by Leo Carew
Tekoa and Pryce were still staring furiously at one another, until Gray took Pryce by the arm. “We’re on trenches soon, Pryce. Let’s get ready.” The two of them retreated, Pryce throwing one last disgusted look at his uncle before he allowed himself to be drawn away. Roper looked back to Tekoa, and found that behind the anger lay an unexpected vulnerability.
“Nothing came of the infected Skiritai left by the Hermit-Crabs, Legate,” he said. “Once we’d realised what they were trying to do, we drove them off with arrows.”
Tekoa nodded curtly and then raised a hand to his face, covering it briefly. He was silent a while, Roper taking a pace closer. “I’m… I’m sorry, Lord Roper. I did not think that would happen.”
“Put it from your mind,” said Roper. “The assault is the only thing that matters now.”
Tekoa nodded, passing a hand over his face again. “Where is my daughter?”
“She went north to have the child. She should be back in the Hindrunn by now.” There came another pause, and Roper beamed, knowing what a boost this arrival would give his men. “I am exceptionally glad to have you back, Legate.”
Tekoa nodded, not looking at Roper fully. His eyes were like marble; his joking forgotten. There was no real joy in his words, just the compulsion to continue. “Let’s finish this,” he said.
Tekoa never spoke to Roper about how it had been to wait in isolation while sickness ate through his legion. Roper heard stories from other Skiritai of the brutal quarantine he had imposed, with the legion divided into Definitely Sick, Maybe Sick and Definitely Well. These last were preserved at all costs. As soon as he had left camp, Tekoa gathered his men and told them bluntly that the time had come to lay down their lives for their peers and their kingdom. Should anyone suspect themselves of sickness, they should join the Maybe Sick. Should it be confirmed, the preferable course for this most contagious of diseases was walk off into the woods somewhere and wait for it to take its course. If you survived, you would be permitted to rejoin the Maybe Sick. Healthy men could not be risked tending to the infected, and Tekoa had twice placed himself in the Maybe Sick, and twice survived.
Hearing this, Roper realised that it must be the Definitely Sick who had wandered into the woods and been captured by the Hermit-Crabs. Tekoa must have realised the same, but never spoke of it, and Roper did not press him. The legate was darker now and his humour more caustic, but Roper was very glad to have him and his rangers back. Especially when the Unhieru arrived.
They came from the west.
Roper, Tekoa, Gray and Pryce stood together when the burst for Soldiers Coming sounded once more. “That’ll be the Unhurried,” said Tekoa.
Roper had thought he was too weary for fear, but at the trumpet he felt sweat prickle his palms. “Onwards,” he said, without thinking. The four broke into a trot, heading for where the trumpet sound had issued.
“Is there anything I should know before meeting these people?” asked Gray.
“It is the same as anything,” said Tekoa. “Don’t back down under any circumstances.”
Roper had expected to see the Unhieru towering from a distance, but the first sign that they were drawing near was a still crowd of legionaries, all facing into the trees. Beneath the canopy of the forest, Roper could detect massive, shadowed movements. He pushed into the gathered soldiers, who opened a channel rapidly once they registered him. There was evidently considerable enthusiasm that he should take command, and Roper smelt on the air that feral reek of urine.
As the legionaries stepped aside, Roper saw Gighath: the brown-eyed female who had laughed so poisonously at their delegation. She was advancing towards a captain who stood before the crowd and yielded to her, footstep for footstep. Roper could see the earth beneath her bare feet sliding out of the way under the pressure she exerted. He placed a hand on the retreating captain’s shoulder. Relieved, the man ducked behind Roper, who strode forward to meet Gighath. Emerging from the trees behind her were more Unhieru, both men and women moving with the gracious prowl of bears.
Roper gave Gighath a courteous bow, exposing the back of his neck to her for much longer than felt natural. “An honour to have you here, my lady. Tell me, do you know where Gogmagoc is? I wish to greet him.”
“This is that poisonous wretch, Gighath isn’t it?” came Pryce’s voice from behind Roper.
