Dragonslayer (The Dragonslayer)

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  He shook his head. However mentally dominating his challenge was, the quandary Solène faced was more pressing. As they walked along the main hall, Guillot turned to her.

  “If we head straight back to Bauchard’s, you can be riding out of the city within the hour,” he said.

  She laughed. “To where?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “I’m going to agree,” she said, “but after everything you’d said about him, I wasn’t going to make it easy. Where else can I find what he’s offering?”

  Guillot shrugged. “You can never trust him. I did once, and it cost me. He’s a snake with unbound ambition. He doesn’t care who he has to destroy to get what he wants.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said. “I’ve lasted this long, I’m sure I can figure out how to survive here. I might even learn something.”

  Guillot had an overwhelming sense of unease but in the absence of a better idea, perhaps this order was the best option for her. “You might be right,” he said, “but in my experience, Amaury never gives anyone anything without expecting something in return.”

  She was about to respond when they rounded a corner and were greeted by dal Sason, who apparently had been waiting for them.

  “An interesting day,” dal Sason said.

  “You could say that,” Guillot replied.

  Dal Sason nodded. “The Prince Bishop’s asked me to accompany you on the hunt. He’ll be sending a few others with us, people from his personal bodyguard.”

  “That sounds encouraging,” Guillot said, hoping everyone could detect his sarcasm.

  “I’ve met a few of them before. They’re top drawer. He only takes the best for his order, so I’m sure they’ll be useful when the time comes.”

  “It strikes me as curious that the head of the great and wonderful church needs a personal bodyguard. I always thought I was the only one who didn’t like him.”

  Dal Sason glared at him. “His Grace is also the First Minister of Mirabaya. That role requires the making and enforcing of decisions that aren’t always popular. A bodyguard seemed necessary. He recruits the best from the Academy and has them trained at an old priory nearby. It’s said he trains his spies there too.”

  “Really?” Guillot said. He cast Solène a conspiratorial look. “I wonder who else is trained there?”

  “Anyhow,” dal Sason said, “I’m here to bring you to the others who’ll be working with us. Thought it would be best if we had a chance to get to know one another before we set off.”

  “I might go back to the inn and take a little more advantage of the Prince Bishop’s generosity,” Solène said.

  “Thinking like that makes me glad to know you,” Guillot said. “I’ll see you there later.”

  With Solène on her way to hopefully make some extravagant purchases, dal Sason led Guillot to another room of the palace, where a man in a cream doublet and britches waited for them. Entering, Gill realised he’d been there before, years ago—the palace map room. Sections of the walls were lined with pigeonhole shelves, some with scrolls visible inside. Other parts of the walls were covered with former campaign maps, most still bearing marks made by the commanders who had used them in war. Gill recognised one as being from a battle he had fought in and did his best not to dwell on the slaughter he had witnessed there.

  “This is Banneret-Commander Leverre, of the Prince Bishop’s personal guard.”

  Leverre clicked his heels together and nodded in a banneret’s salute, which Guillot returned. Just because Leverre was the Prince Bishop’s lackey didn’t mean his professional accomplishments were not worthy of respect.

  “I took the liberty of bringing some maps,” Leverre said.

  Guillot nodded and moved toward the large map table that dominated the centre of the room. “Will it just be the three of us?”

  “No,” Leverre said. “Three more of my people will join us, but there was no need for them to be present at this meeting.”

  “Fair enough,” Guillot said, “I’m interested to hear any thoughts you have on how we might kill the beast.”

  “Track it to its lair and slay it while it sleeps,” Leverre said.

  “Ah, the traditional approach,” Guillot said. “Tell me, though. How do you propose to track a creature that flies? The lack of spoor might raise some problems.”

  Leverre cast dal Sason a nervous look. “We believe we might be able to overcome that issue with intelligence gathered by royal agents.”

  “Really?” Guillot said. He gave dal Sason a knowing look. “I’m going to be frank. I don’t appreciate being treated like an idiot, and if you think you can pull the wool over my eyes, you’re sadly mistaken.” He pulled a chair out from the table and sat. “Now, why don’t you tell me the truth? You either already know where the dragon’s lair is, or you’re part of Amaury’s little commune of magicians. Or both. Well?”

  Dal Sason nodded and directed his attention to Leverre. “The Prince Bishop said it was all right to make Banneret dal Villerauvais aware of the true nature of your abilities when it became expedient. I had hoped we could wait until we were out of the city, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.”

  “Fine,” Leverre said. “It appears that the beast is magical in nature. We should be able to track the magical trace it leaves. Then I’m sure we’d all like to see a demonstration of the Chevaliers’ dragon-slaying abilities.”

  Guillot forced a smile. Leverre wasn’t going to be a pushover. He didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed. “I think we’re all taking a leap into the unknown and it’s a waste of time to suggest otherwise,” Guillot said. “Maybe being a Chevalier of the Silver Circle will help me, maybe it won’t. I think the latter is most likely, but I’m willing to step up and try, and I expect you and your lot to do the same. I’m not going anywhere if I can’t count on everyone to pull their weight.”

