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“Asshole.” mumbled Vernon Roche, leaving Loredo’s house.
He had just finished a meeting with Flotsam’s commandant about the scoia’tael presence in the near forest. Loredo had been fawning and agreeing with every measures offered by the commander of the Blue Stripes, but it was clear he wasn’t planning on following them.
He surely thought himself resourceful enough to deal with the guerrilla on his own. Even to manage to catch Iorveth. It wouldn’t happen. Iorveth was one of the best commander of the squirrels and, since his participation in Foltest’s assassination, a personal target for Roche.
He couldn’t stand Loredo, this man stinked. Figuratively and literally speaking. Roche was sure some corruption was going on in this shitty outpost. Loredo didn’t seemed to be too affected by his king’s death and was surely scheming to play his cards right in the new politic organization.
Irritated, he headed toward the inn. A strong drink would be very welcome. And he would need to find the witcher too. Geralt of Rivia was running everywhere since they had arrived. Roche didn’t know what he was up to, but the witcher should keep in mind he was still a suspect in Foltest’s assassination. Roche doubted he really had played a part of it but it was irritating never knowing where he was.
Entering the inn, Roche saw Jaskier drinking at the counter and went to him.
“Hey, Jaskier, do you know where Geralt is at the moment?
- I think he went to work on the nekker contract. There are a lot of those little nuisances everywhere and the burgomaster asked for a witcher to take care of it.
- Right.” Roche sighed. He would have to wait for Geralt’s return. Again.
After ordering a Mahakaman mead he went to the lower floor to sulk in peace.
Clamors welcomed him when he entered the room. So long for the desired quiet.
“Come on Ves! Show him what being a Blue Stripe means!”
Oh, crap. That was about his men then. The more determined one in that case. What had they gotten themselves into this time?
Pushing the onlookers standing before him, he reached the first row of the circle formed by the crowd. In the center, Ves and one of Loredo’s men were facing each other separated by a brittle table, each one fiercely starring at the other above two tankards.
“- Come on girl, quit it. ‘Would be stupid to break y’arm for nothin’, right?” The guard said casually, leaning back on his chair.
- You said no one could beat you at arm wrestling but everybody was welcome to try. I’m interested by the offer. Bring it on.” Ves was sure of herself, her body tensed as prepared for battle.
Roche spotted Silas, one of his men, and touched his shoulder, drawing the Blue Stripe’s attention to himself. Silas’s irritated expression softened instantly when he recognized his commander.
“- Hey boss, coming to attend the clash? How did it go with Loredo?
- He’s as innocent and loyal as I am of noble lineage. We need to keep an eye on his doings and consider him a potential threat.” Roche whispered quickly while Silas took the information in and nodded.
“What is going on here, why is Ves ready to murder this guy?” Roche continued with a clearer voice.
- Alphonse, the guy, is claiming to be one of the best arm wrestlers. He’s also one of Loredo’s stupid followers. He thought it was a good idea to claim that the Blue Stripes were less effective than Flotsam guards, regarding the squirrels’ capture, and that we didn’t deserve our reputation. Ves decided to show him what we’re capable of.” Silas explained before taking a gulp of his own beer.
Roche was hesitating to stop them. It wouldn’t be good for the public perception to make a scene or destroy the inn. They needed to keep a low profile for now, to not give too much information to the scoia’tael spies. Loredo also needed to see them as a low menace and weak presence. For now.
“-’m not goin’ to wrestle with a girl. Would be improper. Like you, parading in pants and throwing knives. You and them would be of better use in a kitchen!”
Alphonse barked into laughter, his friends following his lead.
Ves noticed Roche in the crowd and frowned, daring him to intervene. Roche hold his hand in peace and took a sip of his mead. The choice had been made for him.
It had suddenly become quite personal and wasn’t under his responsibility anymore. He wouldn’t stop Ves from demonstrate the guard how wrong he was.
“If you want to use a knife instead, it would be my pleasure. Let’s chop a bit, if you may.” she offered with a vicious smile, taking one of her knife from her belt and placing her hand flat on the table, fingers parted. “We go faster each time the referee make a signal. No yield. The first one drawing blood loses. Are you in?
- That’s ridiculous. I’m not doing that.” Alphonse said, moving to stand.
“Are you afraid? The great Alphonse, champion of Flotsam and famous scoia’tael hunter, would be less courageous than a fragile woman?” Ves stated with a clear voice, underlayed with sarcasm.
Alphonse’s friends started to mock him while the blue Stripes supported Ves with loud cheers.
Roche was savoring his mead. And maybe the show too.
Snarling, Alphonse sat again and took his own knife out. If looks could kill, the two would already be cold on the floor.
The waitress was designated and the game began.
The knifes were heavily falling on the wood, tearing bigger holes in it at each passage. When the waitress gave the third signal, Alphonse started to look at his movements while Ves was still staring at his forehead as if her eyes could dig a hole in it.
The sharp noises were beginning to blur as the knife flyed faster. At the fifth signal, Ves dropped her gaze toward her hand and Roche exhaled a deep breath. If Ves had kept showing off she would have lost, and Roche wouldn’t gave her an excuse to miss training. Now that she was focused, there was no doubt about the result.
Bets were starting to be exchanged in the crowd. Roche was pleased to hear more than half of them were in Ves’ favor. The Blue Stripes were betting on the number of signals before Alphonse’s fail.
At the seventh signal, Alphonse knife made a slip but didn’t cut into is skin. Sweat was visible on his head, his body tense and his breath short. Ves wasn’t showing any sign of weakness or stress. Her body was straight, her breath even. She seemed relaxed, her unblinking eyes the only sign of her deep concentration.
Right after the ninth signal, a yell resonated in the room. Alphonse had cut his ring finger.
The Blue Stripes cheered loudly and started to praise their colleague. They were the only one to notice the signs of tiredness in her slightly slower movements but no one made a comment. While Alphonse’s friend took him away to clean his injury, Roche approached Ves and patted her shoulder, nodding his approval and raising his tankard in thanks. She smiled happily to him and drank her own drink while the other Blue Stripes were laughing and congratulating her.
Loredo and his men would now be aware of the price, and risks, of challenging the Blue Stripes.