Chapter 50: Wary Eyes.

Chapter 50: Chapter 50: Wary Eyes.

"...Gandy, just plant your feet," he hears, over the clamour in the distance, followed by an aggrieved, "He’s fucking strong , Albi, get off my back." He knows those voices, and those names, and his ears prick up as he searches around for the men who own them. It takes him a moment, but on closer inspection, he realises that it’s not horses behind the fences. It’s men.

They’re not horse corrals, they’re sparring rings, and they’re headed straight for them.

"He’s right," Jaga is saying patiently as they approach, "If you just brace --"

" I know he’s right ," Gandy growls irritably, and brightens somewhat when Montrel comes to rest against the fence and draws attention to himself with a meaningful cough, "Oh hey, Montrel, you’re back."

"You really took your time!" Hasbar chips in from where he’s lounging against one of the posts, showing no signs of wanting to join in. "We thought you’d never make it! Did you actually manage to find the prince this time, or did he get away from you again?"

"I found him," Montrel grits out. Hasbar’s grin brightens.

"For once," he reminds him, before adding conspiratorially, "I heard you got bitten by dogs, is that true?" Montrel’s expression sours.

"Yeah."

Hasbar’s goes the opposite direction. He looks positively gleeful.

"Wooow," he chuckles, "Gurdet must really hate yo --" He stops, mid taunt, finally having caught sight of the ominous figure looming just over Montrel’s shoulder. The grin fades. And as unpleasant as his smile is, his leer is much, much uglier.

"Montrel," he says, considerably less jovial than a moment ago, "...What’s he doing here?"

"Oh," Montrel remarks casually, glancing over his shoulder, "...You guys remember Khobi, right?"

"Yeah," Hasbar huffs. He’s not lounging anymore, and Montrel doesn’t like the beady way he’s looking through him. "...But what’s he doing here."

"You should listen to the servants more, Hasbar," Albi mutters in the background. Instead of backing down, Montrel hoists himself up over the fence in one swift motion and lands inside with a foreboding thud.

"He’s here to train, just like you guys," he replies simply, gesturing for Khobi to join him.

And Hasbar may have a hot mouth on him, and enough skill as a fighter to back it up, but even he has the sense to hesitate at the sight of Khobi’s giant form hurdling the fence and landing in the ring with him.

"What, so he can stab us in the back?"

For a second, that is. Hasbar’s always been cursed with a restless tongue.

"Back off, Hasbar, it’s not your place," Albi interjects, more forcefully this time.

"Not my place?" he sneers incredulously, jabbing a finger at Khobi, "It’s not his place, being here." Albi patiently hears out his outburst, but insistently presses an arm across his chest to bar his way.

"His Majesty’s orders," Montrel says, arms folded across his chest as he stares down at the smaller soldier. "If you have a problem with the way Gurdet runs things, then how about you take it up with him."

"He doesn’t belong here, and you know it, Montrel," Hasbar shoots back, because he’s not one of the few privileged or idiot enough to criticise their king’s actions.

"Maybe," Montrel considers, "But that’s not your call." He rolls his shoulders experimentally, and lets his stormy gaze rove around the faces in the ring, gauging their reactions. "...Are we going to have a problem?"

"No," Albi assures him, pushing Hasvar behind him and out of relevance. "We’re not." He glances sideways at his fellows for argument, but if they have reservations none of them speak up. "Good to see you, Khobi," he adds, sending a short nod Khobi’s way.

"You’re seriously all right with this, Montrel?" Gandy snorts, raising an eyebrow and gesturing in Khobi’s direction with his sword. "I mean, this is the guy who messed up your face and everything. Like, a bunch of times, too."

"...Not all of that was me," Khobi points out flatly, surprising them all by speaking, "...I’m pretty sure he already looked like that before I got here...."

There’s silence for a long moment, and then Gandy bursts out laughing. It’s loud and pretty grating on the ears, but it’s open, and honest and genuinely amused, so when he strides forward and claps Khobi on the arm, Khobi doesn’t flinch away from him.

"Oh, you’re so right," he snickers, and smirks when Montrel shoots him a warning glare. "Pretty sure you’ve improved it. But don’t think that coz you’ve done us that favour I’m gonna take it easy on you out here. I think I owe you a beat down."

"I think I’m the same," Jaga remarks, almost thoughtfully, and maybe Khobi should’ve felt afraid, because these were soldiers who he’d fought, embarrassed, and injured, and who had fought, embarrassed and injured him, and their kind were prone to grudges, but there’s a small smile in the corner of Jaga’s mouth that makes him feel anything but. He knows that kind of look.

Anticipation.

"Yeah, yeah, don’t we all," Montrel drawls, loosening his sword from his sheath and jabbing a finger at Gandy, having not taken the comments about his face very graciously. "But first, it’s you and me. Let’s go pretty boy."

"Sure thing," Ganja smirks, backing towards the centre of the ring with his sword poised to defend. "Always happy to improve your mug."

"...He talks too much," Gandy sighs heavily, wandering over to keep Khobi company while Montrel launches himself into a fight with his comrade. "Montrel! Just swing down on him, he doesn’t plant himself properly."

" Can you not help him? "

"Consider it a learning experience."

Gandy has a couple of colourful words for Jaga’s supposed ’learning experience’ but Jaga opts to ignore them all as Montrel comes down on him with his sword and Gandy is knocked almost completely off balance for the umpteenth time. Instead, he turns to Khobi, and lays a hand on the sword resting at his own hip.

"They’ll be occupied for some time," he remarks conversationally, like this is a somewhat usual occurrence. "I hope you don’t mind if I’m your opponent.

" Khobi’s honestly caught a little off guard by the unspoken request and merely blinks at him. "...Unless you’d rather wait for Montrel, that is," Jaga adds, surprisingly not unaffected by Khobi’s lack of enthusiasm.

"Oh! Shit, no, I just...how does this work?" he manages to stammer out sheepishly. Jaga raises a quizzical eyebrow at him."I find it hard to believe you’ve never sparred before," he comments.

"Of course I’ve sparred before," Kahobi snorts indignantly, "...But you...you’re just cool with me joining in?""You’re here, you might as well join in," Jaga replies, "Believe me when I say that your talent as a swordsman is wasted behind locked doors, and gods knows some of the men here could use a decent challenge."

His words sound uncannily like a compliment, and Khobi doesn’t detect an ounce of malice in them. It’s confusing.

"You’re not...mad....that I’m here?" he queries, because from the way Hasbar and some of the others are glaring daggers at him, some of them definitely are.

But despite their previous, unfortunate encounters, Jaga seems to share none of their animosity."Why should I be mad?" he questions, drawing his sword and gesturing for Khobi to move out from the fence and join him.

"It’s His Majesty’s orders. ...Not to mention, a lot of men here have been looking for a chance to fight you, one on one." And of course, he’s one of them.

That’s a feeling Khobi can relate to. And if there are opponents itching for a fight, then he’ll give them one to remember."...Well, good," he snorts, straightening up and rolling the kinks out of his shoulders, "...Coz I’ll take them all on."

"Good," Jaga nods, planting his feet and holding out his sword in both taunt and invitation, "Show me what you can do."