“It’s hard to tell, your Grace,” Leverre said, in his usual humourless way. He adjusted his cream robes as he sat. “We’re venturing into the unknown. We may already have more than we need. Or we might not even be close.”
“Indeed,” Amaury said. Although Leverre’s rigid personality was tiresome at times, he had proved an insightful choice for marshall of the Order. A superb swordsman with none of the pretensions usually borne by those with noble titles, he had shown an aptitude for magic rare in those Amaury had recruited from the Academy. He was a prized find. “That brings me to the matters I need to discuss with you,” the Prince Bishop said. He was not looking forward to the conversation. He knew what must be said would not sit well with Leverre’s sense of honour—bannerets could be so stubborn about such things. “The appearance of this dragon, while appearing to be a disaster on its face, may have a silver lining.”
Leverre shifted in his seat but said nothing.
“The king feels that it’s beyond time for the Order to be brought into the open. Our comparatively limited ability to perform magic will be easy to introduce to the people. Then, over time, as members of the Order grow more powerful, they will be accepted more easily.”
Leverre nodded. “How do you propose to do that?”
“The Order’s cream robes are not an unknown sight within the city, but people see the Order as merely my bodyguards or as the successors to the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle. I feel that our current predicament can be capitalised on to broaden knowledge of the Spurriers.”
“I think I understand,” Leverre said.
“The part, but not the whole,” Amaury said. “Mirabayans have long viewed the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle as their sword and shield. So much so that the king has even spoken of re-establishing them. I’ve argued strenuously that the Order will be able to far better fill that role, and thus far he has agreed with me. If the people were to see the last of the Chevaliers fail in the face of a great danger, they would naturally embrace those who succeeded.”
“You need Guillot to fail, and you need us to succeed in his place,” Leverre said.
There was no humour in his voice; Amaury couldn’t determine if that meant he disapproved, or was simply stating facts. Put so succinctly, it sounded underhanded, but statecraft always carried a cost.
“Precisely,” he said. “Guillot doesn’t have any hope of slaying this creature, but neither do we if we don’t learn more about it. That’s why I’m sending you and our best people with him. I want you to find out all you can about the dragon, then withdraw with minimal losses. Let him to try to kill it. Let him take the risks alone. He’s spent the last five years trying to drink himself to death, and judging by the shaking of his hands, the skill he was once famed for has long since departed.”
“And if he hasn’t lost his skill? What if he kills it?”
Amaury smiled. Now they were at the crux of the matter. “Then it’s a hard problem solved, and an easy one created. The Order is vital to the future prosperity of Mirabaya. It needs to be brought out into the open, and welcomed.
“I’m happy for you to choose your moment. If it looks like the dragon’s going to kill Guillot, let it. You can even let him kill the beast, if he still has it in him—I really don’t care. Just make sure he doesn’t survive to return to Mirabay.”
“That sounds like murder to me,” Leverre said, his voice full of indignation.
“You love your country, Felix?”
“Of course I do.”
“The country needs the Order, even if they don’t know it yet. The Order needs to get the credit for slaying the dragon.”
“Why? No one knows anything about the dragon. If they learn everything after the fact, why will they care who killed it?”
“I haven’t come to this decision lightly. Gill and I were once closer than brothers. Statecraft is an ugly business, and sometimes hard decisions and sacrifices need to be made. You can be sure the Estranzans and Humberlanders are investigating magic. We know the Usurper of Ostia employed an eastern mage. We will be carved up between our neighbours if we do not have our own mages—you of all people should agree with me on that.”
Leverre nodded, but Amaury could see he was very uncomfortable. “I realise it goes against the principles of honour all bannerets hold true. Don’t forget, I’m a banneret too.” Amaury forced himself not to squirm at how fake he sounded. Honour among bannerets was about as common as honour among thieves, but Leverre seemed to view it as a tenet by which a banneret should live his life. “Being the marshall of the Order means you need to set aside those romantic notions for the harsh practicalities of the world. Can I rely on you to do it?”
Leverre remained motionless, and Amaury started to worry.
Eventually, Leverre slowly nodded his head. “If the dragon doesn’t manage it—” He paused and grimaced. “I’ll see that it’s done.”
Amaury leaned forward on his desk and fixed his gaze on Leverre. “Be sure that you do.”
CHAPTER 17
Guillot woke the next morning with a long list of things that still needed to be done buzzing around in his head. He had spent the previous afternoon acquiring many of the things he thought he might need, beginning with new boots, gloves, a suit of clothes, and a good oilskin coat—he didn’t want bad weather to get him before the dragon did. He still needed a suit of armour. He had no idea how he would obtain that in the time available, as they had agreed to depart the city the following morning.
He felt he was neglecting Solène, but he had too much to do and she had her own preparations to make, since she intended to accept the Prince Bishop’s offer. They breakfasted together briefly, then went their separate ways for the day.
It was possible to get pre-made armour, but there was nothing worse than spending long hours in a suit that didn’t quite fit properly. Nonetheless, that would be the best he could do right now. There was no way he was hunting a dragon without a comforting layer of steel between him and its claws. He had left sundry matters like horses, provisions, and suchlike to the Prince Bishop’s people. It was easy stuff and Leverre had seemed solid, so Gill wasn’t worried. But armour, he had to take care of himself.
In keeping with tradition, the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle were all given a fine suit of heavy armour. There was one with Guillot’s name on it rusting somewhere, but he had no idea where—he had left it in the city after fighting his judicial duel and departing for Villerauvais. He’d regretted leaving it behind—it was worth a fortune. If he’d sold it, it would have paid for renovations to the old manor house in Villerauvais, or for the replanting of the vineyards.
Armour might ultimately be useless against the dragon, but the old Chevaliers had worn something similar, so it might just stop him from getting killed. Not to mention, a fine suit of armour would add a substantial amount to the Prince Bishop’s bill.
Whatever a person wanted could be found in Mirabay. A concentration of so much wealth drew merchants from every corner of the world. The finest bakers, drapers, jewellers, and smiths resided there. Craftspeople of a skill to rival those of any city, even those of Ostenheim, said by many to be the centre of the world.
There was a smith whom everyone of importance used for their armour in the old days—Jauré. Only he made armour for the Silver Circle, overseeing every step from smelting the ore to the final piece of filigree. He likely had something in stock that Guillot could use, and it was almost certain to cost a small fortune. Guillot walked through the city toward Jauré’s workshop, trying not to remember the times he had been happy in Mirabay, when Auroré had been alive and life seemed like a great adventure that would never end. The memory was difficult to shake and brought him no joy. Too much had changed. Too many dreams had been shattered.