Columbine was too suspicious, Balin knew. He understood why, of course: although she put a brave face on it, the strains of trying to be a girl quester had unbalanced her mind. He knew her well enough by this time not to tell her this directly, as it would only make her angry, but he had to make her understand that not everyone was a threat. Especially not Elia. If Columbine had been listening properly she would have heard the little harper emphasise that Bellina Saunce Pité was one of the May-children King Arthur had tried to kill. Although the knight in the marbled armour was known to be a vicious man, he could be trusted not to betray them to Camelot. Sir Breuse wanted vengeance for Arthur’s attempted murder of the lovely Bellina. The Marble knight’s party were allies to them, and their assistance could be useful in taking down Lady Nemone at Spar-Longius. The Ladies of the Lake were friends to Arthur, and Elia had implied that there were few who would miss them in the house of King Pellam.

Though Balin knew all this with certainty, he could not think of a way of framing it in words that would not send Columbine into a fit of rage, so he stayed silent as they pushed into the undergrowth, moving away from the road. He wished his companion was more like Sir Breuse’s daughter: a young lady of beauty that was obvious even to Balin, and one who did not set her mind off-kilter by trying to take on tasks that properly belonged to men. Bellina knew herself well, and understood that her greatest power lay in her ability to inspire men to action. That was why Elia had laid such emphasis on Arthur’s threat to her mistress: what man wouldn’t rally to a cause under Bellina Saunce Pité’s banner?

As they got further away from the road the sound of Sir Breuse’s procession faded from hearing. The sunlight filtered through the green leaves, dappling the blossom. It was warm, and Columbine tied the pigeon cloak around her waist, where it flapped like a poor, torn skirt. She stared directly ahead of them, not meeting his eye. How pointy her nose was in profile, it seemed to stab at the air. 

‘What now?’ he said after a while. Balin thought this was pretty clever of himself, to make her feel like she was in charge.

‘Same as before. To Spar-Longius.’ She hopped over the rotting trunk of a fallen tree. Her brown hair had fallen loose at the back, one lock tickling the soft skin of her neck.

‘We’ll have to sneak in now. We could have gone in with Sir Breuse if we’d stayed with them.’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘Sir Garlon knows me. He courted Lily before she met your brother; though perhaps it’s more fair to say he courted my uncle with his riches. He knows my face.’ She turned to Balin. ‘And Lady Nemone knows you?’

‘Of course, she was often at Castle Fulfarne, and, to be fair, I look quite a lot like my identical twin brother who she was in love with. Emphasis on the identical.’

Columbine winced. ‘Stupid question. Sorry. But... we should swap. You kill Sir Garlon. I’ll do Lady Nemone.’

Balin licked his lips; he could still taste bacon grease and mustard from their lunch.

Columbine stepped towards him and took his hands in hers. She looked up at him with her big grey eyes.

‘Say yes,’ she said. ‘We should admit that neither of us knows for certain which of them killed Lily and Balan. The only way can be certain we’ve avenged them is if we kill both Garlon and Nemone.’

Balin touched a loose strand of soft hair from her forehead. He broke her gaze and looked above her head. She was leading him into folly, he could feel it.

‘It would be unjust,’ he said. ‘Whoever killed the wrong one would go to hell for it.’ He didn’t say it, but while he was happy to go to hell as long as his brother was revenged, he could not bear the thought of Columbine condemning herself to that fiery place.

He took back his other hand and walked on, leaving her where she stood. ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll challenge Sir Garlon to a duel, a trial by combat. If I kill him, then we’ll know you were right all along; that he killed them. And if he kills me –’

‘You were right, and I kill Lady Nemone.’

She hadn’t moved from where he had left her; she was still by the rotting trunk. She placed one hand on the hilt of her rapier, and tucked her hair behind her ear with the other. ‘You’ll have to get near to Sir Garlon first.’

‘Which was why we should have stayed with Sir Breuse. We would have gone straight into the castle with him. I could have challenged Garlon as I am, without horse and harness. Now I’m going to have to fight my way up the lower lists and into the main tourney before I can even get through the castle gates.’

‘And you think you can do that?’

‘I know I can do that. Winning the lower lists isn’t a problem.’

He waited for her to come towards him, but she didn’t. She was perhaps twenty paces away, but that distance felt like nothing at all. She was watching his face intently. She didn’t look away, formulating something cutting to say about his overconfidence, no doubt. But she didn’t curl her flapping lip and tell him she was going to disguise herself as a man – that she would fight in the lists with more success than him. She didn’t even acknowledge that she agreed with his plan.

