25
The ground felt like it was swaying under him, but Reg forced himself to keep standing. The worst part about this situation wasn't that it came as a surprise. The worst part was that he had been expecting it.
Tears threatened to rise, but Reg managed to keep them at bay when he caught sight of the way Tyme and Shirka were looking at him. Where do they get off, he thought, his despair turning to anger. Looking at me like I'm some kind of kid…who's feelings have to be babied.
"This isn't fair!" a voice blurted nearby, and Reg turned with everyone else to see one of the unchosen initiates stepping forward. "What, did you really expect us to be able to beat a Central Fortress Guard with years of experience? Isn't the point of joining the ranks that you'll train us to get to their level? How can you expect us to—"
"Jaqah has made her decision clear." The guard who cut in was the large, mountain of a man that Reg had fought in the combat trial. He came to stand next to Jaqah, fixing the speaker with a hard look. "You won't do yourself any favors by arguing against it."
The person who had spoken out was red in the face now, but Reg could see other initiates murmuring amongst themselves.
"If you were not chosen today, it means that you failed to meet my expectations," Jaqah called, almost sounding bored. Reg wondered if this sort of thing always happened during initiations, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of anguish at her words just the same. "There's no point arguing that my expectations were impossible—after all, those I've selected today were able to meet them. A failure here simply means that if you still wish to be part of this guard force, you need to dedicate yourself to further training before the trials next year."
Syra had already moved to join the other chosen initiates, but Shirka and Tyme were still hesitating in their halfway point, glancing between Jaqah and Reg. The younger oni felt bile rise in his throat when he recognized the look on Shirka's face.
She's going to say something, he realized. Ancient's, Shirka! You aren't my mother!
Reg forced himself to move, and as he headed straight for Jaqah, he could feel everyone staring at him. He refused to look at his friends—he could already imagine what expressions they'd have.
"Reg—" Shirka hissed at him, but he ignored her as he reached Jaqah. The mountain of a man shifted his weight, and Jaqah's gaze was cold. In fact, there was something about her expression that made it seem like she had been expecting him to do this.
Blocking out the whispers he could hear to the best of his ability, Reg held Jaqah's gaze for a moment before bowing from the waist. "Can you tell me of any other groups at the fortress that might be hiring?" he asked, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering. Silence fell, and then the whispers returned in full force from behind him. In fact, he swore he heard a few scoffs and chuckles as well. His face felt like it was on fire as he stared down at his feet.
I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. But what other choice did he have?
"Figure it out yourself." The voice wasn't Jaqah's, or the mountain man's…but rather another guard near them. Reg glanced up to see the speaker fixing him with a disgusted look, and it was all he could do to keep from trembling with shame.
"The kitchens are always hiring people to scrub dishes," Jaqah offered, and the whispers stopped again as she spoke. Reg blinked in surprise, having half-expected her to walk away without even bothering to answer. She raised an eyebrow, seemingly challenging him. "Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"
Reg's hands clenched into fists. Dishes? Scullery duty? Something inside him raged—working in the kitchens felt like getting flung all the way back to his status as a near-slave five years ago. He had trained just as hard as everyone else…worked his butt off to get as strong as possible. He was better than some kitchen servant.
"Y…Yes." He forced the word out, his face burning with shame. He couldn't help but feel like he was betraying himself, but he continued anyway. "If it means I could stay here." He swallowed hard. "Um…who would I talk to for that?"
There were definitely people chuckling now—and some of them were in the guard force in front of him, rather than just the failed initiates behind him. No doubt they thought he was some desperate child…the shame of it made him want to throw up.
Jaqah didn't answer for a moment, but then she turned to the large man next to her. "Retrevan, will you show the new initiates to their quarters?" she asked. He nodded his understanding, not seeming surprised. Reg swallowed hard as Jaqah's gaze landed on him. "I'll take you to the Fortress Matron. She's over the servants. Don't fall behind."
She began walking toward the fortress, and Reg felt frozen for another moment before forcing himself to lurch forward after her. He still wouldn't look at his friends…in fact, he refused to look at anyone. It didn't matter if those around him were judging him or pitying him. He didn't need any of it.
"Jaqah, allow me to show him," the guard who had spoken up earlier offered, glancing at Reg with another look of disgust as his voice lowered. "This is beneath you."
"I would think you'd know better than to question my decisions by now, Ivvan," Jaqah replied dryly, and the young man stiffened for a moment. Despite his own shame, Reg couldn't help but smirk a little. Unfortunately, Ivvan noticed it, and his gaze grew deadly as Reg passed by him to follow Jaqah into the fortress.
The walk was silent. Reg didn't dare ask anything, and now that the adrenaline of the moment was wearing off, the despair was settling in fully. He kept reliving his failures of the day over and over, and his fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists to keep from crying. If he was going to keep insisting to everyone that he was no kid, then he certainly couldn't act like one.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Jaqah asked, and Reg lifted his head a little. She wasn't looking at him, still staring straight ahead as she questioned him. "I'm sure if you returned to the Southern Fortress, you'd be able to start on their guard force without too much trouble, could you not?"
Reg didn't answer, and after a moment, she glanced back at him.
"You'd make more money doing that, then working as a servant here."
"It's not about money," he mumbled at last.
She frowned. "Then what? Your friends? Are you so desperate to stay near them that you'd begin at the very bottom all over again rather than go back home?"
"Home?" Reg scoffed softly. "I decide where that is. No one else." He wiped at his nose, which had begun to run even with him managing to keep tears at bay. "It's not like I have to stay with anyone…it's not like I'm some dumb sniffer, following after others. That's not why."
His voice was breaking now, and Jaqah paused in the hallway, forcing him to stop as well. Ancients, I'm about to break down…as if today wasn't humiliating enough!
"Then why do you want to stay here?" Jaqah asked. "Were you hoping that by asking, you'd gain my pity if nothing else?"
A flash of rage lit inside him, and Reg looked up to meet her eye at last. "Pity is the last thing I want!" he shouted. A few servants who had been walking in the hall looked over at him in shock before hurrying past, and Reg was practically shaking as he tried to keep his feelings under control. "I know you aren't going to put me on the guard force, no matter what I say. I don't deserve it." The words felt like acid, but he spat them out anyway. "I failed today…I was awful. I know that… I know I'm not as good as I'd have to be. But I don't want to work at the southern fortress…I don't want to work anywhere but here."
The words came out in a rush, and he wondered if Jaqah would tell him to forget it now that he had yelled at her.
"Why?" she asked at last, and Reg exhaled angrily. What was with this stupid interrogation?
"It's never been about where I work. It's about who I'm working for," Reg mumbled, the fire leaving him as he averted his eyes again. "For some people, it's about money, or connections, or whatever. As long as they have work, they don't care where it is…they'll stay wherever they can go the farthest." Gyro's face came to mind, but Reg forced it away. "But I can't do that. I'm not like them. Getting paid isn't enough…and I'm not after some dumb title or accolades or anything like that."
