Page 54 of Bonded To The Arena Master

I set the wooden axe into its rack. The head is weighted to match my executioner's weapon, though no practice tool can reproduce the certainty of sharpened black metal meeting bone.

Grolm waits beneath the northern arch.

He has watched the entire session without joining it. Bone-white carapace covers his arms and face, scored at the knuckles from his own morning drills. His crimson eyes follow the guards as they stand and collect their weapons.

"Correct their formation," I order.

"At once."

He enters the sand, demonstrates where the spear should have shifted, and orders the blade guard to stop yielding command merely because another fighter holds greater reach. His criticism is exact and merciless. By the time he dismisses them, each guard knows how he failed and whom he endangered.

The terrace clears.

Grolm remains.

"You did not wait through training to discuss their footwork," I say.

"No, my lord."

I retrieve a cloth from the rack and wipe red sand from my hands. "Speak."

"The human apothecary treated three lower-patrol guards yesterday."

"Beatrix treated them."

His pause acknowledges the correction without welcoming it.

"Beatrix treated them," he says. "Two returned to duty this morning with improved breathing. The third has been reassigned from the eastern discharge channels on her instruction."

"A sound decision."

"The patrol commander agreed after examining the guard."

"Then the matter is resolved."

"The illness is resolved. The consequence is not."

I place the cloth beside the practice axe.

Grolm holds my gaze. He has served House Obsidius long enough to speak concerns another guard would bury. He also knows the boundary between warning and challenge.

"Explain the consequence."

"The lower patrols now seek her remedies before consulting the appointed Soz'garoth healer. Kitchen workers trade supplies for her powders. Dark elf servants carry requests from neighboring spires. Several guards have begun changing shifts to escort those visitors without an order from me."

"Are their posts left unguarded?"

"No."

"Are they selling house information?"

"I have found no evidence of it."

"Are they refusing your commands?"

His horns angle slightly as he considers his answer. "No."

"Then you object to useful work performed without your arrangement."