Proximus is yours, Captain, not Lundist’s,’ I said. ‘Proximus was a Borthan scholar, seventh century. One of your ancestors. Perhaps you should read him after all. I’d hate to have nothing but Robart here, and his judgement, between me and my enemies.’
‘But …’ Sir Makin chewed his lip. He seemed to have run out of objections after ‘but’.
‘He cheated.’ Young Stod found the words for all of them.
Lundist had already started walking. I turned to follow him, then looked back.
‘It’s not a game, Sir Makin. You teach these boys to play by the rules, and they’re going to lose. It’s not a game.’
And when we make a mistake, we can’t buy our way out of it. Not with horses, not with gold.
We reached the Red Gate on the far side of the courtyard.
‘That boy could die,’ Lundist said.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Take me to see these prisoners that Father’s to have killed.’
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