He waited for Jaqah to reply, but it seemed like she was waiting for him to continue, so Reg forced himself to keep talking.
"I don't hate Dynmar, or anything…but I don't feel any connection to him. I don't want to go through training, and patrols, and everything else for his sake. I feel like if I'm going to work for someone, it's got to be someone who I feel deserves my time and effort…and there are only two people who fit that category in my mind."
Jaqah quirked an eyebrow. "Theodynn and Rook?" she guessed, and Reg shrugged, still not looking at her. "So, because they trained you all those years, they have your undying loyalty."
"You think it's about training?" Reg scoffed, looking up at her. "Ancient's…it's like you don't even know how bad the south was before they got there. You have no idea how much they changed it…how much they changed our lives. How different everything is now."
A memory came to his mind—the first time he had picked up a training sword. At the time, it was half as tall as he was. Other servants who had chosen to train had jeered at him, and even Gyro, who had always been his defender, had told him that training was going to be too much and he should go back to the kitchens. Reg had clung to that sword, though…refusing to give it up even though he could hardly lift it at the time. Then he had met Rook. She had come over to where he was hugging the sword in the corner of the room. He had thought she would take it from him by force. Instead, he remembered how warm her hands had felt as she helped him lift it properly.
"If you want to learn, I'll teach you," she had said. "You won't be old enough to be a guard for a long time…but I won't turn away anyone who'd like the chance to learn to protect themselves."
It WAS about protecting myself, at first, Reg thought. I was sick of relying on the others. I was sick of Gyro stepping in for me, or Shirka helping me off the ground. I hated the way Tyme always looked like he was the one who was going to cry when I was the one who got hurt. But it's not about protecting myself anymore.
"I want to be a guard at the Central Fortress because this is where the people are who I want to protect," Reg said, his voice gaining strength. "Everyone keeps telling me that it's juvenile to think that way as a guard…so maybe you think I'm juvenile too. But I can't dedicate myself one hundred percent…and even lay my life on the line…for just anyone. If I go back to the south and go under oath there, I won't be able to leave, and I'll just go through the motions. I know it." Tears filled his eyes at last, his voice trembling. "Of course I don't want to be a stupid kitchen servant! I don't want to start over, not after everything I've already done! But I will, if it means that I can be here, serving the people I actually want to serve. And just wait! In my down time I'm going to train harder than anyone. Next year, when the trials come around again…" He had to stop, his voice cracking hard as the tears began to leak down his face.
He waited for Jaqah to tell him not to even bother…to say that a kid like him had no right to stand with other guards. He waited for her to point out all his flaws during his combat trial, or to tell him he should have used a crossbow instead of throwing knives, or to tell him he wasn't polished enough at hoofer riding.
"Can you read?"
The question came out of nowhere. Despite wanting to hide his tears, Reg couldn't help but look up at Jaqah, wondering if he had even heard her right. "What?"
"Can you read?" she repeated.
"I…um. Yeah," he offered glumly. "Tyme taught me how to read and write. I'm not as good as him, but…"
"I might have a different position for you, then," Jaqah explained, her expression hard to read. "Don't get me wrong—it doesn't pay much more than servant, and it won't get you on the guard force any faster. You'll still have to reinitiate next year. That won't change. But it is something a little different than scrubbing dishes."
Reg was confused, but after thinking a moment, his expression hardened. "Alright."
Theo knocked twice on the door before pushing it open. "Hey, Dynmar, do you have a minute to go over…" He trailed off when he realized that Dynmar was already hosting someone in his office.
"Theodynn, hello!" Pescar offered, and Theo slowly shut the door behind him as he came into the office.
"Uh, hi," he offered back. It wasn't that it was abnormal for Pescar to be at the Southern Fortress—Theo had noticed that the Eastern Leader had come by from time to time. He just wasn't sure why Pescar was sitting on Dynmar's desk, rather than the chair people typically used.
"Whatever it is, I can go over it with you once this fool leaves," Dynmar offered in his usual dry tone. Theo glanced at Pescar, who didn't seem the least bit abashed by his fellow-leader's harsh words.
"I was thinking this would be a good spot," Pescar was saying, pointing out an area on the map that was laid out on Dynmar's desk. "Not too far away from the border."
"I'll leave you to it, then," Theo offered, going to leave. He couldn't help but hesitate in the doorway though. "What is it you're—"
"I'm so glad you asked!" Pescar offered, looking up at him with his usual, beaming grin as he hopped off the desk. "Dynmar and I have been working on a plan to further education in our two provinces."
Theo blinked in surprise, glancing at Dynmar. The man's expression was as stony as ever. "Oh, that's great," he offered. "Rook and I tried to get a school going a few years back, but oni here in the south didn't seem to have a lot of interest in it."
"It's been difficult to set up schools in the East as well," Pescar agreed. "But education doesn't have to have just one form. After all, Myrah may have her large school in the west, but your parents opted to hire tutors who travel from village to village in the Central Province and pass on education that way, since it would be difficult for those working on the ranches and agricultural areas to leave home and attend some institution."
"Yeah, I know all that," Theo reminded. Over the last few years, Pescar had grown on him a bit, but the Eastern Leader still seemed to have the habit of explaining things people already knew.
"Well, in the East, the issue seems to be that people are too focused on learning a craft to want to spend time learning to read and write," Pescar explained. "It makes sense, as only rudimentary knowledge of bookkeeping is needed to be an artisan. However, I found that there were oni who would like to learn how to fight. In the East, I don't have the means to train many people in such things, but thanks to the programs you set up to train guards here in the south, it would be easier to train large groups of people."
"Okay…" Theo offered. "But what does that have to do with reading and writing?"
"Get to the point," Dynmar agreed, shooting Pescar an irritable look.
"Well, oni in the south and east still don't seem to have a lot of interest in reading and writing, but there are oni here in the south who would like to train to become better artisans, which could be done in the east. With that in mind, we're putting together an exchange system of sorts." Pescar shifted his weight, clearly excited about what he was describing. "Oni here in the south who would like to better their craftsmanship and trade could learn with artisans in the East, and those in the East who would like to focus on swordplay, weaponry, and fighting could come train in a special military school in the south. In both instances, we will also offer reading and writing to those who would like to learn it."
Theo thought about what Pescar was saying. It definitely wasn't something he would have ever thought up, and he glanced between the two leaders. "Do you really think it will work?" he said at last. "I mean, Easterners and Southerners have never gotten along."
Dynmar shrugged, and Theo couldn't help but think that Pescar had somehow roped him into all this unwittingly. Though, Dynmar's never been the sort to let anyone force him into anything…and I would think he'd be the least likely to give into the demands of someone like Pescar, he thought.
"You're too wrapped up in the past, which is ironic, considering how many years you've spent changing things around here," Pescar chided. "There have already been oni on both sides who have expressed interest. I'm not saying either project will end up being as large-scale as Myrah's school, but still."
