“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.”
“Join?” Ballantris said. “No, we will not join you, Emeric. After what you have said, I have no choice. I must muster my host and march home. The defence of Mother Lumara comes first.”
Emeric furrowed his brow. “My lord, if I may...by the time you get home, there may be nothing left. You are a thousand leagues away. Your best defence is to fight. Here. Now. You are a Moonrider. Risho Ranaartan as well. Together you could make a deal of difference.”
Timor Ballantris shook his head. “If we fight against the Agarathi here, the dragons will descend upon us. I have no doubt that Tathranor could fell one, perhaps two or even three of them, but when a dozen all attack us at once, we will stand no chance. You overstate what difference we will make.”
“And if you break camp and march south, what do you imagine Vargo Ven will do?”
“Ven.” The moonlord growled the name out. “That man is too sure of himself by half. He would have plenty to say of our departure, I have no doubt. But to seek blood would weaken and deplete him, making him vulnerable to your host. He would not dare.”
That was not what Lady Payne had said. “I am told he is driven mad by fear of Eldur. Would you risk it, my lord?”
“Risk? You talk to me of risk, Emeric? We are both risking much even having this conversation. Does your life mean so little to you?”
“Not as much as other men,” he said.
That caused the man to smile. Then the smile withered into a hard look, and he searched Emeric’s face once more, looking for the man he knew beyond the make-up. “This…disguise. Why bother, Emeric? Why have you come at all? Captain Sansullio might have told me this.”
“I know you, Timor. I can speak for the north.”
“No.” Ballantris stepped closer. He loomed above Emeric, several inches taller, though slim and athletic in build, long-armed and lithe as a lance. His great cloak smelled of damp and battle. “There’s more to it than that. Your honour. Your lands and titles. You are here to restore them, is that not so?”
It was a fair assumption, but wrong. Emeric shook his head. “A man takes no titles to the Eternal Halls. My lands would be useless there.”
“Then what is it?” He angled his head a little to one side, peering at him, then he nodded. “Vengeance,” he said. “I heard what happened to your estate. You seek vengeance for the murder of your staff. They were dear to you, I know. And one more than the rest.”
Emeric did not say her name. He only thought it. Brewilla. “I sought vengeance…for a time,” he admitted. “In Solas. We hunted the men who wronged me. But I have moved to another path now.”
“Have you?” The question was thick with doubt. “Your face may look different, but I know those eyes. There is a hate there that you have not quenched.” He paused and then said it. “Are you here to kill Sunlord Avam?”
“No,” Emeric said at once. “I am no assassin.”
“No. Just a spy.” Ballantris stood close before him, reading him like an unrolled scroll. “I don’t believe you. Were I to give you sanctuary here, you would stay, would you not? I could put you in a tent, near the border with the Piseki camp. I could tell you of Avam’s guards and habits, his schedule. I know that is what you want.”
Emeric was struggling to get a read on the man. He is testing me, he thought. He is too righteous to knowingly harbour an assassin in his camp. “That is not my wish,” he said.
A huff slipped through Timor Ballantris’s lips. “So you say. But let me ask again…why you? You are not even Vandarian. Not even a lord in truth. An exile, who has lived long in disgrace. You know me, yes, but that is not enough. Or were you the only one willing to shave your beard? You look younger without it, let me say. As young as when I first met you.”
Emeric had to smile, remembering those times. “It was not meant to be me,” he confessed. “I arrived at Rustbridge only recently. Prior to that certain parties were attempting to contact you, to arrange a parley.”
