“Garrett has killed Anakim warriors with many years’ more experience than you,” she said. “He made his name fighting the Unhieru. He killed Gogmagoc’s eldest son, Fathochta. That’s how he lost his nose. Garrett is famous across Erebos!”
Roper looked at her sceptically. “How could you possibly know that?”
“You have one great source of Suthern information, it is beyond me why you do not use it. The Academy,” she added as Roper continued to look baffled. “Everything we know passes through there.”
“You researched Garrett?”
“We are a partnership. I do the things that you do not, and the most recent cell has plenty of information on Garrett.”
Roper sat down next to her. “But that can’t be true. How could a Sutherner possibly kill a creature like Fathochta?” He stared out of the leaded window a while and Keturah shrugged. “All the same, I want Bright-Shock.”
“Maybe Pryce or Leon or one of those other heroes will kill Garrett. You could let it be known that you want his spear.”
“Yes, perhaps.” There was a pause and Roper’s eyes turned themselves moth-like to the gently stirring hearth. “How was it last time that I left?”
“Conflicting,” she said. “We were married then but I didn’t know you. If you had not come back … I would have been more sorry about the loss of a half-call-up. So many brave men, marching out under this untested lord and against such a large number of enemies. I think most of the fortress said goodbye for ever to your forces the day you left. Nobody expected so many of you to come back. Even if you did, nobody expected Uvoren to allow you through the gates.”
“But you trusted your father.”
“Yes, I trusted him. I thought he would know when to use you and when not to. But he says he never intended to contain you and that you commanded the whole campaign.”
“I did. What do people think this time?”
“This time they expect victory again. Nobody believes that a full call-up will be defeated. And they have all their heroes in this army. Leon is the talk of the fortress after his Prize of Valour; and Pryce, as usual. They love and trust Gray. Uvoren as well: people say his influence is worth an extra legion on the battlefield. There are questions over Vigtyr but people say they are glad he is on our side. And you: people say this new Black Lord is a good one. He has a talent for the business of war, he is brave and he inspires his men.”
Roper grunted. He struggled with that idea. There was a part of him that did not believe that those victories had been earned. Two successful battles were few enough that he could have been riding his luck. And he had never fought against Bellamus, who seemed to be a rare talent and who was already dictating the terms of this campaign. “Failure is so much easier to accept when people don’t expect anything of you,” he said.
She placed her familiar hand on his arm. “You’re not allowed to fail this time.”
Roper looked at her and saw that her other hand lay lightly on her stomach. “A child,” he said, detached. Absurdly, he wanted to laugh but he controlled himself. He was fairly certain this should be a solemn moment.
She nodded carefully. “Yes.” Then she smiled.
Roper capitulated to the laughter. “You’re going to be a subject!”
“A thrilling thought,” she said dryly. “But not as thrilling as the thought of meeting the babe I carry.”
“I should like to meet it too.”
“Then come back to me. And if you can leave Uvoren at Harstathur, so much the better. Go and kill our country’s enemies, Husband.”
They marched out.
The streets were thronged with people. They watched solemnly as the legions marched past. There were no herbs and no cheers; those would be saved for a successful return. Roper rode at the front on Zephyr, with Uvoren on horseback behind him. The Guard followed them. Gray’s house was on the route out of the fortress and, leaning out of the upstairs window, Roper saw Sigrid, Gray’s wife. She was startlingly beautiful even from this distance and supplied Roper with her distinctive smile, as if to say she was thinking kind thoughts about him. Then her gaze had moved on to her husband, marching in the ranks behind Roper.
Eyes followed Roper down the cobbled streets. A few from the crowd called out as Roper passed; just noises of respect. They rode on to the Great Gate, where Roper spotted Hafdis, Uvoren’s wife, waiting dutifully on top of the gatehouse. It was a display to complete his warrior image. The fortress must know that she and Uvoren remained united. But even from here, Roper could see her disdain for her husband. She could barely keep the sneer from her face as he rode forward, managing an apathetic wave of her hand in recognition before turning away from the column. Keturah too was on top of the gate, short hair scraped into the ponytail that denoted a married woman with no children. She stared down at Roper with a half-smile on her face and Roper could not resist staring back. He could see her green eyes from here. She was taller than every figure around her, even the stern legionaries who guarded the gate. She was not even a full subject, but looked like a queen.
Roper kept his eyes on her until the moment he rode through the gate and the stone of the gatehouse obscured her from his view. Then he looked down. Before him, the gates were open and the clear acres south of the Hindrunn stretched ahead. The melting snows had revealed a broad road that snaked over the grassland, forking east and west. Easy marching. They would take the eastern road. It led through the ruined Eastern Country and into the hills. There, on the Altar of Albion, a horde waited for them.
Roper had decided (and Tekoa had agreed) that there
