Lord Blackwell mentally calculated how long it would take Dominic to drop off a load of metals for the Master Smith, and how long to make it to the stadium after he inevitably stopped to chat with his mentor.
"Alright, that should be fine. We won't keep you here too long. There isn't anything major in the morning reports, anyhow. Today is a light day, other than the tournament."
Fahad scoffed. "And the ten airships of Cygnian Noble spectators who arrived this morning. The new Inn is going to need an expansion at this rate, and the campgrounds are overflowing.
You're going to make a fortune, Duke Wistover."
The Advisor shrugged. "Guests are expected for a tournament. Besides, the real winners here are going to be the Merchant's Guild. Who do you think chartered the airships, and who has the stockpile of locally made magitech?"
In a way, that was still a win for Wistover.
