Dragonslayer (The Dragonslayer)

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  Confused, Solène said, “You have it.”

  “I’ve so much to say to you right now, I really don’t know where to start. The facts, I suppose.”

  Solène sat up on her elbows.

  “You collapsed at the end of the test,” dal Drezony said. “You were brought back to your rooms and have been watched constantly since.”

  “For how long?” Solène said.

  “Since yesterday afternoon. All things considered, it could have been far worse. What happened to you is something we’ve come to call burnout. In the early days, it killed a couple of novices, so we’ve been careful about it ever since. We weren’t sure if it would happen to you. I genuinely thought the tests lay well within your powers and was so eager to see what you’re capable of. I didn’t give it proper consideration. That was foolish and a mistake I won’t be making again.”

  “I don’t understand,” Solène said. “What’s ‘burnout’?”

  “We use the Fount to power our magic. As I told you before, it’s anywhere that life is. It is life. It’s within us, and is, as I and a number of others believe, what gives us our vital spark. However, when our internal reservoir of the Fount is drawn on too heavily, it affects us. A little will make you tired, a lot can cause you to lose consciousness, and even die.

  “Part of what we train our novices to do is to draw on the Fount surrounding us, rather than the Fount within us. It’s as though we use our own Fount as the spark to light the greater fire, but it at least means fatigue is the worst we have to worry about.”

  “So I drew on too much of my internal Fount?”

  “Yes, I believe that to be the case.”

  “I had no idea that could happen,” Solène said.

  “You’ve probably never had to tax your magic so strenuously before, so it’s never been an issue.”

  “I can remember being tired after using it a few times,” Solène said, recalling how she had fallen asleep after her encounter with Arnoul.

  “I should have brought it up earlier, but things have moved so quickly. I didn’t think it would be important for some time yet.” Dal Drezony drew a breath and smiled. “The Prince Bishop insists that you be initiated into the Order at once. On the one hand, he’s right. There’s no one else here even nearly as powerful as you. On the other, as long as you’re untrained in managing your energy, you’re as likely to kill yourself as achieve any of the feats he sees in your future.”

  Solène said nothing, still trying to understand.

  “I’m not going to lie to you,” dal Drezony said. “I argued against his decision as strenuously as I could, but at the end of the day, he is the Master of the Order, and his command has to be followed. I did convince him that you need more training, so you will attend on me daily to continue your education. Other than that, you will be given duties as an initiated Sister of the Order.”

  “What does that involve?” She was genuinely curious.

  Dal Drezony smiled sadly. “Whatever the Prince Bishop says it does.”

  * * *

  Solène stood silently in the Priory’s chapel. This was the not the first time she had felt life running faster than she could keep up with. Fleeing her village had terrified her—venturing out into the unknown, alone for the first time in her life. She wondered about her family often. They had been good, kind people who had loved her. They had reacted to her magic out of fear, and she found it difficult to blame them no matter how much it pained her.

  A few weeks ago, she had been an apprentice baker who dreamed of opening her own bakery. Now she was dressed in magnificent cream robes with gold stitching, and the motif of the Order of the Golden Spur embroidered in heavy gold and silver wire on her chest. The Prince Bishop officiated the ceremony, and something about the way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. It was different than anything she had experienced before. Arnoul’s glare had combined lust and hate; she had known what to expect from that, known she could deal with it.

  That the Prince Bishop wanted something from her was obvious. He bore the expression of a hungry man staring at someone else’s dinner—as if she had something he desperately wanted and he was trying to work out how to get it from her. As unnerving as that was, she wasn’t so foolish as to not see the potential opportunity it brought. Considering her talent, she knew her life options were to live on the run and in fear, or remain at the Order. If she could work out what the Prince Bishop wanted, and how to give it to him at as little personal cost as possible, she could thrive there.

  This was a dangerous option, however. If she could not deliver on whatever he expected from her, she was sure there would be consequences. The Order was not the simple, safe haven she had hoped it might be.

  The Priory’s chapel was the location for all of the Order’s initiation ceremonies. Despite being headed by the Prince Bishop, dal Drezony had made it clear to Solène that the Order was not a religious organisation. Thus, Solène had not visited the chapel before. It was austere—cold stone, dark wood—a remnant of the Priory’s earlier purpose. So rapidly did her mind race that she barely heard what the Prince Bishop said. Every so often he would pause for her response, which she gave with a nod of her head, as she had been instructed.

  What if he wanted her to be a weapon? She’d had good reason to kill Arnoul for what he had tried to do to her, yet she had done something temporary to him that did little more than injure his dignity. She didn’t think she had it in her to kill, and wouldn’t be used as a weapon. What was her alternative, though? To run again?

  “You are now an initiated Sister of the Order of the Golden Spur, and bear both the burdens and the benefits of that office,” the Prince Bishop said, drawing her from her worries. “Go now, always mindful of your duties, and humble in the power you possess.”

  She nodded again, doing her best to avoid meeting his eyes, then walked from the chapel with dal Drezony at her side.

  “How do you feel?” dal Drezony said when they reached daylight.

