Sorceress of the Second Sphere

12. Perfect Portrait - Peyton

Emhyr's head snapped toward Peyton, a small smile seemed to form on his face. "I like you, Whitehill. Some men would feel it necessary to converse on irrelevant matters such as this painting, yet you remain silent, eager to speak but disciplined to not do so."

"Thank you, my Lord," Peyton responded, desperately attempting not to smile at the compliment.

"So let us talk, as men, on such a trivial thing as this painting," Emhyr responded, his head snapping back toward it, "tell me your thoughts on it."

Peyton looked up at it once again, his eyes drifting toward her long-flowing raven hair. "I find myself drawn to her, yet subsequently pushed away, as if she wants me close, but yet not too close."

Emhyr nodded, "Indeed, an accurate description. Several times I have had thoughts of burning this painting, removing the last piece of Ruvia from this place, yet every time I do, my heart then burns with sorrow, as if I was to throw a piece of myself into that fire."

The thought of burning the picture brought a deep longing to sustain it into Peyton's bones, "As you speak, my heart is saddened, I understand your desire to destroy it, yet I also desire it not to come to pass. This painting is unnatural."

"You say it as if you have encountered such things?" Emhyr's focus had once again returned to Peyton.

"Never a painting of this kind, but I have encountered things that can not be explained on my travels," Peyton responded.

"Come, walk with me," Emhyr commented as he tore himself away from the picture, "how is it that you fight and command as someone twice your age?"

Peyton took one last glance at the photo, the eyes of the picture continuously focusing on the two men as they took steps toward the end of the corridor.

"I had the privilege to squire for the famed Manticore Hunter."

"The mercenary?" Emhyr responded, a hint of disdain in his voice at the sound of the profession.

"Yes, my Lord. His mastery of the sword was rarely matched, but his ability to lead and inspire was something truly legendary. He could take even the simplest of peasants and give them the tools and belief to turn them into a considerable fighting force."

"You admire him, even one of his profession?" Emhyr asked.

Peyton smiled, "That I do, my Lord. He trained me, but he also protected me. While I did not always agree with his methods, his heart was true, he sometimes forsook reputation to protect those who needed it most."

"A mercenary who forsook reputation, and potentially coin, hah!" scoffed Emhyr, "such a thing does not exist."

"Yet it was his actions that saved several lives at the siege of Fort Hagen."

Emhyr stopped in his tracks, causing Peyton to stop immediately, a couple of paces behind him. As Emhyr looked around toward the smaller ginger knight, Peyton could feel the discussion could quickly turn sour by discussing a drive that many wanted to forget.

"Count Cedwyn dislikes you, his hatred for you runs deep. Why is that so?" Emhyr asked abruptly.

Peyton could feel a lump in his throat as discussions of his past could potentially dictate his future. "Before I was a squire for the Manticore Hunter, I squired for Lord Cedwyn's father, the late Count Vermund. I believe there is sufficient animosity toward me because of his father's death."

"Who killed him?"

"The Manticore Hunter, my Lord, yet it was out of mercy, something I do not believe Lord Cedwyn sees reason," explained Peyton.