She took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. No matter how honourable her intentions, they would not be enough to bring down a dragon. If she couldn’t find an answer in that great, cavernous library of forbidden knowledge, she would almost certainly meet the same fate as Guillot.
One thing she had learned since being introduced to the archive was that there was no cataloguing system, nor any organisation. Everything seemed to have been randomly shelved. She didn’t have the first idea of how to go about searching for information on dragons. She could search for years and not find anything. That left only the question of if and how magic might be of use. What kind of magic crafting would guide her to the information she needed? How could magic seek out something as abstract as written knowledge? Solène fought to gain control of her thoughts. Despite everything, she had always considered herself an ordinary person. How could an ordinary person achieve what others had failed to? Of course, she knew she wasn’t ordinary, but she was only starting to accept she was capable of far more than she might think.
Taking a deep breath, Solène concentrated on dragons. Somewhere in the echoing cavern of a library, there was a thud. Wound tight, she jumped and almost let out a shriek of surprise. There was no one else down here and the door was at the opposite end of the room. She walked to the central aisle and peered down toward where the sound had come from. Magelamps mounted at the end of every shelf cast pools of warm light into the aisle, but between the shelves, darkness quickly reclaimed the territory. She collected the small hand lamp from the desk and advanced down the aisle as silently as she could.
As she walked, she considered the magical defensive options she had and took some comfort in having those thoughts primed as she advanced along the aisles. There was no other noise in the library now, other than that of her rapidly beating heart. Reaching the shelf where she thought the sound had come from, she quickly popped her head and the hand lamp around the corner.
A large book, bound in well-worn leather, lay on the floor. Letting out the breath she had been holding, Solène studied the vacant spot on the shelf above. The shelf was deep, so there was no reason for the volume to have fallen, unless whoever had put it there had done so carelessly. Considering every other book in that row was perfectly placed, that seemed unlikely.
She took another look up and down the main aisle to satisfy herself that there was no one sneaking up behind her, then walked to the book and knelt. She brushed some of the thick coating of dust from the cover, then opened it and read the title page. Her heart sank when she saw the text was in old Imperial. Nonetheless, she could make out one phrase in the title:
Seolfor Cercle.
Silver Circle. A chill ran over her skin. Had she somehow drawn it from the shelf? Used magic without realising it? If her control was so tenuous, what damage might she to do others, or herself, as she grew more powerful? So much potential, but so much danger.
She had other things to worry about first, though. She picked up the book and returned to her desk, wondering how she would go about deciphering it, and what it would tell her.
Solène stared at the book’s cover page. She knew the Chevaliers had an ancient reputation as dragon fighters, so she could see the relevance. However, until she could understand the text, it didn’t matter how relevant it was. If magic could find the book, perhaps it could help with this also? She started to read, reaching out to the Fount for aid. A few pages in and her hopes began to fade. It wasn’t becoming any clearer.
She sat back in her chair and let out an exasperated breath. If the Prince Bishop had figured out how to read this, then surely she could.
Something dal Drezony had said popped into her mind—words focus thoughts, and sometimes speaking out loud could help shape magic. She leaned forward and began to read aloud in as stentorian a voice as she could muster. She chuckled at the way her voice boomed down the cavernous archive, but continued, enunciating each oddly sounding word with precision.
All the while, she tried to keep her mind open to the Fount, willing its energy to coat her words. Her skin began to tingle as she continued for several pages. She was so focussed on pronunciation and the Fount that it took some time before she realised the words were making sense. With a loud, maniacal laugh of victory, she returned to the beginning. The print on the page was no different to her eyes than a news sheet produced that morning. She could read the entire title now: The Rule of the Order of the Silver Circle.
The book started with an outline of the characteristics that should be expected of a Chevalier, and not a single one tallied with what she had heard of their modern counterparts. It moved from there to descriptions of their various uniforms, from attending at the Imperial court, the governor’s court, all the way down to daily wear when likely to be seen in public.
After several pages her enthusiasm began to wane. She couldn’t see how anything here was important—just rule after rule about how the Chevaliers were supposed to conduct themselves.
She drummed her fingers on the table and licked her lips. The air was dry, probably a good thing considering the presence of so many irreplaceable books. She made a mental note to bring a water skin with her in the future, then returned to the book. She flipped page after page, then stopped. Her eyes were locked on a chapter heading.
Initiation Rites for New Chevaliers.
She recalled the Prince Bishop mentioning that he thought the Chevaliers’ dragon-slaying ability had something to do with their initiation rites. Solène started to read, carefully and slowly, and her eyes widened with fascination. The ceremony itself had religious undertones, the themes of which were familiar, as the same gods that were worshipped in Imperial times still prevailed. The involvement of the Imperial mages interested her the most, however.
Anyone with even the most cursory knowledge of history knew how bannerets came to be, as magically enhanced bodyguards for the Imperial mages. When the mages grew powerful and greedy, the bannerets rebelled. The ensuing war tore the Empire apart, but freed the people from the mages’ tyranny. Magic was outlawed, while the bannerets took on legendary, heroic status. Although they were no longer magically enhanced, they remained an important part of society. Every parent of a son, to some degree, harboured the dream of seeing them go to an academy to earn their banner. It was the great leveller, something a man from the most humble of origins could earn if he worked hard enough and had the talent.
In theory, at least. Solène had come from a poor farming village and had never even seen a banneret until she went to Trelain. It was hard to imagine that any of them had come from backgrounds similar to hers.
Candidates for the Silver Circle, it seemed, were selected from experienced bannerets. Battle-hardened veterans who were considered among the best fighters alive. The text said the ceremony extolled virtues such as honour, mercy, and charity, but did not specify exactly what was said. Then the new initiate stepped forward to be anointed by an Imperial mage, a very high-ranked one it seemed, although Solène didn’t recognise the title given. They placed a drop of water from a cup—a cup referred to with great reverence—on the initiate’s tongue, and the initiate became a Chevalier of the Silver Circle, an already formidable warrior now somehow magically prepared to do battle with dragons and survive.