“You’re telling me,” he said, slowly and incredulously, “that the reason I can’t be King is because I don’t have a white horse?”
“They aren’t horses,” she began, but he was already pushing away from the table.
“There must be fifty or a hundred of those beasts in that field next to the Palace,” he said, a dangerous edge to his voice. “They can’t all belong to somebody. We’ll see about this nonsense.”
He stalked out, and she might have tried to stop him—except at that moment she lost her battle with her stomach, and with that, her will to try to break him of his delusions gently evaporated.
Let him stand around in Companion’s Field with a carrot in his hand for the rest of the day, if he elected to. He’d only look silly, and maybe when he was tired, hot, and ready to come back to the Palace he’d be more reasonable.
:Chosen—: Kantor said, just as Alberich was correcting one of the younger Trainees’ aim with his bow, nudging his feet into a better stance, showing him how to aim along the shaft, then elevate to allow for the arrow dropping in flight. :I don’t want to interrupt you, but there is about to be something of a crisis. And we are the closest—we, and Keren and Dantris, of course—to the situation.:
Calmly, Alberich stepped back and let the Trainee shoot, not changing his expression by a hair. : What crisis? What situation?:
:Prince Karathanelan is coming to Companion’s Field; he has three friends, they are all mounted, and they all have ropes. He thinks he’s going to catch and break a Companion so he can be made King. Evidently when Selenay convinced him just now that he couldn’t be crowned unless he was a Herald, he put his own interpretation on being Chosen.:
Hardly surprising, if he was the sort of Prince that Alberich thought he was.
The arrow hit the target this time, at least, which was an improvement over the Trainee’s last several shots. :I fail to see the crisis. Surely you aren’t going to try to tell me that he can catch one of you if you don’t want to be caught?: It wasn’t as if the Prince could pin a Companion in a corner; the fence around the Field was mostly to keep people out, not Companions in. In fact, Alberich would not have put it past a Companion to leap the wall around the Complex, at need.
And besides, that, any Companion in danger of being caught against his will would be instantly rescued by the entire herd. No horse would stand there and face a charging Companion herd, no matter what his rider wanted.
:Of course not,: Kantor replied, now coming into view through the trees, trotting toward him. :But I believe Caryo intends to be caught, so she can kick the fewmets out of him. And other than you and I and Keren and Dantris, I think the rest are inclined to let her have her way. She has put up with a great deal since he arrived here, and done without much of the company and attention of her Chosen.:
:Ah.: That put an entirely different complexion on things. At the least, if the Prince was damaged, Selenay would be distressed. If he was embarrassed, he’d make her miserable. And even if Caryo was not the sort to have murder on her mind, accidents could happen. He didn’t bother to ask if the other Companions had tried to reason with her; Caryo was as stubborn as any Companion born, and as Kantor had pointed out, she’d had to put up with a lot of aggravation since Selenay met the Prince. This was one insult too many. “Students!” he said aloud, as Kantor reached him. “Some small trouble there is that I must attend. Trainee Telbren, you are in charge.” And as he finished the sentence, Kantor stood steady and he vaulted onto Kantor’s bare back. As soon as he had his balance, the Companion whirled on his rear legs and broke into a gallop. Which looked like more of an impressive feat of horsemanship than it actually was; Companions were legendary for their ability to keep their Chosen in the seat.
They were also legendary for their speed, but as they came out of the trees, bearing down on four strangers mounted on mere horses, he saw it was already too late. There was Caryo, neatly “caught,” standing meekly with four ropes and a saddle and bridle on her—
His heart sank. Oh, no. They used a horse-bridle. If there had been any chance that the Prince might be forgiven his faux pas by the other Companions, given that Caryo was burning to teach him a lesson, it had just flown swiftly away. No Companion would ever forgive the insult of having a bit stuffed into his or her mouth, nor forgive the insult to a fellow Companion.
