The man continued to study him. “How many times have we met?”

Emeric did not need to think about it long. “Four, my lord.”

“Where was the first occasion? When?”

“In Lumos, eleven years ago. It was my first time to the Glass City. You had heard that Sir Oswald’s descendent had come to settle in the empire and were eager to meet him.” It was a tale as old as time for Emeric. Even in the south, Sir Oswald Manfrey was a famous name. “You spoke to me with grace, I recall.”

“And what did we discuss?”

“My exile,” Emeric said. “You had some choice words to say about it.”

“What were those words?”

“Not ones I would care to utter again.” Emeric smiled. He had been required to shave his beard for the disguise, and his cheeks and chin felt terribly cold without its warm black cloak. “You taught me many new expletives that day that I had not heard before.”

A smile formed on the moonlord’s lips. “I am always happy to expand another’s vocabulary. Even then, your grasp of our tongue was quite exemplary, but your use of curses was sadly lacking.” He looked behind Emeric, to where several soldiers stood with long blue spears, their handles black. “You may leave us. He is who he says he is.”

The soldiers bowed and left them alone, moving through the flaps of the stately pavilion. The rest of the Sunshine Swords had been left outside to wait, save Sansullio, who stood to one side, politely observing. The morning was wet, cold, and misty, a thick fog hanging over the fields and woods. Emeric and the sellswords had used it to mask their approach, as planned. With Sansullio taking the lead, getting through the cordon of guardsmen at the camp border had been simpler than Emeric could have hoped. It seemed that they were not the only company of Sunshine Swords here; several other groups had sworn their swords to the war effort, and they were simply assumed to be one of those, passing on patrol through the camp.

Timor Ballantris began walking side to side, his cloak of dyed lion fur waving gently. He held his elbow in his palm, hand to his mouth in thought. “I have every right to kill you,” he said, after a time. “We are at war, I am sure you know. Why did you not come with a banner of peace? A white flag would have protected you.”

Emeric had to doubt whether that was the case. Either way, it hadn’t been an option. “It is important that Dragonlord Ven is not aware of this meeting, my lord. Nor Sunlord Avam. I sought a privy conference.”

That made the man frown. “Sunlord Avam is in command of our forces here. If he should discover that I entertained a spy in my tent…”

“There is no reason why he should. And I am no spy, but an emissary.”

“A secret emissary. Some would call that a spy. Avar would certainly be one of them, as would Lord Vargo. You have put me in danger coming here.”

That gave Emeric pause. Not often did a man like Timor Ballantris exhibit concern. “That was not my intent, my lord.”

“And what is your intent?” The Moonrider’s fierce eyes shifted to Sansullio, and back to Emeric again. “I hope you are not here to try to seduce me to your side, Emeric. If you are, you had best save your breath and leave the way you came.”

“I know you would not join us. Not directly, in any case.”

“Directly? So you expect me to join you indirectly, is that so?” The man’s hackles were rising more than Emeric would like, and that put him on dangerous ground.

It was dangerous enough coming here, he thought.

“We have heard rumours of division among your ranks, my lord,” Emeric said, choosing his words carefully. “That is only natural. I know how tense relations have been in the south, between Empress Valura and the Patriots. I know what happened at the warmoot. Valura was strong-armed into action against her will, through threat of violence and civil war. I understand. She had no choice, lest her people suffer, and she lose her rule. But that does not mean she wanted any part in this conflict.”

“No,” Ballantris agreed, blunt-voiced. “I stood at her side at the warmoot, Emeric. I spoke against the war, the same as Moonlord Hasham, and Grand Duchess Nemati, and several other prominent figures. But we were outvoted. The Patriots came in force and with the backing of their Agarathi allies. Empress Valura kept her own counsel; she was there to listen and to hear, not to speak, as is custom. But privately, I heard her thoughts. No. Of course she did not want this war. But that was not her choice. As sovereign, she must hear her people. The vote was cast, and here we are.”

“But not you,” Emeric said. “I am told you were not present at the Battle of the Bane, my lord. Nor Moonrider Ranaartan. You were sent later…by Empress Valura, is that not so? To balance the scales, and speak with her voice.”

The moonlord considered that at length. “My voice is not so large or loud as you may think, and the time for speaking is done. That was what the warmoot was for. By sacred tradition, we declared ourselves allies to the Agarathi, and Empress Valura herself commanded us to muster and march here. That I came later is of no significance. Nor are my personal beliefs.”

Emeric understood. “You serve,” he said. “Whether you agree or not, you obey.”

“I must,” said Ballantris. “This is not a time for half-measures, and the empress is not as strong as her mother was. She bows to strength, and what are the Agarathi if not strong? Were it mere civil conflict against the Patriots she feared, perhaps she would have taken a harder line, but it isn’t. To stand against them both would be to court her own destruction.”

