All of this, however, was secondary to the line of text that had set his heart racing. They had found a small, cup-sized pot of Telastrian steel in the dragon’s cave. Leverre had not been able to get a close look, but felt that it was almost certainly what they had been searching for. That seemed almost too much to hope for, but there were only two types of things made from Telastrian steel—sword blades, and objects that needed the metal’s affinity to the Fount.
To Amaury, the Cup was the most important object in existence. It could change everything. He felt giddy at the possibility, and wondered if he should go to Trelain in person to take possession of the Cup. That might draw too much attention, however. He didn’t want anyone else to know anything about the object.
With Solène in the Order, and the Cup soon to be his, it seemed as though everything was finally coming together. First, however, there was a dragon to deal with, and a stubborn drunk of a swordsman who would likely refuse to hand over the Cup. Leverre would have said in his message if he was unable to carry out his instructions, and even if he were, there was still dal Sason. He would tell the king Guillot was dead and that they had to move forward with the Order if they hoped to stop the dragon before it caused too much damage. This was risky; Amaury had no time to lose. Besides, it would soon be the truth, but with the added bonus that he would have the Cup and all that came with it.
CHAPTER
32
Leverre had sent a pigeon back to Mirabay from the gate house as soon as they reached Trelain. Loath as he was to have their failure reported, Gill was looking forward to meeting another of the Order’s magical healers. He had fared better than the others, but every joint hurt and he was black and blue in more places than he could count. They had barely paused to take breath on the return journey—equally eager to make their report and get as far from the dragon as they could. The relentless pace had been hard on their already battered bodies—dal Sason had broken some ribs, Leverre complained of constant headaches, and Guillot felt like he’d been stampeded over. At times, the feather mattresses of the Black Drake inn were the only things that kept him going. Still, they were the lucky ones.
They had put dal Sason to bed and sent for a physician to ease his discomfort. Gill went down to the taproom to lose himself in the distractions to be found there, without much luck. The dragon was the only thing being talked about. News had arrived from Mirabay, making it official, and had been added to by the rumours seeping into the town from the countryside.
Travellers were talking about cutting short their stays, while the townsfolk were talking about leaving town until it was safe—and according to what he overheard, some already had. Others took the high ground of disbelief, thinking themselves too clever to be taken in by what had to be a joke. People were uncertain and confused. They knew they should be afraid, but couldn’t quite believe the stories were true.
People whispered excitedly that the last of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle had gone out to kill the beast. The Chevaliers’ reputation was so famed that failure did not enter the people’s minds. Unaware of the horrible deaths of Hallot, Quimper, Eston, and the ferociously heroic Sergeant Doyenne, the occupants of the taproom were eager to hear the story of the great slaying and to laud the only living dragonslayer. They hoped to see the great beast’s head when it was brought back as a trophy.
Guillot wondered how they would react if they knew that the dragon was still very much alive and perhaps on its way to Trelain at that very moment. It didn’t require a very active imagination to visualise the terror and panic, and all the things that went with them—rioting, looting, murder. Civic breakdown of the most severe kind. Once the dragon itself came into the mix, death and destruction on a mass scale could be added to the list.
He had failed again. Was it possible for a person to use up all their talent in their youth, leaving nothing for the remainder of their life? His mouth watered at the sight of an unfinished bottle of wine on the table next to him. He looked at his glass and jug of water and wanted to hurl them into the fire. Surely now, of all times, he could be forgiven a drink? What difference would it make anyway? It was unfair to have thought him capable of defeating a dragon. He was none of the things he had once been, just as the Chevaliers were none of the things they had once been by the time they went extinct.
He was reaching for the wine before he knew what he was doing. The bottle’s mouth was against his lips an instant later, his nostrils filling with the bittersweet scent of ruby-red wine; the drips on the rim flooded his mouth with their rich flavour. He took a long gulp, draining what little remained in the bottle. A feeling of warmth wended its way down into his stomach, marking the wine’s passage. An overwhelming sense of well-being followed. The tension in his shoulders and the tightness in his chest seemed to ease. Ever since they’d left the dragon’s valley, he’d felt as though a cold hand had held his heart in a vice-like grip. Only now did that hand relax. His failure seemed to drift away from him, along with the pain of the destruction of Villerauvais, and the sorrow at Sergeant Doyenne’s sacrifice.
He looked around for the barkeeper to order a bottle, but instead spotted the approaching Leverre, his face hollow, no doubt a result of the trauma of losing more people. Gill felt the blow himself, even though he had barely known them.
“I had begun to think the stories about you were untrue,” Leverre said. “This is the first time I’ve seen you anywhere near a bottle.”
Guillot blushed with shame. “It was here when I sat down,” he said. “I was just going to call the barkeeper to take it away.”
Leverre nodded in a way that said he didn’t care if it was a lie or the truth.
“I’ll be glad when the healers get here,” he said, sitting down. “I can’t seem to get rid of this headache. I’ve been chewing willow bark all evening, but it’s not making the slightest difference.”