—and there was the Prince, down off his horse and approaching her with a swagger, grabbing the reins and preparing to mount.
“Highness!” he shouted, as a second white streak that could only be Keren and Dantris came into sight from the direction of the riding arena. “Highness, look out—”
But it was far, far, too late.
If he had blinked, he would have missed it. As it was, in one way, he was glad he had not, though in another, he wished he had.
From meek, docile, and trussed up, Caryo turned into a whirling, spinning—and quite deadly, if she chose—fury. In that brief moment, the merest breath, she expertly yanked three of the four ropes out of the hands of their holders and freed herself from their control, probably leaving the palms of those hands bloody and torn in the process, though they were in too much shock to register the pain immediately. The fourth rope was in the Prince’s hands, and instead of ripping it out of his hands, she wound it around herself as she whirled and used it to pull him in closer, he being not bright enough to let go—
—and as soon as he was in range, both hind feet lashed out in a precisely calculated kick—
—which landed right in the Prince’s midsection. He went flying backward through the air, most spectacularly.
Caryo rid herself of all four ropes, though he could not make out how she did it. She simply seemed to give a kind of shrug, and they loosened and fell off, and she stepped out of the loops lying on the ground. She spit out the bit, shrugged off the bridle as easily as she had the ropes, then she bucked off the saddle and kicked it after the Prince, and went galloping away, head high, tail flagged. Evidently, with the probable intervention of two Heralds and their Companions at hand, she considered that the single kick was enough.
Behind her, three young courtiers were bent over their hands and their saddle-bows, cursing and gasping. The Prince was on the ground, also gasping; not a surprise, given that the hammer blow of hooves to his gut must have driven every bit of air that had been in his lungs out of them. But he could have had broken ribs—
:He doesn’t,: Kantor said. :Though he’ll have black-and-blue hoofprints on his belly for days. Caryo didn’t actually kick him; it was more like a calculated and very powerful shove.:
Keren got to the Prince first; rolled him on his side, then slammed him across the back until he could breathe again, then helped him to his feet, talking the whole time. Alberich reached them just in time to hear her finish.
“—terrible insult. Like putting a slave collar around your neck, Highness,” she said. Alberich could tell, though, that the Prince wasn’t listening. He was red-faced now, and it was with anger.
“I will hunt that beast down this moment, and I don’t care who it belongs to,” he said between clenched teeth. “And I will destroy it.”
Enough was enough. Alberich seized both his shoulders, turned him so that he was looking right into Alberich’s eyes, and shook him twice. Hard. Like a wolf with a snake. “Then on trial for murder and treason you will be, and pay for both with your life!” he rasped harshly. “To kill a Companion is murder by Valdemaran law. To kill the Queen’s Companion, treason. Do not force your bride to hang you, Prince, for she will.”
Evidently Alberich’s words penetrated, for the Prince gaped at him in shock.
“For a horse?”
“For a Companion.” Blessed Sunlord, just how stupid was this fool? “They—are—not—horses,” he continued, emphasizing each word with a hard shake. “No matter what your eyes tell you. Your eyes lie.” He had done some reading since the Prince arrived, on Myste’s insistence, and now he was glad that he had. “Have you bro
ken ribs? A broken pelvis? No. Because it was a Companion that kicked you—shoved you with her hooves, rather—and not a horse. Think! Had it been a horse that had done this, would you not in blood and broken bones be lying? In your own land, lives the Shin’a’in Tarma—so I know that you know of this. The Companion is like to her kyree Warrl. Be grateful she did no more than kick you for your insults.”
He saw the Prince’s eyes widen, then narrow again, at the comparison. He heard also heard Kantor’s snort of disgust at being compared to a kyree. But Kantor knew better than to object, since at least now the Prince had some basis for comparison that he might believe.
“So—” Karathanelan got out around clenched teeth, “How do I get one of them to let me ride it?”
