Gaspar and Juba stood silently as they watched the training of new recruits taking place in the courtyard. Juba was still dressed in his robes but carried his spear with him, and a dagger on his left hip. He traded his slippers for leather riding boots and fashioned a heavy dyed yellow sheepskin cloak to protect him from the Apheasean snow. The recruits were getting schooled in the art of combat by a lean rough looking brute with long and tangled brownish-blonde hair down to his neck. He sported black leather trousers with calf high boots that were standard issue in the king’s army. The brute was training shirtless and didn’t seemed bothered by the freezing temperatures. His cool grey eyes were half focused on his opponent, half focused on the wine sack near the rest of his equipment. He and the recruit were in a training circle with wooden swords. The recruit was pressing his attack, but the brute parried every blow with ease while laughing. The crowd of recruits were cheering for their fellow comrade until he made the unfortunate mistake of knocking the sword out of the brute’s hand and connecting with a punch to the face.
It was over in an instant. Smiling from the blow to his face, the shirtless man quickly sidestepped to the left and delivered a vicious right hook to the gut. The recruit winced in pain from the blow, which allowed the brute to disarm the wooden sword from his right hand. Next, he used his right leg to kick the hough of the recruit, which caused him to fall to one knee as the brute quickly followed with a savage right elbow to the head. The recruit fell to the ground unconscious, but the ruffian wasn’t done. Climbing on top of the defenseless man, he started to savagely deliver punch after punch to the poor man until three soldiers had to intervene and carry him off.
Juba looked at Gaspar horrified. “You surely do not intend to bring this savage with us!” he exclaimed. “He’s just as likely to cut our throats in our sleep as he is to fight with us.”
“Do not worry young chieftain,” said the brute. “If I were going to cut your throat, I wouldn’t have to wait until you sleep.”
Juba started towards him but was held by a firm grip from Gaspar. The shirtless man chuckled and took a drink from his wine. The commanding officer came over to Gaspar, apologizing. “He’s been difficult to reign in my prince,” he said. “No matter how many beatings we give him, he continues this reckless behavior. He doesn’t seem to care if he lives or dies.” Gaspar surveyed the brute. He was bleeding from the corner of his lip from the punch he took. Lean but strong, the brute didn’t appear tired, even after the exhibition he put on. Gaspar turned to the officer and had him bring the brute over.
“Do you know who I am?” asked Gaspar.
“Of course, I do. You’re the king’s dead brother’s son.”
“And you’re the drunken fool who beats on helpless recruits.”
The brute charged after Gaspar, but Gaspar was too fast for him. Gaspar immediately moved backwards to create space. The brute threw a flurry of punches, all of which Gaspar parried. On the fourth punch, Gaspar ducked, and side stepped to the right countering with a right punch to the left side of the brute’s face. While he was dazed, Gaspar tackled the brute to the ground and wrenched his arm behind him, threatening to break it. “I am far removed from a recruit,” Gaspar said, applying pressure to the arm. He noticed several scars left from whippings on his milk white skin. The brute was laughing in pain. “This appears to be true, prince,” he said. “Can I have my arm back? It is my pouring arm and is valuable to me.” Gaspar let him go and helped him to his feet. “What is your name, soldier?” Gaspar was dusting himself off and noticed Juba smirking. “I am Ghannicus,” he said, while trying to catch his breath. “Well, Ghannicus,” started Gaspar. “My friend whom throat you threaten to open is Juba of the Inveta clan.” Juba gave a look of contempt, his grip on his spear tightening. “I guess you know who I am already. Let me ask you a question, Ghannicus. Are you content with beating recruits and getting whipped for your insubordination, or would you rather do something more purposeful with your life?” Producing a half smile, Ghannicus said, “if you hand me my wine cask, I’d love to hear what you have in mind.”
