Chapter 76: Skilled Servant.

Chapter 76: Chapter 76: Skilled Servant.

Montrel was, in fact, right on the money. Khobi was kinda pleased to see Rogard.

For about ten seconds.

"Someone’s late again, I see," Rogard titters, as Khobi crashes headfirst down the last four steps and lands unceremoniously in a giant red heap in the dirt, just minutes after the sun has risen.

He groans, rubbing his aching knees and slams his hands into the ground irritably. He’s sure that Binny’s gotta be waking him up late on purpose . Not that he’d ever be able to prove it. He’s lucky he comes to wake him up at all.

"What?" he growls, picking himself up and waving Drogger’s stare off as aggressively as he dares. He knows, he knows. "Like you were on time??"

"I was, actually," Rogard remarks with a wide, kind smile that Khobi absolutely doesn’t fall for. "Some of us take punctuality quite seriously."

Khobi’s pretty surprised Rogard doesn’t get punched more often.

"Right," he deadpans, immune to the little sparkle that Rogard adds to his grin.

"Have fun running your laps!" He even waves, and the vein in Khobi’s forehead twitches.

Montrel jogs past him, somehow already irritated despite the early hour, but the thunderous look on Khobi’s face seems to cheer him up somewhat.

"I’m gonna kill that guy," Khobi declares mutinously, falling in beside him and accelerating.

Montrel just pats him on the shoulder, before racing on ahead and leaving him furiously coughing out dust.

"Sure you are, kid. Sure you are."

...

"So, you guys heard about the tournament, right?"

"Yeah, autumn festival, right? I hear the gypsies are comin’ and everything."

"Who cares about the gypsies, I hear the prize money from the tournament is enough to buy a small castle!"

"Dumbass, who wants a small castle??"

"You guys are entering, right?"

"No way!"

" Duh ."

It’s amazing the sorts of things that get a castle all up in knots. It’s all Binny hears about these days, whether it be from soldiers and the sons of nobles, all excited with the prospect of showing off their strength as duellists, or from the mothers of young maidens, who refuse to waste this chance to scout for eligible matches.

The autumn festival is always a big event in itself, the time of year when the gypsy traders blow in with their wares from far off kingdoms, and nobles and commoners alike revel while they can before the colder months come.

Obviously this year is no exception. If anything, it should be more spectacular than all those before it, what with nobles from kingdoms all over gathering in one city to celebrate the engagement of the most notorious bachelor this side of the sea.

"What with all the fuss, you’d think they were coming to a wedding," he grumbles, working at a particularly stubborn stain on the tunic he was trying to clean.

"No, not like that, Binny!" his sister chides, snatching the article of clothing away from him in alarm, "Are you trying to get us slapped? Gentle! Gentle!"

"It’s not coming out," Binny sighs heavily, dragging himself to his feet and bemoaning his ageing knees when they ache. She shoots him a severe look that she definitely didn’t learn from him and takes over, for which he’s endlessly grateful.

It’s rare that he finds himself on laundry duty, but what with all the preparations for the coming festival, the servants are stretched thin and working long hours.

There would be hundreds of guests to house and feed and they had entourages, and horses, and children, and someone had to make sure they were attended to.

"Hey, if we’re lucky we might even get to watch the tournament," another servant whispers from nearby, and that sends all of them murmuring in excitement. Binny joins them, despite himself, because they’re always amazing. "Who do you think will win this time?"

"It’s got to be the Second Captain, right?"

"Ah, but Lady Vogrid’s son is very skilled as well."

" You just think he’s handsome."

" --I would never!"

"Binny, if you’re just going to daydream, they still need some help down at the stables," his sister scolds, though her voice lacks ire. She sounds tired. She looks tired.

There are bags under her eyes and she keeps yawning. She’d been scrubbing stone for hours after that sudden rainfall --mud was a servant’s worst nightmare.

It spread and it got everywhere and as soon as one corridor was clean more soldiers would come barging down with their filthy boots and they’d have to start all over again.

Everyone liked to say that Lord Vogrid was cruel and cold, and he was certainly happy to let them think so, but Biny knew better.

"Did that beast kick another groom?" he asks, already on his way. His sister gives him a noncommittal answer, and he tousles her hair affectionately before he goes.

She really thinks he doesn’t know she keeps giving him reasons to pass by the training grounds?

He doesn’t call her out on it. Let her think she’s got her older brother fooled. He’s sure she’s just trying to look out for him.

" Don’t forget to take those clean boots down with you !"

He’s grateful, of course, but did she really have to make him work so hard for it?

...

At this time of day the barracks are nearly empty. Most of the men are still in the midst of drowning under the weight of the Second’s drills, and those that are staying afloat daren’t grow complacent, so no one pays him any mind.

He’s just another servant, here to do whatever it is that servants do. He’s just a part of the furniture.

The only difference is that people would notice if a piece of furniture disappeared.

