“What’s the matter? Do you think I ought to finish up? I will if you want me to, but I don’t think I was away talking that long, was I?”
“Oh, I’d never think of imposing on you, Lord Regis! Allow me to serve you!” The sneer was openly apparent in Danilo’s voice now and Regis stared in bewilderment “Danilo, are you trying to fight with me?” Danilo looked Regis up and down slowly. “No, I thank you, my lord. Fight, with an heir to Comyn? I may be a fool, but not such a fool as all that.” He squared his shoulders and thrust his lip out belligerently. “Run along to your fencing lesson with Lord Ardais and leave the dirty work to me.”
Regis’ bewilderment gave way to rage. “When did I ever leave any dirty work for you or anyone else around here?” Danilo stared at the floor and did not answer. Regis advanced on him menacingly. “Come on, you started this, answer me! You say I haven’t been doing my fair share?” No other accusation could have made him so furious. “And take that look off your face or I’ll knock it off!”
“Must I watch the very look on my face, Lord Hastur?” The title, as he spoke it, was an open insult, and Regis hit him. Danilo staggered back, sprang up raging and started for him, then stopped short.
“Oh no. You can’t get me in trouble that way. I told you I’m not going to fight, Lord Hastur.”
“Yes you will, damn you. You started this! Now put up your fists, damn you, or I’ll use you for a floor-mop!”
“That would be fun, wouldn’t it,” Danilo muttered, “force me to fight and get me in trouble for fighting? Oh, no, Lord Regis, I’ve had too much of that!”
Regis stepped back. He was now more troubled than angry, wondering what he could possibly have done to upset Dani this way. He reached out to try to touch his friend’s mind, met nothing but surging rage that covered everything else. He moved toward Danilo; Dani sprang defensively alert.
“Zandru’s hells, what are you two about?” Hjalmar stepped inside the door, took it all in at a glance and collared Regis, not gently. “I heard you shouting halfway across the court! Cadet Syrtis, your lip is bleeding.”
He let Regis go, came and took Danilo by the chin, turning his face gently up to look at the wound. Danilo exploded into violence, pushing his hand away, his hand dropping to knife-hilt. Hjalmar grabbed his wrist.
“Zandru’s hells! Lad, don’t do that! Drawing a knife in barracks will break you, and I’d have to report it! What the hell’s the matter, boy, I only wanted to see if you were hurt!” He sounded genuinely concerned. Danilo lowered his head and stood trembling.
“What’s between you two? You’ve been close as brothers!”
“It was my fault,” said Regis quietly, “I struck him first.”
Hjalmar gave Danilo a shove. It looked rude but was, in truth, rather gentle. “Go and put some cold water on your lip, cadet. Hastur can finish doing the barracks alone. It will teach him to keep his big mouth shut.” When Danilo had vanished into the washroom he scowled angrily at Regis. “This is a fine example to set for the lads of lower rank!”
Regis did not argue or excuse himself. He stood and accepted the tongue-lashing Hjalmar gave him, and the three days of punishment detail. He felt almost grateful to the young officer for interrupting a nasty situation. Why, why, had Danilo exploded that way?
He finished sweeping the barracks, thinking that it was not like Dani to pick a fight.
And he had picked it, Regis thought soberly, throwing the last of the trash, without realizing it, into the newly cleaned fireplace. But why? Had they been tormenting him again about trying to curry favor with a Hastur?
All that day he went about his duties preoccupied and wretched, wondering what had brought his friend to such a point of desperation. He had halfway decided to seek Danilo out in their free time, brave his anger and ask him outright what was wrong. But he was reminded that he was on punishment detail, which turned out to be the distasteful duty of working with the orderlies sweeping the stables. Afterward it took him a long time to get himself clean and free of the stable stink and he had to hurry to be in time for his new assignment, which he found boring beyond words. Mostly it consisted of standing guard at the city gates, checking permits and safe-conducts, questioning travelers who had neither, reminding incoming merchants of the rules covering their trade. After that he and a junior officer were assigned supervision of night guard at the city gates, his first use of authority over any of the Guardsmen. He had known, in theory, that the cadets were in training for officers, but until now he had felt like a menial, a flunky, junior to everyone. Now, after a scant half season, he had a responsible duty of his own. For a time he forgot his preoccupation with his friend’s trouble.