Chapter 70: Rain And Mud.

Chapter 70: Chapter 70: Rain And Mud.

"Well, look who’s back," Khobi smirks, on the day Rogard flounces back into the training grounds with a skip in his step. He’s lighter on his feet today than Khobi’s ever seen him, and deliberately goes out of his way to strut past Drogger with a showiness that is borderline disrespectful.

Drogger trips him, and doesn’t bother making it look like an accident.

"Did you have a nice rest?" Khobi goads as Rogard makes a swift recovery, already warmed up from his jog through the castle and rearing to go. Montrel’s gone on ahead already and is almost two full laps ahead of them. They probably could have actually made it on time today, but where was the fun in that?

"Hey, my feet were bleeding ," Rogard snaps, jabbing a finger at his chest.

"Is that why you were so slow?"

" If you weren’t going to run you should have stayed in bed ," comes Drogger’s holler, ringing out over the training grounds like thunder. It’s not exactly targeted at them --they’re by no means the only ones late to start their daily penance --but they’re definitely being included.

"I’m not the one who needed a headstart ."

"Hey, I didn’t need a headstart," Khobi growls back, forcing his way into Rogard’s personal space and getting himself shoved for his efforts. "If you think --"

He never gets to finish his sentence. One second, he was right side up, the irritating gold of Rogard’s eyes filling his vision, and the next the world was tipping, until all he could see was blue.

For a moment he just lay there, flat on his back and blinking away the white spots behind his eyes and wondering what on earth had just happened. His head was spinning --not hurting, just confused, about why he’d been standing one instant, and not the next. He didn’t remember falling, but obviously he had. They both had, it seemed, because when he looked to one side, Rogard was lying right beside him, equally dazed.

"That’s enough," Drogger declares from somewhere up above them, dusting his hands off on his tunic with distaste. Khobi stared at him, and became aware of a sudden ache in his arm, like it had been abruptly and violently yanked in its socket with terrifying force. It was weird, he was pretty sure Drogger was by no means a big man, but from this angle he looked like a giant .

A very angry giant.

Khobi is pretty certain he hears Rogard gulp .

"Am I understood?" Drogger says, voice the way thunder rolls before it breaks the sky. It reminds him a lot of his aunt, and not in a good way.

"Yes, sir," he says, still a little bewildered. He hadn’t even seen Drogger approach them, had barely felt the hand tightening on his arm a mere moment before he’d been swept completely off his feet.

"...Yes, sir," Rogard echoes a beat later, more quietly. And that seems to be their final warning, because Drogger backs off again, rolling out a crick in his neck like tossing around two grown men was nothing. One of the other soldiers tuts at his Captain like they’re old friends and chides him for showing off, and when Drogger barks back at him he laughs and takes no offence.

When Khobi drags himself to his feet, he sees that Rogard’s still staring at the sky.

"Did he just throw us?" he asks incredulously, almost to no one in particular, like he can barely believe it himself. Khobi’s not sure ’ throw’ is quite the right word, but it’s been a while since someone’s gotten the jump on him like that.

"I don’t know," he rumbles, making sure to kick some dirt Rogard’s way as he passes, "But I don’t want him to do it again."

His arm aches.

...

It rains, that day.

Not for very long --the rains that come with the cooler seasons are still a while off --but it’s enough to grant the labouring soldiers some brief respite from the summer heat. The days have been hot, recently, and the skies too clear, and there aren’t many men left who haven’t had their skin scorched red from the sun, so when the first drops begin to fall, they rejoice.

Their joy is short lived, however, because Drogger is not a drill sergeant daunted by a little rain, and they quickly remember that dirt is quick to turn to mud, and mud rarely makes life easy for a soldier. The downpour cools them, and washes their faces clean, but it also leaves the ground a slick, treacherous mess, and even the most sure-footed find themselves struggling to stay upright, and clean.

"Y’know somethin’?" Gandy growls, cursing as he shakes mud off his hands and assesses the damage to his boots. They’re positively caked with mud, some servant is going to have a nightmare getting them clean again. "Drogger’s a good captain and all, but sometimes, I really want to kill him."

"It’s not that bad," Mural points out placidly, and adds, almost apologetically, as his friend discovers that the seat of his pants is faring no better. "It’s just a bit of mud."

" Just a bit of mud he says," Gandy mutters mutinously, shaking his head. Mural gestures with his sword for him to take up his stance again and he gestures back with his middle finger.

"Aw come on, don’t be like that," Montrel laughs heartily, swinging an arm over his shoulder and transferring a fair amount of mud with it. For someone partnered up with Jaga who generally hated being paired up with Jaga, he’s surprisingly chipper. In fact, he’s positively gleeful.

The next time Khobi jogs by, it becomes quite apparent why.

"He fell again?" Mural guesses, when Khobi sends them the kind of vehement glare he’s not directed them in quite some time. None of them seem particularly bothered.

"Pretty bad," Montrel snickers, like it’s a good thing. "Tripped Rogard and everything . Fucking hilarious. " In a brief moment of distraction he’d managed to catch the exact moment Khobi had skidded through a muddy puddle at high speed and lost all traction. It was a moment of distraction that meant Jaga had planted his fist almost directly into his nose, but he’s certain he’ll never forget the comedic look of horror on Khobi’s face when he went skidding some few feet through the mud on his ass.

Rogard’s face, when he’d tripped straight over him mere seconds later, was just a bonus.

"Um, Montrel, I think your nose is bleeding again."

"Are you okay?" Jaga asks for a third time, "I thought you’d dodge."

"I’m fine," Montrel says, voice muffled through his glove as he shoves a hand up under his nose to keep from bleeding everywhere. He doesn’t sound fine, but even though his eyes are watering a little, it’s not too bad. Nothing feels broken, which is a nice change, and he’s glad Khobi didn’t see him get hit. He would’ve laughed, the brat.

He looks like he’s having a terrible time.