If Guillot survived what he had to do next, he would pay a visit to the Prince Bishop. Despite the other man’s old injury, Guillot would call him out.
“I’m not going to turn you into a sheep, you know,” Solène said, after a long silence.
Guillot smiled. “Sorry, lost in my thoughts is all. Do you really think my death would have been enough to make the people accept the presence of mages?”
Solène shrugged. “The Prince Bishop’s been pushing the story of the last Chevalier of the Silver Circle riding off to slay the dragon and save the nation pretty hard. People are convinced that you’ll do it. If you do, you’ll be very, very famous.”
“No pressure, then,” Guillot said. “Still, he might get his wish.”
“We’ll find what we need in this secret room,” Solène said. “If we don’t, perhaps there’ll be enough that I can cobble something together that will give you what you need.”
“That’s not the most confidence-inspiring thing you’ve ever said.”
“Many things can be done to a soldier to make them better. Meddling with a body is tricky, and I’ve not done anything like that before—no one alive has. Instructions would be better than experimenting.”
“I’m in complete agreement with that,” Guillot said.
“Still, it went well with dal Sason. That’s something, although it is easier to fix what was broken than change things to work differently.”
“You’re really not filling me with any enthusiasm for this idea. I think I’d rather take my chances with the dragon. It didn’t get me the last time…”
She chewed on her lip and stared into the distance. “You’re right. It’s risky to try without instructions. It could take years of trial and error to get the ritual right, and even longer to determine and formulate the enhancements most suited to dragon fighting. Best to just face it with your armour and sword. Like you said, that kept you alive the last time.”
He thought about the plates bundled up on the saddle behind him. The heat of the dragon’s flame had made the metal brittle. It was little better than the ceremonial suits made of paste they used to wear in his Silver Circle days. “When you put it like that,” Guillot said.
They crested the rise leading to the piles of rubble that had once been the old manor house of Villerauvais. Guillot realised that this was a sight he would never grow used to. He wondered if he should rebuild, but what was the point? Villerauvais was gone. Without the village, there was no seigneur, and no need for a manor house. Assuming he survived the ordeals he had before him. If the dragon wasn’t enough, he now felt compelled to deal with the Prince Bishop, and that wasn’t the act of a man looking forward to a long life.
“What did it look like before?” Solène said.
“It was taller.” He realised he was being churlish, but the feeling of failure at seeing every part of his heritage wiped out was profound. “It was never much of a place compared to some. Villerauvais wasn’t a rich province, but the house was probably grander than the place deserved. It was larger once, but parts were knocked down over the years as they fell out of use and into disrepair.”
“How old was it?”
“The remains you see? I don’t really know. My family first came out here during the Empire.”
“One of them helped found the Silver Circle?”
“Supposedly, although after what I found under the ruin, I’m more inclined to believe it. I think Valdamar is buried down there. At least, there’s a tomb with his name on it.”
They let their horses graze on the lawn by the remains of the house, and Guillot escorted Solène down the steps to the hidden chambers.
“This is it,” he said, gesturing to the broken door at the bottom of the stairwell. “I bought a lantern in Trelain. Let me fetch it.”
Solène raised an eyebrow.
Guillot smiled sheepishly. “Oh, of course. Well, let’s go in then.”
They walked into the inky pool of darkness. Solène muttered something under her breath and an orb of cool white light appeared above them, growing in strength until the muttering stopped. Light fell on the first part of the chamber, illuminating the first few statues.
“Do different spells have different words you have to learn?” Guillot said.
“No. They don’t need words at all, really. Magic is shaped with thoughts. Sometimes words give form to thoughts. When you’re good enough, and can control your mind precisely, you don’t need them. Sometimes I find speaking them aloud helps me focus on what I want to achieve.”
He nodded slowly. “Well, this is it. The altar is at the far end, the tombs in the chamber beyond.”
She cast another orb of light, then another, until the whole chamber was as bright as if the roof had been lifted off, letting in the sun.
“These are magnificent,” she said, walking forward to take a closer look at the statues.
“I presume they were all Chevaliers,” he said. “The paintings are even more impressive.”
“They are,” Solène said, moving closer to one. “There’s a lot of magic here. It’s why everything’s in such good condition. This looks as if it was painted yesterday.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Guillot said. “I didn’t have nearly so much light the last time I was here.”
“If the paintings were protected against the elements, maybe everything here was.” She advanced down the chamber until she reached the altar, and the two statues depicting the ritual with the Cup.
“I’ve seen this before,” she said. “In the Rule of the Chevaliers of the Silver Circle, the only text about them that I was able to find. It had a drawing of a ceremony where a magister placed a drop from the cup on the initiate’s tongue.”
“What would happen if you drank a whole cupful?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure if the quantity you drink matters, only the intended result. Maybe it does, though. Who knows? Best stick to what they did.”
“Would there be any harm in trying?”
“I might end up turning you into a puddle of gore with only a drop, and you want to try drinking the whole thing?” she said.
“I take your point. The engraving is in the next chamber.”
They went through, and Solène created another orb of light. It made the room seem far smaller than it had when Guillot had nothing but a flickering torch to light his way.
“That’s Valdamar’s tomb?” she said, nodding toward it.
“It belongs to someone with that name, anyway.”
“My father used to tell me stories about him,” Solène said.
“Mine too,” Guillot said.
“Do you think one of those statues outside is of him?”
“I reckon so.”
She reached out and placed her hand against the memorial plaque, as though touching it would somehow give her greater connection to a man long dead.
“The engraving is on that wall there,” Guillot said.
As Solène glanced over and furrowed her brow, another sphere of light appeared, making each carving clear and precise.
“This is how they used to write Imperial,” she said. “Back in the days of the Empire.”
“When did you learn how to read it?”
“A few days ago.” She shrugged. “Magic has its uses.”
“Is it what we’re looking for?”
She remained silent for a moment, her eyes tracking along the lines of writing. Then she smiled. “It is.”