Chapter 25: Ungodly Crash.

Chapter 25: Chapter 25: Ungodly Crash.

It would have felt like a clever pantomime put on especially for their entertainment, but for the simple fact that there was just no way to script this kind of madness.

Gurdet was, nonetheless, entertained.

How could he not be? Oh, what a show. The sheer uproar that had erupted as soon as the crowd of nobles had caught a glimpse of the young man –little more than a streak of red against stone –well, that had been music to his ears, the kind of opening score that held great promise for the performance ahead. He had to commend Khobi, he really did –he played his part so well. Seeing him hurtle down the balconies that ringed the courtyard with eyes so ablaze was truly inspiring, and with such single-minded focus that for a moment Gurdet almost believed for a moment that he might make it.

But of course he wouldn’t. No matter how fast he ran, or how far, or how fine a game he led his guards, they would always catch him. But, in the briefest of moments when Gurdet caught sight of Khobi’s face –so staunchly gazing towards the horizon as though it might just rise up before him, he understood that the young prince didn’t believe that.

He didn’t look down. He never looked down –never spared the crowd in the courtyard below him a second glance despite having drawn their undivided attention. And at first Gurdet thought that it was out of arrogance –that Khobi thought that they weren’t worth the time –but he was the kind of man that could see what others didn’t want him to see --and took glee in such things --and there was something that that indomitable whirlwind of red up there –beating upon stone and leaving good, strong men in his dust –wouldn’t let anyone see.

It was disguised as anger and bitterness, but those were always the easiest things to see through when one thought to look. And since Khobi seemed to think that no one was looking, Gurdet glimpsed something wretched cross his face, as though he was running from more than just the guards behind him. It was the look a street urchin wore when stall vendors hurled stones their way, the look a scruffy gypsy brat –unused to the unkindness of cities –tried to hide when they were called names by wicked children with good names and rich parents.

But even so, he kept his head held high and his jaw gritted tight, and his eyes burned with a fever that had Gurdet transfixed despite himself –and might have almost fooled him if he’d been watching any less curiously.

There was trouble looming on Khobi’s horizon, though, and it was black and red, and swarmed towards him like flies to a corpse. And Gurdet tracked the exact moment that the redhead realised with horror and frustration that his way was barred.

"Fuck!"

The vehement curse split the night as he swerved violently, and gasps rang out from the crowd, all enthralled, horrified and disgusted in equal parts. Khobi’s movements had them all shifting on edge –eyes nervously darting after his every step as though at any moment he might plummet from the balcony and descend upon them like a beast incensed.

In hindsight, they were probably right to worry.

With guards closing in on him from both sides, Khobi skittered, trying to change direction –trying to veer back the way he had come. But alas, that was a path no longer open to him, his pursuers closing in on him and penning him within ranks of guards like an animal trapped and caged. And as much as the king took great delight in seeing him run his guards a fine game around the balconies, there was something so satisfying about the look of sheer fury on the young prince’s face when he realised that the guards had him trapped between a wall and a balcony with nowhere left to run.

Well, almost nowhere. And it seemed that Gurdet was not the only one to realise it.

"Khobi, don’t –"

Montrel’s familiar, and frankly rather breathless voice rose up over the courtyard, but he didn’t have time to finished whatever warning, threat or plea he’d been about to blurt out, because an instant later it was swallowed up by the cacophony of shrieks that pierced the night –

–As Khobi, without hesitation, swiftly flung himself over the balustrades and right into the heart of the courtyard below.

And that was when the anarchy truly unfolded, in all its chaotic glory.

Nobles scattered like insects as Khobi launched himself off the balcony and into their midst, hurtling back to earth with all the intensity and destructive potential as a falling meteor.

...Only to immediately and rather unimpressively plough into a heavy, oak table, skidding along it headfirst in an ungodly din of shattering dishes. Chairs careened backwards as anyone in the immediate vicinity scampered away from danger. The table itself held fast though, shaking precariously and groaning under his weight as he scrabbled wildly for purchase amongst the mush of food scraps around him. He slipped twice –maybe more –and for a moment, Gurdet almost pitied him for it, because no man so desperately trying to scramble to his feet deserved to be defeated by mashed vegetables.

But then he was back on his feet in a flurry of flying glasses and expensive crockery, food and wine flying in all directions. The crowd withdrew with a horrified, disgusted gasp in unison as he turned, red gaze settling on the guards still positioned like ominous black ghosts in the balcony above him. Despite how much of a fool he looked coated in food scraps as he was, there was no denying the defiance in his stance, and the triumph glinting in his eyes as he stared with heat up at his guards.

