The guardsman he walked with was silent and Roper felt sick. Had he not just had the confrontation with Pryce, he would have recognised his discomfort for what it was: a creeping unease over the way this situation was developing. He was walking further and further into the dark with this guardsman, whom he did not know. They had left the encampment behind and Roper was now quite isolated.
As he drew close enough to make out who was beside this outer fire, he froze.
Or rather, he tried to. The guardsman he walked with gripped the back of his neck and pushed him onwards, steering him into the fire’s light and forcibly sitting him down on a log within its glow. Sitting about the fire were three other figures. One was another guardsman Roper did not recognise. The other two were Asger and Gosta.
You idiot, he thought to himself. You god-damned bloody fool. There had been no message from Gray. These guardsmen, surely Uvoren’s closest allies, had used his trust of Gray to draw him out here. With what purpose, Roper dared not think. Then he thought about the presence he had felt on the edge of the fire. Had it been one of these men, coming to check if he was vulnerable?
“My lord,” said Asger ironically, glancing at Roper. Even on this cold night, his face shone in the firelight. The guardsman who had escorted him went and sat down on Asger’s other side, holding his hands out to the fire.
“What am I doing here, Guardsman?” asked Roper. He did his utmost to sound authoritative, rather than aggressive. “Where is Captain Gray?”
“Captain Gray is where he belongs; a long way from here.”
Roper gathered himself. “Then I must go. Excuse me.” And he stood.
“Sit down,” said Asger. Roper glanced at Gosta, sitting next to him like a compressed spring, and decided to sit. He licked his lips, staring from one guardsman to the next.
“So what is it that you brave men intend to do with me, all the way out here? Because if you are to kill me, it is the very worst hell that awaits you.”
“We have sworn no oath to you,” said Asger simply. Still seated, he drew his sword very slowly from its sheath and balanced it tip-first on the ground, just as Gray had done with Ramnea. With two fingers atop the hilt, he began to spin it about its tip, looking at Roper with a grin. The blade flashed in the firelight.
“I know the pressure you must be under from Uvoren,” said Roper. “But you’ll be hunted down. You can’t possibly get away with this. If you leave me now, I swear I will seek no vengeance. We can just forget this.”
“I don’t want to forget this,” said Asger coldly. “You took the Guard from me.”
“I had to. You were Uvoren’s man, but it is not too late to serve a different lord. Chlodowich’s blood flows in my veins. I am the rightful Black Lord.”
“Your army is doomed tomorrow, my lord.” Asger still twirled his blade. “But Tekoa will take command if you do not survive the night. He is a practical man. He may see the sense in withdrawing to the Hindrunn, where Uvoren will, of course, welcome him as a loyal servant.”
“More likely he’ll unleash the Skiritai on you,” said Roper.
“No member of this army would dare kill a Sacred Guardsman.”
And there, Roper thought, he might be right.
“So there’s just one thought going through my mind at the moment, Roper,” said Asger, now standing and hefting his sword. Roper sat back, taking a deep breath.
But there came an unnatural pause. Both Roper and Asger could sense a presence approaching once more. There were footsteps coming from the darkness.
Roper and Asger, one seated, the other standing, stared into each other’s eyes for a long while as the footsteps grew louder. Gosta shifted restlessly, turning to strain his eyes into the darkness. Someone was moving towards them.
And, into the glow of the fire, stepped Pryce. He looked from Roper, coiled, hand resting on Cold-Edge’s hilt, to Asger standing above him, sword drawn. He chuckled softly to himself and sat down comfortably on the log next to Roper.
Asger let out a breath. “Oh, Pryce.” He smiled and, after a moment of hesitation, sat back down again. The fireplace was suddenly restless. A new piece had entered the game, and Roper had no idea for which side it fought. “We’ve been talking with Roper, here,” said Asger smoothly. “About how he thinks the battle tomorrow will go.”
“We’ll probably lose,” grunted Pryce. He gave Asger a meaningful look.
Shit.
“I must say, that’s what we rather thought. Better not to waste a half-call-up on a fool’s errand.”
“True, true,” said Pryce. He was sitting back on the log, relaxed and content.
“Well, then,” said Asger, beaming now. “As I said. There’s just one thought going through my mind at the moment, Roper.”
“If there’s a thought going through your head, it means somebody else has put it there you obsequious prick,” exploded Roper. Pryce burst out laughing. He glanced at his lord, grinning, but Roper did not meet his eye. He was still staring at Asger. “And you refer to me as ‘my lord.’” He would not die begging.
Asger looked as though Roper had just struck him about the face. He stood up suddenly. “I do not kneel to a boy. I have not sworn my allegiance to you.” He raised his sword,
