"What do you know of raising sons, Hogar Two Eyed?"
"I have raised forty thousand sons for you, Ivar, each year, for twenty years," Hogar roughly chuckled.
"That you have, old friend. Then perhaps you are the one to help me raise one more."
Hogar had two eyes, a fact of which he was immensely proud, for at one point an orc chieftain had ripped out his right and Hogar had led a campaign over three hundred miles to chase down the warband, find the chieftain on the field of battle and tear off half of the Orc's face with his teeth. The Orc's green eyeball now sat proudly in Hogar's eyesocket, flushing the right side of his face with a pale green and twisting it with an toothy grin whenever a battle was joined. Ivar had never seen a hint of fear in either of those eyes, but he saw it now.
Hogar shook his grizzled head. "You left your wife to raise the boy and now he's soft as porridge. I know when a battle's lost, Ivar, and Prince Edward is a lost cause."
"What if I ordered you to-"
"You don't order me, Ivar, you just point me at the enemy."
Ivar plucked one of those larger pieces from the board, an group of carved wooden men clustered together with pikes and swords thrust outwards in a circle. He tossed it to Hogar, who snatched it out of the air, as he did all projectiles. "Fine. 6,000 extra men, to do with as you please. Your own private legion, beholden to no-one. If you just help make a man out of my son."
Jealous gasps rippled through the room of lords. Nobody but the king had ever wielded a standing army of that size. Hogar's face was impassive, except for his orcish eye, which was doing somersaults. "Plus auxillaries," Hogar said slowly.
"Deal!" Ivar cried, slapping his hand into Hogar's hand and shaking vigorously, wincing as the tiny wooden swords and lances of the miniature still held there pierced his palm. "Now where do we start?"
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