“He has just sent out a powerful message though, lord,” said Gray. “The Sacred Guard is the most esteemed institution in this country. Every ambitious man dreams of the Almighty Eye on his right arm. If he’s saying that friends of yours cannot serve in the Guard; that is a compelling argument for not siding with you.”
“It is,” agreed Roper.
“There’s also a rumour going around, my lord,” put in Helmec. He hesitated.
Roper glanced over at him. “Tell me,” he said, shrugging.
“The rumour is that you have been unfaithful to Keturah on several occasions. People think you are now revolted by her appearance so have started inviting other women into your bed. If I’ve heard this rumour, lord, so has everyone else. People know I’m your man: I will have been one of the last to hear.”
Roper nodded. “That rumour has Uvoren written all over it. Do people believe it?”
“Some do,” said Helmec.
“Then we must finish him before he can do us too much damage,” said Roper.
Roper’s two companions were silent a moment. “What have you offered Vigtyr for his services, my lord?” said Gray at last. “He is a man even you do not want to be in debt to. I cannot think what you can offer him that has made him so willing to act.”
“He thinks he’s going to be a Sacred Guardsman,” murmured Helmec. Gray stiffened.
“He thinks what?”
“I didn’t tell him that,” said Roper, carefully.
“But if you led him to believe it, you may regret disappointing him.”
“Why couldn’t he be in the Guard? He is the best swordsman in the country.”
“He is not a guardsman,” said Gray without hesitation. “Yes, one-on-one, Vigtyr would probably kill Uvoren, Leon, Pryce; any comer. He is exceptional. For the Guard, fighting skill comes into it, but only insofar as it is not possible to survive acts of extreme valour without it. I promise you, however bad you think Uvoren is, Vigtyr is so much worse. He scares me.”
“And Uvoren doesn’t?”
“And Uvoren doesn’t,” Gray confirmed. “He’s a bastard, but a straight warrior-bastard. Vigtyr is something else.”
“He is my cousin, lord,” volunteered Helmec. “I knew him well growing up. We were at the haskoli together.”
“And what was he like as a boy?”
“Frightened, my lord,” said Helmec. “His father, Forraeder, was … a monster.”
“A monster how?”
Helmec shrugged. “Violent. And a drinker. I hear he used to be a good man, but he had his spirit broken on the battlefield. Then Vigtyr’s mother died giving birth to him, and Forraeder blamed Vigtyr for that. I remember when he first arrived at the haskoli,” Helmec’s voice held nothing but pity, “he was the quietest boy there. I don’t even think he was shy: he just hadn’t developed a personality beyond fear and obsession. He had nothing to say. I think that is why he worked so hard at the sword; it was a way of gaining control and protecting himself from his father’s shadow.”
“So why does he want the Guard so much?” asked Roper.
Helmec shrugged. “I don’t know. All I saw was that, as he grew up, his need for recognition became more and more overwhelming. Perhaps, for him, it fills the gap that ought to have been taken by affection.”
“And he had no siblings?” asked Roper.
“None, lord,” said Helmec. “But he’s certainly had enough wives and none of them ever lasted long. Divorced,” he added with a small smile at Roper’s sidelong glance. “Not vanished.”
“He sounds damaged,” said Roper.
“Oh, lord; beyond repair,” said Helmec. “But I would never want to be his enemy.”
Roper felt a trickle of guilt, that he might be abusing Vigtyr’s need for recognition to his own political ends, but those few drops disappeared into the dark pool that was the plague he had caused. “I will deal with him when I must,” said Roper. “I will reward him, but if you say he is not a Sacred Guardsman, Gray, then he is not a Sacred Guardsman.”
Gray was not mollified. “There is nothing you can give that man that will equal the prestige of a guardsman. If you do not deliver that to him, I can promise you that you will make an infinitely devious enemy.”
“Well, he’s our devious servant for now. Vinjar Kristvinson is next to fall.”
Gray, evidently uncomfortable, was silent a little longer. “Are these men guilty as charged, lord?”
Roper shared his discomfort. At first the speed with which Vigtyr had hauled down these mighty men had made him gleeful. He had laughed out loud at the malice of targeting Uvoren’s sons first and when he had seen the fear that had been sown in his enemy. That glee had soon turned into a strange sort of horror. Men were falling everywhere and Roper had no idea whether or not they deserved the punishments they received. Hartvig had seemed to be a genuinely good man and when he had been disgraced, and taken it so graciously, Roper became aware of a growing sense of unease. He remembered the fear in Baldwin’s eyes as he stood in the honeypot: the look of a man who knew things were out of his control. In retrospect, Roper recognised it. “I don’t know, Gray,” he said honestly. “Baldwin was. And he was guilty of more than the charge which killed him. The others … That is what the Ephors are there to determine, is it not?”
“Our vengeance system was not created to deal with conspiracy,” said Gray. “There’s nothing the Ephors can do about enough paid witnesses. We must defeat Uvoren, but is that at any price?”
“We’ve come a long way down this road, brother,” said Roper. “I’m not sure there’s any turning back. One way or another, this country must have a clear leader. And it cannot be Uvoren.”
They
