Young Theela, the girl with the short hair, looked as if she would much rather have died than have Alberich show her anything at all, but her problem of telegraphing certain overhand blows was quickly sorted, and Alberich went on to the next problem, at Dethor’s direction. And while Alberich was dealing out lessons to each youngster in turn, Dethor was keeping an eye on the first two recipients of Alberich’s attention, making them stop and do stretches at intervals to keep from stiffening up.

As the lesson wore on, Alberich paid attention to what Dethor did and said, and when, whether or not it was addressed to Alberich himself. Dethor was brilliant, really. Despite that Alberich was doing the hands-on work of instructing the Trainees, he was in control of the salle and the Trainees, there was never any doubt of that. Alberich was merely an extension of his will, precisely as a good Second should be. But Alberich had to admire the man, for he manipulated the youngsters and the situation flawlessly, invisible. They never even guessed they were being manipulated.

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.”