Magic's Pawn

As the dessert course was cleared away, the elders left the hall on affairs of their own, and a few of the girls-more of Vanyel's cousins - returned; a sign that Lady Treesa had retired for the night.

The boys and young men remaining now rose from their seats; the young usually reigned over the hall undisturbed after dinner. With the girls that had returned they formed three whispering, giggling groups; two sets of four and one of eleven - all three groups blatantly closing Vanyel out. Even the girls seemed to have joined in the conspiracy to leave him utterly alone.

Vanyel pretended not to notice the muttering, the jealous glances. He rose from the bench a few moments after the rest had abandoned him, making it a point of honor to saunter over to stare into the fire in the great fireplace. He walked with head high, features schooled into a careful mask of bored indifference.

He could feel their eyes on the back of his neck, but he refused to turn, refused to show any emotion at all, much less how queasy their behavior was making him feel.

Finally, when he judged that he had made his point, he stretched, yawned, and turned. He surveyed the entire room through half-closed eyelids for a long moment, his own gaze barely brushing each of them, then paced lazily across the endless length of the Great Hall, pausing only to nod a cool good night to the group nearest the door before - finally! - achieving the sanctuary of the dark hallway beyond it.

'Ye gods, you'd think he was the Heir to the Throne!' Sandar exclaimed, rolling his eyes and throwing up his hands. 'Queen Elspeth herself wouldn't put on such airs!'

Eighteen-year-old Joserlin Corveau stared after the lad for a long moment, putting his thoughts together. He was the oldest of the fosterlings, and the latest-come. Really, he wasn't properly a fosterling at all; nor a close cousin. A true cousin, childless after many years, had decided on Joserlin as his Heir and (as he himself was not in the best of health) requested he be fostered to Lord Withen to learn the ways of governance of one's Holdings. He was broad and tall as any of the doors to the keep, and even Jervis respected the power of his young muscles. After a single practice session with young Jos, Jervis had decreed that he was old enough to train with Withen's armsmen. After seeing the way Jervis 'trained' the boys, Jos had been quite content to have it so.

Some of the younger boys had made the mistake of thinking that his slow speech and large build meant that he was stupid. They had quickly discovered their mistake when he'd gotten them with well-timed jokes.

He liked to say of himself that while he didn't think quickly, he did think things through all the way. And there were aspects of this vaguely disturbing evening that were not adding together properly in his mind.

Meanwhile the rest of his group continued dissecting Withen's least-beloved offspring.

'He thinks he is the Heir to the Throne,' giggled Jyllian, swishing her skirts coquettishly. 'Or at least, that the rest of us are that far below him. You should see him, lording it over us in the bower!'' She struck her nose in the air and mimed looking down it while playing a make- believe lute. 'But just try and get anything out of him besides a song! Brrr! Watch the snow fall! You'd think we were poison-vellis, the way he pulls away and goes cold!'

Mekeal snorted, tossing his head. 'Thinks he's too good for you, I s'ppose! Nothing high enough for him but a lady of the blood-royal, no doubt! Think girls like you aren't lofty enough.'

'Or not pretty enough,' snickered Merthin. 'Havens, give it a thought - none of you little lovelies are even a close match for His Majesty's sweet face. Can't have his lady less beautiful than he is, after all.'

'I don't doubt.' Larence put in his bit, coming up behind Merthin. 'Well, he'll find he's not the only pretty face when he gets to the High Court. He just might find himself standing in somebody's shadow for a change! Take my word for it, dear little Vanyel is going to get a rude awakening when he gets to Haven.'

'Dammit, it's not fair,' Mekeal grumbled, face clouding at this reminder of Vanyel's destination. 'I'd give my arm to go to Haven! I mean, think of it; the best fighters in the country are there - it's the center of everything!' He flung his hands wide, nearly hitting Merthin, in a gesture of total frustration. 'How'm I ever going to get a - an officer's commission or any kind of position when nobody with any say at Court is ever going to see me? That's why they sent m'sister off to be fostered right near there! You have a chance to get noticed at Court!

She's going to be an officer, you can bet on it, an' best I'll ever get is maybe a Sector command, which means not one damn thing! I need to be at Court; I ain't going to inherit! I'm the one that should be going, not Vanyel! It's not fair!'

'Huh. You've got that right,' Larence echoed, shifting his feet restlessly. 'Dammit, we're all seconds, thirds - we all need a chance like that, or we'll be stuck doing nothing at the end of nowhere for the rest of our lives! We're never going to get anywhere, stuck off here in the back of beyond.'

'And think of the ladies,' added Kerle, rolling his eyes up and kissing his hand at the ceiling. 'All the loveliest darlings in the kingdom.'

He ducked, laughing, as Jyllian feinted a blow at his head, then shook her fist at him in mock-anger.

'Dammit, think a bit,' Mekeal persisted. 'What in Haven's name has he done to deserve getting rewarded like that? All he does around here is play he's a minstrel, look down that long nose of his at the rest of us, and shirk every duty he can!' Mekeal glowered and pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand to emphasize his words. 'He's Mother's little darling, but - there's no way she'd have talked Father into sending him off, you all saw how she acted! So why? Why him, when the rest of us would die to get a chance to go to the capital?'

Joserlin continued to stare off into the dark; he was still putting together what he'd been observing. Everyone looked expectantly at him when Mekeal subsided and he cleared his throat. They all knew at this point that he was not the bright intellectual light among his brothers and cousins that Vanyel was, but he had a knack of seeing to the heart of things, and they wanted to hear if he had an answer for them. He usually did, and as they had half expected, this time was no exception.

'What makes you all think it's a reward?' he asked quietly.

The astonishment in the faces turned to his, followed by the light of dawning understanding, made him nod as he saw them come to the same conclusion he had made.

'You see?' he said, just as quietly as before. 'It isn't a reward for Vanyel - it's an exile.'