Magic's Pawn

teachings. Vanyel would try to hold his own, wearing nothing but the padded jerkin and helm, carrying the lightest of target-shields, and trusting to speed and agility to keep him out of trouble.

Radevel kicked open the unlatched door to the practice ground, leaving Vanyel to get it closed before somebody yelled about the draft. The early spring sunlight was painful after the darkness of the hallway; Vanyel squinted as he hurried to catch up with his cousin.

'All right, peacock,' Radevel said good-naturedly, dumping his gear at the edge of the practice ground, and snagging his own gambeson from the pile. 'Get yourself ready, and we'll see if this nonsense of yours has any merit.'

It took Vanyel a lot less time than his cousin to shrug into his 'armor'; he offered tentatively to help Radevel with his, but the older boy just snorted.

'Botch mine the way you botch yours? No thanks,' he said, and went on methodically buckling and adjusting.

Vanyel flushed, and stood uncertainly at the side of the sunken practice ground, contemplating the thick, dead grass at his feet.

I never botch anything except when Jervis is watching, he thought bleakly, shivering a little as a bit of cold breeze cut through the gambeson. And then I can't do anything right.

He could almost feel the windows in the keep wall behind him like eyes staring at his back. Waiting for him to fail - again.

What's wrong with me, anyway? Why can't I ever please Father? Why is everything I do wrong?

He sighed, scuffed the ground with his toe, and wished he could be out riding instead of trying something doomed to failure. He was the best rider in Forst Reach - he and Star had no equals on the most breakneck of hunts, and he could, if he chose, master anything else in the stables.

And just because I won't bother with those ironmouthed brutes Father prefers, he won't even grant me the accolade there-

 Gods. This time I have to win.

'Wake up, dreamer,' Radevel rumbled, his voice muffled inside the helm. 'You wanted to have at - let's get to it.'

Vanyel walked to the center of the practice field with nervous deliberation, waiting until the last minute to get his helm on. He hated the thing; he hated the feeling of being closed in, and most of all hated having his vision narrowed to a little slit. He waited for Radevel to come up to him, feeling the sweat already starting under his arms and down the line of his back.

Radevel swung - but instead of meeting the blow with his shield as Jervis would have done, Vanyel just moved out of the way of the blow, and on his way past Radevel, made a stab of his own. Jervis never cared much for point-work, but Vanyel had discovered it could be really effective if you timed things right. Radevel made a startled sound and got up his own shield, but only just in time, and left himself open to a cut.

Vanyel felt his spirits rising as he saw this second opening in as many breaths, and chanced another attack of his own. This one actually managed to connect, though it was too light to call a disabling hit.

'Light!' Vanyel shouted as he danced away, before his cousin had a chance to disqualify the blow.

'Almost enough, peacock,' Radevel replied, reluctant admiration in his voice. 'You land another like that with your weight behind it and I'll be out. Try this for size - '

He charged, his practice blade a blur beside his shield.

Vanyel just stepped aside at the last moment, while Radevel staggered halfway to the boundary under his own momentum.

It was working! Radevel couldn't get near him - and Vanyel was pecking away at him whenever he got an opportunity. He wasn't hitting even close to killing strength - but that was mostly from lack of practice. If -

' 'Hold, damn your eyes!''

Long habit froze them both in position, and the armsmaster of Forst Reach stalked onto the field, fire in his bloodshot glare.

Jervis looked the two of them up and down while Vanyel sweated from more than exertion. The blond, crag- faced mercenary frowned, and Vanyel's mouth went dry. Jervis looked angry - and when Jervis was angry, it was generally Vanyel who suffered.

'Well - ' the man croaked after long enough for Vanyel's dread of him to build up to full force, ' - learning a new discipline, are we? And whose idea was this?'

'Mine, sir,' Vanyel whispered.

'Might have guessed sneak-and-run would be more suited to you than an honest fight,' the armsmaster sneered. 'Well, and how did you do, my bright young lord?'

'He did all right, Jervis.' To Vanyel's complete amazement Radevel spoke up for him. 'I couldn't get a blow on 'im. An' if he'd put his weight behind it, he'd have laid me out a time or two.'

'So you're a real hero against a half-grown boy. I'll just bet you feel like another Veth Krethen, don't you?' Jervis spat. Vanyel held his temper, counting to ten, and did not protest that Radevel was nearly double his size and certainly no 'half-grown boy.' Jervis glared at him, waiting for a retort that never came - and strangely, that seemed to anger Jervis even more.

'All right, hero,' he snarled, taking Radevel's blade away and jamming the boy's helm down over his own head. 'Let's see just how good you really are - '

Jervis charged without any warning, and Vanyel had to scramble to get out of the way of the whirling blade. He realized then that Jervis was coming for him all-out - as if Vanyel was wearing full armor.