"It makes sense, if you think about it," Dynmar offered, surprising Theo. The soon-to-be Southern leader rested his chin in one hand, studying the map in front of him. "The provinces may have their own systems and cultures, but we are supposed to be five pieces of a whole realm. If every single one of us implement the same infrastructure, then at some point, we might as well become separate nations entirely. We already differentiate in what goods are processed and the like. Why not differentiate our education?"
"Exactly," Pescar agreed, shooting Dynmar an appreciative look. "For instance, oni from all over the realm travel to Myrah's school to learn history, reading, writing, and healing, and she doesn't turn any of them away. In the East, we know artistry…why not welcome all who want to learn more about it and hone their skills to come do so?"
"The south has always been a hot-blooded place full of those who'd rather fight first and ask questions later," Dynmar agreed. "Focusing on military tactics and prowess matches the culture, at least."
I suppose they have a point, Theo agreed. Though…I'm not sure if making it so that the south has an unbalanced amount of military might is a good idea for future generations, but those sorts of things can be tweaked in time.
"I get it," he offered. "Actually, that's pretty cool. I'm excited to see how it turns out."
Pescar continued to smile, and Dynmar seemed to ignore Theo completely as he continued to study the map.
"The spot you mentioned won't work," he said. "Shows what you know about the Southern landscape."
Pescar turned, his expression becoming troubled as he made his way back over to the desk. "What do you mean? It's perfect!"
Seeing them getting back to work, Theo took his leave, closing the office door behind him. He frowned in thought as he made his way down the hall, but then a familiar face appeared at his side.
"What's with the look?"
He glanced over. "Hey, Rook. Sorry, I was trying to meet with Dynmar, but he's already wrapped up in something with Pescar."
Rook glanced back in the direction of Dynmar's office. "Pescar is here again? I swear, I bump into him more in the south than we ever did in the East these days. And when he's not here, it feels like Dynmar is off visiting him in the East."
"They're working on co-projects…it seems like they're trying to get their provinces to intermingle more, rather than keeping everything so stark and separate. I guess it's not a bad thing, that the Eastern and Southern leaders get along so well."
"Maybe too well," Rook joked. "They keep this up, and people are going to talk."
"They've come up with this whole exchange education system," Theo said, his mind still picking apart the previous conversation. "If it works, it will be a huge step forward. Makes me wonder if we should have pushed for education more…or tried to connect with other leaders to take on joint projects, the way Dynmar is."
"We were a little busy trying not to get assassinated," Rook reminded with a smirk, bumping his shoulder. "Don't get so wrapped up in that kind of thinking. Progress is progress—Dynmar will be able to take the south even farther than we did because of all the work we put in here."
"Right," Theo agreed, feeling sheepish.
"Anyway, I came to say that I'm going to go visit the Central Fortress today," Rook offered, and Theo looked at her in surprise.
"On your own? What for?"
"You're free to come if you'd like," Rook said. "If you remember, yesterday was the initiation trials. I'm not really sure of the results, but none of our little rookies made their way back here, so seems promising."
"That's right!" Theo realized. "I'd be shocked if they didn't make it in, though…they've had way more training than most initiates." He frowned thoughtfully. "I'll come with you to check on them, but isn't us going there kind of going against our whole 'no special treatment' thing?"
"You have a thousand different reasons for going to the Central Fortress," Rook pointed out. "No one needs to know it's because we're checking on a couple of bright-eyed initiates."
"Fair enough," Theo agreed. "Let's go get our hoofers ready."
26
Shirka tried not to feel too out of place as she headed down the hall. It was her first time going anywhere in the Central Fortress alone, and she hoped that she was heading back in the right direction. When she turned a corner and caught sight of Syra and Tyme, she felt a little relieved.
"Any luck?" Tyme asked as she came over. Shirka shook her head, and his expression fell.
"No one in the kitchens have seen Reg, or anyone that looks like him. I don't get it—I thought his plan was to become a servant, but so far, we haven't found any sign of him."
"I still say Jaqah threw him out," Syra said with a shrug.
"But why would she have acted like she was going to help him just to throw him out?" Tyme asked, fidgeting with his sleeve.
"He probably said something he shouldn't have and lost the privilege of being here," Syra mused. "Or maybe he did start working and realized he didn't want to backtrack after all and left to go back to the South already."
"It's only been a day since the trials—you think he'd give up already?" Shirka said. "Besides, even if he had only worked for a single day, surely one of the servants we've talked to would have run into him before he quit, right?"
Her friends didn't answer, lost in their own thoughts, and Shirka rubbed at her face. Having Reg not make it with the rest of them had already been a blow…but for him to be missing now was even worse. No matter what he had chosen to do, she intended to support him in it, but she just wanted the closure of knowing where he was at least.
"Hey! What are you initiates doing, wandering around like this?" someone called, and Shirka flinched as she and her friends turned to see who was talking. It was a young guard, and she realized he looked familiar. After a moment, she remembered he'd been at the initiation trials, but had she met him sometime before that too? It didn't seem likely. After all, she had only been to the Central Fortress one other time before the trials, and she hadn't really run into any guards besides Jaqah while they were here before.
She had to admit the guard was good looking, but the way he carried himself rubbed her the wrong way. He was the type to look down his nose at people, as if he had already decided he was better than them. She had seen him stop Jaqah and Reg on their way into the fortress yesterday after the trial, and though Shirka hadn't heard what the young man had said, his expression had made it clear it was something derogatory toward Reg. That alone made her decide she didn't like the guy, no matter how good looking he was.
"S..Sorry," Tyme stammered. "We've been looking for a friend of ours…"
"Geez, one of you lot is just roaming the fortress, lost?" the guard guessed. "I guess every year, there are a handful of hopeless recruits, no matter how hard Jaqah tries to filter them all out."
"He's not lost," Shirka snapped, causing the guard to glance at her. "He was hired somewhere else in the fortress…we just don't know where. We just wanted to make sure he was doing okay."
The guard sneered. "If he needs you to babysit him, then…" he trailed off, making the connection. "Wait, is it that disrespectful brat from yesterday's initiation? The one who had the gall to ask Jaqah to show him where the servant's quarters was?" He tsked. "Someone that insolent wouldn't even be allowed to scrub pots in this fortress…he's definitely been thrown out by now. That's why you can't find him."
"They don't let insolent people work here?" Syra asked in her usual monotone as she pointedly looked the guard up and down. "Somehow…I find that hard to believe."
The guard's smile faded as he seemed to realize what she was insinuating. "You'd all do well to remember that even if you passed the trial, you're still on the bottom rungs. As your superior, I deserve your respect."
"Um…we aren't trying to be disrespectful," Tyme assured, anxiously trying to smooth things over as he shot Syra a warning look. The guard turned his attention to Tyme, and he sneered.
"Geez…what's up with your eyes?" he asked. "They're pretty freaky."
Tyme froze, and Shirka felt a rush of anger as she watched Tyme immediately shift his gaze downward, tugging at his hair in an effort to hide his taupe-and-brown inverted eyes. She went to snap at the jerk, but Syra beat her to it.
