“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 ifthey 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 thethird 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 guardanda 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.
“BAD BUG,” PRESCOTT MUMBLED OVER AND OVERas the clerics in the Hall of the Sanguine applied a healing salve to the several dozen tiny holes in his wide back.
“Very bad bug,” I grumbled as I threw a dark look at the truculent pixie sitting atop a cabinet filled with small bottles of tonics. Her tiny purple wings fluttered in aggravation as she flew into the air, leaving plum-toned motes floating in the midday wind. She zipped over to buzz in front of my face, black eyes snapping, and jabbed a finger at my nose.
“Firstly, I’m not a bug. I’m a pixie. In fact, you knuckleheaded cob humper, I am the Royal Ward Guardian whose sworn duty is to protect the prince and princess. Your troll wandered into the gardens with a weapon and approached Prince Al’fur and Princess Alfina with evil intent. I willnotfail in my duty again, and so he was repelled.”
“It wasn’t a weapon. It was a piccolo he found in the music room,” I explained for the tenth time. Royal Ward Guardian Tezen Plumwax rolled a lip to show sharp little teeth.
“Anything in the hand of a troll is a weapon,” she fired back and threw a glower at Prescott, who now looked as if he had as many freckles as Scout Beiro. Whom I had yet to even speak to since arriving at this damn castle. My patience was wearing thin being trapped in this luxurious prison, for that was how it felt after two long days. “He came charging up to the children,yelling something about pike and go, so I did what the king and queen pay me to do.”
“Aye, you did, and now the poor sod has tiny holes all over his arms, back, and belly thanks to your damn war picks.”
“He’s lucky he has such thick skin. I’ve been known to open a human’s belly like a gutted fish!”
