“Take a seat friend… Would you like some wine? I just had a barrel of exquisite Etruski red imported from the north, just came in this morning. If that suits your and your escort’s fancy, I can have one of my servants fetch it for you.” Xeander had reverted to his prone position, laying flat on his oversized recliner. Meanwhile his opponent exuded calm, but every few moments his eyes would dart over to the action occurring below. As the champion seemed to be preparing himself for his next move, it was clearly going to be a mad dash for the spear, but the thought on every observer’s face was whether he was fast enough.

Xeander in the eyes of the other aristocrats had always been an eyesore, the Scholar was also ostracized, but in his case, it was due to fear… fear that he would unearth their many rotten deeds and have them executed. Xeander possessed a noble lineage, even if they had begun long ago and continued to operate as merchants.

No, he was ostracized because he was a coward, nobles often hunger for glory, but he lacked that trait. Incompetent in leadership, unable to command others, yet possessing a fierce envy of those perceived as better than himself. Often biding his time, turning others against one another, or some underhanded scheme to achieve his ends. He was never one to be trusted, every word a ruse, most of his success as a merchant based within the illicit trade… allegedly. There was after all never a trail of evidence, no witnesses that lasted long, and often someone else who would always take the fall.

“Thank you for the offer, but I must decline. I was never one for drink and prefer to keep my wits about me when discussing business.” The Scholar conveniently forgot to thank his host for his hospitable offer, a slight that did not go unnoticed, a clench of the teeth giving away “the toad’s” thoughts on the matter.

“Tell me Lord Amyntas, why are you here? You mention business, but I do not recall any agreements for which we were scheduled… What brings the ever-elusive hermit from his forest hovel? Have you come here merely to insult my intelligence, or do you come to trade some of your wares? Well, what is it you want?” The tone in Xeander’s voice had gone from sickly sweet, welcoming, and amiable, to cold and accusatory. Funny how such a minor slight could get under the man’s skin.

“Apologies Lord Batrakhos, it would appear that I can be unconsciously petty. Let us consider ourselves even, we have both clearly slighted one another, negotiating from such a position would be ill advised. So, let us begin again… as for my purpose in your fair city, initially it was to turn in the heads of those notorious bandits. But as you might imagine, we did not come out unscathed, and thus I need to procure some battle slaves from your fine establishment.” The Scholar turned his head towards the ring below, making obvious his intentions towards the young champion.

“Hoh… so, you wish to purchase my illustrious champion. Assuming he survives… and that is a very big assumption, I would have no ownership over him. However, I do possess something of importance to him, I may be able to part with it… for an adequate price and if you play a little game.” Xeander made certain to stretch out the last bit, specifically in regards to the game. If these demands were not met, they would be unable to recruit the champion, purchasing other slaves would be possible, but for the champion “the toad” would not budge from this requirement.

Although obscured, the Scholar could not help but grimace in annoyance. He had never accepted any of these games, as they always required a large wager. A method “the toad” had used to take from others, particularly nobles, usually offering something of considerable value in exchange. However, the champion was just that valuable, his death here would be an absolute waste, a reality that Xeander appeared oblivious to. It was also possible that he realized that controlling the youth would be impossible in the long run and sought a way to cut his losses.

“What is it that you want? I will hear you out, but I make no agreements or promises… But I must say do you not think the deaths of such capable warriors to be an absolute waste? Rather than defense, you are using them for mere spectacle. I fail to see the logic in this action.” Xeander grabbed a handful of grapes, popping them into his mouth one by one, his stare shifting from the Scholar to his escort, and then finally to the arena below.

“It is clear that you are a simple man… magnanimous as I am, I will not judge your low-born origins. Allow me to educate you “Oh Great Scholar” in these matters…” The Scholar remained silent, his face a stone like mask, distracting from his shaking fists. He did however remain seated through force of will, not allowing himself to fall prey to these minor taunts.

A silent click could be heard, whatever reaction the corpulent man was expecting did not arrive. Instead, he took another large gulp of the sweet-smelling wine, “You are correct when you say those men down there are skilled, but that is precisely why those of noble blood enjoy observing these games. What fun is there in observing unskilled peasants and criminals’ trip over themselves, it is the rarity and value of those men that make them enjoyable to observe. Toss a few gold coins their way and the starving brutes will jump over themselves to murder one another.”

Just as the Scholar was opening his mouth to respond a bellowing war cry reverberated throughout the arena. Even Xeander appeared to be caught off guard, it was the moment that the champion made his move. Managing to get some distance, grab his spear, but before being able to take a proper position fell to the ground. Now it was the beast on top, the view obscured by the furry mass of muscle and bone. All anyone could tell was of the ongoing struggle, that the champion still lived, but for how long could he last.

“Call back your beast Xeander! The boy had won his fight… let me access the fighting grounds, I can administer aid to the survivors. Do not allow such precious fighting potential to be wasted in so squalid a place.” Although put off initially by the lack of use of his proper title, Xeander let it pass, taking much more pleasure in the minor outburst from the normally stoic man.

Xeander not one to allow a good opportunity to go to waste made a big show of spitting at the Scholar’s feet. A wide smile and throaty laugh causing the folds of his neck to vibrate in unison. “How I always hated that aspect of you, showing your false concern, acting as a savior and somehow succeeding in garnering the loyalty of your subjects. You cannot imagine the joy I felt that day you were stripped of your position and cast out from the court… The beast will not stop until either it or the fighters are dead, now you will watch and listen! Here is the game, accept or refuse it does not matter to me!”

The thin man who had met the two earlier and disposed of the guard captain entered from the behind the door. In his hand was a scroll, alongside a feathered quill and clay pot filled with ink. “Here is the wager if the boy survives you win. You may then purchase at a considerably reduced price both the teacher of the champion and three somewhat skilled battle slaves. However, if he dies in the ring, then you give me your escort, the “steel amazon” will take his place within my arena…” Standing up in a rage the Scholar was just about to storm out when a hand grabbed his shoulder, urging him to return to his seat. Maatilani only shook her head, her resolute amethyst eyes silenced the older man.

“In addition to giving up your escort, you will have to reimburse me for the loss of a top-quality slave. That is the wager.” The deal was so ridiculously skewed that the Scholar could not help but laugh in the face of it. Assuming he won he would have to pay, and if he lost, he would lose Maati and pay even more while gaining nothing. It was obvious that no one in their right mind would agree to such horrendous terms.

“If you think that we will accept then…” The moment that the Scholar was about to turn down the offer, another voice chimed in. “We will accept the wager, but you will need to offer us five expert level battle slaves if we win. Otherwise, there is no deal.” Maatilani responded quickly and decisively, her hand clamping down on the Scholar’s mouth, muting his disagreements.

“Agreed then, I am glad we could come to a mutual agreement. Then shall we enjoy the rest of the match. I feel as if it will not be much longer now.” The Scholar was silent, his stoic mask cracked, revealing the angry scowl below. More than his anger was the disbelief that his disciple had wagered herself, she did not deign to explain herself. Instead opting to remain seated, silently observing the champion struggle against the beast.

He also had little option but to silently observe the fight, now that Maatilani had signed the document. Each of his disciples had received a ring, one which had engraved upon it his house seal and designated specifically for their use. She had used that, officially sealing the contract. He could only hope that the youth was capable of turning the situation around, otherwise they would all be forced to flee the city immediately.