“I can’t believe I let Amaury get the better of me again,” Gill said, unable to bear the silence any longer; Pharadon remained standing, staring out into the mist. “He pulled my strings perfectly. I should have thrown my dagger into his eye the moment I walked through the door.”
“Though, perhaps, it isn’t,” Pharadon said, his voice back to normal, completely ignoring Gill. “There’s no way to know, and no way to change what has happened. It was merely luck that the Prince Bishop didn’t use the Cup as soon as it came into his possession. We were lost the moment his agent managed to sneak it from the temple.”
“What do we do now?” Gill said. “Is there any hope for the goldscale?”
Pharadon shrugged. “So long as we draw breath, there is always hope. It’s said goldscales can reach enlightenment by themselves, but that might be legend. I wasn’t willing to take that risk—she might be the last of my kind. I can’t claim to know all the secrets of my race, so I’ll return to the temple, and read from the inscriptions. Perhaps there will be an answer there. Perhaps fate will be more discerning, than to see my kind vanish from the world.”
“I’ll help you,” Gill said. “However I can.”
Pharadon turned to him and smiled. “Thank you.”
Noise in the passageway drew their attention. The commotion grew closer, and Gill swore in frustration. Why had he not left some swords on the riverbank? They had moved from plan to action so quickly that he had not had time to think through every potential problem.
Dal Ruisseau Noir emerged from the tunnel, a man-sized bundle on his shoulder. He was breathing hard.
“We got the king,” he said, but there was no triumph in his voice.
His silent comrade emerged from the gloom of the passageway a moment later, also carrying someone over his shoulder. Gill felt his stomach turn at the sight. It was Val.
The Intelligencier set his burden down on the shore. Val’s face was deathly pale and there was a trickle of blood coming out of the side of his mouth.
“What happened?” Gill said.
“There was a small skirmish,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “Val did well. Very well.” He paused, then said, “They wounded him.”
That much, Gill could see. “How do you feel, lad?” He took Val’s hand. It was cold.
“Sore,” Val said. He tried to smile, but his face was too twisted with pain. “We saved the king, didn’t we?”
“We did,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “We have him here. He’s safe.”
Gill feared anguish would overcome him. Where was Solène? Had she managed to get away from Amaury? If she was here, she’d be able to do something for Val. He should have stayed back in the office to allow the others to escape. They were all of more use than he was. Another mistake.
Val coughed wetly, splattering blood over his ghostly white face.
“Rest easy, Val,” Gill said. “Solène will be here soon. She’ll be able to help you.” He looked up to Pharadon. “Is there anything you can do?”
Pharadon shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Gill. I can’t shape magic like that on anything but my own kind.”
Full of despair, Guillot squeezed Val’s hand and felt the lad’s feeble effort in response.
“I didn’t get to be a banneret, Gill,” Val said.
“It’s a silly thing, Val, just a name, nothing more.”
“Still,” Val said, his voice fading, “I slew dragons and saved the king. That’s not bad, is it?”
Gill felt tears stream down his face. “It’s more than most bannerets can ever dream of.”
“I liked being your squire,” Val said. And then he was gone.
“No, no, no,” Gill said, balling his hands into fists and pressing them against his eyes. “No more. I’m going back in to get Solène. I can’t lose anyone else.”
He stood and made for the entrance to the passageway, but Pharadon grabbed him, then embraced him. Gill let out three great, wracking sobs. He had no more fight left in him. Every time he tried, it ended in disaster. He was a disaster.
“There’s nothing to be gained by going back,” Pharadon said. “You’ll die. Only Solène had the power to delay the Prince Bishop and get away. She knew that, and that’s why she did what she did.”
“I’m sorry about the boy,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “It was damned bad luck.”
Gill nodded mournfully. “How is the king?”
Kneeling beside Boudain, dal Ruisseau Noir shook his head. “Not good. I don’t know what the Prince Bishop did to him and I don’t know if it can be undone.”
“Where’s your boat?” Gill said.
Dal Ruisseau Noir got to his feet and looked across the river, seeming worried. “I don’t know. It should have been here by now.”
There was more noise in the passageway. They all turned, and drew whatever weapons they had on them. Solène emerged, looking utterly drained.
“Where’s the boat?” she asked, seeming surprised to see them all standing around.
“Not here yet,” Gill said.
“I’m being chased,” she said. “There’s no time to wait.”
“We’ll have to swim for it,” Gill said, bending down to pull off a boot.
“What about the king?” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “He’ll drown.”
“Maybe,” Gill said. “But if Amaury gets him back, he’ll be dead before sunrise.”
“There’s another way,” Pharadon said.
When Gill looked at him, he saw that Pharadon’s human form was already starting to break down at the edges; he looked like a person who had started to melt. The shape beneath the malleable flesh began to change and grow larger. His skin grew dusky, then took on a rose tinge. Gill could see individual scales starting to form. For a moment Pharadon looked like some strange human lizard being, having the general form of a man, but covered in lustrous red scales.
“What in the name of the gods?” dal Ruisseau Noir said.
