Heglar was shaking his head admiringly. "You take some long chances, Vokal!"
The gray-haired nobleman glanced sharply at him. "What do you mean?"
"This matter of your guards calling you 'Most-High'. That is a mark of respect given only to kings, you know. I doubt if Jaltor would approve of your appropriating it to your own use."
The other's blue-gray eyes seemed to film over. "Kings have been known to die, noble Heglar—and at times the ranking nobleman takes his place. One must prepare for every possibility."
"Even to having one's guards form the habit of saying Most-High, eh?"
The arrival of a small frail-bodied old man in hastily donned tunic ended the conversation. He was bearing a small cloth bag which gave off the sounds of clinking metal.
"The thousand tals, Most-High," he quavered, holding out the bag.
Vokal took it and dismissed the man. "... Would you care to count them?" he said upon placing the bag in Heglar's hands.
"It is not necessary," the old man said, then smiling, added: "You need my specialized services too badly to cheat me!"