“Bad blows to the head can be like that,” Guillot said, growing angry with himself for having given in to the bottle. “I’ve had one or two that took days to ease off. You’re lucky to have your healers.”
“It’s the way of the future. Once people get a taste for it, they’ll never want to give it up.”
“I’ve heard the same said of dream seed,” Guillot said. And wine, he thought.
“Dream seed will make you feel good for a while, then kill you, but not before robbing you of everything that’s worth having.” Leverre lowered his voice. “Magic can bring an end to pain and suffering.”
“It can also bring death, destruction, power-hungry despots.”
“That was a thousand years ago and more,” Leverre said, sitting back in his chair with a disgusted look on his face. “The Order has been specifically created to make sure that no one person can have too much power.”
“I thought the Prince Bishop was the Order’s master?”
“In name only. The real business is divided between the marshall, the seneschal, and the chancellor. We never agree on anything, so you won’t have to worry about us trying to take over the world.”
Guillot forced a laugh. “I have a great many things to worry about before I come to that one.”
Leverre gave him a thin smile. “I’m sure you do.”
Guillot took the small Telastrian steel cup from his purse and placed it on the table, spinning it between his fingers, trying to distract himself from having to talk to Leverre and to take his mind off the taste of wine. He still couldn’t get his head around the reason why someone would use such an expensive metal to make a drinking cup.
“That’s the thing you found in the cave, is it?” Leverre said. “What do you think it’s for?”
Guillot suppressed a sigh, supposing he should have expected the inquiry. “No idea,” he said. “I found it with the dragon’s stash. It was the only thing that wasn’t fused to the mass. Not sure why I took it. A souvenir, I suppose.”
Leverre nodded, but didn’t say anything. Guillot couldn’t help but notice how he stared at it with f
ar more curiosity than Guillot would have expected. It was Telastrian steel, so would bring a decent price should he choose to sell it, but beyond that it was unremarkable. He put it back in his purse and stood.
“I’m going out for a breath of air,” he said. “I won’t be long.”
* * *
Guillot returned later that evening, having spent the time wandering the streets, watching the townsfolk react to the news of a dragon. For some it was business as usual—if they were concerned about being attacked, it didn’t show. Others, mostly those with money, were reacting. When he passed by the houses of the wealthy, he saw carts and carriages being loaded. Likely those people had properties elsewhere, so their flight would be no great inconvenience. Guillot’s failure would have little impact on them. As always, the most vulnerable would suffer most from his mistakes.
He went to dal Sason’s room to see how he was doing, and found Leverre there as well. The local physician had paid one visit before disappearing from Trelain, so until the Prince Bishop sent help, dal Sason’s care was left to Guillot and Leverre, who didn’t seem to have a healing touch. The injured man had a little more colour in his cheeks, but in his usual pessimistic way, Guillot supposed that could be the first sign of fever.
“How are you feeling?” he said.
“Like I got run over by an ox cart,” dal Sason said. “But I’ll mend. What are we going to do now?”
Guillot shrugged and sat in one of the chairs by the bed. Dal Sason’s chest was heavily strapped and his breathing sounded strained. Until a healer arrived, he would have to make do with the conventional treatment of bandages and a poultice the physician had given them. It smelled like horse piss.
“I’m going to Mirabaya to deliver my report in person.” Leverre said. “I’ve never trusted pigeons. Too many things can go wrong. Hawks, cats…”
“What will you tell High Lord Prince Bishop Amaury?” Guillot said.
Leverre frowned. “That our attempt was unsuccessful, and we need to reconsider our approach.”
“Long way to go to tell him we failed and got four people killed.”
“We learned some things,” Leverre said. “It wasn’t a complete failure.”
“It was an expensive way to learn that we didn’t have a clue what we were doing,” Guillot said, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his temples. He thought of Sergeant Doyenne and the complete lack of fear in her voice, even though she knew she was about to die. He thought of all the people who had died at Villerauvais, and who knew how many others the dragon had already killed. How many more were to come? How many more had they failed?
Had he done something to anger the gods? Everyone knew they disliked hubris, and once upon a time his name had been big enough that perhaps they had noticed him, and were displeased with what they saw. He shook the thought from his head.
His father had always said that a man makes his own destiny, with a sword in his hand, and for everything positive Guillot had achieved in his life, that had been true. It was only when he’d started to take success for granted that things started to go wrong. He wondered when it had begun, when the polish on his career showed its first signs of tarnish. He’d always thought Auroré’s death was the moment, but he knew in his heart that wasn’t true.
No. It had been a cold, wet day on the other side of the Szavarian border months earlier, surrounded by dead men nearly as numerous as the blades of grass on the ground. He had come back to Mirabay bathed in as much glory as he had been in blood on the battlefield. Hero of Mirabaya, her most famous son, he was initiated into the Silver Circle, and took relief in the thought that he would never be sent to war again. Too much relief.
