Chapter 20: More Trouble with Evaluations
Conrart suppressed the urge to sigh as he followed Herald Captain Kerowyn into Companion's Stable. The idea of having to submit himself to an equestrian test was even more galling then having to subject himself to a test of his weapons skills. At least that he'd expected and understood. But honestly, equestrian? For crying out loud, he'd been riding since before he could walk! Horseback riding was part of basic education in the Demon Kingdom, for boys at the very least. All men had to know how to ride in case they were drafted.
A few years ago, after finally cementing the alliance with every other country on their world, barring the Shimaron territories which were still hostile, Yuri had turned his attention towards improving the lives of his people, and decreed that all children in Shin Makoku were required to learn at least the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic in addition to the previously required equestrian lessons.
He blinked in mild surprise as he entered Companion's Stable; this was his first time inside the building. He glanced around, mildly surprised by the large, open box stalls. There were no doors on any of the stalls, and from the looks of it there never had been.
: We come and go as we please, Chosen; we're not horses after all. : Vanyel said lightly into his mind.
Amusement drifted down the link they shared as he mentally stammered out his apologies. Vanyel assured him that he wasn't mad; in fact he understood his confusion. Conrart relaxed at his reassurance, Vanyel was one of the best things to ever happen to him, and the last thing he wanted to do was offend the stallion.
Conrart smiled when Vanyel poked his nose out of what he was guessing was his stall. Without really meaning to, he found himself standing beside his Companion, his face buried in Van's glossy mane. The young stallion nickered at him quietly, and Conrart found himself wondering if he would be mounted on Vanyel during his upcoming equestrian test or whether he would be riding an actual horse.
Vanyel snorted : Of course you'll be riding me! Why wouldn't you be? : He asked, mild annoyance coloring his mental voice.
Conrart blinked at his tone of voice and scratched lightly behind one of the stallion's ears before replying. : I'm sorry, but is it safe to ride you? You're not fully grown yet. :
Vanyel cocked an ear in his direction and thought for a second before answering mildly, : I can't deny that you have a point there Chosen, but I assure you it's fine. I'm old enough for you to ride me during your equestrian classes, and for basic light riding. However, by the time you're ready for your whites I should be old enough for you to ride without any problems, and if I'm not they will likely just delay your internship ride until I can handle it, less than six months I'd wager. We'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it, but for now and for the purposes of this exercise, it is safe to ride me. :
Conrart nodded, and patted the stallion's shoulder before turning his attention back to a smiling Herald Kerowyn who was standing beside a lovely Companion mare. : My mother, the Companion Sayvil. : Vanyel introduced, and Conrart inclined his head politely to the mare. Manners were drilled too far into his head to ignore proper etiquette, even if the lady in front of him bore the physical form of a horse.
"It is an honor to meet you, my lady." He said simply, ignoring Kerowyn's startled expression. For her part the mare looked him over with a critical eye before inclining her head and proceeding to startle about a decade off his life.
: The honor is all mine, Chosen of my son. I'll not insult you by calling you youngling, as we both know that at least is one thing you are not. : Sayvil replied, her mental voice colored with warmth and amusement.
Conrart refrained from gaping only by dint of much self-restraint. The fact that the Companion had answered him was startling; he'd been here for a little under two weeks, only one of which he'd actually been awake for and even he knew how rare it was for a Companion to speak to anyone other than their Herald.
Kerowyn turned fiercely intelligent green eyes on him, and scrutinized him carefully for a minute before asking, "Exactly how old are you?"
Conrart blinked and opened his mouth, ready to respond with his physical age. He knew better than to give a human his actual age – they'd likely have him committed. Kerowyn's eyes narrowed abruptly, and briefly reminded him of his lady mother.
"Sayvil tells me you are not 19; far from it in fact, so I suggest you tell the truth trainee, because if you don't . . . well, we have ways of making you."
Conrart would be humiliated to admit it, but he backed up a step trying to think of a way to defend himself if it came to that, and came up empty handed. He was unarmed, but for the small set of lock picks Yozak had given him after the incident with Belar, and somehow he didn't think those would be much help now. Furious with himself for having let his guard down after years of experience had taught him never to do so, he glanced around, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. He found nothing—the stable was simply too damn clean!
