"…And what question might that be?" Tolsey asked, fighting to remain calm. His hand reached for his sword, but his body quivered. Why did he know, without ever having crossed swords with Beam, that it would end so poorly for him?
Why was he so well aware that this Beam that stood in front of him, tainted by anger, that it was an even stronger version of Beam than he had seen dominate the battlefield day after day?
He fought to remain calm. He was an officer, after all. It was not merely his skill with a sword that he had been given that position for. It was not merely his noble birth either – or he liked to think so. It was for moments like these, when the men needed leadership.
"Your master gave you orders to listen to your superiors, did he not?" Tolsey said, his voice firmer than it had been.