In response, Gighath bared her broken teeth, but spoke no words. Roper found his attention drawn away and to the right, as though there were a hook in his ear. There was a gentle clinking of something slow and armoured moving through the trees. As he looked into the gloom, Roper spied something enormous and shining, shifting from side to side as it walked. Gighath, following Roper’s gaze, choked a word. “Hokhmakhok.”
Roper nodded, bidding Gighath a polite goodbye that he did not feel she had earned. He strode forward, calling out: “Gogmagoc! Gogmagoc!” High above, a horrifying metal face was turned towards Roper. Alone of the Unhieru, Gogmagoc had worn his armour for the occasion. Being unfamiliar with Unhieru faces, the armourers had allowed a margin for error by creating eye and mouth holes much larger than usual. The resultant piece worn by Gogmagoc was like a vast, upturned steel bucket; mad, pitch-black and perfectly round eyeholes perforated its front, above a tall alcove for the mouth. Beneath this, chain mail cascaded down his front, already spattered with rusted links and so shapeless that the newcomer resembled a vast iron phantom. In one hand, he clutched the head of an enormous axe, its shaft dragging along the ground behind like a plough.
Roper felt his peers backing away from the giant king, and he could not help but imagine what it would take to stop this creature, so armed and armoured. A cannon might do it, or a fire-thrower. But in the field, with bladed weapons moved by muscle-power alone, Roper could not see how to penetrate the chain mail, even if you survived coming within range of his axe. He thought of Gilius, of the horses, of the other-mind, and Gogmagoc’s aura of insanity, and was less certain than ever of the wisdom of having these people here.
The metal apparition had gone still; wide, mad eyeholes gaping at Roper. He offered another bow, sensing the feral intelligence surveying him beneath that shocking helmet, making judgements in some code Roper could not understand. “Welcome to our army, my lord Gogmagoc. You have arrived just in time.”
“In time for what?” growled the apparition.
“For a good competition,” said Roper.
Gogmagoc laughed. That slow grinding noise, which made the hairs on the back of Roper’s neck stand up.
“Come and share my fire, lord king, and we shall talk.”
Gogmagoc made an expressive gesture with his hand—Continue—but said no more. Roper turned away and led the king back to his hearth, the crowds around them parting in silence. After Roper and the giant king came Gray, Pryce, Tekoa and a whole procession of Unhieru: first scores, then hundreds pouring from the trees. They kept their distance from the legionaries, each side eyeing the other and communicating past one another.
At his fire, Roper set fresh wood and two pots of pine-tea on the flames. Gogmagoc pulled off his helmet and rattled his bone-fastened mane, falling into a seat. Gray and Tekoa stood around the fire, eyeing the giant as the tea brewed, but Pryce simply dropped next to him and began tearing at the grass. “How was your journey, Lord Gogmagoc?” Roper enquired.
The king just shrugged. “Complete. Where is Eoten-Draefend?”
“We do not know for sure,” Roper admitted. “But the vast majority of the Suthern forces are behind those walls.”
Gogmagoc inspected Lundenceaster. “So we cannot get him,” he growled.
As Roper had hoped, Gogmagoc assumed Garrett might be inside too, and under no circumstances would Roper dissuade him of that notion. “Leave the walls to us,” he said. “But there are a great number of defenders, which we will need to fight together.”
“Many defenders, but not enough,” Gogmagoc declared. “We will enter first.”
Roper smiled. “I was going to su
ggest just that, lord. With your armour, I suspect our enemy shall struggle against you. We will create a breach—a hole—in the wall tonight. Perhaps you should pick one thousand of your number to be first inside. Any more and you may run out of room to move.” And we’ll probably lose control of you, he thought.
“Yes,” Gogmagoc agreed.
“Good,” said Roper, eyeing his guest. “Good. When darkness falls, we shall begin.” At last.
“It is decided,” said Gogmagoc. He picked up the scalding bucket of tea and drained it in one swallow. Roper looked aghast at the king, who lumbered upright. Without another word, he prowled away, helmet gripped loosely at his side.
Darkness fell.
