[Flashback] Horse Thieves

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

OOC Note: Musical inspiration is "Peach, Plum, Pear" by Joanna Newsom, though I'm also providing the cover by Final Fantasy because a) many people can't get past her folksy singing voice, and b) his cover is with a violin as opposed to her harpsichord, which is cool in a totally different way. Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Sunberth, Sylira 1st Spring, 508 A.V. "You, boy," came the imperious voice of a girl, startling him out of the hypnotic rhythm of his hands, brushing the dark coat of the Master's fine new Firemane. The low croon in the back of his throat ceased and the skittish animal tensed up at the girl's presence. Both horse and boy were silent as the girl screamed gutter-filth invective back through the door. Then, "You're coming into town with me to carry my things. Come on!" Though young Sam had proven himself worth the gold spent on him, he knew better than to disobey a direct order from the Master's youngest. He would be beaten for refusing in order to complete his work, but he would likely catch a beating for leaving it, as well. One could survive a long time as a crafty slave, but not without bruising and scarring. The expensive horse snorted in annoyance, but let Sam send her out to pasture before hurrying to catch up with the girl. The rich had more to fear in many ways than the poor. The girl's carriage was full of guards on her father's payroll and it was all Sam could do to find a seat on the back runner, his booted heels dangling just over the moving ground. He had grown fairly tall over the years, even on a slave's rations. The runner wasn't empty. The low man on the guard totem pole kicked Sam for more room. The slave just sidled over to stay out of the way. Despite the manpower required to assure the safety of the girl and her father's money, only Sam would do the menial task of ferrying her purchases to the guarded carriage. At least the day would offer new scenery. Maintaining a stable was a full-time job, and he rarely got to spend time in Sunberth if there weren't horses to be purchased. They passed the manor gates. It wasn't a long drive to town, and then there were the usual sights. Rattling to a halt in front of a couple of expensive boutiques, the Master's hired swords nodded and exchanged familiar pleasantries with the shop guards. Sam debarked quickly, running around to help the girl out of the carriage. She took his arm for all the world like a lady. Luckily he had had his weekly bath the day before, and only smelled of horses a bit. She didn't let go of his arm once she was on the street. "How much for the young slag?" cat-called a drunken bravo from a few paces away. One of the hired swords punched him in the face, his gauntleted fist knocking out teeth. The girl's eyes narrowed and she pulled Sam along toward the first of the boutiques. "Come on." Inside, she released his arm to peruse the artisan's work, jewelry in this one. The obsequious shop girl fluttered about until the Master's daughter bade her shut up. "What do you think?" she asked. When he didn't respond, not thinking his opinion would be required, she made an impatient noise. "Boy. Look. What do you think?" Blinking, he turned his head to look at the young mistress's face, two different earrings held to her ears: one of black pearl; one of Eypharian ruby. He looked at the gems, then at her. It was the first time he had been invited to do so and thus it was the first time he noticed how her skin had the perfection of cream skimmed from a bucket of milk, the little bow of her pouting lips, the bluest eyes, the hair golden as Cyphrus grasses in Autumn. He pursed his lips, then looked away. He took a sapphire teardrop and held it up next to her eyes, then nodded and held it out to her. "You have expensive tastes for a slave," she noted, setting her previous choices aside and threading the hook through the tiny hole in her lobe, and twisting her hair up to admire how it dangled in the glass. She started when bits of him appeared too in the glass, his hands approaching to drape a sapphire necklace around her neck. Once the initial surprise wore off, she looked in the glass again, a slow smile spreading across her face in approval. "You're useful," she said with wicked glee. "Daddy won't be happy that the only gold I return with will be in my jewelry, but he can go petch himself." Sam went back to admiring the sapphires not already adorning her, assuming she was speaking to herself. "What's your name?" "Sam, miss," he said. He looked her in the eye rather than deferentially to the floor, admiring the way the stones heightened her beauty. We speak in the store I'm a sensitive bore You seem markedly more And I'm oozing surprise But it's late in the day And you're well on your way What was golden went gray And I'm suddenly shy The sun was going down when they returned to the estate, the stone wall already marked by the periodic blaze of a watch fire. The Master didn't trust to his distance from Sunberth proper to protect him and his possessions from the rapacity of the anarchist city. The carriage rattled through the gate and into a courtyard busy as a hive of bees in spring. Servants and slaves ran hither and thither preparing the place for the night's fête. The girl made a noise of irritation, apparently not in the mood for said activity, as she stepped out of the carriage. One of the house servants edged Sam out to offer the little mistress a hand out, and another prevented him from unloading the girl's purchases into the house. She, the