Vanyel stepped forward, until he stood between him and Kerowyn, every line of his body radiating defiance and challenge. His ears laid back so close to his skull that he looked as if he didn't have any.
: She wouldn't; no Herald would misuse her power in such a manner! However, should she be foolish enough to try it – I am here my Chosen. : Vanyel said calmly, and then added with a sigh. : You can trust the people here; anyone in whites has a Companion and can be trusted. Kerowyn is just used to getting things done the fastest way possible, and if that includes making people a tad uncomfortable, then so be it. Diplomacy has never been her strong suit, but then that's why we don't send her on diplomatic missions… the incident rates would be astronomical! :
Conrart sighed and did his level best to calm himself back down, thankful (and not for the first time) for the impassive mask he'd learned to wear from a very young age. He laid a hand on Vanyel's withers, and smiled impassively at Kerowyn over Vanyel's broad back.
"Do you really wish to know, my lady?" he asked, challenge lacing his every word.
Kerowyn glared at him. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know, Trainee." She replied sharply.
"Very well," Conrart replied, keeping his voice level. "I am 135 years old, although by our standards I have scarcely reached adulthood."
He suppressed the urge to grin at the astonished expression on her face – proving (to his mind at least) that he'd been spending far too much time with Yozak as of late.
Kerowyn gaped at him before she finally found her tongue. "You're not human, are you?" she blurted tactlessly.
"No, I am half human. Will that be a problem?" he replied mildly.
To his surprise she didn't back down. "And exactly what is the other half?"
His reply was frank. "Mazoku"
Kerowyn looked highly annoyed by his response. "And the Valdemaran equivalent would be?" she all but growled.
Conrart raised an eyebrow at the woman; well, she'd asked for it. "The closest thing in your limited vocabulary would be Dæmon."
To his surprise she didn't shriek and run off or draw the sword at her hip to smite him. Instead she cocked her head to the side and examined him. "No offense intended, but you're not exactly what I expected a demon to look like." She said at last.
Conrart couldn't help it; he laughed aloud, the tension draining from his neck and shoulders. "What exactly where you expecting, glowing red eyes, claws, fangs and a tail?"
Kerowyn shrugged. "That, and maybe slit eyes, like you'd see on a cat, or one of the Griffons."
Conrart snorted and leaned up against Vanyel's flank; she seemed to be handling this well. Better than Yuri had in fact; she hadn't screamed or attempted to kill him or had him committed. Perhaps here, he really could just be himself. "Not the most observant of creatures, are you?" he asked.
"What exactly do you mean by that, Dæmonling?" she asked mildly.
Conrart blinked at the nickname, amusement flared in his breast and he suddenly felt …well … playful. He smiled lightly, and stepped back into the shadows, keeping his eyes on Kerowyn. For a moment she looked confused; then she stepped forward, and in one swift movement grabbed hold of his chin, forcing his head about briefly. Then she laughed.
"You DO have slit pupils!" She exclaimed, before launching into rapid fire questions.
What had he gotten himself into?
Her questions were coming way too fast; he couldn't make heads or tails of them! Abruptly she stopped and he suppressed the urge to laugh. She reminded him of an inebriated Yozak. The last question – and the only one he'd actually caught, amused him to no end.
"Yes, I can see color."
Kerowyn sighed, "Sayvil reminds me that I'm supposed to be testing your riding ability." She said.
He inclined his head. "How exactly do you wish to start this? I must admit no one has ever thought to test my riding skills; all things considered, I'm not that surprised really."
Kerowyn chuckled at that. "Let's see if you know how to groom and tack up your mount first. The tack shed is this way," she added, leading him into a small building at the rear of the stable.
He glanced around, noting the fact that every piece of equipment in the room was in one of two shades of blue, and embellished with silver. Kerowyn showed him where Vanyel's tack was kept, explaining that (for now at least) Vanyel only had the one set of tack, which was less formal than what he should have Chosen in, but given the fact that Vanyel was still growing, they actually hadn't bothered with making his actual tack yet. As such his gear lacked the sigil – a vowel-less representation of his name – and bore none of the fancy inlays and leatherwork normally associated with a Companion's tack.
