Fendri could retain pretenses no longer. He vented his frustration by throwing the empty serving tray across the room. “You wanted truth, didn’t you?” he asked as he brought his face directly across from Mandrean’s. “Here it is for you. As I have said, your hand has not touched a sword in nearly ten years. You are at least as many years Grithinshield’s senior and have done nothing to keep your body in condition for battle. Meanwhile, your opponent is highly experienced and motivated. He is said to be the greatest warrior alive. Even if that proves to be an exaggeration, you cannot beat him in a fair fight.”
Mandrean gently pushed him back to a more comfortable distance and stated. “Your lack of faith in me is disappointing. Do not fear, Old Friend. I never said it would be a fair fight. According to my plan, I will only finish the life of our hunted game after the huntsmen have brought him down. You should have more faith in me. I am no fool.”
As if on cue, the great door swung open and an army of tailors and servants entered the room. The Lead Tailor observed the scene and commented. “Are we too early? We could return later if breakfast is not over.”
Mandrean addressed the tailor, though he was looking most angrily at Fendri. “Your timing is fine. We are done here. Are we not, Lord Fendri?”
Fendri nodded and said, “I will remove these trays and leave you to your packing, My Master.” Fendri bowed and left with the trays.
Mandrean led the entourage to his room where they began sorting through his closet. Like a child’s doll Mandrean stood in his undergarments in the center of the room as different outfits were placed on his body. Then the tailors would critique the look and ultimately change him into something different.