"Is that all it takes to unnerve you?" she asked, tilting her head to one side as she maintained her usual bored expression. "Either you aren't actually that high up on this 'guard scale' that you mentioned…or Central Fortress Guards are real pansies."
The guard bristled. "How dare you," he growled. "You all had better watch yourselves—you're already going to be in hot water for wandering the fortress without permission when you're supposed to be getting set up in the barracks. Insubordination is hardly going to do you any favors."
"I didn't realize you were our boss," Shirka said dryly, and he shot her an angry look. He studied her for a moment and scoffed.
"What's up with that hairstyle?" he muttered, and Shirka resisted the impulse to touch her hair. She knew she didn't pull off the look as well as Rook, but still, plenty of guards pulled their hair back to keep it from getting in the way during combat, so why would he even point it out? After a few moments, the guard's expression darkened, and he chuckled without humor. "Oh, wait…I get it now. You're the ones I've heard about—the servants-turned-fighters from the south. No wonder you're all so uncouth."
"Oh, you've heard of us?" Syra asked. "Then it looks like we've already surpassed you, since you don't seem to have any kind of reputation."
"Please…your reputation is hardly a good one," the guard sneered. "I guess I can't expect too much from you lot. The only reason you're even here is because you've pulled strings with Theodynn and Rook—"
"Leader Theodynn," Tyme corrected. Shirka and Syra glanced at their friend in surprise. Tyme still seemed uncomfortable, but he glanced up just the same. The guard didn't even acknowledge him as he continued.
"Favoritism will only get you so far. They might have twisted Jaqah's arm to let you join, but that doesn't mean she'll let you stay once she finds out how disappointing you are."
"We aren't in the force because of favoritism!" Shirka insisted, her face burning with anger. "If they had pulled strings, then Reg would be a guard as well…but he didn't make the cut. We made it into this force because of our own skill, nothing else."
He rolled his eyes with a scoff, as if he were dealing with some child spouting fantasies. Ancient's…I want to punch this jerk, she realized. Tyme must have realized what she was thinking, because he reached out and grabbed her arm.
"Ivvan!" a voice called, and everyone turned to see another guard coming down the hallway. "What are you doing?"
The guard's expression became hard to read as he glanced at the young woman coming down the hallway. "I found these initiates wandering the halls. What, did you want me to just let them roam wherever they want, Freyda?"
Her expression darkened, and Shirka glanced between the two guards, wondering if she was imagining the sudden tension. For a moment, no one said anything, but then Syra turned to leave.
"Well, might as well head to the barracks; I don't think we're going to find Reg today," she said to Shirka and Tyme, acting as if their confrontation with Ivvan hadn't even happened. Tyme and Shirka glanced at their friend and then back to the guards, and after a moment Tyme went to follow.
"Hey—" Ivvan started, but Shirka just raised an eyebrow.
"What? You're the one who said we should go back to the barracks," she said, following her friends.
"You initiates aren't going to last long with those kinds of attitudes," Ivvan muttered.
The girl—Freyda?—rolled her eyes as she passed him. "You're one to talk about attitude," she sniffed before heading down the hallway.
Yeah, something's definitely gone down between those too, Shirka thought. But I guess that's none of my business. I do wish we had managed to track down Reg, though. She felt a pang. You better be okay, wherever you are.
"So…they all made it in except Reg," Rook said. She couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by the information. She knew the youngest of the rookies wasn't as skilled as his friends yet, but she had hoped that the fact that he had years of guard training would still be able to put him over the edge.
"Maybe better to let him get a little older, anyway," Theo mused, and Retrevan smiled a little from where he was walking alongside them.
"So, I take it he isn't actually seventeen like he says?" he guessed softly.
"We really have no idea," Rook admitted. "He doesn't look it, for sure…but there weren't any records for the servants back when Ottan was in charge, so there's no way to know for sure how old he is."
"He generally does pretty well with hand-to-hand combat," Theo said. "Was he up against a difficult opponent?"
Here, Ret actually looked a bit sheepish. "Well…he was actually up against me," he admitted. Rook and Theo paused in the hall, and Rook shot the large man a disbelieving look.
"Against you? No wonder he failed! How was he supposed to beat you? I doubt any of the initiates could have."
"The lots were drawn randomly," Ret offered. "If nothing else, you can blame bad luck. Had he been able to do better at the hoofer trial, or long-range trial, perhaps Jaqah would have allowed him to join considering his hand-to-hand matchup was so unbalanced. It's hard to say for sure, though."
"Well, if she said no, then she said no," Theo sighed. "Still…if he didn't join the guard force, then do you know where he is? As far as we are aware, he didn't come back to the southern fortress like I assumed he would if he didn't pass."
Retrevan smiled a little, glancing at the Oni Heir. "You seem very invested in futures of these kids."
"Well…it's not like I have to know everything they do," Theo stammered. "It's just…we've known them since I took over the south, practically. I'd at least like to know they're all stationed somewhere they're happy with."
"I see," Ret offered thoughtfully as they turned another corner. He gestured ahead of them. "Well, you won't have to worry about him too much…though I suppose only time will tell if he's actually happy with his assignment."
Rook blinked in surprise, and she and Theo turned to see where Retrevan was gesturing. At the far end of the hallway, Jaqah was walking briskly, but to Rook's surprise, a familiar figure darted after her, his arms full of scrolls.
"Is that Reg?" she asked, and Retrevan smiled softly.
"What's he doing?" Theo asked. One of the scrolls fell from Reg's arms, and he cursed as he turned back for it.
"Keep up." Jaqah's voice could be heard all the way down the hall, though she wasn't shouting. Rook had always been impressed by the way the Central Fortress Captain of the Guard could project her voice.
Reg scowled, but he scooped up the scroll quickly before following after her. Jaqah and Reg turned down a perpendicular hallway, neither of them noticing Retrevean, Theo, and Rook. As they disappeared, Rook and Theo turned to the large guard next to them for an explanation.
"As you probably know, Jaqah has an assistant assigned to her to help keep up with the paperwork side of her job," Retrevan offered. "They also help with organizing her schedule, running errands and messages, and things like that. Recently, her assistant had a baby and so Jaqah's been down the help. I was helping her for a bit, but it seems that young man volunteered to take on the position."
"He's her assistant, then?" Theo asked in surprise.
"We'll see if he lasts," Retrevan said with a small wince. "To be honest, it's not easy to keep up with Jaqah. I'm not even sure her old assistant will ever come back—the pay isn't that much better than other palace servants, and yet the workload can be much more mentally demanding."
"Still, I'm shocked Jaqah would assign someone like Reg to help her out," Theo pointed out, scratching his head. "He has no experience with that sort of thing. She could have pulled from the upper servants, or even the guard force to find a more suitable replacement, couldn't she?"
"Probably," Retrevan agreed, glancing over at Theo. "She'll never admit it…but I think she did it for his sake, more than anything."
