Dragonslayer

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  “And the Prince Bishop doesn’t mean me any harm?” she said.

  “I have no reason to believe that to be the case. In fact, quite the contrary.”

  Guillot nodded slowly. “All things considered, I don’t think you can expect any better than that. The only alternative is to get up from the table and leave the city this instant.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m tired of running, and I’m curious to see what such a powerful man might want of me,” she said, her voice firmer than before. “If Nicholas says the Prince Bishop’s intentions are good, I’m willing to see what the man has to say.”

  Guillot popped a piece of grapefruit into his mouth and mulled her decision as he chewed. He supposed that if things went sour, she could always turn Amaury into a pig—he’d pay money to see that. He realised curiosity had overcome gluttony, and after one last, longing look at the pastries on the next table, he turned to dal Sason.

  “The suspense is likely to kill me, so I suppose we should be on our way.”

  * * *

  The palace of Mirabay was a marvel in white stone: a collection of graceful, colonnaded walls amidst the lush green surrounds of a craggy hill at the edge of the city. The guards recognised dal Sason and waved them through the main gate. It had been like that for Guillot once, but these men didn’t seem to have the first idea who he was or had been. Perhaps that was for the best. Some people had been sympathetic to his plight, as dal Sason had said, but others were only too delighted to attack at the first scent of blood, the Prince Bishop leading the way.

  The interior of the palace was just as impressive as its façade. The king’s grandfather had commissioned the great Pierro Lupini, the Auracian artist, to paint the walls and barrel-vaulted roof of the entrance hall with scenes from the histories of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle. It was heroic pose after heroic pose as Guillot walked into the palace. The paintings had once impressed him, but no longer. He wondered if any of the events they depicted had actually happened. He noted with irony that a frieze representing his generation, one full of drinking, gambling, and whoring, was absent. At least that one he could have guaranteed as being accurate.

  Near the end of the passageway, he stopped, his attention grabbed by a painting: a lone horseman, bow in hand, chasing a huge dragon. Guillot tried to remember the story it depicted—Andalon and the Wyrm, he thought. He supposedly shot the beast from the sky, but it seemed like a ridiculous notion, so great a thing felled by a tiny arrow.

  “Are you coming?” Dal Sason had gone on several paces before realising Guillot had stopped.

  Guillot wondered if it might be worth reviewing the story for any useful information. It would be foolish to die following the advice of a work of fiction, but treasures could be found in the most unlikely places, and it might prove very difficult to get any reliable information on how to kill a dragon anywhere else.

  “Coming,” he said.

  The Prince Bishop worked from private apartments across the hall from the king’s, convenient to the throne room and close to the ear of his master, although in the days of the old king, Guillot reckoned the line between master and servant had become blurred. He had made the journey to these rooms many times, but never with any enthusiasm.

  The Prince Bishop was a born schemer. Even when they had both been students at the Academy, Amaury had always been able to dodge the things he didn’t want to do. Where a busy man might be expected to live at his desk, confronting an endless pile of paperwork, when his secretary showed them into his office, the Prince Bishop stood by a large open window, looking out on the garden below. Poised, relaxed, smug. Just as irritating as Guillot remembered.

  “Banneret of the White, Chevalier dal Villerauvais, your Grace, and … Solène?” dal Sason said.

  She gave him a curt nod that made it clear there was no more to add, or that if there was, she wasn’t telling.

  “Thank you, Nicholas. You may leave us,” the Prince Bishop said, turning to greet them.

  He had aged little in the years since Guillot last saw him. His hair was a little greyer, his waist a little wider, but his beard and moustache were styled the same way, and he continued to wear the powder-blue vestments of his office.

  “My Lord dal Villerauvais, welcome back to Mirabay,” Prince Bishop Amaury said.

  “Are we going to play at being old friends first, Amaury?” Guillot said.

  “I really don’t see the point, Gill. The kingdom has need of you. All things considered, playing to your patriotism strikes me as a wasted effort, so I will simply say that you will be handsomely rewarded for your service. The luxury of your accommodation in the city is but a drop in the sea. Lands, an elevated title, coin.”

  Try as he might, Gill could not deny it was tempting. He was the product of too many generations of aristocratic breeding not to be attracted to an offer like that. It was also flattering to think his name still carried some weight. There was a time when his name was a curse in both Estranza and Humberland. Fame in battle had come easy then and he had revelled in it. He wondered how the Prince Bishop proposed to use him—as muscle in some diplomatic negotiation? “Revealing your cards a little early, aren’t you?”

  “There’s no time to waste.”

  “I’ll take all of that, but I need something else as well. I need to borrow a company of soldiers—ones who know what they’re about. I can’t make any promises as to the condition they’ll be returned in.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you care?”

  “Humour me.”

  Guillot would have preferred to punch him in the face, and was tempted to embark on a course of “tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” but his problem was at least as pressing as whatever Amaury’s was, so he gave in. “Something is killing livestock in my demesne. I want to kill it before it turns its attention to my villagers.”

  The Prince Bishop let out a rare laugh. “How very noble of you, but I suspect the problem you speak of is the same as my problem.”

