PART TWO
CHAPTER 19
“Winning the Competition must really have been something,” dal Sason said, riding up alongside Gill.
It took Guillot a moment to realise that dal Sason was addressing him. “Yes, I suppose it was. I’m sorry, but are we to be friends now?”
“We’ve a long and difficult road ahead. It would certainly make life easier if we were.”
For a moment Guillot felt churlish, but dal Sason was still Amaury’s errand boy, and he reckoned that justified his antipathy. He shrugged. If nothing else, a chat would help pass the time. “In answer to your question, yes, it really was something. It was life changing. Still haven’t worked out if that change was for better or worse, though.”
“I was knocked out in the first round,” dal Sason said. “I spent years dreaming about it, but I suppose I never really believed I could do it. So many great swordsmen to beat. How did you do it?”
“One at a time,” Guillot said. “It was a long time ago.”
“Still, the doors it must have opened. And to get that Telastrian sword. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Guillot said. “Not that it’ll be much use for the job ahead. I’ve something else in mind for that.” Guillot thought about unsheathing the blade and handing it to dal Sason, but decided not to. “As for doors? It opened plenty, but I can’t say I liked everything that was behind them. It wasn’t all pots of gold and beautiful women.”
“I’d love the chance to spar with a Competition winner.”
Guillot’s gut twisted and a chill ran over his skin. “I doubt there’ll be time.” The thought of having to spar with a properly trained swordsman filled him with terror. He changed the subject. “What’s your reason for coming along on this little quest?” Guillot said. “Devotion to king and country?”
Dal Sason laughed. “If only. The answer to your question is far baser, sadly. Money. I’ve a manor house in ruins, an estate on the verge of bankruptcy, and two sisters who need dowries.”
“Being an only child has its advantages,” Guillot said.
“As will being one of the men who killed the dragon.”
“Fame as well, then?” Guillot said.
Dal Sason shrugged. “What swordsman doesn’t want more fame? It lets you pick the jobs you want, instead of having to take whatever you can get.”
“There’s that,” Guillot said, “although too much puts you back where you started. Everything that no one else wants to do lands on your doorstep, and a famous hero never turns down a challenge. Be careful what you wish for.”
“I’m a working swordsman, just like you,” dal Sason said.
“I hope, for your own sake, you’re nothing like me,” Guillot said. Silence followed, awkward enough to inspire Guillot to start a new conversation. “What do we call you and your people, Leverre?” he said, turning to look at the riders behind him. “Collectively, I mean. The Order of the Golden Spur is a bit of a mouthful.”
“Spurriers seems to be the one most people are going with,” Leverre said, joining Gill and dal Sason ahead of the rest of the group.
“You’re something like the Prince Bishop’s private version of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle?” Guillot said.
“There’s nothing about the Silver Circle that I’d want to be compared to,” Leverre said.
“That’s a fair comment. And your fellow Spurriers?” Guillot said. “Are they allowed to speak?”
“Of course,” Leverre said. “They’re not slaves.”
“So do we get an introduction?” Guillot said. “Skinny, Short, Ginger, and Girl don’t seem to be a mannerly way to address people.”
Leverre shrugged. “Ginger is Brother Hallot, Skinny is Brother Quimper, and Short is Banneret Eston. Girl is Sergeant Doyenne, my second-in-command.”
“Brothers, sisters, sergeants, and commanders,” Gill said. “Quite a collection of different ranks you’ve got there.”
“There’s been some … friction about the ranks within the Order. A great many inductees are Academy graduates, and I’m sure you can understand they are reluctant to give up their hard-earned title of banneret. They don’t feel they should be placed on an equal footing with those who haven’t been through their training.”
“No surprises there,” Guillot said.
“Banneret, Brother, and Sister are all considered the same rank, though a banneret will usually be given command over the others. Their years of training justify it, I think. After that, promotion and seniority is all merit based. The day will come when the Order will train its own from youth; then, outside influence will count for little.”
“That will be a great day indeed,” Guillot said.
Leverre cast him a suspicious look, but Guillot maintained a broad smile to confuse his intent as much as possible.
“Yes, it will,” Leverre said.
The dragon hunters spoke rarely during the journey, but they were riding hard and needed to concentrate on the road. Even when they stopped to change horses at the royal way posts, there was little chatter. What lay ahead was daunting. Guillot had been in situations like this before. Everyone wanted everyone else to think they were brave and fearless. He himself had claimed to be unafraid when riding out on his first campaign. During that journey, he had used his helmet more than he did later, during the actual battle—it had been perfectly sized to hold the contents of his stomach every time he threw up. The loudest talkers were usually the most afraid and the most inexperienced, so Guillot took it as a good sign that everyone in his party was quiet. It meant they had been in harm’s way before, and hopefully wouldn’t panic and run when things got rough. Of course, it could equally have been that they were too afraid even to pretend they weren’t.
Guillot did not have the first clue as to how they were going to kill a dragon, and other than Leverre’s bog-standard bear-hunting approach, no one offered any worthwhile suggestions. He didn’t want to get himself or any of the others killed while they were learning from their mistakes. The old stories were just that—embellished beyond the point of use. The heroes were all superhuman and relied on abilities that were either completely made up or magically enhanced beyond belief. Still, that was what made the old stories great. As stories. They weren’t of any help now that Guillot needed to kill a dragon.
He filled the hours with trying to work out how to go about that and determine what might go wrong with each approach. It was difficult to work through the possible results since he had no real idea what the dragon was capable of and what its weaknesses might be. Guillot had been on many hunts, of course: deer, boar, bear, and even a belek on one occasion. None of them quite matched the size, agility, or power of a dragon, however.
Men’s bravery was measured by how they behaved on a belek hunt. Might a man’s madness be measured by the fact he would even consider going after a dragon?
He constantly came back to tracking it to its lair. There were a number of attractive things about this, most notably the fact that they would be a long way from innocent bystanders. He was eager to minimise the number of people put in danger. The method that seemed to offer the most reasonable chance for success—luring it out and ambushing it—would likely place something or someone in harm’s way, and that was enough to make Gill discount it so long as there was an alternative.