"For Reg?" Rook realized. "That seems unlike her. I thought she was the type who never showed favoritism."
"She's pretty good at being unbiased, usually…but there are times when people get the better of her," Retrevan mused. "I think that kid reminds her of how we all used to be, all those years ago when Keyda first took over." He smiled nostalgically. "When I fought him yesterday, I couldn't help but think how much he reminded me of how Tolan was, back then. Maybe not as polished, but he fights the same way—using speed and agility to make up for a lack of brute strength. Of course, his personality is more like how Omar was—the insistence that he has what it takes to make it, despite his limitations."
"You really think she gave him the job because of sentimentality?" Theo said in surprise. "Maybe Jaqah's got a softer side to her than I realized."
"Don't let her hear you say that," Retrevan chuckled. "But yes…if I had to wager a guess…I'd say that sentimentality has something to do with it. Especially after she told me what the kid said to her after he lost the trial."
Rook winced. "Ah, I can only imagine. He can be quite a firecracker when he wants to be. Was he rude?"
"Not that I know of," Retrevan assured. "Actually…I think his words are the main reason she decided to offer him the position."
"What did he say that moved her so much?" Theo asked.
Retrevan smiled fondly, staring down the hallway at where his partner had been earlier. "She didn't go into a lot of details, but from what she told me, I can't help but thinking the kid's ideologies are just like Peder's. I can't help but wonder if he reminds her of him, most of all."
The handcuffs were strange, now that Raiyn was studying them up close for the first time. It was the first time Imgloss seemed comfortable with him doing so. After all these weeks, it seemed the Ancient finally trusted Raiyn's intentions, albeit reluctantly.
"Well?" Imgloss asked, and Raiyn frowned.
"It's strange," Raiyn admitted. "When I really focus on them…it's almost like these handcuffs have their own emotions, separate from yours."
Imgloss muttered under his breath. "That's not unnerving, or anything."
"Maybe it's the Island's signature I'm sensing?" Raiyn mumbled, furrowing his brow in thought. When he sensed people's emotions from across the realm, there was always a piece of their owner in them. It was hard to explain to Imgloss, or anyone else for that matter, but if he focused on the feelings hard enough he could decern their owner with time. The signature in the handcuffs was familiar—he had come into contact with it first in his father's memories. It wasn't the same as Hershel himself, though…instead, it was the cold, cruel, burning living emotion that he had sensed while his father was in his pale, transformed form.
I guess that isn't that great of a revelation, Raiyn realized with a wince. My father put these handcuffs on Imgloss while he was filled with the Island's power…so of COURSE they would have the Island's signature.
"Can you take them off, or not?" Imgloss demanded, and Raiyn was brought back to the task at hand.
"I'll try," he promised. It was strange for something not living to feel like they had their own emotions, but if it was emotion, then he should be able to grab hold of it, right? He focused his mental energy on doing so, trying to grasp the whispy fragments of feeling he could see wafting off of the handcuffs. For a moment, they felt solid enough to grab, but then they sifted around his mental grasp like smoke.
"I…can't make a connection," Raiyn admitted at last, his face flushed with shame. After all the training Imgloss had been willing to give him the last few weeks, he felt guilty that he couldn't at least keep his own promise. "I can kinda feel the emotions, but I can't grab onto them yet."
"Hmph," Imgloss muttered, and Raiyn risked a glance up to see if the Ancient was angry. There were a few disgruntled-colored emotions flickering in his cloud, but to Raiyn's surprise, mostly the Imgloss just felt resigned. "I suppose this just means that we'll have to keep training. Your grip on my emotions is still pretty lax—I can still break free within a minute. I suppose it makes sense you wouldn't have the skill to do something that obviously requires more finesse.
"I'll work hard," Raiyn promised, feeling a flash of determination. Imgloss scoffed, pulling his wrists away from Raiyn's hands.
"You better," he muttered, stretching his back. "Well, go make yourself useful and get me a cup of tea."
Raiyn immediately complied. As he waited for the tea to steep, he thought about what steps he could take to be able to interact with the handcuffs. Maybe it really would just become easier to do if he continued training his emotional connection—the term he and Imgloss had come up with to describe his ability to manipulate others' feelings. He wondered if Imgloss was really willing to continue being his test subject, though. He glanced over at the Ancient, who's back was turned to him as he relaxed in his usual chair. Shouldn't the thought of someone getting better at controlling him make him uneasy? Even afraid? Raiyn supposed he was grateful Imgloss wasn't afraid of him, but it still seemed strange for him to be so willing, right?
I have to make it up to him, Raiyn thought as he poured two cups of tea. By training as hard as I can.
Imgloss barely looked at him when Raiyn brought him the cup of tea, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Raiyn headed over to the bucket where he normally sat, and was surprised when Imgloss called out.
"You've got to stop sitting on that thing, or one of these days it's going to break in half."
Raiyn turned in surprise. "Oh," he said, his face flushing. "I guess you're right…it is your only bucket, so if I break it, we won't be able to draw water from the well." His gaze moved around the home, but it was sparsely furnished. There weren't even cushions, like Iona had in her home. After a moment, Raiyn sat down criss-cross on the dusty floor instead. It's not like it's a big deal, he thought, sipping his tea. I sleep on the floor, so it's perfectly fine to sit on it. I'm not at the fortress anymore, where things like sitting on bare floor is frowned upon.
He realized Imgloss was staring at him, and he glanced up to meet the Ancient's eye. "Um…am I still in the way?" he asked, picking up on the annoyance within the man's emotional cloud.
Imgloss blinked, looking away. "No more than usual," he muttered, sipping his own tea. Raiyn wondered why he had been staring, but he decided not to question the man any further, mentally making the goal to do all he could to be in the way less.
Syra wasn't the kind of person to get surprised easily. However, even she couldn't help but feel shocked when she caught sight of the figure standing next to Jaqah the morning of their first training as official Central Fortress Guards.
"I hope you were able to spend yesterday getting familiar with the barracks and patrol routes with your supervisors," Jaqah was calling out to the crowd of new initiates. "Today, you will once again be sparring with guards on higher levels than you, so I can more accurately get a sense for your skills."
"That is Reg, isn't it?" Tyme breathed from his place beside Syra. She didn't answer, as she knew Tyme could see him as clearly as she could, so such a question was stupid anyway.
Reg's expression was twisted with effort as he scribbled frantically on the clipboard he was holding. What was he even doing here? It's not like he had snuck in—Jaqah obviously had given him permission to be here. Maybe he had somehow talked her into letting him observe the guard training so he could get a better understanding for what he needed to improve on for next year's trial?
"Listen carefully as I announce the pairings. During your trials two days ago, you were matched up with your opponent randomly. Today, you'll be with someone who better matches your strengths and skills." She raised an eyebrow. "Do not think that just because you passed initiation that you can slack off now. If I deem you are not training with maximum effort, I reserve the rights to send you packing. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am," the initiates chorused. Jaqah's expression remained the same as always, but then she was holding out her hand to the side, as if expecting something. Syra was once again surprised when she saw Reg frantically finish what he was writing and hand the clipboard to the Captain of the Guard. She scanned it quickly, before turning and saying something to him. Whatever it was, it was too quiet for Syra to hear, but she saw Reg's scowl deepen as his face flushed.
