Chapter 13/Week Twenty-Three/Eight Months Left
"Again!" Sir Tigler barks.
Rolling his shoulder and neck to relieve some of the tension, Bog breathes a sigh of relief at the accompanying crack before swinging his training stick back into form to face his readying opponent. Good thing he's been used to Thang's strict training regimen since he was small, or he probably wouldn't be able to walk for a month after all the exercises the elder knight put him through over the past three weeks. It was only fortunate that he hadn't been too out of form after twenty weeks of being slack in his training.
The sound of wood striking wood rings through the castle's training yard once more as each fighter tries to disarm their opponent. Bog's ear catches the sound of a soft footfall behind him, and he quickly pushes away his present foe to raise his weapon to block the oncoming attack. Several hard hits force both of his opponents in front of him, making it much easier to defend himself against both attacks.
A shadow appears just barely in his line of sight, the slight warning all he's given before he's forced to dodge another blow from behind. Swiping his weapon to force his second opponent to the ground, Bog catches his third opponent on the upward arc, forcing their training stick to block his first opponent's weapon before twisting his weapon to cause both to crash into each other.
The reprieve is short before Bog has to defend himself from another pair of opponents, giving the three fallen fighters a chance to scramble to their feet and rejoin the battle. It doesn't take long before the five opponents manage to force Bog back toward the stone wall encircling the training yard and they grin victoriously when he notices the dilemma.
Their self-assurance becomes their undoing. A single moment of inattention from the first opponent is all it takes for Bog to manage to disarm him while parrying an attack, forcing the training stick into the air and catching it with his free hand on its downward fall. Bog quickly subdues the remaining fighters with both weapons and disarms them as well.
"Excellent! Well done!" Sir Tigler praises. "That's enough for today, lads. Get yourselves cleaned up."
"You can wield two weapons at the same time?!" Sir Hadrian exclaims in surprise as he picks himself up off the ground.
"Thang was practiced in stave fighting, so that's what he taught me, making sure I could wield a weapon in either hand," Bog explains.
"That explains a lot. Especially why your swordsmanship was so shoddy in the beginning despite your skill at using a weapon," Sir Nicholas comments, grabbing a full water bucket to dump some of its contents over his head before handing the bucket to Bog. "We should probably start using wooden swords to make sure you can fight with the blade and not slip into stave fighting with it, like it appears that you have been doing. Nice touch with the dual-wielding, though."
"I hadn't tried practicing using a weapon in each hand at the same time before, so I wasn't sure it'd work," Bog admits before dousing himself with the cool water.
"Now that we know you can, it'd be best to cultivate such an ability," Sir Jasper murmurs, toweling his hair dry.
"That might be a bit hard to add to the training regime. There's not many of us that can use a weapon in either hand and even those that can, can't wield two weapons at the same time," Sir Hadrian points out.
"King Father Donald knows how. He is quite skilled in dual-wielding," Sir Tigler mentions, walking toward the group.
"He's also cursed like you are, Father," Sir Hadrian comments, gesturing to the older knight's small heavily-armored body. "That kind of training might have to wait until after the curse is lifted."
Bog ignores the faint scoffing he overhears from those gathered at the edges about the queen taking her time to end the curse and finishes drying his chest before donning clean breeches. It had been hard, back when he started living at the castle twenty-three weeks ago, to ignore the complaints his sharp ears had overheard on numerous occasions and to not confront those that spoke such, but he had managed to. The escapes into the Dark Forest every other day starting sixteen weeks ago had helped to control his temper at such disrespect.
But if he thought it was nigh impossible to withhold from defending Marianne's honor then, it was nothing compared to the feat of strength it took to keep from reacting the first time he overheard one of the foot soldiers disrespecting her when he started training with Sir Tigler three weeks ago. It had been a relatively harmless comment compared to what he'd overheard from those within the castle, but it felt less excusable. After all, thanks to a small twist of fate that had been a horse's thrown shoe during a marching exercise, not one of the knights or soldiers had been within the castle grounds when Plum cast her curse that fateful day except a few guardsmen and several knights of the royal court. What right did a non-cursed human have to complain about a circumstance that didn't affect them as harshly as those who had been within the castle grounds that day?
In truth, that hadn't been the only reason for the rage he felt that surged his strength to the point he broke the training stick he had been using against a practice dummy. The feeling of Marianne's lips against his the day before had branded an eternal imprint onto his skin and had made him as fiercely protective over her as any full-blooded goblin would be over their chosen. It had been nearly impossible to not confront the offender, something that would have revealed that he had overheard something that he naturally should not have been able to. Only the knowledge that it would do more harm for Marianne than good had kept him from reacting that day or any day after.
That did not mean it was easy to keep his temper contained.
"Not necessarily, Sir Hadrian," Sir Tigler corrects, disrupting Bog's thoughts. "King Father Donald had trained Queen Marianne in the art of swordplay many years ago and Her Majesty had inherited his skill to dual wield. While I'm unsure of her level of skill since her position deems it unsuitable to test her, she might very well be able to relay the lessons her father taught. I shall inquire about it on another day. For now, we shall continue as we have been, though with wooden swords as Sir Nicholas suggested."
"Master Bog can always ask the queen for a lesson," Liam remarks. "No doubt she wouldn't refuse him."