Since then, to be honest with himself, he had drifted. Into marriage, the Silver Circle, into all that came after. He had drifted into this mission, into the dragon’s cave, and had even drifted to defeat. If he was to face the beast again, he had to take charge of himself. He had to be the man he once was, before life had dulled his edges. Could he find that man again? Did he still lurk within?
“When we try again,” he said, “we can’t go into it as if we’re hunting a belek. We need to know more about it. To be better prepared.”
“How do we go about doing that?” Leverre said.
“Like you said, we learned things. We have to sit and discuss exactly what we experienced. What worked. What didn’t. We need to distill every little bit of information that we can, from start to finish. Every detail, no matter how trivial.”
“You think it will make a difference?” Leverre said.
“It can’t hurt,” dal Sason said. “We can’t go running to the Prince Bishop every time we run into an obstacle.”
“Still,” Leverre said. “I have to make sure he is updated on our situation.”
“Run back to your master, then,” Guillot said, his voice laden with frustration. He wondered if Amaury would delight in Gill’s failure or if the danger was great enough to rob him of the pleasure.
Leverre’s face darkened.
“Gentlemen, please,” dal Sason said with a wheeze.
“I am part of a command structure, and I have orders to follow,” Leverre said.
“If you need to return to the city,” dal Sason said, “there’s no point in wasting time. You should leave as soon as you feel ready.”
“I’m ready now,” Leverre said, rising to his feet.
Guillot might have found Leverre’s thoughtless devotion to duty tedious—his willingness to set off on another journey after dark—but he had to acknowledge that there had been a time when he behaved the same way.
“I’ll see to having your horse readied while you pack,” he said, getting to his feet.
Leverre nodded in appreciation. “I’d like to take that odd little cup you found with me. Proof that we went into the cavern, if it’s needed. There’s also a slim chance we might be able to learn something from it.”
“Like what?” Guillot said, surprised at Leverre’s interest.
“I, well, that’s what we’d be finding out. As you said, we can’t leave anything out.”
“It’s a piece of Telastrian steel. It looks like a small cup, the type one might use with a flask. Other than the dragon being partial to a tipple, what do you think it’s going to tell us that we don’t already know?”
Leverre sighed. “I’m grasping at anything and everything. You should be too.”
“All the same,” Guillot said, his suspicions raised. “I think I’ll hold on to it for the time being.” Leverre had already admitted that the Spurriers had been looking for something magical when they first went to the cavern. Surely the little cup could not be it? It had been discarded on the cavern floor. Gill couldn’t see anything interesting about it. Given that it had not earned a place on the gold pile, the dragon didn’t seem to place any value on it either.
Leverre chewed his lip for a moment, then nodded. “If that’s what you wish. I’ll gather my things.”
Guillot watched him walk away for a moment, wondering at his interest in an unremarkable object, before heading out to the stables to have Leverre’s horse saddled.
CHAPTER
33
Solène returned to the archive as soon as she had finished her morning requirements at the Priory. She gathered a few volumes and folios at random, then sat and stared at them, willing them to make sense. Some passages were close enough to the modern script for her to eventually understand, but it was slow going, and there were large sections she couldn’t make any sense of. At first, she thought this might be due to her lack of formal education, but it quickly became clear this was not the case—the old books were written in a different script to the one in modern usage.
After a while she went for a wander amongst the shelves, trying to clear her head, and hoping for inspiration. She had not gone far when she heard the doors boom open. Peeking out from behind a shelf, she saw the Prince Bishop walking toward her in his usual purposeful way, his pale blue-and-gold robes billowing
out behind him.
“Solène,” he said, his voice echoing down the cavernous groin-vault roof. “Come and join me, there’s something we need to discuss.”
She nodded, surprised to see him back so soon, and walked up the central aisle toward him. “Is there a problem?” she asked, concerned by the solemn expression on his face.
“Please, sit.” He pulled out a chair for her. “I’ve some bad news,” he said. “I understand you were very fond of Guillot dal Villerauvais. Sadly he, and some of your Brothers and Sisters, were killed in their effort to stop the dragon.”
“I thought he was supposed to be some type of special dragonslayer?” she said. Few people had ever shown her kindness without expecting anything in return for it. She was deflated by the thought that he had been killed.
“He was,” the Prince Bishop said. “At least we thought he was. The Chevaliers of the Silver Circle were renowned dragonslayers in their time, but it seems whatever skill or attributes they had were not passed down to the present day. We had no way of knowing. We all hoped he would be able to deliver the kingdom from this danger, and considering the beast was attacking his lands, Gill wanted to do something about it. We thought he was our best chance. Now the gauntlet has been passed to us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Who else can stop a beast like this but the Order?” the Prince Bishop said.
“I thought you said several members of the Order were already killed trying to slay it?”
“They were, but they weren’t you,” the Prince Bishop said.
“You want me to slay a dragon?” Solène said, shocked at the idea.
“I feel that given a little more time, and the resources available in this library, you will be more than up to the task. Obviously you need to re-target your studies to locate material that will be of use.”
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