"Hey, isn't that the kid from the other day? The one who failed?" one of the initiates close to Syra murmured. It seemed she and her friends weren't the only ones to recognize Reg.
"Captain Jaqah." The speaker was the jerk from the day before—the one who had confronted them in the hallway. Geez, always has to speak his mind, doesn't he? Syra thought as the guard continued. "That boy by you…what is he doing here? Isn't he the one who—"
"Are you referring to my new assistant?" Jaqah asked, her tone bored as she continued to scan the parchments on the clipboard, not even glancing at the guard speaking. Her words caused the guard to blink in surprise, but he wasn't the only one. Whispers and murmurs broke out across the new guards as well as the old ones. Reg's face burned crimson as she stared at the floor, his expression a permanent scowl.
Assistant? Syra thought, unable to keep from staring at Reg now. Is that why we haven't been able to find any sign of him? But why would Jaqah make him an assistant? Is it an act of mercy…or just a way to further humiliate him by forcing him to stand on the sidelines and watch what he was too weak to achieve?
"But, that's—" the guard started, but Jaqah cut him off.
"I hardly see that it's any concern of yours, Ivvan," she said, looking at him at last. "But since you insist on calling out, I'll announce your pairing first so you can put all your pent up energy to good use at least."
Ivvan flushed, and then Jaqah was gesturing to the oni standing next to Syra.
"You're opponent will by Tyme. Go find a proper area to spar while I announce the other pairings.'
"Oh, Ancients have mercy," Tyme muttered under his breath, and Syra could practically feel the anxiety pouring off of him as Ivvan shot a sneer in Tyme's direction.
"Please, you could fight circles around that poser," Syra muttered back. Tyme glanced at her, and she gave him a shove to get him moving. "What are you waiting for? Go make him cry."
27
Haiven woke up late, but didn't bother getting up and ready. After all, it wasn't like there was anything she had to do or anywhere she had to go while Alan worked with the hoofers.
After a while, she forced herself off her bedmat, her stomach complaining about the fact that she hadn't made her way to Ragar's house for breakfast. Ancients…what time was it, anyway? Had she missed lunch too?
After getting changed and brushing through her hair, she poked her head out of her tent to get a better look at the sun in the sky. However, she was shocked to see Alan sitting outside his own tent…was he bundling herbs?
She left her tent, which caused him to look over. "Hey," he called. "You feeling okay?"
I'm fine, she signed automatically, but he didn't look convinced.
"You've seemed off for a while," he accused, setting down the herbs he was working on before moving to take the teapot off of its hanging post above the fire crackling between their tents. "You don't have to pretend like everything's okay if it isn't, you know."
Haiven looked away, not even sure how to defend herself. She had known her behavior over the past few weeks would become impossible to excuse eventually. An off day or two, and she could have explained it away without Alan worrying too much…but her feelings had been erratic for weeks now, and she knew she wasn't doing a good job of masking them. Even Ragar and his wife had started making comments about how withdrawn she seemed, and they didn't know her all that well.
Why aren't you working? Haiven asked, deciding to change the subject completely as she joined him by the fire. The mares started having their calves a few days ago, right? Surely Ragar needs you.
"When you didn't show up to breakfast, everyone was a little worried," Alan explained. "Ragar told me I could have the day off to check up on you." He poured two cups of tea before handing her one. "Here."
I'm just tired, Haiven offered after accepting the cup. She sipped it and then grimaced. Is this medicinal?
"Just a precaution," Alan said with a shrug. "If you're feeling lethargic, you could be coming down with something."
Haiven supposed she couldn't argue with his logic. Based on the explanations she had been giving, it would seem like she was coming down with fever or something. She forced herself to sip at the tea again. It tasted like Alan had got the ratios correct.
Thanks, she said. Seems like you made it properly, at least.
He smiled a little. Give me some credit, he signed back. I've been with you for a while now…it's only natural I'd pick up a few things.
They sat quietly for a while longer, lost in their own thoughts as they finished their tea. This was something Haiven always appreciated about Alan—unlike others, who felt the need to compensate for her silence by filling the space themselves, Alan didn't mind silence. He never ever treated her like someone who needed to be compensated for.
I'll head to Ragar's house with you for lunch, if you haven't already had it, Haiven said at last. I'm feeling alright since I slept in. You can go help Ragar with any birthing hoofers…no need to worry about me.
"If you're sure," Alan offered. That was another thing she appreciated—he didn't try to talk her out of stuff, as if he knew better than her. He stood up and stretched. "If you find you aren't feeling well, though, feel free to come find me. Or, I'm sure Izumi would be willing to help you out."
At Izumi's name, Haiven's expression flickered. The thought of their conversation a little while back came to mind. Izumi's lovesick expression, the knitted scarf…
"Hey," Alan said, causing Haiven to look up at him. He was studying her closely as he spoke. "I've been meaning to ask: did Izumi say or do something to upset you?"
What do you mean? Did she say something? Haiven felt her stomach clench. Had Izumi told Alan how she felt, then?
"No, she hasn't—I just noticed you kind of seem to be avoiding her," he explained. "But maybe I'm reading into it wrong."
She didn't do anything, Haiven offered, though she didn't meet his eye. She's just…got a lot of energy sometimes.
"Yeah, I guess that's true," Alan agreed. Haiven risked a glance in his direction, and her stomach clenched again as she realized he was smiling fondly at the thought of Ragar's rambunctious daughter. "All right, I'll go get ready for lunch, then. I figure we can leave in five minutes or so, if that works for you."
He stood and turned to head to his tent. Before Haiven realized what she was doing, she had reached out and grabbed the back of his tunic. Alan froze, glancing back at her.
Let go, Haiven thought to herself, her heart pounding. What are you doing?
"Are you sure everything's okay?" Alan asked, his brow furrowing with worry. Haiven swallowed, finally forcing herself to release his tunic. She caught sight of a stain and quickly signed an excuse.
Your clothes are filthy, she offered, trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible.
He arced his neck to try and get a look at the area she had grabbed, frowning as he studied the stain. "I did wash them," he murmured. "Guess I missed a spot."
See if you can borrow something from Ragar tomorrow, Haiven said. I'll do a laundry day, and give all your clothes a deep clean. Ancients know they need it.
"Okay," he offered, though he still seemed a little puzzled. "Thanks." He left again, and this time, she didn't stop him. As soon as Alan ducked into his tent, Haiven felt her face burn with humiliation. Why couldn't she just snap out of whatever this funk was and go back to normal? It seemed like every time Alan was with her these days, his face was tight with confusion or concern. With Izumi, he was always laughing and smiling…
What the heck is wrong with me? she wondered, staring down at the teacup in her lap.
