She shook her head to dismiss the thought. Guillot was the only man alive who knew what was said at the Silver Circle’s initiation. She needed to know everything he could remember about it. It was a slim hope, but the only one she had. Casting magic on a person was very different from casting it on an object. Even if it was well intended, the things that could go wrong were legion.
CHAPTER 40
Late the next afternoon, when they were not far from Trelain, Solène spotted a group of riders on the road ahead, going in the same direction as them. Everyone else they had passed had been going the other way—fleeing the dragon. This group was different, and it looked as though they were wearing matching cream travelling cloaks, just like the ones she and Leverre wore. She looked at him, slumped in his saddle, drifting in and out of sleep. He had spent several hard days on the road with almost no rest, and it amazed her that he had held up as well as he had.
“Leverre.”
He grunted.
“Up ahead.”
He snapped upright, his eyes wide. “That’s them.”
“I know. That’s why I woke you.”
He squinted. “Five. No, six. More than I was expecting.”
“Gill was the best swordsman in the world. The Prince Bishop isn’t likely to take any chances.”
Leverre grunted again. “If they’re actually Order people, I’d say Dreue and Gamet are with them. They’re the most suited for this type of work. Vicious bastards, both of them. They’d both be rotting in a dungeon somewhere if the Prince Bishop hadn’t found a use for them.”
“That sounds encouraging,” Solène said sarcastically. “What do we do now?”
“There’s two options as I see it. The first is, we ride up to them and pretend the Prince Bishop sent us to fetch them back to Mirabay. We’ll have to go back with them, though, so Gill won’t get a warning. It buys time though, and maybe we could get word to him by pigeon or private messenger.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“Probably not. Gamet’s sharp as a tack and suspicious as a cuckold. He’ll expect sealed, written orders. I would too.”
“What’s the second option?”
“We make sure they don’t reach Trelain.”
“You mean kill them?”
“Did you think we were coming here to convince them of the error of their ways? This was always going to come down to violence, either here and now, or later, in Trelain.”
Solène nodded. Another reality she had put off considering. Now she lived in a world where men were willing to kill one another to get what they wanted. It struck her as odd how life at the top of the ladder so closely resembled life at the bottom.
“Could we not drop out of sight and follow them? Wait until we reach Gill, to boost our numbers?”
Leverre shook his head. “If we’ve seen them, they’ve seen us. They’ll have seen our robes too. In hindsight, we should have worn something different, but it’s too late to do anything about that now. They’ll think it odd if brothers and sisters of the Order don’t ride up to meet them. You can see that they’ve already slowed. They’re expecting us to join them.”
“Let’s do that, then. Join them, and ride with them to Trelain.”
“Gamet’s the Order’s chancellor. We’re equal in rank, so I have no authority over him. He’ll expect to see our orders. If we don’t have any, he’ll want to know why.”
“So we make something up.”
“He’s not the type to fall for something like that. Gamet’s a vicious thug, but he knows what the Order’s done for him, and what it can do for him, so he follows the rules like he wrote them himself.”
She stared at the group long enough to confirm that the distance between them was closing.
“What do I need to do?” she said.
“You haven’t had enough training with a sword to be any use in that regard,” Leverre said. “But if what I hear about you is true, that would be putting you to waste.”
Solène’s stomach twisted with nerves. She’d used magic to defend herself before, but this felt different. Now she would be the attacker, using it as a weapon, not a shield.
“I’m not sure I can,” she said.
“You passed your tests, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“Then you can. Instinct will guide you to what you need in a situation like this.”
She nodded again, gaze locked on the riders ahead of them.
“We’ll ride up to them all friendly,” Leverre said. “We need to get close, and I’d rather do that without crossbow bolts flying through the air. I don’t think any of them are strong enough to do serious damage with magic, but in the heat of the moment, you never know, so keep your wits about you and be prepared to hit anyone who looks like they might be trying to rustle something up.”
Solène’s hands felt cold, and she realised they were shaking.
“Are you all right?” Leverre said.
She nodded, but the action didn’t come as easily as she would have liked.
“You can do this,” he said. “We can do this. If we want to stop them from killing Gill, it’s what needs to be done.” He paused for a moment. “Are you ready?”
“I am,” she said, with far more resolve in her voice than she’d thought she could muster.
“Good. We ride up nice and relaxed. On my signal, let fly with everything you have.”
“Everything I have,” Solène repeated.
“Let’s go.”
“Wait, what’s your signal?”
Leverre was already riding ahead. “I haven’t decided yet, but you’ll know it when you see it!”
She urged her horse on and caught up with him, trying to appear nonchalant to the group ahead. Her skin crawled as she imagined their eyes on her, and she tried to think about anything other than what she had to do. She feared that if she thought about it too much, when it came time, she would freeze.
As they got closer, Leverre held up a hand. At first she felt a flash of panic that it was his signal and it was time to act, but she realised it was merely a salutation.
“Brother-Chancellor Gamet! Is that you?” Leverre shouted.
The Spurriers had stopped and turned to welcome people they thought were their brother and sister in arms. Something about their ruse felt underhanded to Solène, but when stakes were as high as they were, she supposed nothing was out of the question.
“Leverre! What are you doing out here?” one of them shouted.
As they neared, Solène began to make out faces. There was a woman about her own age, whom Solène had seen eating in the refectory. At the time, she had thought she looked friendly. Realising the woman was looking at her, she swallowed hard and broke eye contact. They would never be friends now. If everything went well, Solène would never even know her name.
Another was a young man she had seen training in the fencing hall. He was quick and had looked impressive, and she had hoped to one day match him in skill. He was dangerous. Somewhere in her, she decided he would be the first to go. That she had just chosen someone to kill made her want to vomit. The grim knowledge that either everyone in front of her would be dead in the next few minutes, or she would, was of little consolation.
She tried to return her attention to Leverre, who was chatting with Gamet as though they were old friends. She supposed that in a way, they were. Despite her effort, all she could think about was the tempest of emotion twisting inside her. She wondered if this was how everyone felt before going into battle. If so, how could anyone choose to make a career of it? How could anyone, after even a single taste, want anything to do with it ever again?