  “We’re as committed to the mission as you are,” dal Sason said.

  “I want to hear him say it,” Guillot said, looking pointedly at Leverre.

  “We are responsible for ridding the land of this beast,” Leverre said. “We intend to see that it’s done.”

  “Good,” Guillot said. “There are a number of things I’ll need, and time is obviously limited, you’ll have to use the Prince Bishop’s influence to expedite things.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” dal Sason said. “Give me a list and I’ll make sure everything is ready in time.”

  “No time like the present,” Guillot said, tearing a scrap of paper from a map—much to dal Sason’s horror. He took one of the cloth-wrapped map pencils from the table and started jotting down a list, suggesting the most expensive suppliers he could think of. The main item was a new suit of armour, and there was only one place to go for one, particularly if someone else was paying. When he finished he handed it to dal Sason, who looked it over and nodded.

  “If that’s all,” Guillot said, “I look forward to seeing you all when we depart.”

  CHAPTER

  16

  Amaury stood at his window, staring down into the garden at the white marble fountain below, and if he listened carefully enough, he could hear the water. The gentle sound helped him relax. Though he always appeared to others to be in control, the dragon had placed him under a huge amount of stress. The creature had the potential to ruin his carefully laid plans.

  With time and application, Amaury was certain they could recover the knowledge and skill of the Imperial mages, and build on them, but that day would come long after he passed. It wouldn’t benefit him, and he was not a patient man. He wanted what they had, and he wanted it soon. The Cup was the key, and now that he knew for certain it existed, he would not rest until it was in his possession. Ancient writings indicated that people had been using weak magic from before the earliest times recorded, but it was not until Amatus, the First Mage, that the power became something worthwhile. Amatus, a scholar, had spent several years travelling the world in search
of knowledge. At some point he encountered the Cup, an object from a time before men. It was the spark that lit the fire. When he returned home, he could do magic unlike any ever seen before. He used it to help his friend, the first emperor, build the empire that came to span the Middle Sea. The acquisition of knowledge had been enough for Amatus; the man was never interested in the power his ability could have brought him.

  Amaury thought him a fool for that. With all his power, the Empire could have been his. He would never understand why Amatus had foregone that in favour of scholarship. Amaury firmly believed that the latter brought the former. What use was study otherwise?

  The moment he first read of the Cup, he knew he had to have it. Like Amatus, he could lead the world into a new era of magical exploration and achievement. His Order would learn from the mistakes of the mages and bannerets of the past, combining skill with magic and skill with a sword in each person, rather than dividing it between a master mage and a bodyguard banneret. No servants to turn on their masters.

  It was taking too long, however. It was only a matter of time before word of the dragon leaked out. At first, it would be a disbelieved rumour. As more stories reached the cities, they would gain credence and Amaury would have another mess to clear up. However, if he gave people his version of the facts first, he could own the story. Particularly since he would offer it to them complete with a solution.

  A solution they would love—the last of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle riding off to defeat a beast not seen in centuries. The people would lap it up. The tale would be told in taverns, inns, and coffee houses across the land. Or, perhaps not the last of the Chevaliers. Perhaps the first of the Order of the Golden Spur.

  It was very unlikely Gill would succeed in killing the monster. What hope could one hungover has-been have against a creature like that? No amount of special anointing would save him from something that was already racking up quite a numbers of kills. If word of that reached the public, it would not go down well. He would look a fool for sending a brave man to his death. Worse, he would look a villain. The solution was to make sure Gill succeeded, or he found a way to turn the man’s death into an advantage. It had not taken him long to see the cloud’s silver lining. He had realised he had the opportunity to kill three birds with one stone—slay the dragon, settle his score with Gill, and introduce the Order to the people in a way that wouldn’t result in backlash.

  Unlikely as it was, he had seen Guillot pull himself from more than one jam that would likely have killed any other man—even one of Amaury’s contrivance. That meant he needed to make sure the dragon died and Guillot did the same. Then the Order could take the credit and would be welcomed by the people with open arms. He wasn’t willing to leave that to chance.

  Thinking about how to achieve it made him think of her—Ysabeau dal Fleurat. Her skills and reliability would be a gift at that moment. She had become the best problem solver he had ever encountered—the killer of a king. Hers was an invented title, but he couldn’t have his daughter, illegitimate though she was, walking around as a commoner. He wondered where she was, whether she hated him for what he had asked her to do. For the consequences of what she had done without question. He couldn’t understand the feelings the thought brought up in him. It surprised him that he cared.

  Even now, he struggled to accept that he had a daughter. Her mother had come to him when Ysabeau was already an adult, seeking him out as a last resort. Their daughter, of whom he had known nothing until then, was a mage, and had been discovered by the Intelligenciers. Barely remembering his youthful encounter with her, years earlier, Amaury intended to ignore her plea for help, but curiosity drew him to the Intelligenciers’ commandery to look at the girl. The family resemblance had been so strong there was no way he could deny her. Even the man guarding her had done a double take when Amaury arrived. Having her freed had nearly cost him his career, yet he had done it—though he was not, to this day, certain why.

