“Vengeance is never a good pretext for battle,” Rikkard said, wearily. “Should tens of thousands die because of one man’s fall?” He shook his head. “The king’s orders are to wait, and so that is what we have been doing.”
“And you fear Borrus will overrule them?” Emeric rubbed at his beard, uncertain. “I’ve heard Borrus talk of Amron Daecar a hundred times. There’s no one he respects or admires more. If these orders truly come from the king, then…”
He did not get to finish that thought. Outside, voices rose and a moment later the door flaps swayed and the freckled face of Jack o’ the Marsh peeped in. “Sorry to interrupt, my lords, but there’s a lady out here who wishes to see you.”
Rikkard nodded. “That will be her. You may send her in, Jack.”
Jack smiled to have his name remembered. Rikkard Amadar had made a point of meeting them all when they arrived at the tents. “Yes, my lord. Of course. At once.”
He disappeared, to be replaced a second later by Lady Marian Payne. She was tall, taller than Emeric was, and almost as broad at the shoulder as well. Beneath a fine silver cape she wore grey armour the colour of dark smoke, a seamless suit, sleek and slim. Her hair was dark and slicked back over her scalp, her eyes a hard icy blue. She very much met the descriptions Emeric had heard of her.
“My lady,” he said, bowing his head. “A pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine.”
Sir Rikkard went to hand her a cup of wine, but she shook her head.
“Thank you, but I intend to train once we are done. Save the wine, Rikkard. With the Blackshaws here, we are going to need every drop.”
Emeric smiled at the remark. “You know them, my lady?”
“I was in camp at Dragon’s Bane with them, before they left to join your quest. Sir Mooton would join Lord Wallis’s councils, on occasion. He would drink a lot, I recall.”
“A common affliction of the men of the Riverlands,” said Rikkard, with a smile.
“Quite,” agreed Marian. She had a long look at Emeric. “You bear a resemblance to your famed forebear. Sir Oswald was said to have a black beard and golden eyes, as you do.”
“That is where the similarities end, my lady.”
She cocked a brow. “A modest man. I suppose you think that is a virtue?”
“I have heard it said humility is a noble trait, yes.”
“To a point. But a man can be over-humble.” She continued to study him for a moment, and then said, “I am told that the Shadowknight Jonik is not with you. Pray tell, where is he?”
She had something of an interrogatory style of questioning, hardly a soft touch, but he saw no reason to lie to her. “He remained at the Shadowfort. But that was long months ago, my lady. I could not speak to his whereabouts at this time.”
She nodded. “You went there to destroy the order, is that correct?”
“That was our intention, yes.”
“And was it a success?”
It was not an easy question to answer. “The order was not what it seemed, Lady Payne. Jonik told us that it was founded by an ancient mage called Hamlyn, under the orders of Queen Thala. Their duty was to carry out the contracts that Thala had foreseen.”
“Contracts?” asked Rikkard, frowning. “You mean assassinations?”
“Yes. There was a book, Jonik told us. It listed many hundreds of killings, going back centuries. The order’s function was to prune the tree of time, so to speak, guide us to a particular destination, by the visions of the Far-Seeing Queen.”
Rikkard looked half in shock. Marian less so. She had the bearing of someone who knew a great deal more than others. “Did you see this book, Emeric Manfrey?”
“Not myself. It was only Jonik who was permitted into the refuge. Sir Torvyn is of the belief that there is more that he did not tell us, secrets he was unwilling to share. That did not go down well with the men, I was told.”
“Told? But surely you were there?”
“I left shortly after we took the fort,” he explained. “We had left some of the men in camp in the foothills, and Jonik sent me to fetch them back. We were about to make our way back up the mountain when Borrus appeared, with most of the company. We joined him, and turned south.”
Marian ran a finger along her sharp jaw. “I had heard you were loyal to him.”
The comment rankled. “I was. I am. It was not my choice to leave.”
“But you did.”
He went silent. There was a fog in his memory around that time. Emeric had felt it, even as he descended the mountains with Sir Lenard and the Silent Suncoat. He had felt the strange pull to go south, the whispering coercions in his head. Later, when Borrus appeared, he made little complaint when the Barrel Knight swept him back into the company, and only much later did it occur to him that it was the work of one of the mages, some hex like the one the Steward had whispered into Borrus’s ear, driving him to go south and leave Jonik behind. By the time he had realised all of that, it was too late to turn back. It had never been his intention to abandon Jonik. Never. He had cursed and damned himself a hundred times over for that, but there had come a time when he had to make his peace with it, and follow the whims of fate. I will see him again, he told himself. I will have my chance to explain.
He took a drink of wine and met the woman’s eyes again. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, Lady Marian? Jonik and his mission.”
“In part. I have a strong vested interest in the Blades of Vandar, Emeric. But more pressing matters have brought me here.” She looked at Rikkard. There was something conspiratorial about all this. “We have been attempting to get in contact with Moonrider Ballantris,” she said. “Thus far, our efforts have failed. You know of my particular talents, I trust?”
“You are a spymaster,” he said. “You train young women in the arts of deception and espionage.”
“I do. And that training takes time. Regrettably, I have no spies here at Rustbridge suited to the task I have been given. I can use balms and potions to change a person’s appearance, alter their facial features and hair, the tone of their skin…but the language and the accent are much more difficult to mimic. But now you are here. And with a certain set of friends, I am told.”
Emeric did not take long to understand. “You wish to use the Sunshine Swords,” he said.
“Moonrider Ballantris is Lumaran,” she said, in answer. “These Sunshine Swords are as well. It may be that they can reach Ballantris without stirring any suspicion. We wish to do this without the knowledge of Vargo Ven. And Sunlord Avam as well, if possible.”
Timor Ballantris. Avar Avam. These were powerful figures in the south and two men Emeric had met before. The former had struck him as magnanimous, grand, a stately lord of fierce honour and a warrior of formidable prowess. The latter was a Patriot of Lumara, and that said it all. Hateful, reeking of disdain, he had looked at Emeric Manfrey like he was a stain of dirt upon his boot when they had been introduced, long years ago.
