Magic's Pawn

He led them down the ill-lit staircase, hearing them stumbling blindly behind him in the darkness and thankful that he was the one carrying his lute and that there was nothing breakable in the packs. They emerged at the end of the hall nearest the kitchen; Vanyel decided to continue to force the issue by going out the servants' door to the stables. It was closer - but that wasn't why he chose it; he chose it to make the point that he knew his father's thoughts about him.

The two servitors, laden as they were with the heavy packs, had to stretch to keep up with him; already they were panting with effort. As Vanyel's boots crunched in the gravel spread across the yard between the keep and the stables, he could hear them puffing along far behind him. 

The sun was barely over the horizon, and mist was rising from the meadows where the horses were turned loose during the day. It ,would likely be hot today, one of the first days of true high summer. Vanyel could see, as he came around the side of the stable, that the doors were standing wide open, and that there were several people moving about inside.

Couldn’t wait to be rid of me, could you, Father dear? Meant to hustle me off as fast as you could throw me into my clothes and my belongings into packs. I think in this I will oblige you. It should keep you sufficiently confused.

Now that he had this set of barriers, for the first time in more than a year he was able to think clearly and calmly. He was able to make plans without being locked in an emotional morass, and carry them out without losing his head to frustration. Gods, it was so simple - just don't give a damn. Don't care what they do to you, and they do nothing.

If I were staying, I'd never have dared to say those things. But I'm not, and by the time Father figures out how to react, I'll be far beyond his ability to punish me. Even if he reports all this to Aunt Unsavory, it's going to sound really stupid - and what's more, it 'II make him look a fool.

He paused in the open doors, feet slightly apart, hands on his hips. After a few moments, those inside noticed him and the buzz of conversation ceased altogether as they turned to gape at him in dumbfounded surprise.

'Why isn't my mare saddled?' he asked quietly, coldly. The only two horses bearing riding saddles were two rough cobs obviously meant for the two armsmen beside them, men who had been examining their girths and who had suddenly straightened to attention at the sound of his voice. There was another beast with a riding saddle on it, but it wasn't a horse - it was an aging, fat pony, one every boy on the holding had long since outgrown, and a mount that was now given to Treesa's most elderly women to ride.

'Beggin' yer pardon, m'lord Vanyel,' said one of the grooms, hesitantly, 'But yer father - '

'I really could not care less what my father ordered,'

Vanyel interrupted, rudely and angrily. 'He isn't going to have to ride halfway to the end of the world on that hobbyhorse. I am the one being sent on this little exile, and I am not going to ride that. I refuse to enter the capital on a beast that is going to make me look like a clown. Besides, Star is mine, not his. The Lady Treesa gave her to me, and I intend to take her with me. Saddle her.'

The groom continued to hesitate.

'If you won't,' Vanyel said, his eyes narrowing, his voice edged with the coldest steel, 'I will. Either way you'll have trouble. And if I have to do it, and my lady mother finds out, you'll have trouble from her as well as my father.'

The groom shrugged, and went after Star and her tack, leaving his fellow to strip the pony and turn it into the pasture.

Lovely. Put me on a mount only a tyro would have to ride, and make it look as if I was too much a coward to handle a real horse. Make me look a fool, riding into Haven on a pony. And deprive me of something I treasured. Not this time, Father.

In fact, Vanyel was already firmly in Star's saddle by the time Lord Withen made a somewhat belated appearance in the stableyard. The grooms were fastening the last of the packs on the backs of three mules, and the armsmen were waiting, also mounted, out in the yard.

Vanyel patted the proudly arched neck of his Star, a delicately-boned black palfrey with a perfect white star on her forehead, a star that had one long point that trailed down her nose. He ignored his father for a long moment, giving him a chance to absorb the sight of his son on his spirited little blood-mare instead of the homely old pony. Then he nudged Star toward the edge of the yard where Lord Withen stood; by his stunned expression, once again taken by surprise. She picked her way daintily across the gravel, making very little sound, like a remnant of night- shadow in the early morning light. Vanyel had had all her tack dyed the same black as his riding leathers, and was quite well aware of how striking they looked together.

 So was she; she curved her neck and carried her tail like a banner as he directed her toward his father.

Lord Withen's expression changed as they approached; first discomfited, then resigned. Vanyel kept his the same as it had been all this morning; nonexistent. He kept his gaze fixed on a point slightly above his father's head.

Behind him, Vanyel could hear the mules being led out to have the lead rein of the first fastened to the cantle of one of the armsmen's saddles. He halted Star about then, a few paces from the edge of the yard. He looked down at his father, keeping his face completely still, completely closed.

They stared at each other for a long moment; Vanyel could see Withen groping for something appropriate to say. And each time he began to speak, the words died unspoken beneath Vanyel's cold and dispassionate gaze.

I'm not going to make this easy for you, Father. Not after what you 've done to me; not after what you tried to do to me just now. I'm going to follow my sire's example. I'm going to be just as nasty as you are - but I'm going to do it with more style.

The silence lengthened almost unbearably; even the armsmen began picking up the tension, and shifted uneasily in their saddles. Their cobs fidgeted and snorted restlessly.

Vanyel and Star could have been a statue of onyx and silver.

Finally Vanyel decided he had prolonged the agony enough. He nodded, once, almost imperceptibly. Then, without a word, he wheeled Star and nudged her lightly with his heels. She tossed her head and shot down the road