Chapter 68: Set Back.

Chapter 68: Chapter 68: Set Back.

Khobi’s getting pretty sick of Rogard’s shit.

At this rate he’s never going to get to fight him. Instead, he’s just going to spend the next hundred years paying back the time that Rogard owes Drogger.

A debt that is getting bigger with every passing minute , seeing as the sun’s already almost completely past the horizon this morning, and there’s no fucking sight of the guy. Montrel, having already finished his daily penance, catches sight of Khobi fidgeting impatiently by the fence. Strangely enough, Drogger hasn’t gotten on his ass yet about starting his laps.

"Are you sure he’s even coming?" Montrel asks, briefly breaking away from his drill unit to call out to him, "He looked pretty beat yesterday." And that’s saying something. He’s pretty sure the guy was leaving trails of blood behind him by the end of the day. It was both incredible and really, really depressing.

"Of course he’s coming," Khobi growls back. He’s not sure why exactly he’s so certain, only that he is. Montrel’s right about one thing though, Rogard had looked a mess when they left off the day before, but he’s pretty sure he hadn’t looked much better.

"You’re seriously waiting for him?" the soldier asks, raising an eyebrow and ducking to try and appear invisible as Drogger’s all-seeing eyes sweep in their direction.

"Yeah, so I can beat him fair and square," Khobi snorts flatly, "He kept bitching the other day how I got a headstart ."

"I’m pretty sure you did," Montrel points out.

" Shut up. Shouldn’t you be training?" he grumbles.

"--Shouldn’t you be running ?" Montrel shoots back with a smirk and Khobi glares at him. "Hey, I guess you were right," he adds suddenly, pushing off the fence and gesturing to one of the arched entranceways as Drogger’s gaze lingers on the pair of them just a fraction too long to be anything but dangerous, "There’s pretty boy now."

Sure enough, when Khobi follows his finger, it leads straight to Rogard Spidra, limping, but finally present. And as he slowly hobbles towards him, it quickly becomes apparent that they won’t be starting their grueling daily gauntlet any time soon. Well he could, and leave Rogard in the dust, but he’s gone and vowed to beat him fair and square, so he has no choice but to wait for him.

"Seriously, can you get here on time??" Khobi complains as soon as he’s in earshot. It’s not like he wasn’t late himself, but Rogard doesn’t need to know that. "Now we have to run again!"

"Hey!" Rogard whines, and Khobi is actually a little taken aback by his wounded tone. Usually when Khobi yells at him he’s got something venomous to spit back, but today he’s all pout and no bite. It’s pathetic, but Khobi is surprised to find himself a little concerned. "My room is really far away from here," Rogard grumbles, and winces like he’s trying to hide it, "And..."

He trails off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

"And?" Khobi prompts, and Rogard looks away, shoulders sinking in a way that makes him look kinda small.

"...And my feet hurt."

For a second there, Khobi’s not entirely certain Rogard’s not fucking with him, but a quick look at the guy’s feet is enough to convince him.

They’re bleeding. And pretty bad, too, there’s a dark stain coming through the side of one, which is a real waste because they’re probably the third pair he’s ruined on these grounds. They probably hurt, too. They’d been blistering all sorts of ugly yesterday, and the ground they’d been running on was uneven and burning to the touch. Khobi’s feet had worn themselves hard again after all his misadventures with the castle guards, so the rough ground hadn’t bothered him so much, but the soft life afforded to the rich and talented had done Rogard no such favours.

It had probably been agony just getting here.

He still came.

And despite the miserable look in his eyes, Khobi can see that he genuinely, desperately doesn’t want to admit that there’s no way he’ll be able to run.

Khobi really doesn’t get this guy.

And he’s sure Drogger’s heading this way, so he’s running out of time. He hasn’t been yelled at today and he’d kind of like to keep it that way for a change. There’s no way Rogard’s keeping up with him today, despite all his best intentions --he’s run on feet like that before and it’s no fun.

"Get someone to look at that," he advises as he turns on his heel and breaks into a jog. If he’s lucky he’ll still be able to get some sparring in before the day’s out. It’s been nice to have a break from shattering his limbs against Jaga, but when he sees the other men crossing swords while he’s stuck running, he can’t quite shut out the pang of longing that strikes up in him.

"And get some real boots," he hollers back at Rogard, like he’s a proper idiot. "I thought you nobles were meant to be smart."

...

Rogard doesn’t run that day. Drogger doesn’t let him. For all the iron in his fist, he’s still a good captain, and as hard as he pushes his men, he takes injuries very seriously. For the most part, at least, seeing as he has no problem clocking Rogard in the head for trying to wreck his feet any further.

It’s weird, Khobi thinks, as he ploughs through his laps at record time, feet pounding into the ground in time with the heart in his chest, how it’s the first time the gruelling run actually seems kinda boring.

He comes back the next day, still hobbling and still looking sorry for himself, and gets himself forbidden from running, even after however far he had to walk to get here.

He still comes, though, and Khobi supposes that must count for something.

Today, Montrel runs with him instead, and whenever they pass by Rogard, sitting on his stone bench with a pair of servants fussing over the blisters he’s broken on his way there, he looks impatient.