“And what of the world’s destruction?” Emeric asked. He fixed the man with a steely look. “Are you aware that the Dread has risen, my lord? Have you heard of the ruin he has wrought?”

A shadow passed the eyes of Timor Ballantris. He did not speak for a moment. Then he looked at Sansullio and asked, “Is this true?”

The Captain of the Sunshine Swords gave a nod. “It is true, Moonlord.”

“You’ve seen him? The Black Calamity? With your own two eyes?”

“No, Moonlord. Not with my own eyes.”

“Then how can you be sure? Who told you of these reports?”

“Many, Moonlord. It is claimed that the dragon flew to the Vandarian city of King’s Point and reduced it to rubble. Then he continued north to Varinar. This city, too, has fallen beneath his shadow.”

“Varinar?” The man snorted and shook his head. “Varinar has never fallen. Not once since its founding.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Emeric Manfrey said dryly. It was as Marian and Rikkard had suspected. “We feared you did not know, Timor. That is part of the reason I have come; to expose to you the truth. Your allies have been lying to you.”

Sansullio nodded. “Many of our own people have abandoned the Agarathi in the west,” the sellsword said. “We have heard these tales, and I believe them. They must fear the same will happen here. So they have kept the truth from you.”

Timor Ballantris walked toward the tent flaps, moving them aside, looking out. Through the bustle of Lumaran tens and pavilions, the edge of the Piseki encampment could be seen through the trees. “Avam,” he grunted. “He will know, I am sure of it. I have seen signs of deception from him. And fear, that as well. There have been times when he has wanted to tell me something but has lost his nerve. Lord Ven must have threatened him to silence. I must speak with him at once.”

“Vargo Ven?” Emeric asked. “My lord, is that wise? If you speak against him…”

“Not Ven,” Ballantris interrupted impatiently. “It is Avar Avam with whom I must share words.” He drew back, letting the tent flaps sway shut. The rain was coming down softly outside, the noise of camp forming a general din. Emeric could hear the screech of dragons in the distance, as they flew on their patrols, the occasional thwump of wings overhead. Ballantris continued his pacing. “Where is the Black Calamity now?”

“Flown south, we heard,” Emeric told him. “Across the Red Sea. It’s understood he returned to the Nest, to heal. There is smoke pouring from the summit of the Ashmount, my lord. Some believe this may be connected.”

“Connected how?”

“It’s thought the smoke signals the dragon’s healing. When it ends, he is healed, and will return.”

Timor Ballantris did not think much of that theory. “I have never heard of such a thing. But that mountain…it is a dreaded place, full of foulness and sorcery. The fume heralds some fell darkness, of this we can be sure.” His jaw had tightened into a grimace, purple eyes gleaming with concern. “The Dread came for Varinar first, but he will not stop there. Millennia ago, the city of Lumos stood against him as well. Lumo beat him back with her light, as did Calacan further east, and the darkness was driven away. But there was always a fear it would return. And now…if what you say is true…”

The moonlord paced, shaking his head, thinking. Lumos was to a Lumaran as Varinar to a Vandarian; their capital and spiritual home, the beating heart of their holy nation. Unique in its construction it was beautiful and formidable at once. But no Varinar, Emeric knew, leastways not in its impregnability. History said that Lumos’s greatest defence was her citizens, both man and beast, and above all the power of the moonbears had kept her foes from the door. In battles past they would gather in great numbers to protect her, and once before they had come together, the singers said, to fight the Dread as well in an epic contest the bards liked to call the Battle of Crystal Wall.

That must have been going through the mind of Timor Ballantris as he paced. He balled his hand into a fist. “I should have known,” he said, eyes narrowing in self rebuke. “Tathranor has not been himself of late. He must have sensed the Black Calamity’s return, but I was too blind to see it.”

“You ought not blame yourself, my lord,” Emeric said. “Many of us have been deceived.”

“Deceived. Bullied. Coerced. Such as it always is with the Agarathi.” A muscle in his jaw gave a ripple. “I cannot in good conscience fight with them. If this is true…I cannot.”

Emeric could have grinned in glee, but he held his lips in a line, and said, “What do you intend to do?”

“Confront Sunlord Avam. Learn the truth of what he knows. Put my fist through his face, perhaps? Oh, how I would like to…” He glowered a moment, then went on. “But that would not be wise. Avam commands the loyalty of many men here, and I would first need to speak with my own allies. Ranaartan. Grintillio. Tar Von Toro. We will confront Avam together.”

“To what end? Sunlord Avam is a Patriot. He would sooner see all the world burn than join with the north.”