Magic's Pawn

retreating footsteps and the sound of the outer door opening and closing again.

He staggered back to the bed, and sat down on it, heavily. Finally he reached for the lute, detuned it, and put it back in its traveling case.

Then he reached for the bottle and gulped the wine as fast as he could pour it down his throat.

Oh, lord - oh, gods. A fool. After everything this morning, after I start to feel like I'm getting a grip on things, and I go and act like a fool. Like a kid. Like a baby who’d never seen a whore before.

He burned with humiliation as he imagined the girl telling his guards what had just passed between them. And drank faster.

He did remember to unlock his door and blow out the candle before he passed out. If Sun and Shadow out there decided to take it into their heads to check on him, he didn't want them breaking the door down. That would be even more humiliating than having them follow him to the privy, or laughing at him with the girl.

I've never been this drunk before, he thought muzzily, as he sank back onto the bed. I bet I have a head in the morning....

He snorted then, a sound with no amusement in it. At least if I'm hung over, it'll make Trusty and Faithful happy. If they can't report to Father that I tried to escape, at least they can tell him I made a drunken sot of myself at the first opportunity. Maybe I should have let the girl in after all. It wouldn’t be the first time I've bedded something I didn’t much care for. And it would have given them one more story to tell. Oh, gods, what's wrong with me? Mekeal would have had her tumbled before she blinked twice! What is wrong with me?

He rolled over, and it felt a lot like his head kept on rolling after he'd stopped moving.

Then again - I don't think so. Not even for that. The wine's bad enough here. I hate to think where the girls came from ... or where they 've been.

But why can't I react the way everyone else seems to? Why am I so different?

His head hurt, but not unbearably. His stomach was not particularly happy with him, but he wasn't ready to retch his guts up. In short, he was hung over - though less than he'd expected. In an odd sort of way, he was feeling even more detached than before. Perhaps his intoxication had purged something out of him last night; some forlorn hope, some last grasping at a life no one would ever let him have.

He pulled on his riding leathers and groomed himself as impeccably as he could manage without a mirror, leaving only the tunic off, since he intended to soak his aching head in cold water before he mounted Star - in the horse trough if he had to. He walked out into the morning light pouring in through the outer room, surveying the pathetic wrecks that had been his alert and vigilant guardians only the night before with what he hoped was cool, distant impassiveness.

And he spared a half a moment to hope that the girl hadn’t told them -

His guards were in far worse case than he was, having evidently made a spectacular night of it. Quite a night, judging by their bleary eyes, surly, yet satiated expressions, and the rumpled condition of the bedding. And Vanyel was not such an innocent as to be unable to recognize certain - aromas - when he detected them in the air before Garth opened the window. He was just as pleased to have been so drunk as to be insensible when they had been entertaining their temporary feminine acquaintances. Could be the chambermaid had found what she'd sought in the company of Garth and Erek after being rebuffed by Vanyel.

They weren't giving him the kind of sly looks he'd have expected if the girl had revealed his panicked reaction.

Well - maybe she was too busy. Thank you, gods.

He managed to deal with his hangover in a fairly successful fashion. Willowbark tea came for his asking, hot from the kitchen; on the way to the privy, with the faithful Garth in queasy attendance, he managed to divert long enough to soak his head under the stable pump until his temples stopped pounding. The water was very cold, and he saw Garth wincing when he first stuck his head beneath it.

That dealt with the head; the stomach was easier. He drank nothing but the tea and ate nothing but bread, very mild cheese, and fruit.

He was perfectly ready to ride out at that point. His guards were not so fortunate. Or, perhaps, so wise, since their remedies seemed to consist of vile concoctions of raw eggs and the heavy imbibing of the ale that had caused their problem the night before.

 As a result, their departure was delayed until mid-morning - not that this disturbed Vanyel a great deal. They'd be outside the bounds of the forest before dark; at least according to what the innkeeper told Garth. That was all Vanyel cared about.

Garth and Erek were still looking a bit greenish as they mounted their cobs. And neither seemed much inclined toward talk. That suited Vanyel quite well; it would enable him to concentrate on putting just a bit more distance between himself and the world. And it would allow him to do some undisturbed thinking.

The forest did not seem quite so unfriendly on the eastern side of the inn - perhaps because it was hunted more frequently on this side. The underbrush certainly wasn't as thick. The boughs of the trees overhead weren't, either, and Vanyel got a bit of nasty satisfaction at seeing Garth and Erek wincing out of the way of sunbeams that were much more frequent on this side of the woods.

But it was hotter than yesterday, and Vanyel finally stripped off his leather tunic and bundled it behind him.

Seeing no lurking shadows beneath the trees, he felt a bit easier about turning his attention inward to think about just what, exactly, he was heading toward.

I can guess at what Father's told the old bat. That's easy enough. The question is what she's likely to do about it.