Chapter 613: Making Use of Men (Part One)
In the courtyard below Jocelynn’s balcony, Sir Rian Aleese gulped heavily at a cup of water while relishing in the feeling of the cool autumn air and faint morning drizzle on his sweaty face. Leaning against a pillar opposite him, Lord Owain mopped lightly at his brow with a towel while Sir Hugo Hanrahan stood nearby holding another cup of cool water.
Faint clouds of steam rose from both armored men as they caught their breath after an intense practice session. New dings and scratches marred both men’s practice armor along with the cracked remains of a wooden shield that had buckled under Owain’s rain of heavy blows. Other than the three men, however, the courtyard was completely empty.
"It looks like you’ve lost your audience today, my Lord," Sir Rian said as he threw his empty wooden cup at a distracted looking Sir Hugo, forcing the hawk-nosed bastard to scramble to catch it without dropping the cup that was waiting for Lord Owain. "I haven’t seen Lady Jocelynn miss one of our sessions since you moved our morning practice outside her chambers."
"Watch your tongue, Rian," Owain chastised, flinging a sweaty towel at the pot-bellied knight’s flushed face. "I’m sure Lady Jocelynn is only interested in learning how real men fight. The tournaments she’s seen growing up are little more than games of tag, fought by men who have never put their life on the line to slay demons. Now that she’s seen how real men wage war, she can’t get enough," he said with a wide, cocky grin.
"Clearly she’s had enough of watching Sir Rian get beaten like a sand sack," Hugo teased, though he stood half behind Owain when he said it. "She rushed off her balcony as soon as you took the field. Maybe if you put your helm on instead of showing your face, she wouldn’t have lost her appetite so quickly."
"Bastard!" Rian snapped, though there was no venom in his words and his muscles were still shaking too much after his bout with Owain to chase the scholarly Steward down for a friendly punch with an armored fist.
On horseback, with a lance in his hand or a spiked flail, Sir Rian had every confidence that he could fight Owain to a draw. The Aleese Barony bordered the Southern Steppe and the lands of the Horse Demons and even common soldiers in his father’s lands learned to ride horses to fight against their incredibly mobile enemies. For all his bulk, Sir Rian had spent more years in the saddle than even Sir Owain and he’d killed more than a few demons of the nomadic horde that plagued Lothian March’s southern border.
But on foot, wielding training weapons that were safe to use against the future Lothian Marquis, the heavy knight found himself struggling to keep up with the fleet footed young lord. He was constantly on the defense against Owain’s powerful, two-handed sword strikes and by the end of the match, he’d flung his helmet across the courtyard, just for the relief of feeling the fresh air cooling his overheated head.
"You’re spending too much time with that engineer," Rain chided, wishing he had something else he could throw at the dark-haired Steward. "Taking lessons in scolding like a woman."