Beleg glanced back and winced. “Ah, yes…” he stammered. “I… uh… had initially chosen those two swords during the selection process but found them to be… lacking?”
“I heard about his trouble,” the other man interrupted, his smooth voice seemingly far more accustomed to stretching the truth than Beleg had been, “and as I was packing the weapons from the selection process, I offered him a new sword. One more suited for his size. I had intended to bring the twin blades back to the armory this morning after he gave this new one a few swings, but after the situation with the other competitor and his thieving ways I decided that it was safer to leave the swords here than to risk opening up the vault again where all the other weapons were stored.”
The other man nodded once, accepting the reasoning without any question. “Lunch then?”
“Of course, Master,” Virryn purred, lowering her gaze and pulling out a chair for him. Once she had him settled, she returned to the cart that she had brought into the room with them and started to set the platters of food on the sideboard.
Beleg gave Kre a covert jab with his elbow and jerked his head towards the table. He quickly caught on and jumped to pull a chair out for Beleg as well.
“Your boy could use some better training,” the Master remarked. “I have some breakers that are always looking for a little work on the side. It wouldn’t take long, I think. That one does not look incredibly strong willed. Not like my elves.” He gestured to Virryn and gave a cruel, slightly lewd smile that made Kre hate him all the more. “At least, they used to be strong willed. Now, they are as compliant as newborn kittens.”
Beleg chuckled and waved his hand dismissively, “I very much appreciate the offer, but I do like breaking them myself. Besides, in the meantime I do need him to be somewhat spirited so I can get my workouts in.”
Virryn already had two plates set up from the food she had laid out by the time Kre walked over. She nodded her head over to the empty plates on the side, indicating that Kre could use them to make up Beleg’s meal. Instead, he grabbed a few of the platters and carefully juggled them on the way back to the table.
“Here you are sir,” he said as he set the platters in front of Beleg. All told, it roughly amounted to no less than three meals for any normal sized person. “Your appetizer course.”
“Clean the swords,” Beleg snapped back, hitting Kre in the shoulder with a swift backhand. Thankfully, he pulled the strike at the last moment, but it was still hard enough to make him stagger a step.
“Yes sir,” Kre replied, appreciating the opportunity to leave the trio alone and forego the role of a servant boy for a few minutes at least.
“Quite the appetite,” the Master chuckled after watching Beleg tear through what was left of the chicken.
“I’m telling you Master, this is your guy,” the other man said, his voice retaining that silky smooth tone that made it seem slimier than usual. “He practices like a champion, eats like a champion, and soon he will prove himself as your tournament champion.”