Chapter 67:Clashing Opinions.

Chapter 67: Chapter 67:Clashing Opinions.

Drogger just blinks at him, like he’s said nothing bizarre.

"Rogard Spidra?" Bongo feels the need to clarify, and Drogger’s frown deepens like he’s slowly losing his patience.

"You know too many other Spidras around these parts?" he retorts, which is a good point. Bongo had definitely heard of the young lord Spidra getting mixed up in some funny business at the training grounds. He’d pissed off the Second, is what he’d heard, the consequences of which he had clearly not anticipated.

"None that would run laps for you, Captain."

"Not for me, Bongo," Drogger says, "Not anymore, at least. He’s running for him." He jerks his chin in Khobi’s direction as his hazy figure grows closer and clearer. "They have a score to settle."

"And you’re letting them?"

Drogger doesn’t answer him. He just nods in Khobi’s direction, and waits. He doesn’t invite Bongo to do the same, but he does so anyway. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Drogger ,it’s just that Khobi he knew did not take kindly to being ordered around.

Then again, Drogger was a man who did not appreciate being disobeyed.

They’re not left waiting long. Now that they’re closer, Bongo can see that Khobi does indeed have company, and that neither of them seems to be having a good time.

Quite the opposite, in fact. They’re plodding along at an ungainly jog, the fatiguing gait of men who have run too hard, too far, and are now paying the price. By the red in their cheeks and the sheer amount of sweat left in their wake, this is by no means their first lap, and their grim expressions say it’s unlikely that it’s their last.

"How long have they been at it?" Bongo asks as they draw near. It’s clear now that Khobi’s out in front, and apparently barefoot, with Rogard lagging a fair margin behind, limping. And looking quite put out about it.

"About four days."

Bongo stares at him. He’s not entirely sure he hasn’t misheard, and it must show because Drogger looks him dead in the eye and repeats himself with deliberate diction.

" About four days ."

It takes a moment for him to collect himself.

"Well, you have to admire their dedication," he remarks evenly, somehow managing to not sound overtly stunned. The Second Captain, however, doesn’t seem all that impressed.

"If they were dedicated, they’d turn up on time in the first point," he points out flatly.

Bongo can’t argue with that.

"How much longer are you going to make them run?" he wonders aloud, watching their approach with interest.

Rogard looks in a considerable amount of pain, and the state of his shoes is some indicator as to why. They’re more suited for ballrooms and lofty summer nights than hours of hard labour, and Rogard’s gone and worn them ragged.

They’re just barely clinging to his feet, and must be rubbing him raw, yet he perseveres, eyes glued on Khobi’s back with a fury most unbecoming of a young lord. It’s actually a little refreshing. Talent is something that Crade as a kingdom, has no shortage of.

Spirit, on the other hand, is a different story.

"As long as it takes," Drogger replies matter-of-factly, and snorts when Bongo sends him a sidelong glance. "...They’re not killing each other, are they? I thought you’d be pleased."

Bongo concedes that he has a point, although it’s hardly reassuring that when the pair of them thunder into earshot, they’re snarling back and forth like rabid dogs trapped on opposite sides of a fence.

The training grounds are naturally loud and always filled with noise, but their voices rise above the cacophony of swords, spirited and undeniably grating.

Drogger grimaces as they storm on by, paying their audience no mind, chipping at each other as they go.

" --Seriously, hurry up would you?"

" No fair! You got a headstart today !"

Bongo just sighs, helplessly shaking his head as he watches them kick up dust in their wake.

It was a weight off his shoulders to learn that bloodshed had thus far been avoided, but this was Khobi, after all. For things to be proceeding entirely without incident was wishful thinking.

But , he reminds himself weakly, as Rogard abandons what little dignity he has left and hurls one of his disintegrating shoes at Khobi’s head, at least they’re not killing each other.

...

No one had ever warned Drogger about the paperwork.

When he’d been up for promotion, everyone told him about the weight of responsibility, about the pressures of the title Captain , and all the expectations that came with it. But they all conveniently forgot to tell him about all the paperwork.

He’s not sure why he even bothers writing reports these days. He’s fairly certain Gurdet never bothers to read them.

But if nothing else, he’s a man who knows his duty, and if his king demands a large scale report detailing his times spent abroad, then who is he to deny him?

"Still going, huh?" Ynoro’s voice asks out of the silence, about a second after his door is unceremoniously flung open.

Drogger doesn’t even bother looking up, and catches a stray piece of paper that had fluttered dangerously close to a candle.

"Have we talked about knocking ?" he asks dryly, as Ynoro closes the door behind him.

"You may have mentioned it a few times, yes," Ynoro admits lightly, "Permission to sit?"

"You’re going to anyway," Drogger says flatly, and doesn’t even have his sentence out before Ynoro is making himself comfortable in one of the seats on the other side of his desk. "What do you want?"