  He had been surprised and delighted when Ysabeau demonstrated that she had far more magical skill than anyone he had previously encountered. He had allowed himself to hope she might be the person he needed, the person Solène now appeared to be. Sadly, Ysabeau’s power had proved to be insufficient. How she used what she had, though, was something to behold. She could merge with the shadows, blend into a crowd, and wield a blade with such skill that she could have rivalled Amaury himself at his best. These skills, the result of growing up in a tough environment, had made her a superb spy and assassin. Was he wrong to have guided his child down that path?

  That she was exactly the person to deal with Gill when he had served his purpose—exactly the person Amaury needed at that moment—gave rise to an odd sensation. It took him a moment to realise that it was pride. Still, she was gone, and he had no way to contact her. He had to make do with other means. In Ysabeau’s absence, Leverre would deal with Gill if the dragon failed, but it was difficult to muster the same level of confidence he would have had if the job were hers. He needed it done, and wanted a backup to make sure that it was.

  A knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts and the tranquil garden view. His secretary peered around the door’s edge. “Your Grace, your next appointment is here.”

  Amaury nodded. The backup. “Show him in.”

  “Nicholas,” Amaury said, when dal Sason stepped into the room. “I have a little something extra I might need you to do for me.”

  * * *

  With only one appointment left in the day, Amaury relaxed, knowing he would soon be free to delve back into the secret archives. The thrill of the unknown, of what discovery he might make, caused his heart to quicken. He also needed to think of a way to entice Solène, in case she did not see the wisdom of accepting his offer. If he could show her the Priory, the organisation she could be part of—be at the forefront of—he was sure she would agree to join. With Guillot whispering in her ear, that probably wasn’t going to happen, but he would be out of the city soon enough, and then Amaury would have her all to himself. Dal Sason was barely gone when there was another knock on the door.

  “Banneret-Commander Leverre, your Grace,” Amaury’s secretary said, peering around the door.

  “Show him in.”

  Leverre walked in a moment later, his back straight and his head held high—as was almost always the case with bannerets. The Prince Bishop had been the same, once upon a time.

  “Thank you for seeing me at this hour,” Amaury said. “Please sit. I’ll try not to keep you too long. I’m sure you have a great many things to do.”

  “It’s hard to tell, your Grace,” Leverre said, in his usual humourless way. He adjusted his cream robes as he sat. “We’re venturing into the unknown. We may already have more than we need. Or we might not even be close.”

  “Indeed,” Amaury said. Although Leverre’s rigid personality was tiresome at times, he had proved an insightful choice for marshall of the Order. A superb swordsman with none of the pretensions usually borne by those with noble titles, he had shown an aptitude for magic rare in those Amaury had recruited from the Academy. He was a prized find. “That brings me to the matters I need to discuss with you,” the Prince Bishop said. He was not looking forward to the conversation. He knew what must be said would not sit well with Leverre’s sense of honour—bannerets could be so stubborn about such things. “The appearance of this dragon, while appearing to be a disaster on its face, may have a silver lining.”

  Leverre shifted in his seat but said nothing.

  “The king feels that it’s beyond time for the Order to be brought into the open. Our comparatively limited ability to perform magic will be easy to introduce to the people. Then, over time, as members of the Order grow more powerful, they will be accepted more easily.”

  Leverre nodded. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “The Order’s cream robes are not an unknown sight within the city, but people see the Order as merely my bodyguards or as the successors to the Chevaliers of the
Silver Circle. I feel that our current predicament can be capitalised on to broaden knowledge of the Spurriers.”

  “I think I understand,” Leverre said.

  “The part, but not the whole,” Amaury said. “Mirabayans have long viewed the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle as their sword and shield. So much so that the king has even spoken of re-establishing them. I’ve argued strenuously that the Order will be able to far better fill that role, and thus far he has agreed with me. If the people were to see the last of the Chevaliers fail in the face of a great danger, they would naturally embrace those who succeeded.”

  “You need Guillot to fail, and you need us to succeed in his place,” Leverre said.

  There was no humour in his voice; Amaury couldn’t determine if that meant he disapproved, or was simply stating facts. Put so succinctly, it sounded underhanded, but statecraft always carried a cost.

  “Precisely,” he said. “Guillot doesn’t have any hope of slaying this creature, but neither do we if we don’t learn more about it. That’s why I’m sending you and our best people with him. I want you to find out all you can about the dragon, then withdraw with minimal losses. Let him to try to kill it. Let him take the risks alone. He’s spent the last five years trying to drink himself to death, and judging by the shaking of his hands, the skill he was once famed for has long since departed.”

  “And if he hasn’t lost his skill? What if he kills it?”

  Amaury smiled. Now they were at the crux of the matter. “Then it’s a hard problem solved, and an easy one created. The Order is vital to the future prosperity of Mirabaya. It needs to be brought out into the open, and welcomed.

  “I’m happy for you to choose your moment. If it looks like the dragon’s going to kill Guillot, let it. You can even let him kill the beast, if he still has it in him—I really don’t care. Just make sure he doesn’t survive to return to Mirabay.”