The Shadow of Dread: The Bladeborn Saga, Book Six, page 73
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.”
“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.”
“Who?”
“Prince Elyon Daecar. It was his desire to speak with you. His eyes that have seen the Dread, his blade that has cut him. He hoped to meet you in secret, and somewhere neutral.”
“And yet you are here in his stead. Where is he?”
No one in Rustbridge knew the current whereabouts of Elyon Daecar. They had expected him back a long while ago, and his lack of return had given them cause to worry. “Missing,” Emeric answered. “For some weeks now.”
“A shame,” Timor Ballantris said. “I would have liked to have spoken with him, hear all this from his own lips. Though perhaps it is for the best, Emeric. Lord Vargo is not fond of the boy. He has vowed to kill him many times in my hearing. A petulant man, is Vargo Ven. His company has grown insufferable to me. It will give me great pleasure to rid myself of it, for good and all.”
Emeric remained wary of how that might unfold. “And if he does seek blood?”
“Then he will have it. I will challenge him myself for our right to leave, and take pleasure in that as well.” There was a glint in his eye, of the sort common among peerless warriors. “Tathranor will shred the scales off Malathar’s back. He will flay the dragon living, Emeric, and when he’s done he will feast on his flesh.”
Emeric should like to see that battle. “I do not doubt it, my lord.”
Ballantris snorted, as though not believing him. “So you came in the prince’s stead. You came to spread this news of the Dread. But not to kill Sunlord Avam, you claim.” He looked at him, judging. “Perhaps you are telling the truth in that. Without godsteel, you would stand no chance.”
I have godsteel, Emeric thought. It was not a blade, no weapon at all, but a tiny disc, sewn into his armour, to grant him the power of his blood-bond should he need it. Lady Marian Payne had given it to him as a gift. Paired with the fine scimitar sword he carried at his hip, he would be lethal, godsteel sword or no.
He said none of that, however. Instead he peered at Timor Ballantris and said, “If you want Avam dead, say it plainly, my lord.”
“I want him dead,” the moonlord said, at once, in a voice as blunt as an un-honed blade. “Is that plain enough? I want them all dead. Zon, Palek, Avam, Krator, and all the rest. The Patriots are a blight on our empire, a plague I have long fought, but I cannot knowingly harbour an assassin in my host. My honour compels that I cast you out.” He looked at him, wrestling against his own sense of morality. “I think it is time for you to go, lest I weaken. I thank you for bringing me these tidings, grim as they are. You have given me much to ponder.”
Emeric gave a bow. He only hoped it would be enough. “Thank you for the audience, my lord. Will it be safe for us to depart the way we came?”
“I will see you led to the camp border. Beyond that, I cannot vouch for your safety.”
It was the best he could hope for. “Thank you.” He turned to Sansullio. “Let us go.”
“No,” said Timor Ballantris. “Only you. Sansullio and his men will remain here.”
Emeric frowned. “My lord? They came here under my protection, as free and independent men.”
“They are Lumaran. They are skilled soldiers. They will join my company, and march with me when I leave. All men of the empire must answer the call to defend her.” The man looked at Sansullio. “Is that not so?”
The sellsword captain nodded. “It is, Moonlord.”
“And…it’s what you want, Sansullio?” Emeric asked. He would be sad to see them go, but perhaps it was for the best. He had feared for their safety in Rustbridge, after all, and the Sunshine Swords had already spoken to Borrus, telling him they would not raise their blades against their own. They will only be sitting idle in the city, he reflected. Better they return to their own lands now, and help defend them if they can.
Sansullio smiled handsomely and said, “It has been an adventure, Lord Emeric. And an honour to know and serve you, and Lord Jonik, and the others as well. But Mother Lumara calls us home. And we must answer.” He gave a bow.
Gracefully spoken as always, Emeric thought. He would miss the man very much. “Then I will take my leave alone.”
“No,” Timor Ballantris said again. Emeric looked at him, vexed. Was he having some sudden change of heart? “It would be better for you to leave under cover of night if you are to go alone. I am denying you the guard you came with and cannot in good conscience send you into the wild in broad daylight. And the rain is waning.”
It was. Emeric could hear its patter fading on the walls of the pavilion. Sunlight could be seen cutting slits through the flaps, and the walls were brightening as the light kissed the canvas. As ever, the weather had changed abruptly. “It is still morning,” the exile said. “Dusk is not for long hours.”
“Good. That will give me time to confer with Risho and the rest as to what you have told me. You will stay here, in the meantime. Make no attempt to leave the pavilion, or you will end up with the others.”
Emeric did not know what he meant by that. “Others, my lord?”
“Yes. The captives.” Ballantris frowned. “Were you not aware?”
Emeric had heard that some men of prominence were missing, principally from the squadrons that had ranged through the Marshlands, terrorising the Agarathi outriders and supply lines. “There are some knights,” he said. “Men who have not been seen for some time.” He was thinking of Sir Soloman Elmtree, an Oloran man, and Sir Barnibus Warryn, who was a close friend to Elyon Daecar, Sir Rikkard had told him. Apparently bags of blood and body parts had been dropped over the fortress by dragons, and some of the parts had been identified as belonging to men whom Elmtree and Warryn were travelling with. He wondered if Timor Ballantris had any knowledge of that.
“No,” was the man’s answer, when Emeric asked him. His face curled in disgust. “Another notion of the noble dragonlord, I would think. I would have spoken against it, Emeric.”
