Chapter Eight #2
The sun was just touching the dozen or so men on the training field when our entourage of a dozen armed soldiers arrived. We were told to sit under a tree where we could be seen at all times, so we did. Prescott sat on his heels with his flowers under his chin.
“Like boys,” he mumbled over and over while my sight touched on every sweaty bare chest on the field.
“Yes, yes, I do like boys,” I whispered as I sat on my heels, my eyes moving over the man in charge of the training drills.
A standout of an elf, taller than most, with short hair and a physique honed from hour after hour of drilling.
He was the only one familiar to me. The king’s personal guard, Pasil, who had kept a sharp eye on me in the Stillcloud gallery just the day before.
Quite the impressive male. He shot us a quick glance, mud smeared on his left thigh, as he waved another man out of the small pack.
I leaned up as the two of them met in a slap of wet male flesh, fingers trying to gain purchase on slick skin.
Prescott held a yellow flower under my chin as I stared at the grappling match taking place.
It was a short contest, for the captain of the guard had his opponent in a headlock in a flash.
“Your attention was not on me but on something else,” Pasil barked out beside his trainee’s ear as he tightened his arm around the elf’s slim neck.
The lesser guard began to wheeze while struggling valiantly.
“Once I have you in this hold, there is no escaping, and you shall be dead shortly, your windpipe crushed or your lungs emptied of air.”
“Yes…Captain…Greenleaves,” the poor lad croaked as his lips turned blue. Pasil released his hold. The young man fell to the mud, rasping for breath, face red from shame or exertion or perhaps both.
“I could free myself from that hold,” I said to Prescott, who nodded his bald head vigorously. Pasil, who possessed the ears of a harrier, it seemed, spun to glower at me, arms folded over his wide chest.
“You wish to comment on my training process, Captain Cadere?” Greenleaves asked as the trainees stood to the side sneering at me.
“No, I was just telling my friend I could get out of that hold you claim no one can escape,” I tossed out, the sun’s rays growing warm on my face. “Please feel free to tell your guards what you wish.”
He walked over to me, his fine shape blocking out the sun, to stare at me as if I had insulted him somehow. Which I hadn’t. Not really.
“I tell my guards what they need to know to handle lawbreakers, thieves, and other forms of wanted felons,” he replied with no small amount of dislike. I sighed. “If you feel you can add something of worth to my regime, then please join me out there so you may pass along your wisdom, pirate.”
Fine. I wasn’t planning on joining in, truly. I’d just wanted to sit in the shade while enjoying the loveliness of the male elven form. But the way he softly snarled the word pirate down at me as if it were a foul taste on his tongue twisted my stones.
“As you wish.” I rose, removed my clean shirt, and pulled one boot off then the other. “My guardian will stand at my back in case your men decide to interfere once I defeat you.”
His gaze darted to Prescott, who was making a flower crown while humming his happy song.
“As you wish but know my men will not charge in unless they feel I am in danger.”
“I have no weapons aside from a small eating dagger. Your guards made sure of that, so the only true danger you will face will be from eating crow.” I smiled down at him, his height just a small bit less than mine. “Prescott, come along. We’re going to play rumble tumble with our new friends.”
“But…but…flower crown,” he pouted while pointing to his new adornment.
“Lay it on the ground,” I whispered to him.
He did as bid but was not keen on it. Rising to tower over Greenleaves and me, Prescott removed his shirt as well, exposing a barrel chest as wide as two grown elven warriors, riddled with small scars.
Many from his time at my side, but just as many from the misuse at the hands of the trolls who had cast him out.
“Now, listen,” I whispered to Prescott as we followed the king’s man to the center of a mucky circle of guards.
Pasil had a very nice arse. Not as nice as the grand advisor’s but very pleasing to the eye.
“I can handle this man. What I need you to do is to rumble tumble the others if they try to rush in.”
“Rumble tumble,” he muttered sadly, his gaze flickering to his ring of flowers on the ground.
“Only when I say to though. If I whistle then rumble tumble them but only a bit of fun play. No snapping bones or twisting heads off. Understand?” He nodded. “Good. Good fellow.”
I gave him a pat on the back and turned to face Pasil.
The king’s captain of the guard gave me a terse smile then lowered down into a crouch of sorts as I studied him closely.
He made a move, leading with his right, that I dodged neatly, a smile on my lips.