(Gurdet was a little amused to note that where a few of the guards looked shocked, more looked impressed, with several –Yaka and Montrel to name but a few –looking more exasperated than anything.)

He took a sip of his wine and licked his lips curiously as he watched the crowd begin to swirl –watched them draw back and shy away from the mess. But there were others –and they were the ones that Khobi couldn’t afford to lose track of –they were approaching him, weaving through the crowd with probably a touch of difficulty –but approaching, nonetheless. Gurdet allowed himself a small, almost thoughtful hum as he appraised the situation.

Well, now, young prince, he mused to himself, as movement up on the balconies seemed to catch the redhead’s eye. It would only be a matter of time before the guards that he’d left so high and dry up there found his way back to him. They’re all coming for you. What will you do now?

Predictably, he ran.

And from there, it was like watching a marvellous play turn to ruin before his very eyes –as though the leading role was being played by a Fool who neither knew the script nor the story. A certain disaster, no doubt, but entertaining in its own right nonetheless.

And a smiling Gurdet had the best seat in the house.

"Father, do something!" Xena hissed from her seat beside him, her fingers clenched into the wood of the throne and worry dancing across her eyes. She flinched as something heavy, (and probably crystal from the way it shattered so crisply) toppled to the ground and sent shards scattering across stone. He spared her a small glance –only fleeting, because he was rather enjoying seeing his guards do battle with the expensive plates that were shattering most unceremoniously on their armour as Khobi hurtled down the length of the table.

"I am doing something," he informed her, holding up his glass of wine to prove a point. Her mouth fell open in protest, before snapping shut when she remembered that ladies shouldn’t gawk. He made a point of shifting in his seat to get a little more comfortable, crossing his legs with exaggerated casualness and a gleeful glint in his eye.

"What’s an evening without a little carnage –oh would you just look at that, Xena–" As if on cue, there came the kind of crackling roar that always heralded the ascent of an inferno, and an instant later, a column of flame tore up the length of a wall hanging and set it blazing. Ugly black smoke churned off it and sent soldiers and servants and nobles alike lurching away from it, coughing and wheezing and setting the nobles into a panic.

Who on earth kept hanging these abominations in his castle? The flames were an improvement.

--Oh, but he’d rather liked that other one, he lamented as he watched the flame of another stray candle nick the dangling threads of a neighbouring tapestry and catch it alight. Such a pity.

But he had to admit, the backdrop of flames steadily creeping up the wall really did add to the melodrama quite nicely. It made for quite the scene –servants and soldiers scurrying around with buckets of water amidst shattered glasses and plates and spilled, wasted food. The air smelled like burning, and over the clamour kicked up by Khobi’s heavy steps drumming on the table, and the sound of flames hissing on thread, there was a symphony of shrieks and the angry shouting of guards and nobles trying to yell over each other, and the kind of cursing that could make a lady swoon.

Ahh, it really was a delight, watching them all scurry about like headless little hens, tripping over themselves and each other as they tried to both steer clear of Khobi’s warpath but keep watching, because as much as they detested being in his presence while he ran free, they wanted so very much to see him caught like the beast they saw him as.

To his guards’ credit, they almost caught him. Embarrassingly enough, that was only because he reached the end of the table and had nowhere to go but onwards and upwards over the precariously stacked barrels of wine that had been so dutifully intoxicating the party goers this evening. But the guards almost caught him. He was either too quick for them or had fewer reservations regarding the stability of the pyramid of barrels.

Next to him, Xena drew a sharp breath as she too watched, transfixed, on the sight of a grown man clambering up a quivering tower of wine barrels with such intensity that he might as well have been climbing a mountain.

"I can’t watch..." she whispered, shaking her head but leaving her eyes bulging wide. Khobi aimed a kick at the face of a soldier who dared to come too close but when it didn’t connect he wobbled precariously atop his castle.

Some of the soldiers were laughing.

Gurdet personally felt that they were well within their rights to. There was a fully grown man clambering up a stack of wine barrels, covered in food scraps, dregs of wine, and soot, and cursing his mouth off at them. The only thing funnier, would be if one of the barrels were to break.

And because barrels are known for their impeccable comedic timing, the one beneath Khobi’s left foot, and bearing the brunt of his weight as he anchored himself to press on, did just that.

Khobi looked like he knew exactly what was going to happen. He didn’t look panicked. He didn’t look shocked. He just wore that resigned look that a man wears when he realises that his day is about to just get so, so much worse.

And then he fell. Again.

Only this time, it was with an ungodly crash, and in an almighty flood of wine.