Guillot felt a wave of relief. Not only would he not have to run the gauntlet of magical experimentation, he would not be marching to almost certain death the next time he went dragon hunting.
“What does it do?” he said.
She chewed her lip for a moment. “I … I’m not really sure. I thought it would make you faster, stronger, more resilient, but I can’t see how any of what’s written here would do any of that.”
He shrugged. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
“You’re willing to take the chance?”
“Whatever it was doesn’t seem to have killed any of them,” he said, nodding toward Valdamar’s tomb. “At least, not right away.”
“You have the Cup?”
“Of course,” he said. “Does it matter what we fill it with?” Now seemed as good as any a time to allow himself a sip of something potent.
“The engraving says the purest water. Know of any pure water around here?”
Setting his disappointment aside, he nodded. “There’s a stream not far from here. It comes down from the mountains uninterrupted. It’s as fresh a water source as you’re likely to find.”
“I want to look around a little more first. See if there’s anything else here that might be of use.”
In the improved light she had created, she surveyed the tombs one by one, and then, satisfied she had not missed anything, they returned to the main chamber.
“It’s like a hall of heroes,” she said. The rows of statues, with the magnificent paintings behind them, now illuminated to their full glory, made for an impressive sight. “They went to a lot of trouble to create the magic that keeps this place in good condition. For a spell to last so long, the power they had must have been immeasurable. Look!” She pointed to the feet of the statues. There were small nameplates engraved into the bases. “Andalon,” she said. “Ixten,” she added, pointing to another. “Valdamar. It’s amazing to think they were all here.”
“Even more amazing to think I spent my childhood living above it all and never knew.”
She walked up to the painting behind Valdamar’s statue and studied it so closely her nose almost pressed against it. “There’s something odd here,” she said. She closed her eyes, frowning in concentration.
The room filled with the sound of grinding stone, and the painting slid back from the wall, opening a passageway into a chamber behind.
Guillot shook his head, amazed. “What did you do?”
“There’s a lot of magic down here. I influenced it. Shall we take a look?”
He walked forward eagerly, then stopped, one foot in mid-air. “What if there’s a trap?”
“A trap?”
“Well, if they’re trying to protect something down here, maybe they took precautions to make sure the wrong people didn’t find it?” Guillot said.
“That strikes me as paranoid.”
“I’d rather be paranoid than in the bottom of a pit of spikes.”
Solène sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “I can’t feel anything unusual in there—no hidden empty spaces or concentrations of magic.”
“You can do that?”
Solène nodded. “The Fount lines objects. If there’s an open space, I can feel the way the Fount’s shape changes. That’s how I knew there was something behind the painting.”
“Still,” Guillot said, “let’s be careful. There might not be a trap, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe. This space is old, and the house above it has been destroyed. The structure might not be as stable as it seems.”
She nodded and Guillot advanced into the passage revealed behind the painting. It was dark at first, but then one of Solène’s light spheres appeared overhead and his jaw dropped.
Before him stood a wooden mannequin wearing the most magnificent suit of armour he had ever seen. He walked up to it, careful to watch where he placed his feet. The idea of a trap still hadn’t left his mind, although he was now equally worried about the roof falling down on him. Surrounding the armour were other things a warrior might use on a daily basis—a saddle, a chest, and a wooden stand that looked as though it was intended to hold a sword, but which was empty.
“What’s in there?” Solène called.
“Come and see. It’s safe. I think.”
He heard her come in behind him as he took a closer look at the armour. It was made from Telastrian steel, something he had never seen before. He had never known it to be used for anything other than blades—until he had found the Cup. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the value of an entire suit of armour made from the precious metal. What was more, the workmanship was magnificent. It wasn’t of a fashionable style, but if it fit him, it would likely serve him far better than the scorched suit packed in his saddlebags.
As if the natural beauty of the metal was not enough, the armour was finely engraved and inlaid with a brighter metal that Guillot took to be silver. It seemed that whatever magic had kept the place secure for so long had stopped the metal from tarnishing.
“There’s another chamber behind the next statue,” she said. “And the one after. I think it’s safe to assume there’s one behind each of them. What do you think they were for?”
“This looks like Valdamar’s private chamber, where he kept his war gear when he wasn’t using it,” Guillot said. “I suppose they each had their own room. I’d still like to know why it’s here at all, under my family home.”
“What’s in the chest?” Solène said.
Guillot lifted the lid with his foot, expecting a crossbow bolt to whizz out of a hole in the wall. The chest creaked open, but there was no bolt.
“Papers,” he said, with disappointment. “In perfect condition, though. Like everything else here.”
Solène walked to the chest and picked over them. “This is a diary,” she said. “Valdamar’s personal diary.”
“I’m sure there are minstrels who would pay a king’s ransom to get their hands on that! The forgotten stories would keep them in pride of place at any court in the country for the rest of their days.”
“A king’s ransom isn’t what I’m interested in right now,” Solène said. “If you’ve anything you want to do, this might take me a little while.” She sat cross-legged next to the chest and took out a sheaf of papers.
“No,” he said, sitting beside her. “You can give me the highlights as you go.”
CHAPTER 46
Guillot left her and wandered around the chamber as Solène read in silence. Either Valdamar hadn’t been particularly fastidious in recounting his great deeds, or there wasn’t much worth repeating in his papers. His equipment was interesting, however. There was a clutch of finely made spears with heads of Telastrian steel, barbed in a style he hadn’t seen before. He felt a pang of disappointment as he stared at the vacant space on the sword stand. He would have loved to get his hands on Valdamar’s sword. Solène cleared her throat to get his attention, then spoke.
“There’s only a little bit about the ritual, as best I can see, but I know why all of this is here.”
“Really?”
“There was a castle here once. This was the Chevaliers’ hall, where they were initiated, where they kept their equipment and prepared for battle. The initiation rite wasn’t an initiation rite at all. Well, it was, but its effect was short-lived, and the ceremony had to be repeated each time they went out to face a dragon. The mages must really have been worried about the Chevaliers growing too powerful.”