Roper walked the camp, breathing through his mouth to avoid the unsettling musk of the Unhieru. He had never known an army so silent. He could almost see the weight of what they were about to attempt pressing down on the legionaries. He had ordered that they eat the last of their rations to give them strength to fight—whether they won or lost, they would not be needed tomorrow—but though all were starving, most just stared mutely at the food.
Roper had forced down his own rations, but knew how his men felt. In a quiet moment when it was just he and Gray left by the fire, he turned to the captain. “I don’t feel good.”
Gray gave an encouraging smile. “In what way, lord?”
“Sick. Weak.” Roper paused. “Afraid.”
Gray nodded, his face looking old in the shadows of the fire. “I feel the same, my lord. Lundenceaster has a reputation. These walls are where armies come to die, and now it is not just our own lives we are fighting for. It the very future of the Anakim. The men feel that.”
“I do too,” said Roper, quietly. He looked at the dark mass of the city walls. “I would only say this to you, my brother. I have never wanted to do anything less in my entire life.”
Gray nodded. “I know, my lord. I don’t much want to either.” They were quiet for a moment, before Roper looked back at Gray.
“But it’s at least simple, isn’t it? Turn back from here, and we starve. But take those walls, those streets, and we secure our future. We must do it. For our loved ones in the north, and those generations yet unborn.”
Gray put an arm over Roper’s shoulder. “And here we are at last, lord. Just getting this army here is achievement enough that the Academy shall remember you forever.”
“I shall reward myself with the honour of being the first Anakim over the breach,” said Roper.
“My lord,” said Gray, withdrawing his arm. “You cannot.”
“I can.”
“No,” Gray said vehemently. “You must trust me. It is this simple: those who begin an assault do not survive it. You are needed. Without you, this army falls apart, and you will not survive being first into that breach. Believe me now, you cannot go.”
Roper was silent. Privately, he felt so unsettled that he was not sure he could bear to wait beyond the walls. Better to be active and in danger, both of which would mask the unnatural churning of his heart. That was truly what drove him on, but Gray was also right. His first duty was to the army. “All right, Gray. I will wait.”
Other officers began to gather at Roper’s hearth to wait for the assault. Pryce appeared and Vigtyr. The Chief Historian, Tekoa, Sturla and half a dozen other legates, sheltering in the fire’s glow from the distant howls of the Unhieru. The giants had made the camp feel very unfamiliar.
Roper and Gray talked aimlessly, their only purpose to distract their companions and prevent them getting lost in their own thoughts. “I’ve been thinking about one of the conversations I had with Bellamus,” Roper began.
“Tell me,” said Gray, sharpening his sword in the firelight.
“It was about choice,” said Roper. “And I’ve trying to work out if he was telling the truth, or if everything he did and said in that tent was some kind of performance.”
“What makes you think he was performing?”
“The chess,” said Roper, thoughtfully. “I beat him at every single game, except the last. In that one, he outclassed me. I was left… I was left with the feeling that he’d been letting me win, and only played me properly that last time.”
Gray frowned. “Why would he?”
“I don’t know, but he is an unusually committed and resourceful man. And that makes me wonder if I can trust any of what he told me. Or if it was all to mislead me in ways I do not currently understand.”
“So what did he say about choice?”
“He claimed,” said Roper slowly, “that for those in Suthdal, choice is considered a great positive. They love it. They think if you have the freedom to choose, you will make yourself happier.”
“A child’s philosophy,” said Pryce scathingly. “Which is happier, the man who accepts what he has and makes the best of it, or the one always glancing over his shoulder, wondering if he should have chosen another path? Choice is a terrible burden.”
“It can be welcome sometimes, in small things,” Gray allowed. “What to do with an evening, what to eat… But I must agree. Imagine having to choose what to do with your life. Imagine having to choose your own name, or even your own sword. You should grow around your circumstances, rather than trying to change them.”
“Yes, yes,” said Roper. “I said all this. I asked how he lives with the uncertainty, constantly wondering what might have been. And he said that it is an opportunity to exercise his personality. He thinks to himself before each decision: ‘What choice would the man I would like to be make?’ Each choice is a way of getting closer to who he would like to be. That, he said, was liberating.”
