Chapter 109 - 108:Obvious Signs.

Chapter 109: Chapter 108:Obvious Signs.

In the end, he can’t. And neither can a whole lot of the other soldiers. Ill stomach, is what they tell the Captains, when asked.

Bongo is at least kind enough to pretend to believe them, but no one’s fooling Drogger, who just shakes his head, and wonders aloud of the self-control of men.

But he lets them go nonetheless; sends them off under strict orders to sleep away the regrets of the night before and all the ailments that came with them.

Some of the poorly make it all the way through the morning before they get sent crawling home to bed. Even less make it all the way to afternoon.

Very few indeed, make it to the evening.

It turns out that even the ranks of Drogger’s dedicated elite aren’t immune to the allure of a strong drink and fine company.

There’s decidedly fewer of them here tonight than there have been, and it’s nice to know that even men as devoted to their training as they are let down their guard every now and then.

Not Drogger, though.

Rogard knows he’s been down at the fair on the plains because he’s seen him there --sometimes with his men, and sometimes alone --but he must be a man who keeps his desires in check because for all the men who have turned up to training with dust in their heads and the ale still turning stale on their breath, Drogger’s yet to be one of them.

And probably won’t be, considering that the tournament is only days away. Tensions are already running high --what with so many soldiers from so many kingdoms all coexisting in one city --it’s no wonder the castle guard are under orders to remain particularly vigilant.

Rogard’s heard rumours of brawls breaking out in taverns across the city. It’s been kept very quiet, because it makes very powerful people look very bad, but there have been whispers.

There’ll always be whispers. Nothing stays secret in this castle for very long.

"--Rogard? You there?" Khobi suddenly asks from right next to him, and Rogard realises with a start that he’s been talking to him. And that he’s completely zoned out.

And that the reason he hadn’t been listening was that he’d been too busy ogling his captain from afar; watching Ynoro’s latest endeavour to get Drogger to join him in an evening of revelry fail, like every other time before.

He hopes Khobi didn’t notice.

"Huh?" he replies, ever-eloquent, and then saves himself with an innocent, "Did you say something?" Thankfully, Khobi has a bit of a one track mind when it comes to training, and doesn’t seem to have noticed his wandering eyes.

"I said," he huffs, clearly annoyed at having to repeat himself, "Do you want a practice match?"

"...You’re staying late again?" Rogard frowns, instead of answering, and Khobi looks at him like he’s just asked a ridiculous question.

And maybe he has; Khobi’s clearly made no sign of being ready to finish up for the day. And unlike the rest of the men here, it’s not like he has anywhere else to be. Or anywhere else to go.

That doesn’t mean Rogard necessarily wants him to stay.

"Aren’t you?" Khobi deadpans flatly, and Rogard resists the urge to pout. It’s a compelling argument. And one that Rogard doesn’t really have any good counter for.

"Well...yeah," he replies cagily, and Khobi just shrugs, like he doesn’t know why Rogard’s making a big deal about it. After all, he’s been staying late every night since he found out Rogard did.

"So it’s fine then."

Rogard glares at him, because he knows he can’t say anything else. Why wouldn’t it be fine, after all? He can’t well tell him that training late under the Captain was supposed to be his secret.

His special training, so that the next time he fought on a public stage it wouldn’t end like the last.

It’s selfish, he knows, but he’s never been accused of being selfless.

"So...?" Khobi asks again, looking an admirable blend of hopeful and determined. But Rogard shakes his head apologetically, and points a discreet finger in the direction of their Captain and his ever-undaunted friend.

"Sorry Khobi, I’d love to, but I’m already promised to someone else tonight," he whispers conspiratorially, and Khobi follows his highly conspicuous pointing and raises an eyebrow.

"...Drogger?" he guesses.

"Ynoro," Rogard corrects, like that was the obvious choice, and doesn’t think he much likes the inflection of his voice. There’s a chance he meant nothing by it, but there’s also a chance he did.

"We have an arrangement,I like his footwork, and he wanted some tips on how to make himself more appealing to women."

Khobi stares at him like he’s just grown an extra head.

"...So why’s he asking you?"

He ruins it by smirking, and Rogard aims a cheap kick at his ankles.

Khobi just dodges, like it’s too easy, and uses his Rogard’s head to catch his balance as he swings past to beg a sparring partner of one of Drogger’s other men.

Rogard staggers a little under his weight, and clucks his tongue irritably as he runs a hand through his hair and finds it all in a tangle.

"Seriously, Khobi?" he complains to his back, and surprises himself a little with how good-natured it comes out.

Khobi just laughs at him.

...

In the end, Ynoro has better things to do with his evening than train, and as soon as he’s pried every single one of Rogard’s tricks from him he’s gone, like he’d never even been there, and Rogard winds up training with Drogger anyway.

Both of them do, in fact; taking it in turns getting their asses handed to them. He may not be blessed with their degree of natural ability as swordsmen --and admits it freely --but Drogger has no qualms with making it abundantly clear that he raises soldiers, not duellists, and that the worth of a man is measured by more than gold, or how hard he can swing a sword.