  “No different than when I walked in,” Solène said.

  Dal Drezony laughed. “That sounds about right, but you’re part of us now, and safe here. I can’t tell you how much of a relief it was for me when I finally found my way here. My father used to not let me out of the house for fear I’d cast a spell on someone and end up on a pyre. Here, we can be who we are, explore it, and not fear what others may think. You don’t have to worry about the Intelligenciers ever again. You’re home.”

  Solène forced a smile. Until she knew what the Prince Bishop expected of her, she intended to reserve judgement.

  * * *

  Alpheratz lay in his cave, resting from the fight. He had expected his actions would eventually draw a response, so he was not entirely surprised by the encounter. Aside from the wound under his wing, it had been more of a learning experience than anything else. The humans who had woken him were taken unaware and were not powerful warriors. A group that had tracked him to his cave and attacked him should have been—but they were far weaker than he had expected. With the exception of the female at the end, who had strong magic and stronger courage, they were pathetic. The only wound he had taken was one of misfortune. Had the man who made the cut not had a Telastrian blade, Alpheratz knew he would have survived the encounter without even a scratch.

  In one respect, it was disappointing. There had been glory in defeating the human warriors of old—“chevaliers” they had called themselves, although dragonkind had known them as “slayers.” This battle had been little more than slaughter, and slaughter was something Alpheratz held a deep discomfort for. Each time he lay down to sleep, he saw the woman with the defiant eyes, and her offspring hiding behind her. Every time he thought of it, he felt shame. Shame that tore at the fibres of his heart. He thought of Nashira, and how she must have behaved when their hatchlings were attacked. The song of their souls had been the same—protect that which they loved. This wasn’t the act of vermin.

  What had he done? What was he doing? He was
an enlightened dragon—a creature of magic and reason. This behaviour was beneath him. Beneath contempt. He banged his head against the cavern wall and let out an anguished cry. He had lost everything he knew, everything he loved, and his reaction had been to descend to unenlightened savagery. He cried out again. What was he supposed to do? How should he have reacted? Mankind had taken all from him. Where was the justice for that? The justice for Nashira and their hatchlings?

  He knew the people who had wronged him were long dead. The people he had slain had never even seen a dragon before, let alone done one injury. There was no justice in killing them. Their spilled blood was his shame, his burden.

  Mankind had grown weak. There was no glory in battle, nor honour in slaughter. He would do no more. The mountains stretched far to the west. He would depart the lands of men. He would find a new mountain and a new cave in a place no human could ever reach. Perhaps he might even find another of his kind, or perhaps some unhatched eggs that he could nurture to life. Hope was ever present in a world so huge.

  Holding that thought in his mind, he found a peaceful sleep.

  CHAPTER

  31

  A man wearing the Prince Bishop’s livery waited outside her apartment when Solène returned after her evening meal. She had spent the day resting after the initiation, still feeling the effects of her over-exertion during the tests.

  “The Prince Bishop would like you to attend on him at the cathedral at seven bells. There is a carriage waiting at the gate to take you.”

  Dinner had started at six bells, which meant she was already either late, or very close to it. That wasn’t the way she wanted to start things with him.

  “Give me a moment to get my things,” she said.

  The messenger nodded and stepped back. Inside, clothes were spread everywhere—the past few days had been such a turmoil that she had not had time to keep anything organised. She looked about for her cloak—the new one she was entitled to wear as an initiate—and started digging through a mound of the novice robes that she had only needed for so brief a time. Finally she found what she was looking for and put it on as she headed out the door.

  She rushed through the Priory’s courtyards to the gate where the Prince Bishop’s personal carriage awaited. She knew it was a continued sign of the importance he placed on her. She had never had to live up to expectations before, and was not finding her first taste of it at all palatable. Aside from it all, she felt awkward getting into such a plush conveyance.

  The messenger sat up front with the driver, leaving her to the luxury of the interior in privacy. They jolted to a start and she could hear the driver shouting at the horses as the carriage accelerated down the road. Although it wasn’t the most comfortable of rides, it was certainly exhilarating, as the carriage leaned over on its suspension springs rounding the corners.

  The clatter of hooves and wheels on cobblestones signalled they were getting close—Solène had already learned that only the most central streets of the city were paved. Eventually, the carriage lurched to a stop with as much vigour as it had started. The messenger opened the door and held out a hand to help her down. It was treatment unlike any she had ever experienced. Only nobles and burgesses received such deference.

  She followed the messenger into the cathedral’s nave just as its great bell rang out seven times. It was a relief to have arrived on time, but the rushed journey left her feeling flustered, adding to her anxiety about the Prince Bishop.

  He sat on a pew, making small talk with another churchman, who hung on the Prince Bishop’s every word. When the Prince Bishop saw her, he actually looked relieved. He stood and walked toward her, stopping the other man mid-sentence.

  “Your Grace,” Solène said. “You wish to see me?”

  “I do,” he said. “I have something that I very much want to show you.”

  This innocuous statement was a relief, but Solène wondered what there might be in a cathedral that would be of interest to her. He led her to an alcove at the side of the nave, and then down a tight spiral staircase that must have brought them below the level of the river.

