Amaury was distracted from his thoughts by a knock on his door. It creaked open and his secretary peered in.
“I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed,” Amaury said, tired and not interested in having to deal with anyone, or anything.
“I’m sorry, your Grace. You said you wanted to be informed immediately when Banneret of the White dal Sason arrived back in the city. He’s sent this note.”
Amaury sighed. “Fine,” he said. “Leave it on the desk. Thank you.”
Amaury forced himself not to run with excitement as he walked the polished marble floors of the palace toward the king’s private offices. Dal Sason’s note reported that not only had he succeeded in bringing Guillot back to Mirabay, but they had rescued a very interesting young woman from a mob in Trelain. Amaury couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so giddy. Possibly he never had, but he certainly did at that moment. Opportunity and disaster, hand in hand. The world was a place of great irony. Given the choice, he would already be on his way to meet with dal Sason and the new arrivals, but even Amaury had to pay lip service to the king and report to him first.
So far, the king had been fastidious in attending his duties, keeping court every day and working at his desk long into the night. Should he develop too high an opinion of his own ability, it might become a problem, but thus far he had shown himself to be receptive to Amaury’s suggestions. He might even prove to be the perfect puppet that Amaury desired, but it was too early to determine that.
He reached the king’s office, irritated by the need to knock and wait under the scrutiny of the guards standing there. When the king’s secretary finally opened the door, he remained in the doorway, blocking entry.
“I have business with the king,” Amaury said.
“His Majesty is very busy and has asked not to be disturbed.”
“It’s urgent,” Amaury said.
“Then perhaps you’d like to wait, and I’ll inform the king. I’m sure he’ll see you the moment he is free.” The secretary smiled, and gestured to a plush velvet couch in the guarded antechamber to the king’s private office.
Amaury had no option but to wait. Once the king knew he was there, Amaury couldn’t leave until given permission. He forced a smile, nodded, and sat.
Amaury had counted three peals of the cathedral’s bells before the king’s secretary opened the door and gestured for Amaury to enter Boudain’s private office. When he went in, he found the king sitting at his desk with his face buried in a document.
“The first piece of my plan is almost in place, your Majesty.”
“Good,” the king said, looking up from his work. “Please do enlighten me.”
“You might recall an incident five years ago with one of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle.”
“The assassination attempt on my father?”
“Indeed. The Chevalier who was prosecuted for dereliction of duty and treason has, on my instruction, returned to the city.”
“Dal Villerauvais. I remember him. How could I not? At times I thought father preferred him to me. Father was so proud when he won the Competition—a son of Mirabaya! Prouder still to have him here at the palace and in the Silver Circle. It went hard on him when dal Villerauvais let him down. Why would you bring him back?”
“With a dragon loose in the mountains, is it not natural to turn to the only member of an order of dragonslayers still living?”
“The last time the Silver Circle slew a dragon, there were people still alive who had been born Imperial citizens,” the king said. “If I recall my history correctly, the last dragons were slain during the reign of my forebear, Boudain the Second. Guillot dal Villerauvais did a great many things, but I don’t recall slaying a dragon being one of them.”
“Yes, but it’s not just a matter of expertise or experience,” Amaury said. “It’s always struck me as a tragedy that none of my forebears paid more attention to the ancient papers in the cathedral’s library. I spend every spare moment there, seeking things that might aid your reign. Our current project, for instance, can trace its birth to one of my late-night reading sessions.
“I’ve learned things about the Chevaliers. They were imbued at their initiation with a number of abilities that made them more effective when fighting dragons. Indeed, the Chevaliers were something closer to what we are trying to create with the Order—both warrior and mage, not one or the other.”
“That was a magical ceremony, and a practise that was stopped a thousand years ago. I don’t need to read your ancient papers to know that. However the most recent Chevaliers were initiated, I expect it did little more than test their capacity for wine.”
“Indeed, your Highness, but there might still be something to it, and I think it would be remiss to ignore the possibility. The Chevaliers had a secret initiation ritual. From what I’ve read, it may be that the ritual, possibly unbeknownst to the participants, retained a magical quality even long after the days of magic had ended. I have hope that the ceremony by itself will have given him an advantage in the fight against this dragon.”
“Why is that?” the king said impatiently.
The Prince Bishop calmed himself. If it hadn’t been for him, the king’s father would have been pulled from his throne years before, and the best Boudain the Tenth could have hoped for would have been exile, or a quick death. As it was, he sat on a throne secured for him by other men. He would need to learn that, and learn it quickly.
“One thing we have discovered from our experiments and training in the Order is that words focus the mind, and focussing the mind shapes magic. If the user has an affinity with the Fount, whether natural or trained, in the correct circumstances, nothing more is needed. It’s possible some of the Chevaliers were crafting magic during this ceremony without realising it.”
“It sounds rather tenuous,” the king said.
“I admit that it is, but I still think it’s worth a try. If nothing else, it allows us to take action immediately, while we consider other alternatives. It might even work. There’s only one way to find out.”
The king steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “You plan on having dal Villerauvais kill this beast for us.”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” Amaury said.
“You think he’s up to it? I heard he’s been rotting away at the end of a bottle since the trial.”
“I’m not sure.”
“What about the Order of the Golden Spur?”
Amaury blushed. The dragon already represented the greatest blot on the Spurriers’ short record. “I think it safe to say that the brothers and sisters of the Order aren’t yet ready for something like this.”
“Even the more experienced members?”
“This project is still too short-lived to yield results, Highness. The day when they can is close, but not yet here.”
“What about the Chevaliers’ ritual? Why can’t the Spurriers conduct that? The old bannerets weren’t mages, simply enhanced warriors. Might we not be able to do the same for ours?”
Amaury raised his hands. “While many sources mention the ritual, I’ve yet to come across anything that actually describes it.”
“Dal Villerauvais, then. Surely he can tell you what you need to know?”
If he was sober enough to remember any of it, Amaury thought. “That’s a possibility, Highness, but I’d rather not reveal the true nature of the Order to someone with as checkered a reputation as he for as long as possible. I plan to interview him before I send him out. If I think he might be able to help us in that way, rest assured I will pursue it.”