  Inside, Guillot roared “Ha! I knew it!,” but he maintained his froideur and allowed his satisfaction to sink beneath the gravity of the situation. “Go on.”

  “I had hoped to engage you on this matter before the problem reached as far as your demesne, but it’s of little import. It’s been many years since we last exchanged a civil word, but that did not blind me to the fact that you are the finest swordsman this country has ever produced. You are also the last remaining Chevalier of the Silver Circle. Mirabaya has need of your skills, which is why I have called on you. As ridiculous as it sounds, it seems there is a dragon at large in the southern foothills. That is what is killing your livestock.”

  Gill nodded and the Prince Bishop’s eyes widened with surprise.

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “I believe I have.”

  “Large? Black? Breathes flame?”

  “That’s what I saw.”

  The Prince Bishop smiled. “Well, at least it seems that we aren’t dealing with two of them.”

  Guillot ignored the attempt at humour, noticing that Amaury seemed genuinely relieved. “Where did it come from?”

  “The mountains,” the Prince Bishop said. “I’ve been getting reports about it for a couple of weeks now. We took action as soon as they reached us.”

  “But where did it come from? How has a dragon suddenly appeared after none having been seen for centuries?”

  “That’s not of importance. All that we need to consider for the time being is that there is a threat to the king’s subjects, one that needs to be dealt with quickly. By the time word of this spreads, we want to have it firmly under control.”

  “If one’s suddenly appeared, don’t you think it might be important to spare a thought as to why? And to wonder if more are going to arrive?” Guillot studied him for a moment. “Unless you already know why it’s appeared.”

  “That there is one is all I intend to discuss. The rest is irrelevant.”

  “A great many thing
s are irrelevant to you when they don’t suit your purpose,” Guillot said, his temper rising.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know damn well what it means.”

  “Ah,” the Prince Bishop said. “I suppose it was naive of me to hope we might leave all that in the past, where it belongs.” He cleared his throat. “I did nothing more than my duty. Had you done the same, the whole situation would have been avoided.”

  Gill wondered if he could kill the Prince Bishop and get out of the palace before the guards caught up with him. Probably not. He wondered if he could convince Solène to turn Amaury into a pig. Permanently.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be on duty that day.”

  “One of the other Chevaliers was ill. His post needed to be filled.”

  “Ill? He wasn’t ill. He was screwing the Count of Harvin’s wife. I was ill. I’d buried my wife and child the day before.”

  The Prince Bishop shook his head. “This will get us nowhere. It was tragic, and I’m very sorry for your loss, but you of all people should know that service to the Crown comes above all else.”

  Guillot dug his fingernails into his palms. He did know that, but he had not been treated fairly. He tried to quell his anger and speak without emotion. “What would you do if I told you to find someone else to do your dirty work?”

  “I’ll find someone else. Someone who would be given all of your lands and titles should they succeed. Would you really choose to leave the protection of your lands to someone else? Lord Montpareil, perhaps? I can assure you, by the time our problem is finished with Villerauvais, there will be nothing left of the village. You were the best, Gill. The king is hoping you still are.”

  “And if I said I wasn’t up to it?”

  “The same as I’ve just outlined, and you get to live the rest of your life knowing you failed the greatest task set you by your king. This is far more important than fighting duels against men who have displeased the king. This is the greatest service you will ever provide. A quest that will erase all past … failings.”

  “You are the last Chevalier of the Silver Circle,” a new voice said. “Slaying dragons is supposed to be what you are all about.”

  Guillot turned to see who had spoken. There was no mistaking the new king as he walked into the room and nodded to the Prince Bishop. Five years ago, he had been a princely dilettante with whom Guillot had little interaction, but he had gained presence since, with his neatly trimmed black beard adding character to his youthful face.

  “Your Highness,” Guillot said, bowing his head and standing.

  “I will be the first to admit you were treated harshly,” the king said. “I was very sorry to hear about your wife. Had I been involved, I like to think things would have happened differently. I would never have put you on duty after such a tragedy, and I don’t believe it was warranted that you shouldered the lion’s share of the blame over what happened subsequently. But I was not king then, and my platitudes cannot change what happened.

  “I am your king now, and I have need of you. Are you my man?”

  “I am, Highness,” Guillot said. No fibre of his being would allow him to turn down a request from his king.

  “That is what I wanted to hear. Thank you.”

  “If I might ask, your Highness: why didn’t you appoint any new Chevaliers?”

  “You know as well as I do that the Silver Circle had become a club for drinking, gambling, and whoring. I saw no reason to reinstate it. It is an irony that we now find ourselves in need of their service.”

  Guillot looked at the Prince Bishop, who smiled benignly. He thought of his brief encounter with the highwayman. Were they expecting things of him that he could no longer do?

  “I suspect that they would have inevitably fallen short of the achievements of their forebears,” Guillot said. “As I might. I’ll give you my best, Highness, but I’ll need help. Nobody knows how to fight these things anymore.”

  “Excellent,” the king said. “The people of Mirabaya will be in your debt.” With that, he left. The Prince Bishop’s secretary closed the door behind him.