When Vanyel was finally full grown, the tack would be replaced with proper Companion tack, and what he was currently using would be placed in storage against the advent of another Companion Choosing at such a young age. He nodded his understanding, and when asked, began to name the pieces and function of Sayvil's tack, since some pieces of Vanyel's were missing. She then had him list situations in which certain pieces of tack would have to be discarded and why, like the bells, which were a dead giveaway of their approach should they require stealth.
He was a bit startled by the fact that the bridle was little more than an elaborate hackamore, but he realized and understood the significance of it rather quickly. It wasn't as if Vanyel needed a bit, and the bridle was designed for the Companion's comfort, and so that he could easily slip out of it if need be.
She presented him with the bag full of Vanyel's brushes, and ran through the exact same process. He found himself rather amused by this, as he still had vivid memories of his father holding up a currycomb in a very similar manner, and asking him the same question Kerowyn just had almost verbatim! Finally satisfied that he at least knew his equipment, Kero instructed him to 'groom and tack up his mount'.
It didn't take long; he didn't have to fight Vanyel to get the stallion's hooves up so that he could inspect them or pick them free of debris. After over a century spent tacking up his own mounts (everything from his first placid pony, to the high-strung pleasure mount he'd ridden until shortly before his 85th birthday when he'd put the much loved beast out to pasture, to the most spirited of the many war horses he'd ridden) tacking up Vanyel –who actually cooperated – was as easy and natural as breathing.
He glanced over at Vanyel's uncut tail, and abruptly asked Kerowyn exactly what the test was going to entail. Loathed as he was to cut the delicately flowing appendage, he would if he had to. From her description of the ordeal, he gathered that he could get away with braiding the stallion's tail. He gently gathered the hair at the base of Vanyel's tail and braided it tightly around the dock, leaving the rest to fall freely.
It was a technique (called a plait) his father had taught him long ago, since as a prince he would need his horse's tail to have a refined look while still keeping it functional and preventing it from getting caught in things. He'd never really bothered with such frivolousness after his 85th birthday, when he'd realized that the only worth he would ever have as a half –breed was what he could win in the military. Valiant hadn't needed a fancy tail; as such he'd simply shaved the area around the gelding's dock. He'd been riding Valiant since shortly before Yuri had returned to their kingdom and had ridden him on parade all of three times.
And came back wearing something unpleasant for his trouble – he rather vividly remembered avoiding his king and the rest of his family for the better part of a day, as he attempted to scrub away the stink of some of the things he'd been pelted with! It had worked, but he could have sworn he'd scrubbed off several layers of his skin as well.
Washing Valiant afterwards had always been a chore, mostly because the gelding had refused to hold still. The beast bit too! He'd kept Valiant's tail cut closely to his dock just to avoid problems, but beyond that had allowed it to be as long as was functionally possible. He was glad he didn't have to do the same with Vanyel. The fact that the stallion was willing to hold still long enough for him to braid his tail in such an intricate manner, without having to be securely tied to something, was an advantage he was profoundly grateful for!
With that done, he stepped back and allowed Kerowyn to inspect his work, explaining the reasons behind the plaited tail when asked, but glossing over the more intimate details. She didn't need to know his rank or that he braided it simply because the mere thought of giving Vanyel what amounted to a military hair cut saddened him in ways he was not yet willing to cope with.
She sure as hell didn't need to know that he'd been pelted with rotten vegetables (and worse) simply because his parents had belonged to two different species!
He had to fight the urge to grab hold of Van's reins and lead the stallion out of the stable. Instead he took a leaf out of Kerowyn's book and walked calmly beside his Companion, trying not to fidget since he wasn't used to having his hands idle when he worked with horses, and it had been years since he had a horse that followed him around like a dog rather than having to be led.
: Why don't you put your hand on my shoulder then, Chosen? It would give you something to do, and I wouldn't mind the contact. : Vanyel said kindly.
Conrart did as he was told, gently resting the palm of his hand on Vanyel's shoulder. As ridiculous as it sounded, the small action made him feel better, safer, as if by doing that alone he could keep Vanyel from bolting. That and the fact that the action reminded him invariably of Hoshi, the loyal little mare that had been his father's last birthday gift to him. He'd led Hoshi with hand and pressure signals, though it had always seemed as if he didn't need them. She was usually at his heels anyway. The mare had been gentle, but spirited and high-strung, in addition to being extremely intelligent. She'd also been his first real horse.
Just thinking about her brought a smile to his lips.