“There’s no need to worry,” Gill said. “I assure you, he’s on our side.”
There was something stomach-churning about watching the transformation—seeing a person come apart like putty and become something else. At the same time, there was something intimate about the act, and Gill felt that continuing to watch was in some way an invasion of Pharadon’s privacy. He turned and looked out over the mist-laden river, pretending to look for the boat, which he was beginning to realise was never going to come.
Solène placed a comforting hand on Gill’s back. He looked up at her. She was staring down at Val’s body.
“Is there nothing you can do for Val?” he said.
“I’m sorry, Gill; he’s dead. Even if I’d made it back earlier, I don’t think I could have helped—it was too great a wound. I only seem to be able to heal injuries that would mend on their own, given time. A mortal wound is beyond any skill I have. Moreso when I’m as drained as I am now.”
“How did you get away?”
“The Prince Bishop doesn’t know how to wield his power yet. He overreached. I was able to take advantage of that and get away from him, then mask myself from others. It took nearly everything I had. We need to get out of here. Before it’s too late.”
He nodded. “Can you swim?”
“A little.”
“Good, you might have to rescue me,” Gill said. To his surprise, he laughed, and after a moment, so did she. When he turned back to Pharadon, the ancient creature was now the size of a small house and fully returned to his dragon form. He continued to expand, albeit more slowly, until he reached his normal dimensions—and just in time. Gill could hear noise coming down the passageway. Someone must have finally figured out that the quarry shaft’s impenetrable barrier was no more.
Dal Ruisseau Noir and his colleague were both staring at Pharadon with dropped jaws. It struck Gill as odd that the sight of a dragon was no longer astonishing to him; it seemed that even the most fantastic act could become mundane, given enough time.
“Will you take Val also?
” Gill asked. “I want to make sure the boy gets a proper burial.”
“I will,” Pharadon said.
“There’s a village a full day’s ride east of here,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “Castandres. I’m told that one of the king’s cousins has established a garrison there to maintain the peace. We should regroup there.”
Pharadon’s mouth curved into a smile. “If there are a large number of soldiers there, landing a few miles away might be better for me. I’ll revert to your form, then fetch you to your king.”
The noise in the passageway resolved into the sound of men running in armour, a noise which was ever the signal that it was past time to leave. Pharadon stretched his wings, casting them all into shadow.
“Time for us all to depart, I think,” the dragon said, his voice rumbling from his massive chest.
He sprang into the air, showering them all in dust and gravel. Gill didn’t need to be told twice. He plunged into the river, which was as cold as he had feared. He gasped for breath as he turned to look back. The others were following him into the river, while Pharadon, hovering, had taken the king in one claw and Val in the other.
As Gill floated downstream, he watched Pharadon rise in the air as effortlessly as smoke, then turn and disappear from sight. He wondered how many people would see the dragon and what panic that might cause.
He couldn’t shake the thought of Val’s lifeless face from his mind. It wounded Gill to the core of his heart to see a fine young man dead. He tried to console himself with the warning he had given Val when the lad had first asked to be his squire. Val had chosen this life, and the risks it entailed, as did every young man dreaming of being a banneret.
None of them expected it to end badly, though. They all thought they were invincible—that belief was vital to the dream. If they knew the reality, if their fathers had taken them to see a battlefield rather than to the parade of an army marching out of the city, he suspected the Academy’s dormitories would be far less crowded.
It was said that the sons of Mirabaya died cheaply for a priceless dream. Guillot had seen that more times than he cared to dwell on. He rolled over and started to stroke downriver as shouts erupted from the mouth of the passageway. Amaury might have won today, but they weren’t done. The debt had grown ever greater, and so long as Gill drew breath, he was determined to see it settled.
CHAPTER
15
Ysabeau surveyed the temple site from a distance, and maintained her watch for at least an hour. Only when she was sure there was no movement did she approach—alone—to take a closer look. She peered down into the hole and was relieved to see no signs of activity. The temple itself looked exactly as she remembered it, magnificent and ancient. The academics would wet their britches when they saw it. Still, she had to be certain it was safe before she let anyone else enter. Enough people had been lost down there already. She doubted her father would be happy with her if she lost more.
She used a touch of magic to conceal herself—there was an enormous amount of energy to draw on down there, so she had no trouble making herself all but invisible. The hardest part was keeping all that power out. She shuddered at the thought of what might happen to her if she let its full force flow through her.
When she entered the second, lower chamber, Ysabeau stopped dead in her tracks. She even held her breath, so terrified was she of making a sound. One of the dragons was still there. It took her a moment to push the initial fear aside and get her mind working again. The creature seemed to be sleeping, and had not been disturbed by her presence. The temptation to go over to it for a closer look was almost overwhelming. How many people could say they had seen a dragon from so close, and lived to tell the tale?
What should she do? If she brought her people down to do their job, they would certainly wake the creature, and it would kill them all. Likewise, she had no great desire to return to Mirabay and explain to her father why she had failed. Might they slay it while it slumbered? She had heard the stories of how many men her father had sent to kill dragons, and knew how many of them still lived, so didn’t think for a second it would be an easy job, but perhaps, if they were fast, and silent?