Syra hadn't been right about Tyme's ability to "fight circles" around his opponent. However, Tyme was surprised to find that Ivvan wasn't as difficult an adversary as he had been expecting. He parried another one of the guard's attacks, and he could see Ivvan's expression flicker with annoyance.
He is skilled, Tyme thought as they continued their fight. But my opponent during the trial was harder. It's weird that I feel that way, though…all of Ivvan's moves are succinct, his attacks strong, and his defense solid. So why does it feel easy to defend against him?
Tyme went on the offensive, and Ivvan blocked him. As he retaliated, Tyme moved into position to deflect the blow as if some part of him had been anticipating Ivvan's next move. That's when it clicked.
He's TOO by-the-book, he realized. Every attack, every counter…every move he makes is whatever would be considered 'best practice'. Of course, these moves are considered best practice for a reason, which is why his offensive and defensive positions are solid…but it also makes his movements predictable.
"It's good to see that you aren't completely inept," Ivvan muttered as their swords clashed again. "I suppose Jaqah wouldn't have let Theo shoe-horn you into the force if you were completely hopeless."
"Leader Theodynn has nothing to do with our being accepted on the force," Tyme reminded. Normally, he did everything he could to avoid talking during a fight. There was nothing to be gained by carrying on a conversation, after all, and it made it harder for him to stay focused. However, the way Ivvan refered to the Oni Heir had been rubbing him the wrong way. It wasn't even the fact that Ivvan called him by name without his title…it was the way he said it, as if he were purposefully trying to disregard Theodynn. It's the lack of respect, Tyme realized. How can he be a Central Fortress Guard and not respect Leader Theodynn, the very person he's going to be under Oath to protect with his life in a mere few weeks?
"There's no point in trying to claim that there's no favoritism going on," Ivvan scoffed as they continued exchanging blows. "Especially now that your unskilled friend has attached himself to Jaqah. No way she would have hired someone like him unless she was pressured to…not when there are so many people who would make a better assistant than a talentless brat."
Tyme was quiet, trying to focus on finding the patterns in Ivvan's attacks. Every so often, the older guard would include a move Tyme wasn't necessarily expecting, but for the most part, his fighting style continued to be predictable. It was possible that Ivvan wasn't this easy to read to a typical opponent, but Tyme had spent the last few weeks specifically researching Central Fortress fighting tactics. Watching Ivvan fight felt he was seeing the parchments he had read personified in front of him.
"What? Not even going to deny it?" Ivvan sneered, and his next swing was a little more powerful than Tyme had been anticipating. He managed to block it soundly, but he was forced to give up ground. The older guard seemed to see that as an opening to try and end the fight. "You're going to be disappointed, if you expected to be able to show up here and get special treatment. No matter who you were in the south, here in the Central Fortress, you'll never be anything more than another one of Theodynn's pity projects." His blows were strong, as if powered by the spite in his tone. Tyme gave up further ground as Ivvan leaned in. "He always did pity orphans."
Something twinged inside Tyme's chest. Gyro had always pointed out how ironic it was—Tyme hated confrontation, and yet all things considering, he had always been good at hand-to-hand combat. Maybe because most of the time he had fought, he knew it wasn't real conflict. The movements, positions, tactics…he could remove emotion from them all and focus solely on technique. However, at times like this where actual hostility appeared, things usually went one of two ways. Either Tyme's moves became sloppy in his effort to avoid facing a confrontational opponent.
Or he got angry.
Ivvan's smile faded slowly as Tyme's expression hardened and he began to hold his position, refusing to back up any further. "I'm not an orphan," Tyme offered simply, his own attacks becoming stronger to match the other guard.
"My mistake," Ivvan offered sarcastically. "I just thought by the way you all trail after Theodynn and Rook like lost sniffer pups, you were trying to compensate for something. That one girl goes so far as to copy Rook's hairstyle…you have to admit, it's a little pathetic."
"You're right," Tyme said, and Ivvan's expression flickered in surprise. Tyme landed another strong blow, forcing Ivvan to take a step back as he continued. "That is your mistake."
Ivvan's face was flushing now, and Tyme knew he was making the other guard angry. He could feel his own hands shaking with adrenaline—he really did hate confrontation. In a perfect world, he could get along with everyone, even those he fought against in sparring matches like this. But this wasn't a perfect world, and he knew that someone who couldn't take a stand against those who opposed them would never make it as a guard.
"Don't be getting a big head," Ivvan growled, his defenses becoming stronger. He was able to stand against Tyme's strengthened attacks—the younger guard wasn't making any headway.
But only because we're both fighting by the book, Tyme thought grimly. I wonder…what happens to your technique when you have to face someone who doesn't fight like that?
Ivvan went to strike, and it would have been easy for Tyme to parry him the same way he had been this whole time. But instead, he didn't even lift his sword and merely moved his body out of the way so that Ivaan's strike only hit air. The older guard's expression flickered in confusion, his balance thrown off since it was clear he had been anticipating Tyme blocking the blow.
That attack wasn't even meant to hit me—it's obvious you WANTED me to parry, and that the true strike would have been your retaliation after my block, Tyme thought. But I'm not giving you the satisfaction of fighting by the 'rules' anymore.
In the seconds after Ivvan's slash hit air, Tyme grabbed the other guard's sword-arm by the wrist, yanking him closer. Ivvan stumbled forward and immediately went to rip his arm free, and Tyme released him at the last second, which caused his opponent to then fall backward. Ivaan's eyes were wide as he realized that Tyme's fighting style had changed, and he immediately dropped back into a practiced position. It was clear from his expression that he was aiming to recover quickly and get back into the previous flow of the fight.
But that flow is gone, and it's not coming back, Tyme thought, tossing his own sword to his left hand and then going in for the attack. He wasn't nearly as strong with his left hand than with his right, but it wasn't power he was trying to utilize. It was unpredictability.
"Have you lost your mind?" Ivvan hissed. He easily parried Tyme's left-handed attack, but it was clear that having the swing come from the opposite side from what it had been the whole fight had unnerved him. His eyes flicked between Tyme's expression, his feet, and sword.
Trying to read my every movement, so he can anticipate. Trying to get back into control, because I've driven the momentum of the fight into a free-fall, Tyme thought. He jumped backward to avoid Ivvan's next attack, and then immediately swung for the other guard's head. Ivvan responded by bringing his sword up to block, but Tyme's blade never connected, because he had brought it to a standstill in the air and then released the handle. He could see Ivvan's body go stiff as he watched the sword begin to fall.
Your brain has come to a halt, too focused on trying to make sense of my crazy techniques that you aren't able to focus on the fight. Your eyes will follow my falling sword, since that's the only part of me that you've trained yourself to recognize as a threat in a flight-or-fight situation…
Ivvan yelled out as Tyme's boot connected with his knee. His eyes left the falling sword at last as he tried to retaliate, but Tyme dodged the sloppy attack and punched Ivvan soundly with a right hook. He couldn't help but wince a little as his fist came into contact with Ivaan's face. Fist-fighting was not a strong suit of his, and his punches typically hurt his fist as much as the opponent's face. A punch like that would have never survived in any kind of southern brawl, but Ivvan clearly hadn't been expecting it, which left him spluttering as he stumbled backward. Tyme managed to reclaim his sword in the seconds it took Ivvan to recover.