  “The room I’m about to show you is a remnant of the building that was on this site before the cathedral was built,” the Prince Bishop said. “It was used by the church in the days after the collapse of the Empire to collect and safeguard knowledge that my forebears knew would be lost in the turmoil that would follow. They were right. To the best of my knowledge, there is nowhere else in the world with so much material from old Imperial libraries.”

  Solène nodded, doing her best to seem interested while trying to work out where he was going with it.

  “Much of the knowledge gathered here concerns the practise of magic,” the Prince Bishop said. “Most of it, in fact.”

  They arrived at a large set of ancient double doors, which he unlocked and cast open. As soon as they had slammed to a halt, scores of magelamps illuminated down a long hallway lined with shelves. Solène’s eyes widened. The vicar in Bastelle had a library in his church—it had consisted of one shelf. This place was enormous. To just count the tomes in this library would take weeks. Perhaps months. To read them? She wondered if a lifetime would be enough.

  Books weren’t the only things stored there. Many of the shelves she could see were more like honeycombs, with each little square niche containing what looked like a scroll.

  “Impressive, isn’t it,” the Prince Bishop said. “I felt exactly the same way when I first saw it. I spend as much time as I can down here. So much forgotten knowledge. So much that the world actively shuns. If only they knew how much it could help them. Medicine, engineering, science—the knowledge here could take us into a new golden age. I hope that it will. This was where I came up with the idea for the Order.”

  “Why are you showing me this?” Solène said.

  “Because I think you represent a great opportunity to usher in the new golden age in our lifetime. I have brought you here to learn. To acquire magical abilities that can make a real, positive difference in people’s lives. To show them magic isn’t all dark sorcery, that it can be an incredible force for good. I hope that one day soon, you’ll be able to help your brothers and sisters advance more rapidly as well.”

  “I … I hope I do not disappoint,” Solène said. What he spoke of appealed to her, but it was daunting. To be part of something so much bigger than herself, and to be expected to be such a huge influence on it, made her feel sick. “Where do I start?” Solène said.

  The Prince Bishop laughed. “Wherever you want. I’ve set out some things that I’ve found particularly interesting, to start you off. Consider this library an adventure and follow wherever it leads you. The only rule is this: Before you try any magic, any at all, you must take it to Seneschal dal Drezony to discuss, and your first attempt at using it must be under her supervision. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Solène said.

  “Good. My agreement with the seneschal stipulates that you spend mornings at the Priory—fencing, exercise, and lessons with her. The rest of the time, I expect you to spend here. There will be no other demands on you. You start tomorrow, but if you want to have a look around now, please do. There’s something of a surprise awaiting you. I’ll be disappointed if you can’t overcome it, though.” He smiled cryptically, but without malice. “My carriage will wait outside to take you back to the Priory whenever you’re ready,” he said as he turned to go.

  Solène waited for the reverberating boom of the heavy doors closing behind him to subside before going over to look at the things he had left on a table. Her eyes widened when they fell on the text—it was unintelligible. It took her a moment to realise that it was written in old Imperial—essentially the language she spoke, but in a form over a thousand years old. That was the surprise, she assumed, and therefore her first test was to work out how to read it.

  That could wait for the time being. She had never seen so many books in one place before. She hadn’t even realised there were that m
any books. She spent her first hour wandering the shelves, occasionally taking down a volume for a closer look. They were all the same—every word in old Imperial. She would have to learn how to understand it, and quickly. She was too tired to start that evening, and daunted by the task that awaited her tomorrow.

  * * *

  Amaury sat at his office desk and studied the note that had arrived by pigeon from Commander Leverre while he was showing Solène the archive. Sergeant Doyenne was a bad loss. He had sent her with Leverre so she could see the beast for herself, for before Solène, Doyenne was one of the Order’s most powerful mages. She had, it seemed, demonstrated her strength and courage, but had lost her life.

  As an intelligence-gathering exercise, it had been a success. They now knew more about their foe, primarily that it appeared to be vulnerable to Telastrian steel blades, and that it would not die easily. He would have to call in some diplomatic favours to get his hands on some Telastrian steel from the Ruripathians. Buying a blade was almost impossible—most bannerets who owned one would rather starve than sell it.

  Losing Doyenne made him worried that killing the dragon might prove too great a challenge for the Order. He would have to direct Solène to seek information on dragons, and on offensive magic. He would also have to lean on dal Drezony to get Solène ready as quickly as possible. At his most optimistic, he reckoned they only had a matter of weeks before the dragon visited the first major settlement, and probably less. The time available to prepare her was best measured in hours rather than days.

  His chief disappointment, one he had done his best to ignore until he had digested the rest of the information, was that Guillot still lived. Leverre stated that they needed the services of the best healer available. Perhaps Leverre was unable to do what the Prince Bishop required of him. Amaury made a note to send an assassin with the healer. It was a shame Ysabeau wasn’t around to take care of Guillot. The certainty she brought to her assigned tasks would have been welcome at that moment. Hopefully the dragon had softened Gill up enough to make him an easy target.