  “You’ll have help,” the Prince Bishop said. “All you need. The finest men we have at our disposal. We’ve been researching the matter since it arose, and we’ve uncovered some information that may be of use. There won’t be much time to prepare, however. I’m sure you’ll agree that we need to move quickly.”

  Guillot nodded. He realised that they had never doubted he would accept. He supposed men of such power never did. His obedience obtained, the Prince Bishop turned his attention to Solène.

  “Now, my dear, I’ve been very much looking forward to meeting you.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  “Tell me, you are from where?” the Prince Bishop said.

  Realising he didn’t have the first clue about where Solène had been before Trelain, Guillot sat in silent curiosity.

  “Bastelle-Loiron,” Solène said.

  “I haven’t heard of it,” said the Prince Bishop. “Where along the river is it? In the Duchy of Trelain? Or the March of Aurdonne?”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to know it,” she said. “It’s in the Duchy of Trelain.”

  The Prince Bishop nodded in acknowledgement. “There’s no need for you to be afraid,” he said. “Indeed, I expect you’ll look back and see today’s encounter as an extraordinary piece of luck. Now, show me what you can do.”

  Solène looked at Guillot, her eyes full of questions and doubt. In the office of the second-most-powerful man in Mirabaya, she had little choice but to do as he asked. Guillot nodded. The young woman looked back at the Prince Bishop, then at his desk. A piece of blank paper was set out, probably waiting to become some important missive. With a bright flash, the sheet burst into an intense flame that died out as quickly as it had come to life, leaving behind a small coating of ash and a wisp of smoke.

  The Prince Bishop let out a laugh and sat back, slapping his palms on the armrests of his chair. “Well, that is quite something. Quite something indeed.”

  Guillot had never seen the Prince Bishop so impressed. He seemed to have been born with the look of bored disinterest it took many aristocrats years to perfect.

  “Guillot, there are a great many things I am sure you need to see to before you set off on your … quest. There’s no need for you to be here for this; you may feel free to attend to whatever it is you need to attend to. The men I’m sending with you will make themselves known to you and will make sure you have everything you need.”

  Guillot frowned, looking at Solène. She was difficult to read, but he had spent enough time with her to see the fear in her eyes and tension in her face—just like when he had first met her.

  “I promised Solène I’d stay with her.” At his words, she seemed to relax, increasing Gill’s resolve to remain exactly where he was.

  The Prince Bishop frowned and glanced at Solène, who remained resolutely mute.

  “Very well,” he said. “You’d find out much of what I’m about to say soon enough, but I need your word that you will keep everything you hear to yourself. State secrets and all.”

  Guillot thought about being obtuse, just to aggravate the other man, but that would only prolong his time in the Prince Bishop’s presence. “You have my word.”

  “Good. To break it would be treason, and you’re already familiar with how that plays out.”

  Guillot smiled. That was the Prince Bishop he knew so well. Guillot had agreed to the king’s request, so Amaury no longer had to play nice.

  “Solène, have you had any training?” the Prince Bishop said. “From the Szavarians perhaps, or the Darvarosians?”

  She shrugged. “No. None.”

  “None,” the Prince Bishop said, his smile looking stiff. “I don’t mind telling you that I’ve spent quite some time and expense searching for someone with natural magical talent. I was convinced such people were out there somewhere, and now here you are, arrived on my doorste
p.”

  The Prince Bishop’s enthusiasm appeared almost childlike to Guillot, which was worrying. That Amaury had taken such a keen interest in matters considered heinous and criminal was even more so.

  “I hate to cast doubt, or to make demands of you, but what you just did … Can you repeat it?” the Prince Bishop said. “Do other things like it?”

  Solène nodded.

  The man opened a drawer, took out another piece of paper, and placed it on his desk. As soon as he pulled his hand away, flames erupted, turning the paper into nothing more than a few flakes of ash.

  “Good,” the Prince Bishop said absently. “Excellent.” His usual intensity returned. “I’ve established an order where people study how magic might benefit the kingdom. Here is what I can offer you, Solène. First, a safe place to live and work at that order. You will never have to worry about Intelligenciers, or as Banneret dal Sason informs me, impromptu mob justice.

  “Second, you will be able to explore your talent in a safe environment, surrounded by like-minded individuals. We can show you how to focus your ability, and more importantly, how to control it.”

  Solène stared at Guillot. He wondered if the comments he’d made about the Prince Bishop during their trip to Mirabay were playing on her mind.

  “Can I think about it?” she said.

  The Prince Bishop chewed his lip for a moment. “Yes, of course.”

  He smiled again, but Guillot knew him well enough to see that it was forced. He wanted Solène in his little club, and he wanted her now.

  “I would add one thing, out of concern for your well-being,” the Prince Bishop said. “Don’t take too long to consider. I can only guarantee your safety if you are part of my organisation. As long as you are not, the Intelligenciers remain a danger.”

  “I understand,” she said. “You’ll have my answer soon.”

  * * *

  They left the Prince Bishop’s office in silence, Guillot trying to make sense of the task he had been given and how the Prince Bishop knew so much about what was going on. He supposed the man had a network of informants, but when it came to the Prince Bishop, it was never a good idea to take anything at face value.