“Choose you, you mean?” Alberich replied, letting go of the young man’s shoulders. “After this?” He shook his head, and wondered at the monumental hubris that would permit the Prince to even think of such a thing. He considered trying to explain that it might happen—if the Prince were to have such a complete change of character as to be a different person. He opted for the simpler choice, for Karathanelan would never believe that he needed to change his character. “After such an insult to all Companions as this—never. Not even if the Queen was to come here and beg them upon her knees.”
And satisfied at least that the fool was in no condition to try any more foolishness, he gave the merest sketch of a bow, and turned on his heel. Two steps took him to Kantor, and he mounted and rode off. There were more important matters to tend to than the petulant Prince.
At least for now.
Myste was laughing so hard that there were actually tears coming from the corners of her eyes, and her lenses fogged. “Oh, gods,” she gasped. “Oh, gods. I wish I’d seen it!” She mimed the Prince’s ungraceful arc through the air with one hand. “Eeeeeeeeee—thump! Oh, I wish I’d seen it!”
“No, you don’t,” Alberich contradicted her sourly. “The Prince has a good memory, and although he probably will not dare to touch another Companion, he is going to find a target for his anger. More than one, I suspect; anyone who actually witnessed his disgrace is going to find themselves on his short list of people he’ll mark for punishment and revenge. With his reputation and manliness so utterly refuted, he will want to make someone pay.”
“And what could he do to a Herald?” Myste scoffed.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “And that is what concerns me. He has already tried to have me dismissed from my post as Weaponsmaster today—for ‘putting violent hands on a Prince of the Blood,’ if you please. It was only the reaction of the Council to that statement that persuaded him that I am out of his reach for now.” He shook his head. “Kyril stood up and said that he was lucky I had not finished the task Caryo started. And that for laying violent hands on a Companion, he could have found himself in the Palace dungeons.”
“The Palace doesn’t have dungeons,” Myste said without thinking.
“I know that, and you do, but the Prince apparently does not.” Alberich shrugged. “That is not relevant. The point is, he has already sent his three ‘friends’ packing. He tried to disgrace me. Keren has been warned, and is going to try to stay out of his sight.” He grimaced. “Poor Selenay.”
“Why ‘poor Selenay’?” Myste asked, surprised.
“Caryo is her Companion,” he reminded her. “I do not think that he will harm her physically, but there are other ways he can make her unhappy.” Many other ways, actually. He wondered how Caryo had broken the news to Selenay, for surely she would not have waited for the Prince to tell his version of the tale first.
She shrugged. “I suspect that after he hears the news, he won’t be inclined to take any of his pique out on her. If he wants a validation for his masculinity, he’ll surely have it.”
“The news?” He looked at her blankly. “What news?”
“She’s going to have a baby, of course.” Myste tsked. “Men. I suppose you think it isn’t important.”
But her words made his blood run cold, as he remembered that overheard conversation with Norris. “On the contrary,” he said. “It is very important. If what we suspect about the Prince is, in fact, true—”
Myste lost her sarcastic smugness, and went a little pale. “I’d forgotten about that. Once the baby’s born, if he can’t be King—”
“—there is nothing in the laws of Valdemar that say that a Regent must be a Herald,” Alberich finished grimly for her. “And even now you would find it difficult to persuade most of the members of the Council that he should not be Regent for his own child should something happen to Selenay.”
Selenay had thought she was prepared for an unpleasant time with her husband—insofar as it was possible to be prepared, after getting a shock like that from Caryo. Bless her heart, Caryo had not said, “I told you so,” she had only given the bald facts of the matter, and all she said in her own defense was, :I was afraid if he managed to catch one of the youngsters, someone would have gotten seriously injured before it was over. And I admit, I wanted to put him in his place. I didn’t exactly kick him, though, Selenay. There’s nothing broken but his pride.:
She could scarcely countenance, not only that he had tried to force a Companion to his will, but that he had done so in the mistaken belief that he would then be a Herald and could be crowned King and co-Ruler. It was as if every lesson in Valdemaran law that he had been given had soared over his head. Hadn’t he even bothered to listen a little?
