong in Battleschool. Babies shouldn't be given
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