Guillot wondered if it might be worth reviewing the story for any useful information. It would be foolish to die following the advice of a work of fiction, but treasures could be found in the most unlikely places, and it might prove very difficult to get any reliable information on how to kill a dragon anywhere else.
“Coming,” he said.
The Prince Bishop worked from private apartments across the hall from the king’s, convenient to the throne room and close to the ear of his master, although in the days of the old king, Guillot reckoned the line between master and servant had become blurred. He had made the journey to these rooms many times, but never with any enthusiasm.
The Prince Bishop was a born schemer. Even when they had both been students at the Academy, Amaury had always been able to dodge the things he didn’t want to do. Where a busy man might be expected to live at his desk, confronting an endless pile of paperwork, when his secretary showed them into his office, the Prince Bishop stood by a large open window, looking out on the garden below. Poised, relaxed, smug. Just as irritating as Guillot remembered.
“Banneret of the White, Chevalier dal Villerauvais, your Grace, and … Solène?” dal Sason said.
She gave him a curt nod that made it clear there was no more to add, or that if there was, she wasn’t telling.
“Thank you, Nicholas. You may leave us,” the Prince Bishop said, turning to greet them.
He had aged little in the years since Guillot last saw him. His hair was a little greyer, his waist a little wider, but his beard and moustache were styled the same way, and he continued to wear the powder-blue vestments of his office.
“My Lord dal Villerauvais, welcome back to Mirabay,” Prince Bishop Amaury said.
“Are we going to play at being old friends first, Amaury?” Guillot said.
“I really don’t see the point, Gill. The kingdom has need of you. All things considered, playing to your patriotism strikes me as a wasted effort, so I will simply say that you will be handsomely rewarded for your service. The luxury of your accommodation in the city is but a drop in the sea. Lands, an elevated title, coin.”
Try as he might, Gill could not deny it was tempting. He was the product of too many generations of aristocratic breeding not to be attracted to an offer like that. It was also flattering to think his name still carried some weight. There was a time when his name was a curse in both Estranza and Humberland. Fame in battle had come easy then and he had revelled in it. He wondered how the Prince Bishop proposed to use him—as muscle in some diplomatic negotiation? “Revealing your cards a little early, aren’t you?”
“There’s no time to waste.”
“I’ll take all of that, but I need something else as well. I need to borrow a company of soldiers—ones who know what they’re about. I can’t make any promises as to the condition they’ll be returned in.”
“Why?”
“Do you care?”
“Humour me.”
Guillot would have preferred to punch him in the face, and was tempted to embark on a course of “tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” but his problem was at least as pressing as whatever Amaury’s was, so he gave in. “Something is killing livestock in my demesne. I want to kill it before it turns its attention to my villagers.”
The Prince Bishop let out a rare laugh. “How very noble of you, but I suspect the problem you speak of is the same as my problem.”
Inside, Guillot roared “Ha! I knew it!,” but he maintained his froideur and allowed his satisfaction to sink beneath the gravity of the situation. “Go on.”
“I had hoped to engage you on this matter before the problem reached as far as your demesne, but it’s of little import. It’s been many years since we last exchanged a civil word, but that did not blind me to the fact that you are the finest swordsman this country has ever produced. You are also the last remaining Chevalier of the Silver Circle. Mirabaya has need of your skills, which is why I have called on you. As ridiculous as it sounds, it seems there is a dragon at large in the southern foothills. That is what is killing your livestock.”
Gill nodded and the Prince Bishop’s eyes widened with surprise.
“You’ve seen it?”
“I believe I have.”
“Large? Black? Breathes flame?”
“That’s what I saw.”
The Prince Bishop smiled. “Well, at least it seems that we aren’t dealing with two of them.”
Guillot ignored the attempt at humour, noticing that Amaury seemed genuinely relieved. “Where did it come from?”
“The mountains,” the Prince Bishop said. “I’ve been getting reports about it for a couple of weeks now. We took action as soon as they reached us.”
“But where did it come from? How has a dragon suddenly appeared after none having been seen for centuries?”
“That’s not of importance. All that we need to consider for the time being is that there is a threat to the king’s subjects, one that needs to be dealt with quickly. By the time word of this spreads, we want to have it firmly under control.”
“If one’s suddenly appeared, don’t you think it might be important to spare a thought as to why? And to wonder if more are going to arrive?” Guillot studied him for a moment. “Unless you already know why it’s appeared.”
“That there is one is all I intend to discuss. The rest is irrelevant.”
“A great many things are irrelevant to you when they don’t suit your purpose,” Guillot said, his temper rising.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know damn well what it means.”
“Ah,” the Prince Bishop said. “I suppose it was naive of me to hope we might leave all that in the past, where it belongs.” He cleared his throat. “I did nothing more than my duty. Had you done the same, the whole situation would have been avoided.”
Gill wondered if he could kill the Prince Bishop and get out of the palace before the guards caught up with him. Probably not. He wondered if he could convince Solène to turn Amaury into a pig. Permanently.
“I wasn’t supposed to be on duty that day.”
“One of the other Chevaliers was ill. His post needed to be filled.”
“Ill? He wasn’t ill. He was screwing the Count of Harvin’s wife. I was ill. I’d buried my wife and child the day before.”
The Prince Bishop shook his head. “This will get us nowhere. It was tragic, and I’m very sorry for your loss, but you of all people should know that service to the Crown comes above all else.”
Guillot dug his fingernails into his palms. He did know that, but he had not been treated fairly. He tried to quell his anger and speak without emotion. “What would you do if I told you to find someone else to do your dirty work?”
“I’ll find someone else. Someone who would be given all of your lands and titles should they succeed. Would you really choose to leave the protection of your lands to someone else? Lord Montpareil, perhaps? I can assure you, by the time our problem is finished with Villerauvais, there will be nothing left of the village. You were the best, Gill. The king is hoping you still are.”
“And if I said I wasn’t up to it?”
“The same as I’ve just outlined, and you get to live the rest of your life knowing you failed the greatest task set you by your king. This is far more important than fighting duels against men who have displeased the king. This is the greatest service you will ever provide. A quest that will erase all past … failings.”
“You are the last Chevalier of the Silver Circle,” a new voice said. “Slaying dragons is supposed to be what you are all about.”