: I'd like to know more about this horse of yours, Chosen. However, now is not the proper time. We're out side and you should mount up. : Vanyel said quietly into his mind, startling him out of his reveree.
Only years of training kept him from leaping clean out of his skin in surprise when Vanyel bespoke him. Idly he wondered just what this place, this world, and Vanyel were doing to him. He hadn't been caught unawares by anyone, barring maybe Yozak in 50 years! Yet this place kept doing that to him. He felt an almost undeniable pull to simply be himself, to let down his guard and trust these people in a way he NEVER had with anyone except Yozak.
He didn't want to; lowering the shields he'd very carefully constructed around his heart was folly! It meant he opened himself up to pain again. It was true that Yuri had somehow wormed his way past those shields and into his heart, but Yuri was the first and last person to do so in half a century!
He sighed, dismissing his feelings as something to look into later and swung up into the saddle with the ease and practiced grace of a born horseman. He sat there quietly, while Kerowyn inspected his seat, looking for anything that needed correcting, and coming up empty handed. At last she ordered them to walk in a large circle around her. He did so without complaint. It took him a moment to get accustomed to the fact that he didn't have to direct Vanyel, and then he had to figure out what to do with his hands. He finally settled on holding the reins exactly as he would have had he actually been riding a horse, and rested his wrist against the saddle horn.
Kerowyn seem pleased, and asked them to move up into a trot, then a canter and finally a gallop. That last one startled him so much that he dropped the reins altogether and grabbed the saddle horn to steady himself. Vanyel was significantly faster than any horse he'd ever ridden, and while he'd ridden many horses at a full gallop, he wasn't prepared for how fast Vanyel could move.
Wolfram often spent hours in frivolous displays of equestrian merit, such as riding in circles or weaving through poles at a full gallop, but Conrart had never engaged in such activities – as such he got a bit dizzy rather fast. He finally resorted to picking a point on Vanyel's mane and staring at it. That at least gave him something to look at that wasn't moving at an alarming rate.
At length, Kerowyn pronounced herself satisfied with his seat and informed him that they would be running the obstacles course. Conrart suppressed the urge to groan and leaned forward to press his forehead into Vanyel's crest, muttering in his native tongue about crazy demented humans who were going to make him lose his lunch.
The stallion's answering whicker of amusement gave him little comfort.
: I can go faster Chosen; I am one of the fastest Companions on the field. You'll have to get used to it, I'm afraid, though I doubt we'll be going in circles like that again. :
Conrart gave a purely mental groan at that bit of information. : Just promise me you won't start trying to scrape me out of the saddle at a full gallop. I had a mount that did that and I can assure you it wasn't pleasant! :
: I wouldn't dream of it Chosen, and no, I don't suppose that would be pleasant. Out of curiosity, how did you handle that? : Vanyel asked mildly.
"I had Valiant gelded," he replied aloud, before adding, "It did wonders for his temperament."
If a stallion could wince, Vanyel did.
He caught Kerowyn smiling out of the corner of his eye.
The obstacle course when they got there was not what he was expecting! There were random logs thrown about the ground, and arranged into different low configurations. None of the logs were more than three feet in diameter and while they occasionally rested either against or on top of each other, they wouldn't prove difficult to maneuver through on a trained horse. He didn't think either he or Vanyel would have even the slightest problem with this course.
: Is she joking with us because I know a very old pony I could take this course on. : He asked, mildly offended.
Vanyel whickered in amusement. : For now she's trying to see if you can handle this before she lets us try one of the other courses. :
~~~***~~~
The first course she'd had them run was predictably very easy, the second was harder, the third annoying but not necessarily difficult, the fourth was hard and intricate but it hadn't been even remotely difficult staying in his saddle until she'd asked them to do it at a gallop. The fifth course she'd asked them to run was not a course he ever wanted to see again, let alone run. After they'd gotten through it the first time without incident, she'd insisted they take the course bareback, and without bridal and reins. It hadn't been amusing at all! But then being nearly unhorsed by what amounted to a flying sapling was most definitely not something he would define as fun!
He was currently sitting on the floor with his head in his hands, trying not to throw up, leaning up against a concerned Vanyel, while Kerowyn inspected the mess his fetching gift had made of the course after the flying sapling startled him into using them.
He felt so drained!