Chapter 122 - 121: First Run, First Victory.

Chapter 122: Chapter 121: First Run, First Victory.

Despite assurances that jousting was a whole lot more interesting than archery, Khobi Frost had honestly been anticipating a repeat of the day before --hours upon hours of tedious competition and polite applause.

​He could not have been more wrong.

​The blood starts in the very first bout. One of the soldiers just isn’t quick enough to get his shield into place, and it costs him.

Not his life --his armour is decent enough that it takes the brunt of the force, but his pride, for sure, because not only does the blow knock him from his saddle, but his foot gets caught in a stirrup on his way down.

​His horse drags him for several long strides before one of the grooms manages to intervene.

​" Shit ," Khobi breathes, mouth gaping as he eyes the thin red trail the man’s left in his wake. It looks like it might have come from the guy’s head.

​"Yep," Montrel drawls in agreement as the victor canters back up the line with his broken lance held aloft like a prize. And the crowd goes absolutely wild for him; their cheering and hooting infinitely more animated than the day previous.

​It’s positively vicious .

​And from there the blood just keeps flowing.

​For a sport so favoured by nobility, it’s a brutal one.

The horses sound like rolling thunder when they charge, and the crack of wood upon metal as lance crashes into armour is both sickening and intoxicating, and has the entire crowd wincing when they meet.

​It’s...kind of fascinating.

​Scargga was a duelling kingdom first and foremost, and Silas had been more into bloodsports than ones of skill, so this sort of thing is completely new to Khobi.

Bongo, and sometimes Princess Xena, make sure to introduce the soldiers to their company as their horses enter the lane, either by name or the name of their lord, and Montrel gives a running --at times scathing --commentary of their technique, while Khobi watches each pass, transfixed.

He listens, too, because it’s clear from the way Bongo nods along, that Montrel actually knows what he’s talking about.

​"Watch this one," Montrel snickers in Khobi’s ear, nudging him to look down the lane towards one of the soldiers trotting up.

There’s apparently a lot more to jousting than Khobi thought, but he’s learning, and it doesn’t take any kind of expert to know that this guy going to lose.

​"He’s off balance, right?" Khobi remarks, frowning as the pair of horses erupt into motion and hurtle towards each other to the sound of thunderous applause.

​"Holding his lance all wrong," Montrel agrees with a shake of his head, and they all flinch on cue as the guy they’re all talking about gets absolutely flattened by his opponent, and nearly skewers himself with his own lance as he goes down.

"Ouch," he concludes, as a couple of medics rush in to scrape the guy off the ground.

Still alive, by the looks of things, but pretty badly rattled, and when they finally manage to get him back to his feet, he’s limping, and cradling one side of his body.

Considering how hard he fell, it’s a miracle he’s even able to walk himself off the lane. He wouldn’t have been the first to have to be carried off, and definitely wouldn’t have been the last.

Unbelievably, his opponent seems kind of pissed that he managed to get through to the next round with such little effort on his part.

He’s got a few choice words for the loser as he limps off, and a couple of the nearby guards have to step in to intervene before someone gets hurt.

​Ynoro is the first Crade soldier of note to step up into the lane, armour gleaming bright and silver, and his horse an immaculate white against the rich maroon and black garb of his kingdom.

His helmet is tucked up under one arm, and he’s smiling and waving to the crowd, much to the obvious chagrin of his opponent; a giant of a man with a thick set jaw and a face that looks like he’s already fallen off his horse a couple of times today.

​"Ynoro, why do you have to do this to me?" the guy complains in a deep, gruff voice, as a shower of what appears to be flowers rains down on Ynoro’s end of the lane.

​"Okamura, my old friend, there is always time to acknowledge beauty in this world," Ynoro chimes back with a whimsical grin and a bow to a nearby lady as gracious as he can manage on a horse.

​"You only say that because you’re the one being acknowledged!" his opponent laments crossly, looking decidedly upset by the amount of attention Ynoro’s garnering, and how little he’s receiving.

Even one of the officials looks drained just watching Ynoro’s excessive pandering, and is proving to be largely unsuccessful at drawing his attention back to the event at hand.

​"Those two know each other?" Khobi frowns, head swinging from end to end as the men trade jibes like old friends.

Or, old acquaintances, maybe. It’s not exactly clear. If anything, the guy Ynoro’s facing off against seems to regard him as both some kind of romantic rival, and a kindred spirit.

