“Agreed,” said Gray. “Somewhere we cannot be flanked, where quality counts for more than quantity.”
“Even in such a location, it is too many,” said Roper bluntly. Gray and Tekoa glanced at one another.
“My lord,” said Tekoa, sitting up straight on the log he was using as a bench. “I admit I have been impressed with your leadership thus far. Notwithstanding that, here, you do not know what you are talking about. You have seen one battle; Gray and I have seen fifty between us. You must trust our judgement and I say that the legions are of a different quality to the Suthern soldiers. You must trust our judgement, and our legionaries.”
“I agree, my lord,” said Gray firmly. “If we find the right location, we can fight the Sutherners. The alternative would be to retreat again. Forget the shame, forget the dishonour: your command would not survive it twice in a row.”
“Perhaps we could win,” conceded Roper. “Let the Sutherners wash over our line again and again until they break; hope that our cavalry can somehow contain twenty thousand knights. But we would lose thousands, perhaps tens of thousands. There is also a good chance that we would lose the battle. Do you deny it, my advisors?”
“Better than the alternative,” growled Tekoa. Gray simply stared at Roper, his brown eyes boring into Roper’s green.
“What are you saying, my lord?” he asked, finally.
“I’m saying the price of victory is too dear. We must defeat this army with our own forces intact.”
“You fear you will not be able to retake the Hindrunn if we lose too many men?” Gray pressed.
“Forget the Hindrunn,” said Roper. “That comes later.”
“It doesn’t have to, lord,” Gray said. “Do not forget why we are here. You say it is to drive the Sutherners back to their lands, not to secure your own legacy. I fear that you will not be able to do both.”
“I tell you, my mind is not on the Hindrunn,” insisted Roper. “It is on the future. If we lose half our army here, we would win the battle but lose a war that will last for generations. We must preserve the legions in the course of victory, otherwise all we have done is pay blood for time. We cannot repel the Sutherners for ever, not unless our victory here is overwhelming.”
There was a pause as Gray continued to look shrewdly at the Black Lord. He turned his gaze to Tekoa. “I accept that, Legate,” he said respectfully. “Let’s hear his alternative.” Tekoa’s face was flushing a familiar deep red and he glowered at Roper. In the end, he nodded curtly.
“The Black Kingdom will not tolerate such a horde for long,” said Roper. “It will shake them off, if given time. But we must help it in that regard, and I need you two to back me in front of the other legates. Everyone must agree, otherwise we will surely destroy ourselves.”
“So the Black Kingdom is to defeat the Sutherners on our behalf?” demanded Tekoa.
“It is to help us,” said Roper. “We shall weaken the Sutherners together, and when the moment comes, when their forces are rotten with fear and pinned by the sea, we shall finish them.”
Roper built up the fire and found some more logs to provide seating around it before summoning the legates. There were nine of them, including Tekoa and the commander of the cavalry. Gray, Asger and Pryce were there also to represent the Guard, making thirteen around the fire.
The legates’ mood did not match Roper’s own. They arrived talkative and full of good cheer. Even with soldiers as robust as the legions, the mood on campaign was not always so positive, but Roper’s understanding of small gestures and the impact they had on morale was telling. So far he had been everywhere; he had let no one see him asleep. He had kept the watchmen company on the camp perimeters; had shared his fire and his hoosh, and appeared to know the names of every soldier under his command. Any time he was questioned, he had an answer, both frankly honest and reassuring. He appeared secure, calm and serene and was beginning to exert the kind of influence that Kynortas had had early in his reign. Despite his flighty reputation, the legionaries were coming to admire this new Black Lord. He showed willingness, energy and what appeared to be competence.
Roper waited for the legates to settle and then called for silence. It was his third campaign council and silence fell more quickly than the last time, which itself had been faster than the time before that. “Peers, perhaps you have heard by now that the Skiritai have brought worrying news. The enemy have forces in excess of one hundred and thirty thousand warriors, with twenty thousand mounted knights supporting them.” Not a councillor batted an eyelid at this. They continued to stare unmoved at Roper. “I have considered the threat posed by such a force and concluded that it would be unwise to meet them in pitched battle straight away.” This elicited a response. There was a restless stirring among the legates and Asger tutted loudly.
“You object, Asger?” Roper called him out.
Asger was on his feet at once. “More cowardliness from a second-rate leader, who proves himself yet again unwilling to commit to combat,” he said importantly. There was an unease around the circle that suggested he was not alone in this opinion. “You haven’t the stomach for this, Roper.”
“Regardless of your opinion, you call me ‘lord,’” said Roper. “Your comments have been noted, Asger.”
“You propose to retreat, lord?” said another legate impatiently. His name was Skallagrim; legate of the Gillamoor, one of the five auxiliary legions travelling with the army.
“No, I propose to use our country as best we are able to weaken them before we fight them head on.” Roper paused and then allowed himself a rueful
