Roper’s stillness was partly because Keturah had spoken so matter-of-factly. They had threatened her; they directly threatened him by their mere existence. And one day, they might do the same to the child she carried.
There came a knock at the door and Roper ignored it for a while, continuing to stare at Keturah. “This is simply our first dead end, Wife. We will find a way to neuter that office. I broke Uvoren. Some day, I will break Jokul.” Keturah’s head jerked up at him, eyes wide, but Roper had turned towards the door. “Come!”
Roper expected to see Helmec’s familiar face as the door opened but was instead presented with the less benign countenance of the guardsman Leon, who had been brought closer to Roper on Pryce’s advice. Leon announced Gray’s presence and stood back so the new captain could enter.
“Captain,” said Keturah, looking up with a smile. “Thank you for the last time. You survived the battle unscathed?”
“I did, Miss Keturah. My head is still a little tender, but once again I am not seriously wounded.”
“Given the tales I hear of your bravery, that must make your skill quite remarkable. Pryce and my father returned fairly cut to pieces.”
“My fortune is quite remarkable. How is the pregnancy?”
Keturah grimaced. “Morning sickness. Roper arrived in the middle of a bout earlier and it appears to hurt him almost as much as it does me.”
“It is disgusting,” confirmed Roper. He beckoned Gray forward. “You’re working on your list?”
“I am, lord,” said Gray, taking a seat opposite Roper. The Black Lord, his ear bent by the lictors, legates and captains throughout the army, had presented Gray with a sheet, covered in the arms of almost three hundred warriors. From those, Gray would pick the most worthy to join the Sacred Guard. He had been working on it for almost the whole journey back from Harstathur and would announce almost a hundred new guardsmen at the victory feast in just a few hours’ time. As soon as Gray gave the word, messengers would scurry out across the fortress to invite the new guardsmen to the Honour Hall. Everyone knew there were many vacancies in the Sacred Guard, and every warrior with a reputation would be hoping desperately for a seat at the long benches that night.
“There is one crest here that does not fit with the others, lord,” said Gray. “That of Vigtyr the Quick.”
“Ah …” Roper set down his quill and sat back in his chair, gazing at Gray. “You’re certain?”
“Quite certain. It would be an assault on the principles of the Guard. Vigtyr is an exceptional fighter, but his courage is insufficient. He is too self-serving, has too much of a love for gold and wealth. Questions would rightly be asked over his inclusion.”
“It is your decision,” said Roper, raising his palms. “Vigtyr will not be invited to the Honour Hall if he is not to be made a guardsman. He would have to bear the disappointment in front of too many men. Better that he can do that in obscurity.”
“Agreed. How on earth do you intend to placate him?”
“I have given him an estate in the north and commissioned him an Unthank-silver blade.”
Gray looked at Roper for a while, face frozen in a grimace. “You might find that new blade being shoved up your arse.”
Keturah, who had returned to fumbling at her weaving, laughed delightedly without looking up. Roper nodded seriously. “It’s a distinct possibility.”
“Remember the ease with which he dragged down the great men of the country? And that was without the benefit of a court full of Ephors who are looking for any excuse to punish you.”
“I couldn’t have done this without Vigtyr. Uvoren’s death at Harstathur would have triggered open civil war if his lieutenants hadn’t already been disgraced. We had to leave his body there: it was in bits. I wish Pryce had held back a little. So it is what it is, and I will have to face Vigtyr’s displeasure.”
Gray nodded slowly. “I’m sorry to force this on you, lord.”
“That’s all right, Gray. As long as you help me deal with him, now that he’s incensed.”
Gray snorted. “We can die together trying to untangle this fiasco. But what next? You are the Black Lord, without rival or challenge. What would you have this country do?”
Roper beamed. His whole body seemed to relax and he drummed his fingers excitedly. “First, we are going to defend our home. Never again will a Suthern army be able to cross our borders and raid with such impunity. We’re going to expand the canal, Gray. The Great Canal will stretch right across Albion and be controlled by a dam behind the Hindrunn. It will be impossible for an army to cross without building rafts or a bridge, and that will slow them enough to give us time to respond.”
Gray was listening with eyebrows raised. “An ambitious legacy. The sums involved, my lord; where will the money come from?”
“I have already discussed it with Tekoa: the Vidarr will fund the construction.”
“And how shall you repay them?”
Roper pushed his chair back from the desk and stood, heading to a stand from which he took three goblets. “Birch wine?” he asked Gray, beginning to fill the goblets.
“Before the feast?” Gray grinned. “You like to live dangerously, lord.”
Roper did not need to ask Keturah, who had inherited her father’s fondness for drink. He gave his two companions a goblet apiece and sat back down. He glanced at Keturah before he continued. The two had not spoken about this. “The Vidarr are not the only debt waiting to be paid. My father promised that we would take Lundenceaster as revenge.” He paused to sip from his goblet. “So we will go to Suthdal and the Sutherners will know we are there because they dared to start this war. But that is not all. The memory of Harstathur
