Magic's Pawn

'Any problems, Garth?' asked the one who'd remained with Vanyel, as the first bent to retrieve a pack and motioned to the servants to take the ones Vanyel recognized as being his own.

'Nay,' the first chuckled. 'This early in th' summer they be right glad of custom wi' good coin in hand, none o' yer shifty peddlers, neither. Just like m'lord said, got us rooms on second story wi' his Highness there on t' inside. No way he gets out wi'out us noticin'. Besides we bein' second floor, Ts needful we just move t' bed across t' door, an' he won't be goin' nowhere.'

Vanyel froze, and the little corner of him that had been wondering if he could - perhaps - make allies of these two withdrew.

So that's why they're keeping their distance. He straightened his back, and let that cool, expressionless mask that had served so well with his father this morning drop over his features again. I might have guessed as much. I was a fool to think otherwise.

He turned to face his watchers. 'I trust all is in order?' he asked, letting nothing show except, perhaps, boredom. 'Then - shall we?' He nodded slightly toward the inn door, where a welcoming, golden light was shining.

Without waiting for a reply, he moved deliberately toward it himself, leaving them to follow.

Vanyel stared moodily at the candle at his bedside. There wasn't anything much else to look at; his room had no windows. Other than that, it wasn't that much unlike his old room back at Forst Reach; quite plain, a bit stuffy - not too bad, really. Except that it had no windows. Except for being a prison.

Inventory: one bed, one chair, one table. No fireplace, but that wasn't a consideration given the general warmth of the building and the fact that it was summer. All four of his packs were piled over in the corner, the lute still in its case leaning up against them.

He'd asked for a bath, and they'd brought him a tub and bathwater rather than letting him go down to the bathhouse. The water was tepid, and the tub none too big - but he'd acted as if the notion had been his idea. At least his guardians hadn't insisted on being in the same room watching him when he used it.

One of them had escorted him to the privy and back, though; he'd headed in that direction, and the one called Garth had immediately dropped whatever it was he'd been working on and attached himself to Vanyel's invisible wake, following about a half dozen paces behind. That had been so humiliating that he hadn't spoken a single word to the man, simply ignored his presence entirely.

And they hadn't consulted him on dinner either; they'd had it brought up on a tray while he was bathing.

Not that he'd been particularly hungry. He managed the bread and butter and cheese - the bread was better than he got at home - and a bit of fresh fruit. But the rest, boiled chicken, a thick gravy, and dumplings, and all of it swiftly cooling into a greasy, congealed mess on the plate, had stuck in his throat and he gave up trying to eat the tasteless stuff entirely.

But he really didn't want to sit here staring at it, either.

So he picked up the tray, opened his door, and took it to the outer room, setting it down on a table already cluttered with oddments of traveling gear and the wherewithal to clean it.

Both men looked up at his entrance, eyes wide and startled in the candlelight. The only sound was the steady flapping of the curtains in the light breeze coming in the window, and the buzzing of a fly over one of the candles.

Vanyel straightened, licked his lips, and looked off at a point on the farther wall, between them and above their heads. 'Every corridor in this building leads to the common room, so I can hardly escape you that way,' he said, in as bored and detached a tone as he could muster. 'And besides, there's grooms sleeping in the stables, and I'm certain you've already spoken with them. I'm scarcely going to climb out the window and run off on foot. You might as well go enjoy yourselves in the common room. You may be my jailors, but that doesn't mean you have to endure the jail yourselves.'

With that, he turned abruptly and closed the door of his room behind him.

But he held his breath and waited right beside the door, his ear against it, the better to overhear what they were saying in the room beyond.

'Huh!' the one called Garth said, after an interval of startled silence. 'Whatcha think of that?'

'That he ain't half so scatterbrained as m'lord thinks,' the other replied thoughtfully. 'He knows damn well what's goin' on. Not that he ain't about as nose-in-th'-air as I've ever seen, but he ain't addlepated, not a bit of it.'

'Never saw m'lord set so on his rump before,' Garth agreed, speaking slowly.

'Ain't never seen him taken down like that by a lord, much less a grass-green youngling. An' never saw that boy do anythin' like it before, neither. Boy's got sharp a'sudden; give 'im that. Too sharp?''

'Hmm..No - ' the other said. 'No, I reckon in this case, he be right.' Silence for a moment, then a laugh. 'Y'know, I 'spect his Majesty just don't want to have t' lissen t' us gabbin' away at each other. Mebbe we bore 'im, eh? What th' hell, I could stand a beer. You?'

'Eh, if you're buy in', Erek - '

Their voices faded as the door to the hall beyond scraped open, then closed again.

Vanyel sighed out the breath he'd been holding in, and took the two steps he needed to reach the table, sagging down into the hard, wooden chair beside it.

Tired. Gods, I am so tired. This farce is taking more out of me than I thought it would.

He stared numbly at the candle flame, and then transferred his gaze to the bright, flickering reflections on the brown earthenware bottle beside it.