In her last message, Teufel had told him that it might be a matter of days.

It looked as if days might be too long.

“Now that,” breathed Hildi, “is a spicy denunciation.”

Purity

“Purity Officers of the People’s Army!” called Leo.

A hundred of the bastards, their clothes and armour spattered with red. Two from each company. There to make sure every military decision was politically sound and that every soldier stayed loyal to the Great Change. These were the longest serving and most committed Burners. Fanatics who’d stood with Judge when standing with Judge had looked like madness.

“You all know who I am!” he roared. He might not have a hero’s legs any more, but he still had a hero’s voice, and he meant to use it. “My name’s Leo Brock. Some call me the Young Lion.” Applause would’ve been too much to hope for, but he paused for appreciation. There was none of that, either. Only folded arms, impatient grunts, hard frowns on scarred faces. These men weren’t easily impressed. They had scant regard for ex-noblemen, ex-Lord Governors or ex-heroes of the Union and had already sent several sets of failed generals back to Adua for the long drop.

Leo took a hard breath through his nose and glanced at Sparks. The man gave a sneering shrug.

“Citizeness Judge has made me General of the People’s Army.” Leo thought he heard a few disgusted sniffs near the back. “She wants me to lead you to victory against the royalists…” Someone spat noisily on the floor of the barn. “I fought Stour Nightfall in the Circle and won. I fought the king at Stoffenbeck—”

“And fucking lost,” someone growled. Murmurs of agreement. Leo felt Glaward shifting unhappily at his shoulder.

“Aye, I lost!” he called. “I was rash. I was reckless. I was vain. It cost me two of my best friends, not to mention an arm and a leg.” He tapped at the metal one with his cane. “But I learned my lesson. I learn it fresh every time I try to hold one of my babies, climb the stairs or pull my prick out to piss.” Some grudging nods there. Most of them were veterans. They might not respect much, but they respected wounds, and they respected swearing. “I used to be quite the hero! And quite the fucking fool. But I’m not so much of a fool that I’ll make the same mistake twice.”

He glanced sideways, and Jurand gave the slightest encouraging nod, enough to settle any doubts in a warm rush of confidence. He always knew just what Leo needed. Leaving him in Angland had been the worst mistake of all. One he’d never make again.

Leo puffed out his chest like he used to, when he gave his speeches

to the Army of Angland. “With me in charge, there’ll be no more compromises. No more half-measures. No more defeats.” Some of the arms were coming unfolded. Some of the frowns were fading. “I know you’ve been short of food and supplies, gone without pay for weeks. I’ll put that right first.” The grunts had turned appreciative. Even fanatics like being paid. “But I understand why you might not accept me! I was a nobleman. Now I’m a fucking cripple.” He grinned and dug out a couple of grim laughs. “I won’t force myself on you, whether Judge picked me or not. But I won’t fight you over every decision, either. I mean to lead. So I need your consent, now, to be led. I’ll give you some time to discuss it, but when I come back I want a straight answer.”