“Don't you ever give up?” Vanyel asked, amusement waning with exasperation, and amusement winning.
“No,” the Bard replied, sure now that he'd won. “I already told you that.” He felt Van's hand stroking his hair, and sighed, relaxing himself, the cold lump in his stomach vanishing.
“All right - but only because I think you're right.” Vanyel pushed him away enough so that the Herald could look into his eyes. “You're probably a lot safer with me than here. I can put better protections on you than I've ever put on anyone else, including myself, you'll be invisible to Mage-Sight because I'll make them all passive defenses that don't manifest unless you're attacked, and it's harder to find a moving target. But Stef - please,
The look in Vanyel's eyes was not altogether sane, and reminded Stef uneasily of the expression he'd seen once in the eyes of a broken-winged bird. Stefen shuddered, and pulled the Herald back into an embrace. “I promise,” he said. “I told you, I value my skin. I won't risk it doing something stupid.”
“Good,” Vanyel sighed. “Well - I guess I should let you go pack....”
He let go of Stef, reluctantly. Stefen backed a step away, and grinned up at the Herald. He returned to the door, opened it, and pulled his packs in from the hallway. “I already have,” he said simply.
Vanyel was awake at dawn, and Stef somehow managed to shake himself into a facsimile of alertness, even though his body protested being up at such an unholy hour, and his mind refused to admit that he was actually moving about.
Van had gone completely over his packs the night before; fortunately Medren had helped Stef put his kit together, and there was nothing Vanyel insisted upon that he did not already have, and very little he insisted Stef discard. Stef had already been in bed and asleep by the time Van finished his own packing, but he could be a very light sleeper if he chose, so the night had not been entirely wasted.
Although as he yawned his way through a sketchy breakfast, he wondered if the night might not have been better spent in sleeping, after all.
It was so dark that the stablehands were working by lantern light. Vanyel saddled Yfandes with his own hands, but suggested absently to Stefen that he stand back and let the experienced grooms deal with his little filly;
They placed a different sort of saddle on her than Stef was used to; one identical to Vanyel's, with the rear and front a little higher than his riding saddle, and rings and snaffles all over the skirting. He couldn't imagine what all those fastenings could be for; especially when there weren't any straps in evidence to be attached to them.
But then he didn't know much about horses, anyway. If that was the kind of thing Vanyel wanted him to use, he and Melody would cooperate. At least, he hoped Melody would cooperate; she looked rather affronted by the rump-band.
Then the grooms brought out two of the oddest animals Stefen had ever seen. Horse-tall, spotted brown and white, as hairy as the shaggiest of dogs, they had long necks and rabbit like faces with big, round, deep-brown eyes. One of them craned its long neck in Stefen's direction, its nostrils widening and its split upper lip lifting.
Stef tried to back out of its reach, but Melody was in the way and he was hemmed in by stalls on either side. The grooms were so busy loading the beasts with packs that they didn't notice what the one nearest Stef was trying to do.
He braced himself, waiting for the thing to try and bite him, hoping he could dodge out of the way before it connected.
But the creature only snuffled at him, stirring his hair with its warm, sweet breath. Melody twitched the skin of her neck and turned her head to see what was disturbing her. Stefan fully expected her to have a fit when confronted by the odd beast, but she didn't even widen her eyes. She just snorted in equine greeting, and the beast stretched its neck still further to touch noses with her before going back to snuffling Stefen's hair as if in fascination.
Finally the groom looked up from strapping the last pack down, and saw what the creature was doing. “Here now,” he said, slapping its shoulder lightly. The beast pulled its head back, and turned a gaze full of disappointment on its handler.
“Don't you go a-lookin' at me like that, missy,” he said. “Them's not roses you was a-smellin', 'twas the young lad's hair.”
She sighed, as deep and heartfelt as any crestfallen maiden, and closed her eyes. The groom pulled the final strap tight, and turned toward Stef. “Chirras,” he said, shaking his head. “Curious as cats, they are. You watch this 'un; she likes flowers, an' anything that's bright-colored she'll go sniffin' at just in case it might be some posy she ain't never seen afore.” He grinned. “Some fool Herald name of Vanyel gave 'er a snow-rose once, an' ever since she's been lookin' fer flowers where there can't be none.”
“She'd just carried my packs through a blizzard, Berd,” Vanyel replied without turning around. “I thought she
