That could wait for the time being. She had never seen so many books in one place before. She hadn’t even realised there were that many books. She spent her first hour wandering the shelves, occasionally taking down a volume for a closer look. They were all the same—every word in old Imperial. She would have to learn how to understand it, and quickly. She was too tired to start that evening, and daunted by the task that awaited her tomorrow.
Amaury sat at his office desk and studied the note that had arrived by pigeon from Commander Leverre while he was showing Solène the archive. Sergeant Doyenne was a bad loss. He had sent her with Leverre so she could see the beast for herself, for before Solène, Doyenne was one of the Order’s most powerful mages. She had, it seemed, demonstrated her strength and courage, but had lost her life.
As an intelligence-gathering exercise, it had been a success. They now knew more about their foe, primarily that it appeared to be vulnerable to Telastrian steel blades, and that it would not die easily. He would have to call in some diplomatic favours to get his hands on some Telastrian steel from the Ruripathians. Buying a blade was almost impossible—most bannerets who owned one would rather starve than sell it.
Losing Doyenne made him worried that killing the dragon might prove too great a challenge for the Order. He would have to direct Solène to seek information on dragons, and on offensive magic. He would also have to lean on dal Drezony to get Solène ready as quickly as possible. At his most optimistic, he reckoned they only had a matter of weeks before the dragon visited the first major settlement, and probably less. The time available to prepare her was best measured in hours rather than days.
His chief disappointment, one he had done his best to ignore until he had digested the rest of the information, was that Guillot still lived. Leverre stated that they needed the services of the best healer available. Perhaps Leverre was unable to do what the Prince Bishop required of him. Amaury made a note to send an assassin with the healer. It was a shame Ysabeau wasn’t around to take care of Guillot. The certainty she brought to her assigned tasks would have been welcome at that moment. Hopefully the dragon had softened Gill up enough to make him an easy target.
All of this, however, was secondary to the line of text that had set his heart racing. They had found a small, cup-sized pot of Telastrian steel in the dragon’s cave. Leverre had not been able to get a close look, but felt that it was almost certainly what they had been searching for. That seemed almost too much to hope for, but there were only two types of things made from Telastrian steel—sword blades, and objects that needed the metal’s affinity to the Fount.
To Amaury, the Cup was the most important object in existence. It could change everything. He felt giddy at the possibility, and wondered if he should go to Trelain in person to take possession of the Cup. That might draw too much attention, however. He didn’t want anyone else to know anything about the object.
With Solène in the Order, and the Cup soon to be his, it seemed as though everything was finally coming together. First, however, there was a dragon to deal with, and a stubborn drunk of a swordsman who would likely refuse to hand over the Cup. Leverre would have said in his message if he was unable to carry out his instructions, and even if he were, there was still dal Sason. He would tell the king Guillot was dead and that they had to move forward with the Order if they hoped to stop the dragon before it caused too much damage. This was risky; Amaury had no time to lose. Besides, it would soon be the truth, but with the added bonus that he would have the Cup and all that came with it.
CHAPTER 32
Leverre had sent a pigeon back to Mirabay from the gate house as soon as they reached Trelain. Loath as he was to have their failure reported, Gill was looking forward to meeting another of the Order’s magical healers. He had fared better than the others, but every joint hurt and he was black and blue in more places than he could count. They had barely paused to take breath on the return journey—equally eager to make their report and get as far from the dragon as they could. The relentless pace had been hard on their already battered bodies—dal Sason had broken some ribs, Leverre complained of constant headaches, and Guillot felt like he’d been stampeded over. At times, the feather mattresses of the Black Drake inn were the only things that kept him going. Still, they were the lucky ones.
They had put dal Sason to bed and sent for a physician to ease his discomfort. Gill went down to the taproom to lose himself in the distractions to be found there, without much luck. The dragon was the only thing being talked about. News had arrived from Mirabay, making it official, and had been added to by the rumours seeping into the town from the countryside.
Travellers were talking about cutting short their stays, while the townsfolk were talking about leaving town until it was safe—and according to what he overheard, some already had. Others took the high ground of disbelief, thinking themselves too clever to be taken in by what had to be a joke. People were uncertain and confused. They knew they should be afraid, but couldn’t quite believe the stories were true.
People whispered excitedly that the last of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle had gone out to kill the beast. The Chevaliers’ reputation was so famed that failure did not enter the people’s minds. Unaware of the horrible deaths of Hallot, Quimper, Eston, and the ferociously heroic Sergeant Doyenne, the occupants of the taproom were eager to hear the story of the great slaying and to laud the only living dragonslayer. They hoped to see the great beast’s head when it was brought back as a trophy.
Guillot wondered how they would react if they knew that the dragon was still very much alive and perhaps on its way to Trelain at that very moment. It didn’t require a very active imagination to visualise the terror and panic, and all the things that went with them—rioting, looting, murder. Civic breakdown of the most severe kind. Once the dragon itself came into the mix, death and destruction on a mass scale could be added to the list.
He had failed again. Was it possible for a person to use up all their talent in their youth, leaving nothing for the remainder of their life? His mouth watered at the sight of an unfinished bottle of wine on the table next to him. He looked at his glass and jug of water and wanted to hurl them into the fire. Surely now, of all times, he could be forgiven a drink? What difference would it make anyway? It was unfair to have thought him capable of defeating a dragon. He was none of the things he had once been, just as the Chevaliers were none of the things they had once been by the time they went extinct.
He was reaching for the wine before he knew what he was doing. The bottle’s mouth was against his lips an instant later, his nostrils filling with the bittersweet scent of ruby-red wine; the drips on the rim flooded his mouth with their rich flavour. He took a long gulp, draining what little remained in the bottle. A feeling of warmth wended its way down into his stomach, marking the wine’s passage. An overwhelming sense of well-being followed. The tension in his shoulders and the tightness in his chest seemed to ease. Ever since they’d left the dragon’s valley, he’d felt as though a cold hand had held his heart in a vice-like grip. Only now did that hand relax. His failure seemed to drift away from him, along with the pain of the destruction of Villerauvais, and the sorrow at Sergeant Doyenne’s sacrifice.
He looked around for the barkeeper to order a bottle, but instead spotted the approaching Leverre, his face hollow, no doubt a result of the trauma of losing more people. Gill felt the blow himself, even though he had barely known them.