“Fear has possessed our subjects,” Roper added. “Possessed. They have allowed themselves to become a baying mob that follows the thoughts of only the most unstable and vicious among them. It is time we restored their faith.”
Father and daughter looked at him steadily. “You were there, Father. Do you take his assessment?” asked Keturah, eyes still on Roper.
“I command the Skiritai,” said Tekoa. “The Rangers. I was out in front of the army, in the thickest arrow-fire and could not believe my ears when I heard the trumpet sounding the retreat. Before we had even shed Suthern blood? Full legionaries, heroes who have trained for war their entire lives, were going to turn tail and run in the face of a few arrows? I have scarcely been more furious, Roper.” Tekoa drained the last of his birch wine and set the goblet on the floor. “You wish to know why I turned down Uvoren’s offer of alliance? Why I am countenancing yours? Because retreating that day was the right decision. And it was the hard decision. I recognised that even in the midst of my fury. I thought I could follow a man who takes such hard decisions. And now I have met you …” Tekoa watched Roper intently, as though expecting him to spontaneously combust. “You are hopelessly out of your depth,” he declared at last. “You are a butterfly in a tempest. But still so calm. Still unbowed. Still curious enough to play with my bloody possessions. I could gamble with you. What about you, Keturah? Will you gamble with me? Is this a man you could follow?”
She, too, appraised Roper. “I believe so, Father,” she said cautiously.
“Well, then!” roared Tekoa, snatching up his goblet again. “Birch wine!” The legionary Harald hurried over, supplying Keturah with a goblet and refilling Roper’s and Tekoa’s cups. “To the Black Lord,” said Tekoa solemnly, raising his goblet. “And my daughter.” They drank.
This was no time for Roper and Keturah to marry. They exchanged an oath of commitment within the walls of Tekoa’s household, each swearing themselves to the other. Then Roper revealed his plan to a sceptical Tekoa. “This is insanity, Roper.”
“My title is ‘lord.’”
“This is insanity, my lord.”
“That doesn’t matter. We’re going to do it anyway.”
Roper had Uvoren’s measure.
So it was that, that afternoon, he forced Uvoren to call a council. Tekoa sent word to Uvoren that either he could call a full council, or Tekoa and Roper would call one that excluded Uvoren. “After all,” his messenger had said, “the Captain of the Guard does not customarily sit at council.”
The Chamber of State had begun to fill just hours later. Lately, the council meetings had been stale. The legates were sick of circular debates ending in inactivity. This one was lent an extra edge by the news of Roper’s foiled assassination, which had by now filtered throughout the Hindrunn. The legates buzzed as they took their seats, leaving two empty: the Stone Throne and one at the far end of the table for Tekoa.
As Roper entered, hush descended. He was armed and armoured and had Gray and an irritated-looking Pryce at his back as he took the throne.
“Heavily armed, Roper,” commented Uvoren.
“Somebody seems to want to kill me, Captain,” responded Roper.
“And do you think they’re going to try again in this room?” There were titters from Uvoren’s supporters.
You tell me.
Roper was saved having to provide an answer by the arrival of Tekoa. The silence intensified as he entered, not deigning to look at a single one of the councillors. His presence was almost unheard of.
“Legate Tekoa,” said Uvoren dryly. “How good of you to join us.”
“It’s more than any of you deserve,” growled Tekoa, staring at the man nearest his seat until he shuffled his chair further away to give Tekoa more room. The legate sat.
Uvoren was staring from Tekoa to Roper, a sour expression infusing his face. He leaned close to Roper. “You little shit,” he whispered, grinning at Roper. “I still have the support of the rest of this council. I’m giving you nothing.”
Roper grinned back. “You’ll give me everything I ask, Captain,” he said happily. “Just watch.”
“I’ll do more than that,” said Uvoren, leaning away again and meeting the eyes of Tekoa, who was smiling unpleasantly at Uvoren.
A hush had descended over the table. Most were looking from Tekoa to Uvoren and then sparing a glance for Roper. The councillors seemed almost excited at the prospect of what they were about to witness.
Roper stood and no sooner had he done so than Uvoren was on his feet, growling that he should sit down. “Back on that chair that you so unworthily occupy.”
“Seconded,” barked the sweaty-faced Asger, from Uvoren’s left. “Roper has nothing of value to add to this council.”
“That’s rich, Asger,” said Tekoa nastily. “As you are literally the mouthpiece of Uvoren’s arse.” Asger looked ruffled. He stirred, offended, but offered no response. Tekoa turned to the Captain of the Guard. “By what right, Uvoren, do you try to forbid the Black Lord from speaking at his own council? Did you not swear yourself to his service when Kynortas was amongst us?”
“I swore my oath to Kynortas himself,” said Uvoren. “His death releases
