"Well that was close enough to fuck!" Skandra snapped.
The angle had been just right for his nose to catch a bit of the bolt as it streaked by his face. Skandra had never seen anyone that accurate with a crossbow. Perhaps with a longbow at least fifty paces away, but a crossbow? You pointed in the general direction of the thing, pulled the slip-trigger and assumed it would strike something vital. He had a splinter in his gods-damned nose from where the thing had gone by. This splinter clearly vexed him, even as the Reavers were in the process of subduing the fellow. None too gently. He'd already taken a knife in the shoulder and a crossbow bolt through his gods-damned wrist. Maybe the Reavers roughing him up would feel like tender consoling hugs.
Skandra doubted it.
"That's him," Skandra grimaced at Ithacles as the Prince inspected the Immortal's throat. "Knew it as soon as he jumped into the circle. I was trying to avoid a brawl, but if I'd known what was coming I'd have kicked him in the testicles at the start."
Ithacles' laugh was too low to be anything but humor. Skandra swatted someone's hand away with another sour grimace. There was going to be hell to pay for starting a brawl like this. There was going to be hell to pay for forcing even one man to arms, especially when they ddin't know if the man was guilty or if Skandra had a faulty memory. There was going to be hell to pay for Reavers coming into the castle and bruising the king's guard right in their fucking eyes. Not to mention the King's favorite Captain getting her beautiful face ruined by a practice blow. A mage would probably look at it and then it would be fine. At least, that was what Skandra assumed.
The redness on his nose was nearly gone, he thought. And the red line was not blood - just the pressure of the sword resting on his throat.
Strange to think he'd started the fight and hadn't taken a single hit.
"Well," Skandra said into the silence. "Who do you imagine's going to yell at us first?