“You gave the beast an ax?” Bertold, for once, was in Nalmet’s office, and the man was doing all he could to lean over his desk, trying as he might to close the distance between their faces. A man who could only scare a particularly cowardly mouse, and who Nalmet not help himself but to imagine that his feet were not even touching the floor as he leaned.

“You have every right to be concerned, but let me assure you-” he started.

“I need something more than words, Nalmet.” He had known the interruption was coming. Nonetheless, he could not help but feel a well of anger rise within his chest.

“Come see the Khor, then.” Bertold slumped down from the desk as his face began to pale. He wouldn’t do it, that was obvious. Galal scared him. He scared all of them. “It is under control, Bertold.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said. It would be a long ways off before Bertold built that kind of confidence, and they both knew it. Not after it caved a bull’s head in with a single kick.

Bertold sat back into a chair. He looked around the room, eyes lazily taking in the scenery of Nalmet’s office. Nalmet wasn’t sure if he was looking for something in particular, or if he was losing focus for one reason or another.

His eyes continued their confused quest even as he spoke. “A few spectators saw the fight with the madrag,” he said. Nalmet raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t been told, nor had he seen them. If they could be hidden so easily, he would need to be more alert. “They’re willing to pitch in for a brown sessel. The pink ones are too costly.”

A brown sessel, eh? They were the smaller variety, but potent foes nonetheless. Even trained knights would have difficulty with them. But what was a trained knight to a Khor? “That’s quite good. I’ve been itching to see such a fight.”

“Oh, a spectator I see. I didn’t think you the type.”

“I am a Beastmaster. Seeing what my beasts can do is always quite the thrill.” It was a lie, though not fully. Galal had his particular interest.

“Then the sessel should give you quite the show.”

“That is indeed my hope. Ah, what of the other one? That should give quite a good show as well.” Bertold’s eyes narrowed, then relaxed just as quickly.

“I’m awaiting a rather prominent guest, actually,” he said.

“Oh.” A governor, perhaps? Or maybe High Artif Ramdel?

“Yes, yes. Artif Liard has been rather ambitious, and it seems he’s made friends with the king’s brother.”

“Lord Robb?”

“Indeed. It seems we’ll have quite a bit of support.” Nalmet stroked his chin, pulling at the tiny fibers of hair as he thought. Royal support could mean many things.

“I’ll need to speed things along, then.”

Bertold gave him a confused look. “What do you mean? Speed what along?”

“Did Liard not tell you? He wants to use the Khor on the battlefield.” He smiled and shrugged as Bertold gave him a comically incredulous look.

“A beast like that? On the battlefield?” He shook his head, as if to say the idea was beyond logic. Maybe it was. Even now, Nalmet couldn’t be certain. He was only certain that the results were interesting. There was no thought as to whether they would be good or bad.

“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Playing their game.” Bertold took a breath as his face morphed through a series of emotions, emotions that settled on anger.

“Nalmet, we’re smart men, are we not?”

“We are.” It was the truth, there was no need to deny it, though he kept secret about whom he thought the smarter of the two.

“Why do smart men, such as ourselves, act as pawns, then? Don’t you think it a bit of a waste of our talents?”

“We are smart men indeed, Bertold,” though I more so, he thought. “But it is not a waste unless we allow our positions to be wasted.” Bertold stared, waiting to be hand fed the rest. It was one of the reasons Nalmet could barely stand him, and most others. They couldn’t think for themselves. “More oft than not, those commanding us give us their trust.” He emphasized the last word, and a modicum of realization seemed to inch its way onto Bertold’s face.

Whether he understood what Nalmet had intended or not, he seemed content enough to move on with the conversation. “So what do you need for the beast?”

Fingers interlocked, Nalmet rested his chin upon his hands as he performed the act of a man in thought. He knew well enough what was needed. Soldiers. Weapons. Armor. The Khor was a champion, and he would make a warrior in due time.

“Remind me again, is slavery legal in Sansbrook?”

“What, you want to throw some humans at it? Sadistic bastard, aren’t ya? Slavery’s legal, but it’s regulated in Sansbrook. Can’t use them for fodder.”

“What about criminals? The ones slated for the gallows and whatnot?”

“I can get them, if you really need them. Not many, mind, but I can get them.” Useful as ever.

“They need to be equipped. Nothing big, just a few swords, maybe some leather shields.”

“What about quality? I’m not keen on wasting good leather on dead men.”

“Doesn’t matter, rusted swords and torn shields will do.” Bertold nodded, his face contorting in thought as he counted the costs of it all.

“Anything else, then?”

“Out of curiosity, how many men can you get?”

“Between five and ten, assuming you want them within the week.”

Nalmet nodded. “That will do.”

“Then I’ll be on my way.”