‘You’re bloody lovely, Balin,’ she said, and seemed shocked she’d said it. Though she had spoken it in a whisper her words struck his heart like an arrow – like the spear in his dream.

He could feel that his mouth had dropped open without his command, but he couldn’t find the words to reply.

Yes, he thought to his own surprise. That was what it was. Everything was clear to him. The world seemed brighter, its colours more vivid, watered by the thunderstorms between her lashes. She brought light even to the depths of his grief. The forest sounded, it sounded –

There was a commotion in the trees behind her. Leaves and branches snapped backwards and forwards of their own accord, as if a whirlwind was whipping through. He heard the sound of pounding hooves.

‘Columbine, get down!’ he shouted. She did as he said, throwing herself face-first into the dirt.

The unseen thing charging towards them leapt over the log with a hellish neigh. If Columbine had been half a moment slower it would have taken off her head with its foreleg. Balin couldn’t see it, he could only tell it was there by the way it disturbed the forest. Its invisible hooves churned up the ground as it galloped towards him.

Balin drew his broadsword and raised it in a defensive stance.

Clang!

An invisible sword clashed with his, driving him onto his back foot. He heard the invisible horse and its rider go past him, slowing for a turn.

‘Up!’ he shouted to Columbine as he ran back towards her, but she was one step ahead of him, already showing six inches of the rapier’s steel. ‘Not that one! The Stroke, lass. It’s him. Garlon.’

She slammed the rapier back into its sheath and drew the Dolorous Stroke.

Balin was by her side now. ‘Here we go then,’ he said, smiling. He loved a good fight. ‘Seems like we’ll find the right of it sooner than I thought, eh?’ He drew his broadsword. ‘You know what to do, lass?’

‘Of course,’ she said, stepping away from him so that they were six feet apart. ‘He’s favours his right hand.’

‘Understood.’

They watched and listened hard for signs of the Knight Invisible and his horse. The beast’s hooves stamped the ground one hundred paces from them, sending sods of the forest floor flying. They heard the huge creature’s snorting breaths.

‘Yah!’ shouted the invisible horseman, spurring on his steed.

Balin loosened his grip on the broadsword’s hilt. Too tight a hold killed the swing.

The knight was coming back towards them, picking up speed. The beast sounded heavy, exactly the sort of charger for a joust.

Balin watched the hoofmarks as they tracked across the forest floor. At first it headed directly between the two of them, but then its path changed, and it was bearing down on Columbine. Balin watched the pattern of its hooves – the gaps between the beast’s bounds lengthened as it accelerated. Balin went towards Columbine; something wasn’t right.

Columbine’s eyes were fixed on the horse’s approach.

‘Watch out!’ shouted Balin. He swung his sword in the direction of the invisible beast’s invisible rider, but sliced only the empty air. As he watched, Columbine leapt to her right, out of the horse’s immediate path. At the same time she swung the Dolorous Stroke at the rider with her left hand.

She made contact. The rider had been swinging for her. He heard the discordant ring of shearing metal. The end of a broken blade appeared in the air and fell to the ground.

The knight invisible growled in frustration. There was a look of triumph in Columbine’s eyes.

And then she disappeared.

Mid-leap, before she returned to the earth, she disappeared.

The Dolorous Stroke fell to the ground.

‘Get off me!’ he heard her shout. ‘Let me go!’

The horse rode on, leaping the rotting trunk. It galloped back into the undergrowth, once again setting branches and leaves astir. This time it did not slow and turn.

Balin grabbed the hilt of the Dolorous Stroke and gave chase. He jumped the trunk and dashed after the knight and Columbine. The horse was racing away into the distance.

The lad from the isles gave himself to the wild, to the thrill of the hunt, but they were outrunning him. They were – he could hardly hear them anymore.

He gave up the chase when he found the Dolorous Stroke’s scabbard lying in his path. She had dropped it for him to find. He slotted the blade into its bone holder, listening for any sound of them in the forest.

Then he heard them. Hundreds of yards away – on the road. Hooves galloping in the direction of Spar-Longius, following Sir Breuse’s procession.

Balin sheathed his broadsword and attached the Dolorous Stroke to his belt, resolved to rescue Columbine from the invisible knight.