With a quick sidestep, I ducked and dove to get under his thick arm, but he brought it down with speed, driving his elbow into my shoulder.
A shot of pain raced from the impact to my neck and arm.
I bit back a snarl of pain, falling to one knee to punch him in the knee.
He was too fast. My fist connected with nothing but air.
He spun, losing his footing in the ruddy mud, and I dove at his legs.
Foolish move, really, as his thighs were like tree trunks.
He pulled me free by my hair, twisting it around his dirty fist, reeling me around in front of him and then slapping his beefy arm around my neck as my eyes watered.
“That is why soldiers do not wear their hair like the nobles,” he snarled low and deep beside my ear as I fell to hands and knees. “Concede now, freebooter, so the men here can see how a lowly pirate falls to the king’s guard.”
“I don’t…plan to fall…to anyone,” I ground out as I dug my fingers into the mud.
With a grunt, I reached back to smear the sludge into his smug, handsome face.
He coughed, sputtered, and released his hold enough for me to wiggle free.
Wheezing loudly, I rolled out of his reach, coated with clay slush, and watched as a dozen guards came to their captain’s aid.
Not that he needed it, surely. He would have the mud out of his eyes, nose, and mouth in a moment, but they all appeared to be upset, so I whistled to Prescott just in case.
“Rumble tumble!” Prescott howled in glee.
Shoulder down, uneven teeth in a wide grin, he rolled through the guards as if they were bowling pins and he the large stone ball.
Males and females flew through the air, landing with harsh wet splats with yelps of shock and some pain, I was sure. “Rumble tumble! Rumble tumble!”
Pasil cleared the mud from his eyes, found me, and then spat a wad of red clay to the ground. I got to my feet, arms poised for him to charge me.
“That was not in the least chivalrous!” He was possibly irritated with me. “That manner of sparring is not allowed in our ranks!”
“I’m not in your ranks. Dirty cheating pirate here.” I patted my filthy chest. A guard flew by as if he had wings.
“Call off your troll!”
“Do you concede?”
Another of his men rolled past like a log freefalling down a hill.
He ground his teeth for a moment before speaking. “Fine, I concede that you are unable to spar without disreputable means of winning.”
“At the end of the day, all that matters is who has the gold in their hold. How it gets there, by knightly means or not, is of no concern.” He spat at my feet.
I smiled cheekily, mud up my left nostril, and blew the wet dirt clod out in front of him.
I glanced at Prescott reaching for a young male guard backed against the wall.
“Rumble tumble time is over!” Prescott paused, puffing with exertion, to stare at me.
“You can go finish your flower crown now. Good job! You scored a dozen pins!”
“Tee-hee-hee-hee.” Prescott giggled before skipping back to his flowers.
Feeling rather good about my victory, I sensed I was being watched.
Glancing about, muddy eyelashes sticking together for a moment, I saw a trio gathered on a balcony looking down on us.
One was King Aelir, the other his spouse V’alor, and the third was Le’ral Fylson.
My sight lingered on Le’ral, dressed in fine courtly garb.
I took a bow. When I rose, Le’ral had left the balcony.
I felt a sharp stab of regret. From my right, a handsome Sandrayan man arrived, robes fluttering about his legs as he hustled over to Pasil, who was checking on his scattered guards.
The Sandrayan pulled a cloth from the folds of his robes to pat Pasil’s filthy face.
I knew the man. I’d seen him from afar on a trip to pick up cargo from the Black Sands several seasons ago.
Striking man, dark black hair and goatee.
Mahouk Nouradi patted the guard captain’s nose to clean it.
Ah, so they were together. It hit me like a troll fist to the back of the skull that many here in Avolire seemed to buck the conventions of station when it came to choosing lovers.
Many being two. The king had wed a guard and a human, and the highest-ranking ambassador of the Black Sands was involved with yet another common elf.
Interesting. I found my sight darting back to the king, who lifted a hand in greeting that I returned.
So if I were interested in more than a single night with Le’ral—which I wasn’t, but if I were—then there was no reason to let our standing in society or the lack thereof be a barrier.
The only thing that would keep us apart was the fact that I didn’t get involved.
Ever. Lover in every port. That was the sailor’s creed.
And a good creed it was. Still, Le’ral might have lingered just a little longer. Just to be polite.