She returned to the surface and called the Spurriers to her. The academics looked annoyed that they weren’t being made privy to the conversation, but after the long and unrelenting ride, they had learned better than to complain. She would have told them, but didn’t reckon their bowels would hold up to the prospect of a dragon slumbering beneath their feet.
“There’s something down there I wasn’t expecting,” she said quietly to the three Spurriers.
“What?” Hangdog said.
It was no surprise that he was the only one to speak. The other two were professional soldiers, happy to follow orders. Likely they would voice an opinion only when dealing with a matter of a military nature.
“There’s a dragon down there.”
“What in hells?” one of the soldiers said.
“Sergeant Tresonne, isn’t it?” He nodded. Ysabeau smiled thinly. “It’s sleeping.”
“Great,” Hangdog said. “Let’s get out of here before it wakes up.”
“Would you like to be the one to tell the Prince Bishop why we’ve failed our mission?”
Hangdog shook his head.
“Didn’t think so. I’ve no more desire to die here than any of you, but if we can complete this mission, we will. Now, the dragon seems to be very deeply asleep. Hibernating maybe, I don’t know. It didn’t react to me being down there at all. We might be able to do what we need to do and get out of here before it wakes.” A thought occurred to her: just how deeply did this creature sleep?
“We’ll need to be careful,” Hangdog said.
“Of course,” Ysabeau said, not bothering to hide the contempt in her voice. “Why don’t you go and explain the situation to our learned friends? Try not to scare three hells out of them. There’s a good chap.”
* * *
Ysabeau needed to give everyone a few minutes to come to terms with the fact that they were standing next to a real, live dragon. It wasn’t as large as the other one she had seen, but its lustrous golden scales made it far more magnificent. It had to be one of the ones that had reached the temple when she had been there the last time, so it had been awake recently, and that made her wonder if it might awaken again soon. Was her intention to push forward worth the risk?
Every one of them had heard tales as a child, of slumbering dragons in dark, forgotten places, keeping an ages-long vigil over their hoards of treasure. She supposed the treasure in this instance was the forgotten knowledge the temple contained. That might disappoint an ordinary person, but for those who already had money and power, this was the true treasure.
No one dared let out even an overly loud breath, let alone speak. They were all in awe, even Ysabeau, who had seen the creature before. It truly was incredible, and she reckoned she could stare at it for hours.
Recalling the violence that had taken place during her previous visit to the temple, she looked around. There was nothing to mark that incident—not even patches of blood on the floor. Of the bodies, or the Spurriers who had still been alive when she left, there was no sign. It was curious, but then again, the temple was a curious place.
The magic here was potent beyond belief—there was no dust, no deterioration, nothing at all to indicate how old the place was. The reliefs were crisp and pristine, as though they’d been created only yesterday; the inscriptions were sharp and distinct. The statuary, mainly of dragons, was vibrant and lifelike. There was no moss, no muck, nothing but what the creators of the place had intended. Perhaps there was an enchantment that kept it clean. She hoped that it was included in what was inscribed on the walls—she could certainly do with it for her apartment in Mirabay.
“All right,” she whispered. “Time to get to work.”
The academics reluctantly pulled themselves away from the spectacle of the slumbering creature. The temple was surely an incredible plac
e for them, the type of thing archaeologists and linguists must dream of. That the three of them had barely noticed the wonders on the walls spoke volumes about how breathtaking the dragon was. As they walked by, she couldn’t help but glance at their britches. None of them had pissed themselves, which impressed her. Perhaps they were made of sterner stuff than she had given them credit for.
Now that their attention was turned to the wealth of material all around them, they whispered excitedly, dividing tasks up amongst themselves. That done, they unpacked materials from their satchels and moved to their designated sections of wall. They were in their element now, exploring knowledge being their comfort zone. Gone were the quiet, sullen countenances, replaced instead with excited faces full of youthful energy. She supposed if you matched someone to their interest, anyone could display passion.
“I suppose we just need to wait and let them do their thing,” Hangdog said. “How long do you think they’ll take?”
Ysabeau shrugged. “As long as it takes. I want to be out of here in no more than three days, though. If they’re done before then, great. If not, best make yourself comfortable. And useful, if they need any of your ‘special’ help.” She turned to the soldiers. “Let’s keep an eye on that dragon, be ready if it wakes up.”
They both visibly paled.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not trying to make a bunch of dragonslayers out of you. We just need to hold it at bay long enough for that lot to get away with whatever information they’ve gathered. That’s the mission goal, that’s what we have to make sure happens.”
“We could build a picket of some sort,” Tresonne said. “I doubt it’d last long, but it might buy us the time we need if that thing wakes up.”
“Get on it,” Ysabeau said. “But do it quietly.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than there was a clatter behind her. She turned to see what had happened. One of the academics stood sheepishly over a portable easel that lay flat on the ground. Fear surged through her as she turned back to the dragon, but the beast slumbered soundly. She breathed a sigh of relief.
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