It’s hard, sometimes, to be so completely invisible.

(He’d never wanted to be.)

It’s hard, sometimes, to not be a part of the world you long to live in.

Binny deposits the last pair of boots back in their rightful place and brushes a speck of dust off one of the laces with a sigh. Outside, the cacophony of the training grounds goes on in an endless, out of tune song.

One led by a drunk conductor and an orchestra that had never played a note in their life. It’s excessively loud, grating, and Binny wants nothing more than to be a part of it.

It’s a servant’s lot in life, he supposes, to watch other people have what they can’t. He’s sure that sometimes his sister still dreams of a different life, of owning fine dresses and attending magnificent balls, and having some fine prince or warlord fall hopelessly in love with her. The children of servants always do.

He’d dreamed of being a soldier.

For an imaginative kid it was a pretty unimaginative dream. But he couldn’t help it --to a weedy little nobody, the soldiers of the Kingdom of Crade were strong, and fearsome, and magnificent.

They still were. Granted, some of them drank too much, and not all of them quite lived up to their considerable reputation, but there was no denying that when they were out in force, in their signature crimson and black, they were really something to behold.

Even now, just here, in old leather and dented steel, Binny can’t help but admire them. It wasn’t until he was older that he came to see that it wasn’t just their finery, or the shine on their blades that made the soldiers of the Kingdom of Crade so impressive.

It was that even without those things they were could still inspire awe in the men who served them.

The men out the window look like they’re having a terrible time.

He wishes he could be out there with them.

The stables won’t thank him for it, but he takes the long way around, skirting the training rings and watching from the shadows like a good servant ought to.

It’s chaos made order by the fear and respect they all share for their captains, and it’s messy, and ugly, and everything a young Binny had ever dreamed of doing.

Being a part of a shield wall as it crumples under the weight of a phalanx, or one arrow among a volley as it stains the sky black, or just dancing the day away with a blade in hand.

He doesn’t wonder what it feels like, because he knows.

He’d been allowed to glimpse it, for a time.

Children didn’t care who they played with, after all. Everyone had told the young prince to watch what company he kept, but the prince had always had too much of his mother in him and never listened.

Prince Loac may have neglected most of his studies, but when it came to swordsmanship, his enthusiasm knew no bounds.

All his --and by association, their --favourite games had been ones of battle. Binny had spent his childhood rescuing princesses (usually Rogard), or slaying dragons (also usually Rogard) and escaping from the evil ogre who wanted to capture them all and drag them back to class.

(That one was usually the guard named Montrel. He’d always unknowingly played his part very convincingly.)

And when their imaginations wore themselves out, there was nothing that the prince loved more than a good old fashioned fight.

They all had to keep up or left behind, and suddenly it had seemed like all those dreams that Binny had had weren’t quite so out of reach.

For a while.

They couldn’t keep up with Loac forever.

And eventually, when they’d long since been left behind, the day came when it suddenly mattered, that Binny had been born a servant.

After that day, there were no more swords for him. And after a time he came to realise that all of those things he’d once dreamed of, and all the new dreams since, were never meant to be.

The fact that he was skilled didn’t matter; they were skills he was never meant to learn he possessed, after all. Skills that were meant for men who lived a world apart from his.

Sometimes he thinks of how it might be, to have been born a part of it.

If he’d been born just not-so-common enough to grow into a soldier, then maybe he and Vector...

(It’s not worth thinking about.)

Glint.

Binny had learned a lot of things in his childhood that were now forbidden to him. He’d been adept with a bow, and pretty handy with a sword, but when it came down to it, knives had always been his speciality.

Wielding them. Avoiding them. Even catching them. It was an artform in itself, see? Everyone said that timing was everything, and although it was definitely important so as not to slice your hand off, it wasn’t everything .

The most important part about catching a knife was being able to see it coming, in the first place.

And Binny had always had excellent eyes.

It’s coming from his left, toppling end over and at speed and completely out of control. It looks like someone’s been a little too careless with their grip.

Hold a knife too tight and you limit yourself. The beauty of something small is that you get movement out of it. Options. Don’t hold it tight enough, and well, this is what happens.

You get a stray projectile with an unpredictable flight pattern, hurtling towards an unsuspecting bystander.

Binny raises an eyebrow as he watches the knife sail towards him.

And these guys are supposed to be professionals .

What else is he supposed to do but catch it?

So that’s exactly what he does,reaches up with one hand and plucks it straight off its wild trajectory without so much as blinking.

It’s a testament to how out of practice he is that he has to use his whole hand. Back in the day it would’ve only taken two fingers.

It hits him a second too late what exactly he’s done.

Shit , he thinks, staring wide-eyed at the knife clutched in his left hand. I should’ve just dodged. Servants aren’t allowed weapons.

And they certainly aren’t supposed to go around doing things that grown soldiers would shit themselves trying to learn how to do.