​"Guy’s from Yosen," Montrel pipes up gruffly. "What?" he adds, defensive, when he notices the sidelong looks that both Bongo and Princess Xena send him; like they weren’t quite expecting him to recognise the man by his colours.

"I know some of the sigils, okay?" He clucks his tongue, like he’s offended, but seems to grudgingly understand where they’re coming from, so just juts his chin in the direction of the giant of a man currently watching Ynoro’s interactions with the crowd with unbridled envy.

"...Ynoro spent a while out there; got to know some of the soldiers." It’s as if the guy doesn’t even realise he’s holding up proceedings, but by some miracle, or perhaps sensing each others’ suffering, Drogger glances up at the royal dais at the same time as Bongo peers down.

And if the look they exchange is anything to go by, Ynoro’s shenanigans have gone on for quite long enough.

At a short nod from the Third, Drogger steps forward to intervene before things get any more out of hand and manages to shoo Ynoro back into position without too much difficulty.

​Khobi frowns, and inches forwards in his seat as Ynoro neatly wheels his horse back to where his groom is waiting impatiently for him.

He can’t quite pin it down, but something’s changed; where only moments ago, the cheers of the crowd were his entire world, now they seem to mean nothing.

​"He’s good, isn’t he?" he observes solemnly, eyeing the way Ynoro raises his lance in salute and then slams his visor down into place.

For once, Montrel doesn’t begrudge him praise, and grins as Ynoro’s horse breaks from standstill into a full-fledged gallop.

​"Really good."

​Both lances shatter .

​Neither soldier seems in the least bit unsettled by the blow, and carry on through past each other with barely a flinch, but the crowd roars in delight.

There must be more to jousting knocking your enemy off their horse because even though it looks like a draw to Khobi’s untrained eye, Ynoro’s holding his broken spear aloft like he knows he’s won.

And if how defeated his opponent looks is anything to go by, he knows it too.

​"What just happened?" Khobi asks, bewildered, as both riders turn and accept a second lance from their waiting attendants in preparation for the second pass.

​"Ynoro won," Montrel replies flatly.

"Obviously."

​It’s not obvious at all, but Khobi nods along like it is.

He watches more closely the second time; at the way the two riders are seated on their horses, how they shift their lances as they urge their horses into motion.

His red eyes track each man in turn, and widen unflinchingly as Ynoro’s lance slants just so , and cracks dead centre into his opponent’s purple and silver shield a split second before one crashes into his.

​"You saw it, right kid?" Montrel snickers, glancing down and catching Khobi grinning as they watch Ynoro victoriously tear off his helmet and holds it to the sky triumphantly, like he’s already won the day.

It’s enormously gaudy, but even if anyone were to tell Ynoro that, he probably wouldn’t listen.

Khobi nods wordlessly, and slides forwards another inch in his seat. A little bit more and he’s at risk of toppling right off. Especially if Montrel were to, say, kick the chair legs out from under him. Which he’s been tempted to.

​"Someone’s enjoying themself," Gurdet chips in smugly, like he’s read Montrel’s mind, and Khobi immediately withdraws in on himself when he realises just how intently he’s been watching the display.

​"Don’t listen to him, Khobi ," Princess Xena chimes, patting him lightly on the arm and getting away with it, "It is rather exciting, isn’t it?"

​"It’s not duelling," Khobi states flatly, and Montrel finds himself sharing a knowing look with Princess Xena over just how poorly he’s attempting to mask his interest. "...But it’s not bad, I guess."

​Princess Xena unsuccessfully tries to cover a giggle, and Montrel snickers along with her as Khobi swings a heartfelt glare their way for poking fun at him.

It’s a very strange feeling, sharing a private joke with his princess; he’s just a castle guard after all, and he’s not been on familiar terms with her since they were practically kids and he’d been tasked with keeping an eye on her and her brat cousin.

Throughout most of the kingdoms she has a reputation for being devastatingly pretty, but Montrel’s realised over the last couple of days that she’s also, in fact, kind of cute.

​(He’s definitely not allowed to think that.)

​Montrel quickly coughs away his laughter and elbows Khobi in the arm so he knows he’s just messing with him.

"Pity I don’t exactly trust you with a horse, kid," he chuckles, "I know a couple o’ guys who’d probably pay good money for a chance to get in the lane with you."