Apparently, it was only to what he wanted to hear.
When Caryo first told her, she was so furious she could not even see, and had to sit down as her knees went weak. Rage and an empty stomach do not combine well.
She raged inwardly at him, nevertheless. How dared he lay violent hands on a Companion? How dared he think that such a despicable act would actually gain him the Crown? If he had come to her at that moment, she might have snatched up some old sword hanging on the wall and beaten him with the flat of it.
But as a little time passed, she regained control over her temper. Though she was still going to give him a lashing, it would be with her tongue and not a whip or a sword blade. And she had the first phrase ready on the tip of her tongue when he finally appeared.
She had thought that after such a monumental act of stupidity, Karath would have come to her contrite and looking for forgiveness. In fact, she could not imagine any other scenario.
Instead, he burst in through the door, slammed it behind him, and proceeded to shout at her, quite as if she were somehow to blame for all this, and as if this business of not being made King was somehow her fault, something she had concocted to keep him from his rightful place, and as if the debacle with Caryo had been something that she had planned to humiliate him.
And that made her furious all over again.
His ranting was like a spark in dry grass; she pounced on the first available pause for breath, and then she made her riposte.
“If you think I’m going to take your side in this, you are very much mistaken, Karath. I told you—and if I told you once about how things are here, I told you a dozen times!” Selenay shouted at the angry face of her husband. “The Council told you! Your own Ambassador told you! For the gods’ sake, Karath, it was in the marriage contract that you signed! In both languages! Just how stupid are you to have missed it that many times?”
She knew the moment that the words left her mouth that they were the wrong thing to say, but she couldn’t help it. Just how stupid was he? Or did he live in some fantasy world where because he wanted something, it would simply be given to him?
Well, maybe that was the way things had been back in Rethwellan, but that wasn’t the way it was in Valdemar.
“Stupid enough to have wedded you!” he shouted back, “Such a fine bargain I have made for myself! I have wedded no power, no responsibility, and no rank but that which I was born with! And for this, I have what? A wife with neither the face nor the form to stand out in a crowd—with common ta
stes and common, petty morals, a little girl who thinks more of her horse than of her husband! For this bargain, I take a cold, naive, ignorant virgin who grasps her little power as a miser does gold, who does not even know how to properly pleasure a man!” And before she could retort, he stormed out, and before the astonished eyes of her Guards, who had no doubt heard it all, he slammed the door behind him, leaving her feeling as if he had dealt her a blow.
She was left staring at the door he slammed behind him, torn between wanting to throw herself to the ground, weeping, and wanting to strangle him.
The latter won out, but not by much, and as she paced back and forth across her sitting room, there were tears streaking her cheeks as well as anger making her clench her jaw until it ached.
Her heart ached, too; ached bitterly, for every insult he had thrown at her felt like a blow.
She managed to get some control over herself in order to put herself into the hands of her maids; tonight she took extra care with her appearance, for surely he who was so conscious of the trappings of status would not absent himself from dinner where he sat at her right hand. Common, was she? She would show him. She would make him mad to take her in his arms again, and she would, by the gods, make him beg for the privilege. And apologize, not only to her, but to Caryo.
But the chair at her right remained empty all evening.
She put on a good face, of course, replying lightly to Talamit’s query that he was probably passing the time with the friends who had come up from Rethwellan, to whom she had given titles and property. “They are probably celebrating, now that it is official,” she said, with a false lightness. “And after all, Talamir, you can hardly expect a young man to hover over his wife every moment of the day! At some point every young man I have ever known, be he never so devoted, has longed for the company of his old friends!” Her laugh sounded hollow to her own ears, but Talamir made no sign that he had noticed her unhappiness. “Just because we are wedded, this does not mean that we are joined at the hip!”
Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor Page 33
