The Wolf

by Leo Carew

  Tekoa laughed. It was like the boom of a cannon. “Ha! I hear the Kryptea are after you.”

  “Jokul swears not,” said Roper. “And I believe him. The assassin was from House Algauti.”

  “Hmm,” Tekoa gazed into his cup. “Perhaps the more convincing evidence that he was not Kryptean is that he botched the job.”

  Despite himself, a little chuckle escaped Roper. Everyone else had tiptoed around the disturbing encounter, but Tekoa was not so sensitive and Roper found it a refreshing change to be able to laugh about such a thing.

  “Perhaps,” he allowed. “So Uvoren wants the throne and will do whatever he can to obtain it for the Lothbroks, including killing its current occupant. There was a time when that was called treason.” Tekoa grinned and Roper could tell that that had amused him. He went on. “And the Vidarr … who knows? Perhaps you yourself intend to stake a claim and between us we can tear the Hindrunn apart while the Sutherners do the same to our country.” He took another sip of wine.

  “Tempting, tempting,” murmured Tekoa. “So the obvious alternative you propose is an alliance between the Vidarr and the Jormunrekur.” He brooded. “Which means you want to take one of my daughters off my hands.”

  Roper was taken aback. After a pause, he said reasonably, “The natural way to seal an alliance.”

  “Well, this is all terribly equitable of you, Roper,” said Tekoa sourly. “Most equitable. You gain the Stone Throne, a powerful ally, and one of my own dear daughters. What do I inherit from this accord, besides Uvoren’s displeasure?” He spoke harshly, but Roper thought Tekoa might still be enjoying himself.

  “With you at my back, my throne will surely be secured beyond doubt,” said Roper. “As my father showed, we reward those who help us.”

  “Prospective gains!” Tekoa leaned back, steepling his fingers and looking at Roper. “You can’t say fairer than that. Except, of course, by offering actual gains. And naturally Uvoren has already approached me with some rather more concrete advantages than you can offer. So why choose you?”

  “Because you already rejected Uvoren,” said Roper, hoping very much that this was true. The laughter exploded out of Tekoa.

  “I was rather hoping you’d make me a more convincing case. Why would I reject Uvoren? He is the safer bet. A much safer bet.”

  “It is a safe bet that you would get a warrior of great renown and unsurpassed self-interest,” said Roper mildly. “Better to gamble.”

  “He does show very little flair for leadership,” admitted Tekoa. “I’m surprised you two don’t get on.” Roper ignored this. “So I’ve made my bed, have I? Let’s allow your prospective wife to decide.” Roper looked stunned at this. The conversation was escalating more rapidly than he had imagined. When he had seen his father discuss political matters, it had always been so subtle and so steady, to the extent that Roper had become bored. Tekoa did not seem to do subtle. “Send me Keturah!” called Tekoa to his legionary.

  “I don’t know where she is, sir,” said the legionary, re-entering the room through the oak door.

  Tekoa twisted in his chair and examined the legionary nastily. “Harald, I have literally no idea why you would bother me with information like that.”

  Harald frowned, a slight smile on his lips. “You want me to find her?”

  “That’s very perceptive of you.” Harald bowed and left. Tekoa turned back to Roper. “While we wait you can tell me how last night’s assassin came to suffer the ignominy of dying at your hand.”

  Roper explained as they waited. They had moved on to Kynortas’s death by the time the legionary returned. “I was sorry about that,” said Tekoa. “And not merely because it has plunged us into an underhanded civil war. Kynortas and I did not see eye to eye, but he was a warrior through and through. He was good for this country.”

  “Miss Keturah,” announced the legionary from the door, bowing as Tekoa’s daughter entered. Roper, who had been suppressing a sense of mounting anticipation, stood to look at the woman who might be his future wife.

  Keturah was tall. At barely an inch shorter than Roper himself, she was every bit as tall as her mother. She also shared Skathi’s pale green eyes, though perhaps because she had inherited her father’s black hair and rather less fair skin, they appeared vivid to the point of poisonous, rather than ghostly. She was appraising Roper sceptically as she approached. Her walk bore all the confidence and easy grace of her cousin, Pryce, and her father, but with more of a swagger. Tekoa and Pryce came across as aloof. Keturah was equally poised but looked as though she was more interested in other mortals.