servants, and the baggage disappeared inside, and once the guards dispersed, the carriage rattled off toward the stables, where Sam eventually followed to pick up where he had left off. The mare needed to be taken care of and then the stables needed to be immaculate for the guests. Soon he was back in his earlier meditative state, charming the Firemane with the stroke of the brush and the low, soothing sound from his throat, and eventually his ministrations were interrupted by a voice, the girl's voice, familiar now. "You're good with horses." It was a statement. "Miss," he agreed, the drone ceasing, but the brush not. "I hate it here," he muttered to herself, or perhaps to him. What could he be but a captive audience for her thoughts. After a while, he said, "You could steal a horse." This earned honest laughter before she reigned it into a more artificial thing; one never knew who was listening. He smiled softly, then turned to look at the horse. "Do you think she'll ever be calm enough for me to ride?" she asked. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I think so. She just doesn't like it here, either." He paused. "You have that in common." "And you?" she asked speculatively. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Shouldn't you be telling me how much you love it here?" she asked archly. "Probably," he admitted. Then, "Here, put out your hand. She's calm now. She'll associate calm with your scent." "My scent, huh?" she asked with her same bristling sarcasm, but she stepped forward fearlessly and put out her hand. Sam nickered to the Firemane, leaning in to nuzzle her face, and the horse nickered too, rubbing her nose into the girl's hand. When Sam turned to look, her eyes had taken on a softness that he hadn't seen earlier. The sapphires sparkled in her ears, but no longer matched. They were hard and brilliant, and her eyes were suddenly soulful such as no tear of Semele could be. "I could just steal a horse," she murmured, then sighed and leaned her head against the horse's soft nose. The horse snorted, blowing her hair back. She stood up laughing, but dashing tears from her eyes. Her pale hand reached out to pat the horse, who seemed nonplussed by her presence. "I've got to go get ready," she told him. "Miss," he acknowledged. "You're all right, you know," she said, half turning from the stable door. "For a slave." Sam bolted down his food and changed into the simple livery of his Master, an attempt for the megalomaniac to adorn himself and his home with the glamor of faux nobility: a country estate, servants and slaves in uniform. As if his blood were noble. As if his people loved him. He couldn't even claim his daughter's love, Sam thought. Not really. There was something alien to him in that reality. He had lost his family and had attempted to bury their memory over the years if he had not been able to give them a proper funeral pyre or to bury their bones. The guests arrived, men and women, bravos and prostitutes, the entertainments already laid out. The gates were thrown open as if to proclaim the Master powerful. Who would dare attack? Who, indeed. All his mercenaries were present, as well as the guards of his various guests. Nobody would attack his manor house. The threat of bloodshed kept everything non-violent if not peaceful. So numerous were the guests, that the stables could not contain their mounts. They were picketed carefully so as to prevent damage from ill-tempered horses while the party-goers entered the house or chattered in the loggia. The guest-mercenaries loitered about here and there, many hidden where they could sneak a drink to ward of the chill still lingering in the new spring air, the rest dicing or otherwise passing the time. The party went on for hours and hours, and though some guests left early, many were being true to the reputation of Sunberth and preparing for the long haul until dawn. Sam was dozing on a bale of hay, leaned up against the interior wall of the stable, when the horses' night noises alerted him of a guest. There were subtle things that he knew to listen for, that he couldn't help but hear, and he reacted, rubbing sand from his eyes as he stood up to see which weary, besotted guest needed their horses saddled. She had thrown a cloak over her party dress as the temperature dropped, and she looked distracted. "Miss?" he said, confused by her presence. "You could just steal a horse," she said quietly. "What?" he asked, still discombobulated by sleep and by her. The sides of her cloak parted as she dropped a bundle on the hay bale: crumpled clothes, heavier things. "What's this?" he asked. "Put them on, Sam." Confused, he pulled the bundle apart, pulling the finery on over his livery because it was cold and because he didn't want to be exposed to her scrutiny. "Why am I...?" he asked, then took in a sharp intake of air when he unraveled a scarf and a bloody dagger fell out. It was then that he noticed dry, dark stains on his new clothes. "He tried to rape me," she informed him in defiant tones as if he were accusing her. "All right," Sam said, looking down on some other man's blood on his hands, reminded uncomfortably of the last bloodbath he had been party to. He bit his lip. "So this is what you're going to do," she said, all business and matter-of-fact. "You're going to steal a horse. You're going to get your freedom. And I won't have to deal with the fallout." "I am?" he asked, blinking rapidly in succession. "Free?" "Don't be slow, Sam," she snapped. "Idiots don't survive long with freedom." She fished a piece of paper out of her cloak and handed