If you were someone who could adjust with the changed flow of the battle, then my moves could have been easily used against me, Tyme thought. You could have kicked my sword away the second it hit the ground, or gone on the attack the moment I released it, since I would have had no way to guard myself. Instead, you froze, which means I was right. You're too married to technique.
With his sword back in its proper hand, he resumed fighting 'properly' at last. For his part, Ivvan was able to counter the first few blows better than Tyme had anticipated, but the last few minutes had done their damage. Ivvan was shaken, and it didn't take long before Tyme managed a winning blow at last.
"That's the match," A nearby guard called, and Tyme felt heat rise up his neck and onto his face. He hadn't realized there had been someone watching the fight.
"You're not seriously going to count this as a win for him," Ivvan snapped, turning to glower at the other guard as he rubbed the spot Tyme had punched ruefully. "He was all over the place!"
"Jaqah didn't stipulate any specific boundaries for the fight," the guard said with a shrug. "He was the first to land a determining blow."
"He struck me! And kicked me!" Ivvan insisted. Tyme stood down as he watched the guards argue, and as he looked down at his hand, he realized how badly he was shaking. The adrenaline in his system was no doubt at fault…mixed with the humiliation he felt now that he remembered others had been watching his unorthodox methods.
"I can definitely tell you're from the south!" Ivvan had turned his vitriol toward Tyme once again after he failed to convince the other guard to change his decision. "But you won't get far with such barbaric—"
"Maybe my moves were a little barbaric," Tyme admitted, cutting the other off. He was still looking down at his sword—now that the fight was over, he found it hard to look Ivvan in the eye. "And I know Southern tactics are often seen that way to those in the East, or West, or here in the Central Province. There are different techniques for fighting for a reason, though…and in the end, the only thing that matters in a fight is the person left standing."
It was something Gyro used to say, back when he put Tyme and Reg's tormenters in their place. You can't curl up on yourself and hope for mercy, you know. I won't always be around to fight your battles for you, Gyro had said. Even if the only thing you can do is bite or scratch, keep the fight going. The one who loses is the one who gives up first.
"You little—" Ivvan started, and Tyme's body stiffened with anticipation as the older guard came storming closer to him. However, before he could reach him, Jaqah's voice cut into their conversation.
"That's quite enough."
Ivvan and Tyme both froze, their gazes darting over to see the Captain of the Guard standing nearby. Her expression was hard to read, and Tyme stood at attention as his face flushed further. With all the other pairs of guards sparring around the training field, he hadn't thought Jaqah would have been watching his match. Had she seen any of it? Or had she just come over when she realized they were still bickering after the sparring had ended?
"Ivvan…you lost today," Jaqah said evenly, and Tyme blinked in surprise as Ivvan flinched. The Captain of the Guard eyed Ivvan. "In a real battle, you can't argue about whether someone 'deserves' to be the winner or not. You're either victorious…or you're dead."
"Yes, Ma'am." Ivvan offered through clenched teeth. He was obviously fuming, but it seemed even he knew better than to argue with the Captain of the Guard.
Jaqah's eyes flicked to Tyme, and the disapproval in her gaze made him want to shrink under a rock. "As for you…fighting like that was reckless. Such a tactic would only work against very specific opponents." She took a step closer, one eyebrow raising. "This isn't the pit, you know. If I ever catch you fighting like that again, you'll be off the force. Do I make myself clear?"
Tyme's whole body shook with humiliation, and he couldn't meet her gaze as he mumbled his answer. "Yes, Ma'am."
"At any rate, the fight is over. Go join the others who have finished up and are doing strength training," she ordered, gesturing to one side of the field, where guards were doing push-ups in the dirt. Ivvan and Tyme both complied, but as Tyme glanced at the other guard and saw his expression, he realized that Jaqah was wrong.
It was clear that this was far from over.
Raiyn shifted the weight of the sack he was carrying as his transportation finished. It had been a surprise when Imgloss had asked him to go gather vegetables and herbs that morning. After all, Imgloss generally didn't like him transporting in and out, even when he promised to only go to uninhabited places. It could be that Imgloss was getting less paranoid…or it could be that he was losing interest in Raiyn. The latter thought worried Raiyn, and he hurried back to the tent. If only his garden was in a state where he could harvest from it, but he supposed it would be a while before it got to that state.
"I'm back," he called as he entered the tent, moving toward the various bins that Imgloss used to store food. He slowed when he caught sight of something unfamiliar in the room, however.
A simple chair sat in one corner of the room—the very one Raiyn typically sat in. He lowered the sack to the ground, moving over to study the new piece of furniture. It was made of wood, and he had to admit the craftsmanship was a little crude, but it looked sturdy.
"Ah, back already?" Imgloss griped, and Raiyn turned to see the ancient coming into the tent.
"What's this?" Raiyn asked, gesturing to the chair.
"A stupid question," Imgloss muttered as he shuffled past him. "Obviously it's a chair."
"Well, yeah," Raiyn conceded. "But where did it come from?" Imgloss just shrugged, and Raiyn looked at the chair again. "Did you make this?" he realized in surprise. "Where did you get the wood?"
"There are forests not too far from here," Imgloss muttered, sinking down into his own chair. "Not that I recommend you go poking around in them."
"You went all the way to the fertile parts of Dragon Country?" Raiyn asked. "But, you could have gotten attacked by territorial dragons, or—"
"Oh, please," Imgloss scoffed. "What could a dragon really do to me? It's not like they can kill an Ancient."
"I guess," Raiyn admitted, looking back at the chair. His heart was pounding loudly for some reason, and he cleared his throat. "Is the chair…for me?"
"You were always in the way, sitting on the ground like a sack of tubers," Imgloss muttered. "Speaking of, don't just leave that sack of vegetables sitting there on the floor."
Raiyn moved quickly, but not to put the vegetables away. Imgloss spluttered as the boy reached him, throwing his arms around his neck. It surprised Raiyn too…he had done it before he had stopped to think about it, the same way he used to when he was little.
"Thank you," he said. He wondered if Imgloss would shove him off, but the Ancient seemed frozen. Discomfort and annoyance was leaking off of him now, but there were warmer colored feelings, as well.
"It's just a chair," the Ancient muttered gruffly. "You really want to thank me, then train so you can get these infernal cuffs off of me."
Raiyn pulled away. "I will…I promise," he said before hurrying over to collect the vegetables and put them away. Imgloss watched him before sinking lower into his armchair.
"Good," he muttered. Raiyn would have wondered if the hug bothered him, but despite the scowl plastered to the Ancient's face, his emotions were far more positive than negative for the rest of the day.