"To chat," he replies, which is exactly what Drogger had feared. "...To see my old friend."

"...If you’re about to try and set me up --" Drogger grumbles irritably, and accidentally tears a small hole in his page.

" --Then you’re not interested , yes, yes, I know," Ynoro chimes, saying the words but not really hearing them, "No, no, nothing like that. I just wanted to check in. See how you were doing. And maybe let you know that Lord Spidra is on his way here. Right now." A little of the playfulness in his voice is gone.

"Right now?"

"Right now," he confirms apologetically.

"Oh good," Drogger sighs, pushing his paper away from him and sitting up in his chair a little straighter. It’s not like he wanted to get his report done this evening, or anything.

Ynoro must have raced him down the corridor, because barely a moment later there comes a terse knock at the door. He stares at it for a long moment, then over at Ynoro.

"Do you want a witness?" his friend asks cordially, but Drogger shakes his head because he knows he’s being serious.

"I can handle Lord Spidra," Drogger assures him dryly, "You go and enjoy your evening."

"Well, I guess some of us should," Ynoro admits, gracefully unfolding from his chair like he hadn’t only just sat down. "Good luck...with your report."

" Good evening, Ynoro."

Ynoro gives him one last smile of encouragement before yanking open the door.

"Lord Spidra," he greets eloquently, feigning surprise quite remarkably, "A pleasure."

"My Lord Ynoro," comes the reply back at him, "What a surprise. I hope I’m not interrupting?"

"Not at all," Ynoro chirps affably, "I was just leaving. Captain’s all yours, my Lord." He even bows, just a little, and Lord Spidra fluffs up at the show of deference.

"Very good," he says, and graces Ynoro with a small smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but still manages to make his expression far more pleasant. "Send my regards to your father, would you?

"Of course."

Ynoro mouths an apology at Drogger as the door closes on his face.

It’s fine. Ynoro has nothing to apologise for. Drogger’s used to these kinds of confrontations by now. Because there’s no doubt in his mind that this is a confrontation.

He leaves him waiting just a moment, not because he’s petty, but because the Lord standing in front of him has refused to take a seat in an effort to appear much larger and more important than himself, and Drogger doesn’t care for such games.

"My Lord," he greets after a moment, rising from his seat and dipping his head respectfully. He’d offer a hand, but he knows it won’t be accepted. As it is, the smile has already faded from Lord spidra’s face, and he makes no effort to return the expected pleasantries. "What can I do for you?"

Lord Spidra has a reputation amongst the castle ladies for being exceptionally handsome.

Personally, Drogger finds him incredibly ugly.

Perhaps it’s because he’s never looked at them with such hatred that they don’t see it.

"My son," he says, lips and patience clearly thin. "I’ve heard some rather troubling rumours." Droggers lets him hang his sentence in the dramatic way he so loves, and waits for him to get to the point. "Running laps, Drogger? Really? You think that is appropriate for --"

"Captain," Drogger interrupts, and takes the wicked glare he receives without flinching.

"What."

"It’s Captain, My Lord," he corrects, as he always does, because no matter how many years pass, the Lord Spidra somehow always conveniently forgets who he is talking to. "I’ll thank you to remember it."

The good lord looks like he wants to spit on him.

"...Running laps , Captain ," he repeats, gritting out the title like it’s acid on his tongue, "Rogard is my son , and one of this kingdom’s finest and most prodigious swordsmen. And you’re wasting his time and talents making him run like a serving boy?"

"Rogard is a soldier of this kingdom," Drogger reminds him flatly, grey eyes rising to meet Lord Spidra’s with steel, "One of my men. And he needs to learn some discipline."

"Some discipline ?" the lord huffs, and when he storms closer the shadows seem to lengthen around him. "Yes," Drogger affirms, before he can protest further, "...And some respect. All my men suffer the same fate for disobedience, My Lord. Your son is no exception."

Lord Spidra clearly still believes he should be. But he can believe that all he wants, Drogger has always refused to let the sons of nobles have it any easier than the rest of his men.

Some of their fathers had come to terms with this. Some of them had even come to quietly respect him for it. But Lord Spidra would have none of it, and he was by no means alone.

But Drogger was used to it by now.

"...And if you have a problem with that, My Lord," he continues, calm but with a voice like thunder, "Then I suggest you take it up with His Majesty."

The look he receives is positively murderous.

He’s not overly concerned.

"I will," the Lord Spidra declares vehemently, and there’s rage in his eyes as he turns to leave. He pauses a moment, hand on the door, and the silence hangs like lead between them.

"Did you know, Drogger," he says, and his voice is dangerous and light, "That where my house comes from, it’s considered a crime to disrespect a man’s family?"

It’s a loaded question if Drogger ever saw one. And rhetorical, but he decides not to give Lord Spidra the satisfaction by replying, quite plainly, "It’s a good thing this is Crade, then, My Lord."