At Roper’s invitation, Vigtyr settled himself in a yew chair that squeaked beneath his weight and stretched out his legs before him, looking lazy and content. Roper began to partition his mind. He forgot Keturah. He forgot the plague stalking the streets. He forgot Uvoren, he forgot Tekoa’s displeasure. Almost most painful of all, he forgot Gray, and the look of disappointment in his eyes when he had suggested meeting with Vigtyr. This encounter would require a clear head.
Dutifully, he began the work of charming Vigtyr. He saw that Vigtyr’s grey eyes lingered on the elk skull. There was quite a story behind that. Did Vigtyr hunt? Had he had the pleasure of visiting the Trawden forests? A shame. Oh, but he had been to Pendle? Magnificent, by all accounts. Roper hoped to go there himself when the winter was over.
Word had it that Vigtyr had faced the knights at Githru? Easier than expected, eh?
Where were his farmsteads?
Did he have hounds?
Vigtyr was exceedingly good company. He laughed in all the right places, told eloquent stories of his own in his deep voice and Roper found himself unexpectedly warming to this character, in spite of his Suthern ostentation. It was surprisingly easy to devote himself to this encounter, and Roper began to wonder whether the dark rumours that surrounded Vigtyr were just that: rumours. They had refilled their goblets before the topic turned to Uvoren.
“Now it is a great surprise to me, Vigtyr, that the rank of Guardsman eludes a warrior of your renown.” Vigtyr seemed to stop looking through Roper for the first time and looked at him instead, straightening perceptibly in his seat. “And as I’m sure you know, there are currently thirty-five vacancies in the Sacred Guard. We have a whole scroll of potential warriors, of course, and naturally you’re on there but competition has never been fiercer. I am afraid that I am finding Uvoren difficult as well.” Roper allowed himself a little shake of the head. “He thinks it is his unit, you see, and does his best to turn the other guardsmen against appointments that he does not agree with. It is getting increasingly difficult to overrule him, and, as you know, he has many influential supporters.”
“I’m not sure they’ll be influential for long, my lord,” said Vigtyr, reading Roper perfectly.
“How interesting. Do you really think so?” asked Roper, smiling now.
“I’m certain, lord. I like to stay well informed and hear that the Ephors are developing a keen interest in many of Uvoren’s friends.” The Ephors were the five supreme arbiters of justice in the Black Kingdom.
In response, Roper slid a sheet of parchment across the table, scrawled with coats of arms. “Well,” he said, “I wonder if they have an interest in any of these peers.”
Vigtyr took the parchment delicately and cast his eye over it, muttering the odd name to himself and frowning as he wracked his memory. “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” He rolled the parchment carefully, stowed it in a leather pouch at his belt and drained his birch wine. His light grey eyes flashed over Roper. “They’re taken care of, lord. Will that be all?”
“One more thing,” said Roper. He allowed his smile to slip. “My wife has been poisoned.”
“I’m shocked to hear it, lord.”
“If you can find out who is responsible then I will be especially grateful. Who gave the orders and who carried them out. That is all, Vigtyr,” said Roper, standing and watching Vigtyr climb to his full height opposite him. “Please let me know if you need any assistance.”
“Very good, my lord.” He bowed, more deeply this time, and strode from the room.
He left Roper standing, staring after him, his brow gathered into a frown. It was the first time he had tried using the subtlety which Kynortas had so often employed, and so subtle had he been, that he had no idea whether Vigtyr had understood what he had been asked to do.
But Vigtyr had understood every last word.
When on campaign, discipline was handled by the Black Lord himself. By strict Anakim law, an army could only have one head and that must include the ability to discipline his soldiers. When at home, however, matters of disgrace, justice and vengeance were handled by the Ephors. It was the most prestigious non-military position that the Black Kingdom offered and immensely powerful. To even be considered for appointment, which was by unanimous verdict from the existing Ephors, you had to have served a century as a legionary. You were then the ultimate judge in all cases of indiscipline, with the mandate to hand out death, disgrace, or any manner of imaginative punishment to anyone else in the Black Kingdom. Even the Black Lord was not immune from the Ephors, who were wholly independent.
In a vindictive twist, Uvoren’s sons were the first to fall.
At the first hint of dawn in the east, just three days after Roper had spoken with Vigtyr, six Pendeen legionaries arrived at Unndor’s house with an Ephorian mandate for his arrest. “What charge?” Unndor, the younger son, had growled.
“Cowardice,” said a captain with barely disguised contempt in his face. He was dragged to the prisons beneath the Central Keep.
Urthr, the elder son, followed the next day. Rape, this time.
The two were Ramnea’s Own legionaries: men second in martial reputation only to Sacred Guardsmen and individuals from whom the very highest levels