Silence followed this report. “That is interesting,” said Gray, stowing his whetstone in a pouch and sitting back to ponder, sword still resting in his lap. “I don’t think you need doubt everything he said. I believe a man could be convinced by that.”
“A one-eyed man,” Pryce observed.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to be criticising people missing sensory organs, Pryce,” said Tekoa, and the company laughed. Pryce ignored the comment.
“I believe I’ve only seen Pryce laugh once in my entire life,” said Roper, observing the sprinter. “That night by the fire before Githru, when Uvoren’s four guardsmen lured me away and attacked me. Pryce followed us. Before he attacked, Asger said there was a thought going through his mind, and I said it must mean someone else had put it there.” The group chuckled again. “And Pryce laughed. I don’t believe I’ve seen that since.”
“Amusing as that is, I’d imagine you were probably a little nervous as well, Nephew,” said Tekoa. “You must have known you were about to try and kill four Sacred Guardsmen.”
Pryce was quiet a moment. “I was not nervous,” he said. He fidgeted with his long ponytail, winding it briefly about his fingers, and then looked up at Tekoa. “Until Lord Roper said that, I didn’t think I was going to try and kill anyone.”
As Pryce spoke these words, Gray’s head sank into his hands. There was a long silence as the party absorbed this news. Tekoa was looking incredulously at his nephew. “You cannot mean to say… Are you seriously confessing that Lord Roper making that joke was what made you decide to protect him?”
Pryce shrugged.
“That otherwise, you’d have let Uvoren’s men murder him?” Tekoa clarified.
“Yes,” said Pryce, simply.
There was a stunned silence. “What say you to this, Lord Roper?” said Tekoa, clearly struggling to comprehend what his nephew was admitting to.
Roper smiled at Pryce. “I knew it already,” he said lightly. “It was obvious to me, when Pryce made his choice.”
“It is one I would make again,” said Pryce, curtly. “No matter how many times you asked.”
Roper blinked and looked away suddenly. Gray saved his having to make a reply. “That must be choice at its most valuable,” said the captain. “Being able to reward those we think deserve it.” Roper thought of Keturah, and her desire to follow Tek
oa when he had been exiled from the army. Tekoa himself was clearly dwelling on other matters.
“It’s all very touching,” he said acidly. “But are we going to brush over the fact that Pryce decided to take on four guardsmen single-handed, based on a joke that he liked?”
It seemed Pryce was going to maintain a haughty silence, but then he shrugged again. “It was not the joke. It was watching a man who refused to kneel, even when he was about to die.”
“You should have seen what came next,” said Roper, and he recounted how Pryce had defeated his four esteemed opponents. Somehow, that night, the absurdity of the story made it funny. Pryce did not contribute, looking bored at the attention as he was quizzed on whose stroke had taken his ear, whose created the white scars on his forearm, and who had died easiest.
Among the laughter, one question was blurted in earnest. “Does everything come easily to you, Pryce?” It was a voice of naked envy and admiration; so exposed that several of the officers looked down, as though they had witnessed something indecent. Roper looked, and was astonished to find that it was Vigtyr who had spoken. He was staring wistfully at Pryce, who eyed Vigtyr in return.
“Everything I care about.”
Vigtyr dropped his eyes at that, staring into the hearth. Roper was filled with sudden pity.
There was a very long silence, broken only by the delicate tinkling of the cooling embers. Roper looked at the faces, glowing red about the fire, and found nearly every eye resting on him. He met them all and nodded to himself for a few moments. “My friends. It is time.”
In the blackness, the figures around the fire got to their feet.
Anakim and Unhieru gathered together before Lundenceaster’s moss-covered walls. While the legates rode in front of their legions, blessing them with an eye of woven holly, the soldiers watched the smoke. From three vents in the earth, three columns billowed, the base of each illuminated dark crimson by the flames burning underground. It was too dark to see if there were any defenders on the wall, but the Sutherners would surely have realised what the smoke indicated, and have abandoned that stretch of their defences.