His back stiffening at the snide tone, Bog grips his tunic harshly as he pauses in his act of pulling it on, resisting the fierce urge to throw the fabric to the ground and confront the page. The fact the comment was made just loud enough for Sir Tigler to hear is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, in that Sir Tigler immediately calls the man out on his words, but a curse, in that Bog can confront him without revealing his fae-born abilities.
"Disrespect or not, Sir Tigler, you can't deny that Queen Marianne is bestowing him with...questionable favor," Liam defends, crossing his arms in defiance. "I think we've all forgotten that he's a prisoner of the crown! Not even nobility. He's the bastard son of a peasant, whose father isn't even a subject of this kingdom, and yet he's been given more royal favor from the queen in the last five months than she had ever given to Sir Roland despite him proving his loyalty to the kingdom."
"Such talk is treasonous! Hold your tongue, Liam!" Sir Tigler growls.
"Treasonous? No, Sir Tigler, I speak no treason, just truth. I am loyal to the kingdom and the royal family. But the same cannot be said of this wastrel, his whorish mother, or Queen Marianne," Liam comments.
"That does it!" Bog yells, throwing his tunic to the ground and turning to stride quickly toward the shorter man. "I've had enough of your talk."
Bog ignores as his sparring partners race after him, he ignores Sir Tigler's call to stop, and he ignores the grins lining the faces of those whose words filled his ears for the past three weeks. His attention is solely focused on the smug page who unsheaths his sword as Bog stalks closer. The blade gives him no pause as it gleams in the high sun when Liam raises the sharp weapon into perfect form before stabbing it toward him once he's within range.
It's an easy feat to dodge the careless attack. Equally as easy to reach around the overreaching blade to grasp the page's wrist, squeezing it hard enough to force him to drop the sword with a cry of pain. Pulling on the captured wrist sends his opponent off balance and when his right fist makes satisfyingly hard contact with Liam's jaw, Bog allows the momentum to send the page painfully into the stone wall of the training yard.
"Bastard son whose father's loyalty lies to another king, I may be, but if not one of you will defend Queen Marianne's honor, then I will!" Bog declares loudly to the shocked crowd. "If any of you think your words of treason are not so, I challenge you now! Hold your blade or hold your tongue!"
The first attack nearly catches Bog off guard, but he quickly spins his body out of the way, pivoting on one foot to raise the other leg high enough to slam down on the squire's shoulder and forcing the man onto the ground. Another blade is unsheathed and Bog grabs Liam's fallen sword while dodging to parry the attack before shifting his weight enough to force his opponent to swing wide. He quickly brings up his knee into the foot soldier's stomach and slams his elbow back into his face before pushing him away.
Bog's body screams in protest as he dodges several more attacks in quick succession and his breath comes in pants as he deals blow after blow. But he does not stop as he parries another blade before bloodying another face. He could not stop. This wasn't about him. Not this time. This was Marianne's honor at risk, and he would not fail her.
A sharp blow to the back of his head stuns him for a moment too long and he stumbles to the ground when a sword's pommel hits his back. Bog's vision swims as he pants into the dirt. His tired and aching body begs for a rest.
No. He will not fail Marianne. Not after he assured her that he didn't care about some old law that forbade those who married into the royal family to marry another once their spouse died. Not after he convinced her that he would not regret a moment of the short length of time they could be together before the royal curse stole her from him. Not after he soothed her fears that he would eventually resent her for not telling him that she loved him as well. And definitely not after That day and each day after that when they could manage to hide away in the Dark Forest with only the plants within the goblin king's garden as a witness to their love.
The unguarded ankle of his attacker gives way under his crushing grip, and he pulls him screaming to the ground to silence him with a kick to the head. It's hard to restrain the loud growl wanting to emerge from his chest as he charges his next opponent waiting, to not show his goblin heritage as he wrestles another away from their weapon before throwing them over his shoulder, but it's even harder to not use the full strength he knows he's capable of as he sends another into a dreamless sleep. This fight would be so much easier if it wasn't for him needing to hold back the strength his goblin blood gifted him.
"Whoa there! Easy now! I'm not your opponent!" Sir Jasper yelps, holding his hands up when Bog swings an acquired blade toward him at his approach.
"You've won your challenge, Master Bog, there's no more left to fight," Sir Nicholas soothes, easing the sword from Bog's tight grip.
Letting the battle-thirst ebb from his body, Bog groans as the few hits his opponents managed to land make their presence known. The sluggish bleeding in several spots demand tending to, but he ignores them as he turns his attention to the group of fallen fighters, blinking in surprise at how many lay on the training yard's ground. No wonder he felt sore and worn.
The knowledge that all that lay unmoving were those that spoke against Marianne as queen for no other reason than Roland and Plum's curse pained his heart more than his body, though. Just even one would have been too many.
"You truly are a worthy champion for the queen's honor, indeed, Master Bog," Sir Tigler comments proudly before glaring at the defeated men. "Take them to the stocks for the day for their traitorous tongues and make sure it's known that these noble-bloods acted without honor. And let this be a lesson to the rest of you, I'll have no jack-a-dandy in my army! I hear any more traitorous words spoken and the beating this lot got will be merciful to the flogging I'll give you!"