Valdemar 06 - [Exile 02] - Exile’s Valor (46 page)

“Then
Choose
—” he began, but she interrupted him.

“They aren't Chosen by a person, they're Chosen by their Companion,” she told him flatly, a chill over her words that he seemed oblivious to. “So you can't be a Herald because none of them have Chosen you.” She didn't bother to add that he would then have to go through the Collegium like anyone else before he became a full Herald and could be crowned co-Consort and King. If he really had ignored something so fundamental as needing to be a Herald before becoming a King, he would never grasp having to be schooled for four or more years first.

“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?:

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 broken 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.”