He looked up at Roper for the first time and smiled. “I believe that. Do you two remember my dream? My quest? Reynar the Tall taught me that self-disregard can make you face death willingly, Kolbeinn that you can accept the ordeal itself. On my last day, I should like to show Reynar’s willingness and Kolbeinn’s acceptance. Do that, and I believe I will have succeeded in my life’s work.
“Come, my lord,” he said, rather suddenly. “We must follow Uvoren’s example.” He and Roper dispersed into the dusk like the grey smoke of their hearth, drifting through the ranks and offering reassurance to the legionaries. It got easier for Roper as the men came to know him better. Those who had campaigned with him before now fell still the instant he was by their fire, hoping he would come and share some words with them. Even those who were new under his command were eager to hear what he had to say; they had heard a lot about this Black Lord.
Roper came to one hearth of Blackstones. “May I join you?”
“Of course, lord.”
Roper shrugged his pack off his shoulders and sat on it. “Tomorrow’s going to be something special,” he ventured into the expectant silence. “This storm,” he gestured above at the oppressive clouds that had trapped a sticky warmth close to the ground, “will break some time during our fight. It’s going to be a deluge and one hell of a brawl on top of the Altar. It’s a narrow battlefield; our lines will clash many times and we’re going to batter them into submission each time, till they crawl away from the fight begging for quarter. We’ll stand toe to toe in the sand of the arena and trade shuddering blows and, by the end, we’ll be bloody but straight-backed. They’ll lie broken in the dust.
“I expect the Sutherners to find the Blackstones’ company the least bearable.” The men around the fire chuckled darkly. Roper smiled with them. “Every man here waited through that storm of arrows in the flooding. Many of you still limp from where the caltrops pierced your feet. You watched those treacherous bastards kill your brothers without ever daring to fight you hand to hand.” Roper smiled in grim anticipation. “The Sutherners are going to see the very best of you tomorrow. And when finally they dare to step inside the reach of your sword, they’re going to know about it.”
This was met with an appreciative murmur. “What is the battle plan, my lord?” asked one on the other side of the fire.
“Why would I need a plan? I have you. There aren’t as many Blackstones as there were, but there are enough for this fight.”
Roper could not stay long; the more hearths he could visit, the better. He told them about the last time they had fought, about Leon Kaldison’s courage in slaying Lord Northwic and how that had been facilitated by a demented Pryce, whose latest performance had seen him christened Pryce the Wild. Roper had bade them goodnight and turned away before his attention flickered back to the circle. “There is one Sutherner whose death I very much desire tomorrow. His name is Garrett Eoten-Draefend. Garrett the Giant Hunter. He’s a big man, with a lot of blond hair and a cloven nose. Anyone who can kill him and return his spear to me shall have my very great gratitude.”
“You shall have the spear if he comes my way, lord,” promised one.
“I don’t doubt that,” said Roper, fading into the darkness.
Some of the veterans at other fires probed Roper suspiciously. To them, he was a callow youth; still green and with little knowledge of battle. Roper did not mind: his legionaries were brave and his aim, as much as anything else, was to reassure them that they were well led.
“Are you scared, my lord?” asked one scarred Greyhazel legionary.
“Of course I’m scared. I may die tomorrow.” Roper shrugged. “That is a frightening thought. But it has to happen some day, and to die for my loved ones and my peers in the battle line is the best way it could possibly happen. The thought of that doesn’t scare me nearly as much as the idea of my nerve failing. Or of defeat, at the hands of these Sutherners. So yes, I am scared. I’m scared I won’t do my duty. But I do not think that will be a problem.
“We don’t know much about what we’re facing, but we know that Bellamus’s household warriors will be there. Do you know what they have done? They’ve carved out the bone-plates of our dead peers and wear them as their own armour.” The shocked murmur that greeted this news satisfied Roper. “I am scared. But I have no doubt that if I come face to face with one of those hermit crabs, my duty will coincide with my greatest pleasure.” Roper stood and had to conceal his surprise when the Greyhazel legionaries stood around him. “We’re going to march in at dawn tomorrow, lads. See you on the Altar.”
22The Lightning Bolt
Dawn was a barely perceptible shift in the light on Harstathur. Roper could not have said where east was, so deep was the layer of cloud overhead. It seemed to magnify the sound of the drums that thundered oppressively as the legions formed up on the plateau. Trumpets blasted out across the line, dressing it to the narrow width of the field. Opposite them, perhaps a mile and a half distant, the Suthern army was assembling. Roper could not judge their numbers on the field but he could see pikemen: thousands of them.
He was riding Zephyr. To walk would have set an example to his men. To use a courser would have been more practical. But nothing gave him more of a presence on the battlefield than the monstrous destrier. Before Roper had mounted, Zephyr had been dressed in