it to him. Careful to wipe the blood off on his borrowed attire, he took the thing, opening it and looking at it like some kind of a puzzle. "What is this?" "Sam..." she began, then paused. More softly, "Oh. It's your bill of sale. If you get away, you can destroy it, and you won't be a slave anymore. You can go somewhere and start a career telling useless girls how to accessorize." She laughed a little at that, but he didn't see the humor in it, or was too much in shock to appreciate it. "Here," she said, pulling another something out of her cloak. It was a pouch. This too she handed to him. "You can sell these somewhere. They're just old things I don't wear anymore. A few mizas I had lying around." She looked regretfully at the mare she had befriended earlier with his help. "Are you going to steal her?" she asked. He followed her gaze, then back. He shook his head. "No, you've started something with her. Eventually, she'll let you ride her. Just be kind to her and compassionate for her captivity." "You aren't?" she asked, a faint, forlorn hope glimmering in her voice. "No," he said, having gathered his thoughts quickly. "No." He had only thoughts to gather, and her dubious gifts. Other than that, he didn't own anything. He started to saddle up a guest's horse. "Windrunner's faster," he explained as he prepared to depart. "Only thing faster is a Strider on the Sea of Grass." "Will you go back there?" "No." "Oh," she said, not bothering to ask the why. "Come with me." "What?" "Come with me," he said again. "Bring the Firemane and the rest of your jewelry. We'll go... someplace." There was a long silence as he loaded the Windrunner's saddlebags with some grain to augment the green shoots of spring. He refrained from looking at her, instead getting to know the horse better. Then there was no time to waste. He wanted to get as far away as possible as fast as he could. And the gathering floozies Afford to be choosy And all sneezing darkly In the dimming divide And I have read the right books To interpret your looks You were knocking me down With the palm of your eye "Well," he said at last, "thank you, miss, and goodbye." "Goodbye, Sam," she said, her tacit refusal hanging in the air. "I owe you one," he said, and then led the horse out of its stall. There was only quiet as he led the horse toward the stable doors, but then she quickly ran up to him and stopped him. There was a searching look, and then she kissed him hard on the mouth before pushing him along. "I'll get out someday. Ride confidently. They won't see the blood in the dark. Sway in your saddle." She paused. "Good luck." Sam swung into the saddle with long-practiced ease. It made him feel like he was on top of the world to see it from horseback, and the windrunner seemed to appreciate the young man on his back who took to that perch as if they were a centaur. Taking a chance, he urged the horse into a gallop, then hallooed and howled with laughter like a drunk, as he sped out of the compound. He heard laughter from the guards and hoped that it had worked. If it hadn't, there was nothing he could do now but run down the country road that led to Sunberth, but also to roads north and away from the peninsula and toward the enormous future, whatever that might be. This was unlike the story It was written to be I was riding its back When it used to ride me And we were galloping manic To the mouth of the source We were swallowing panic In the face of its force And I am blue I am blue and unwell Made me bolt like a horse North of Sunberth, Sylira 2nd Spring, 508 A.V. Dawn broke like a blessing from the gods, and Sam might have wept if he wasn't running so scared. He had passed around the city safely and covered leagues in the night, but he didn't want to push his new horse too far. The poor beast was shivering from exertion, sweating and breathing like a bellows. Sam took him off the road, which was thankfully beaten to the point where tracking was impossible. When they found a bit of meadow near a stream, he let the horse drink and crop the grass. He took off his saddle, allowed him some grain, and began grooming away some of the road grit. "Don't worry, little brother," he crooned. "I'll take care of you forever if you get us out of here." That promise made, he continued to groom his equine savior until the shuddering stopped. "I'm sorry to push you so hard, but they'll catch us if we aren't swift like the wind." He fished out a bottle of liniment that was magic when applied to tired horse muscles, and pampered the big beast with it. Once the horse had passed out, idly grazing in his sleep, Sam stumbled to the creek to wash his hands and splash water on his face. On his knees in the wet gravel, he peered at the wavering reflection. Frowning, he dashed the reflection. It was a familiar face, but grown strange. He was wearing someone else's clothes. He was riding someone else's clothes. He was free now if he could manage to outpace the vengeance of the murdered man's kin. Half-crawling back to the meadow, his legs cramping up from the hard exertion, he leaned against the saddle where it sat upon a log. No sleep would come, he was sure. Though exhausted, he was running on hysterical energy. The world had fallen away, dropped out from beneath his feet. He was flying or he was falling. He was free. Now it's done Watch it go You've changed some Water runs from the snow Am I so dear? Do I run rare? And you've changed some Peach, plum, pear... Peach, plum... lyrics by joanna newsom

[Book__wyrm]

Conclusion

XP: 1-Horse riding, 3-Horsemanship 1-Fashion sense. Lore: Sunberth Nobility