  “There you are, my sweet,” said Tekoa, not bothering to stand and waving her to bring another chair to join them. “I have found you a victim.”

  “Miss Keturah,” said Roper, taking the hand she offered him. He could feel his face warming.

  “The Black Lord,” said Keturah.

  Is that a hint of mockery in her voice?

  “Ostensibly,” she finished.

  Yes. “Please take a seat,” said Roper, offering his chair. She took it and Roper fetched another, receiving a wink and a grin from Helmec as he faced him momentarily. Roper sat on Keturah’s right, opposite Tekoa, who was looking greatly pleased.

  Keturah was gazing at Roper. “Father, you wish me to marry the man who was not able to defeat the Sutherners with a full call-up?” Roper’s face burned and Tekoa blasted him with more cannon-fire. “So what do you do?” she asked him. “Why should my father secure your position for you? A line like yours can’t have produced something completely lacking in talent.”

  “No more than yours could have produced an individual with normal levels of self-esteem,” said Roper, drawing a smile from Keturah.

  “You’ve met my cousin?”

  “Pryce? I’ve had that pleasure.”

  “It’s not much of a pleasure,” said Keturah waspishly. “I suppose he runs very quickly, but he has that in common with you.” Her eyes glittered.

  “Now, now, my little spider,” intervened Tekoa with evident glee. “The Jormunrekur are more fragile than we. The lad can’t be of much use to us if you shred his self-confidence. Besides, imagine your guilt if the next assassin is more competent than the last.”

  “If I marry your daughter, I may wish that were true, Tekoa,” said Roper, inadvertently speaking the truth for the first time.

  Father and daughter beamed at each other. It seemed the Vidarr were as happy receiving abuse as they were distributing it.

  “So where does your skill lie, my lord?” Keturah pressed Roper, mocking him again with his title.

  “I am a leader,” said Roper. “That’s all. That is what this country needs. And if I am ever given the opportunity, that is what I will show.”

  Keturah rearranged her hair, flicking her vivid gaze at her father before returning it to Roper. “So why did you retreat from battle?”

  “Because it was the right thing to do,” said Roper. “The Sutherners fought cleverly. Perhaps we could have won, if I’d advanced. Maybe I should have forced the legions to endure the slaughter of climbing a slick ridge while being deluged with arrows. Only, then they’d have had to fight through men who outnumbered them by thousands with an exposed flank. Maybe I should have insisted on that course of action and saved myself the castigation I have endured since my return. But a victory where we lose half the legionaries is no victory at all,” Roper finished, his voice slightly raised. The injustice still rankled. He was hated by the very men whose lives he had saved; by the women whose husbands, brothers and fathers he had brought home safely, and by the fortress whose long-term future he had secured.

  “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 Ro
per.

  “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 me from obligation to his puppy! His puppy, who oversaw the first retreat of our forces in the field in two hundred years and the first ever retreat of a full call-up of legionaries. I fail to see why we should be listening to a boy of no merit, who so lightly discards the honour of the legions.” Uvoren licked his lips and added maliciously: “In any case, I hear he is not long for this world, wanted as he is by the Kryptea.” These last words were met with a great hoot of raucous laughter from Uvoren’s supporters.

  “Be silent!” bellowed Tekoa. And silence there was. “It ill-befits this noble council for half its number to bay like a pack of dogs. Possession.” Tekoa cast the word in their direction and it sobered his enemies at once. There were a number of cardinal sins to a subject of the Black Kingdom. Foremost was self-pity. Then perhaps jealousy. Second to these alone was possession: acting as part of a mob, rather than as an individual. Allowing base emotions like hatred, scorn and even adulation to cloud one’s judgement and turn one into an unproductive, unthinking animal.

  “Wanted by the Kryptea, is he?” continued Tekoa. “Forgive me, my lord,” he looked at Roper, “but perhaps before you speak we should put these claims to the Master of the Kryptea, who sits among us. What say you, Jokul? Did you send your men to take the life of the Black Lord, as is your right?”

  Jokul stood before the councillors, pale eyes locking with Uvoren’s. “On my honour,” he said, “on my office, on my life: the assassin, Aslakur Bjargarson, was no Kryptean.”

  Uvoren scoffed. “While I would never question Jokul’s honour, the rest of us are bound by different laws than he. We cannot expect the Master of the Kryptea to divulge the orders he has given to his men.”

  “That sounds very much as though you are indeed questioning his honour,” said Tekoa. “Given that he swore on his honour. You must admit, Uvoren, your insistence to pin the blame on the ancient institution of the Kryptea makes this business look decidedly murky.”

  “What are you suggesting?” enquired Uvoren, dangerously.

  “In summary, Captain, that you have no need to be out of your seat. The Black Lord is about to speak.” Those Vidarr at the table, who were many, rapped their knuckles on the ancient oak in support of Tekoa. Roper noted the Chief Historian adding to the noise, her unshakeable gaze fastened on Uvoren.

  Uvoren sank slowly back into his chair and then leaned across to Asger and began hissing in his ear.

  “Thank you, Tekoa,” said Roper, inclining his head in the legate’s direction. He glared around the table, steely eyed and straight-backed. “Peers,” he employed the term of honour that subjects use between themselves, “we find ourselves at an impasse. The Captain of the Guard, Uvoren, counsels that we should stay within these walls, conserve our strength and await our moment to strike back at the Sutherners.” Roper inclined his head to Uvoren. “It is an honourable course, and I cannot question his motives. We have all heard and seen how many warriors Marrow-Hunter has put down. Nobody could accuse Uvoren Ymerson of cowardice.”

  “Be quick about what you have to say, Roper,” snapped Uvoren. Asger rapped his knuckles on the table.

  “I will say what must be sai
d,” replied Roper. “Uvoren’s aims are honourable. Has he not proved many times how much he loves himself?” Roper stopped for a moment, then blinked, shook his head and snapped his fingers. “Ah! I meant, loves this country. Sorry, Uvoren. I always make that mistake.” At first there was a disbelieving titter from the table. Then it opened up into a full-throated roar of hilarity. Roper even spotted Randolph, legate of the Blackstones and one of Uvoren’s closest supporters, laughing. Uvoren’s best course would have been to grin along with the others. But his inability to laugh at himself was one of the reasons that the joke had gone down so well. Instead, he fixed Roper with his narrowed glare, just as Roper had hoped. He sensed the sympathy of the council shift slightly in his direction. This was a game of chess and Roper had just taken a bishop.

  He allowed the laughter to subside and then raised his hands, as if he might speak seriously for a moment. “Peers, we must look to our own motives. We here, in the Hindrunn, are not the Black Kingdom. No more are the legions.” Roper stood aside so that they could see the rain-flecked window and the smoke that lingered on the horizon. “The Black Kingdom is out there. It is the grass being flattened by a swarm of Suthern boots; the rain-sodden ash that once made our greatest towns. It is the fire that rises from this land, every flame a vaporised part of our precious forest; somebody’s home, harvest or family.

  “And we here have one purpose alone. We are the Black Kingdom’s greatest assets. This fortress and our brave warriors are here to defend that which the Sutherners destroy so contemptuously. They rape and enslave our women. They murder our peers and children. They raze to the ground trees that have stood for thousands of years, uproot our ancient villages and carry all they can find back to their gluttonous countrymen.

  “Our martial reputation lies in tatters. Nobody stands before this horde as it commits atrocities. This land used to be entirely dark to the Sutherners. For every man who set foot north of the Abus, a severed head was thrown back onto its southern bank. Invading armies were met with uncompromising steel. We torched their lands with impunity when they threatened our people. The Sutherners whispered about us. We were unconquerable: a hornets’ nest that they dared not kick for the vengeful swarm that they would unleash upon themselves.