Solène dismounted and crouched at the riverbank. She scooped up a handful of water, sniffed it, then drank.
“This will do,” she said.
Guillot nodded and dismounted easily. A well-made suit of armour was not nearly so cumbersome as people thought, with the plates fitting the body’s shape and the weight evenly distributed so that when fit and trained, you could wear it for several hours before starting to feel the burden. Valdamar’s armour was on an entirely different level, however. It felt no different from a light suit of summer linen, yet he knew the Telastrian steel would perform better than anything made by the best smiths in Mirabay. He felt like a fraud wearing it—like a boy putting on his father’s shoes and pretending to be a man.
He took the Cup from his purse and handed it to her. How odd to think such a small object could grant such power. She dipped it into the stream, filling it with water, then pulled a reed from the riverbank.
“Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Guillot said.
He stood straight and tried to relax, but his shoulders and chest were tight with tension. She stepped closer, then dipped the tip of the reed into the water. Guillot closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and extended his tongue, as he had when his nanny had administered medicine when he was a child. He did his best not to shudder when he felt the cool droplet hit his tongue. He could hear Solène whispering, but couldn’t make out her words. His heart raced as he waited to feel the magic take effect.
As the rhythmic cadence of Solène’s words continued, Gill wondered if every tick, itch, and sensation he felt had something to do with magic. Eventually she fell silent. He waited a moment longer, then opened one eye. She watched him expectantly.
“Is that it?” he said.
“I’ve finished,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“No different. Did it work?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure I did everything right, but I don’t know how to tell.”
“Is the Cup broken?”
She laughed. “It doesn’t work like that. It takes a lot of effort to destroy something magical. How else do you think all of the magelamps in the city have lasted so long?”
A shiver of concern ran across his skin. What if it hadn’t worked? One way or the other, this would be the last time he would face the dragon. One of them would be dead at the end of the encounter. After sitting around waiting for death for so long, it seemed inconvenient that he would realise his great desire for life so strongly when faced with the task he had.
“Is there any way we can test it?” he said. “Before I go into the cave?”
“You know as much as I do about all of this. I don’t even understand what the words were channelling. I could feel the magic shape, but I don’t know what it will do.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t feel any different.”
“There’s no reason you would,” Solène said, “until the magic starts to affect you, which might only happen when it has to.”
“Like when the dragon’s trying to bite my head off?”
She nodded. “Not an ideal time to be testing it, but that’s the way magic works. We use it and shape it, but we never fully control it. Or understand it.”
“Well, I suppose we should go and find out,” Guillot said.
CHAPTER 47
Alpheratz had waited until he felt the wound beneath his wing was healed enough for prolonged flight before setting off. He was well fed and could go weeks before needing to eat again. Pausing at the mouth of his cave, he looked out across the landscape. He had hatched in the cave, and this view was the first thing he had seen every day of his life. It saddened him to think that the world had moved on, that his place was no longer here, but he had to accept it. Change was the great tragedy of a creature that enjoyed a lifespan measured in millennia.
He spread his wings and grimaced at the tight, painful sensation in his side. It would take some time to loosen the muscle. He stepped into the void and let himself fall until the pressure of the air was enough to carry his weight. He didn’t allow himself a backward glance—there was too much pain and regret, not only at what had happened, but at what he had become.
When he took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, his eyes widened. He smelled something familiar, something that jogged a memory deep in the recesses of his mind. Something he had not smelled since waking. He inhaled deeply again, allowing the scent to fill his nostrils. It was the tang of magic, but a particular flavour of magic. It was a slayer.
His heart raced. Here was a person worthy of his vengeance. Slayers were the root of all the evil that had been brought down on dragonkind. This was a person he could kill, a person whose death would balance the scales of justice.
He glided around in a wide arc, conserving every ounce of energy for the fight to come. Narrowing his eyes, Alpheratz looked down the valley. A long way off, he spotted two riders approaching.
Riding back into the valley to the dragon’s cave was an odd feeling, like repeating an act of stupidity even though you’ve long since realised what a bad idea it was the first time. The fact that he had undergone an ancient magical ritual that might or might not have worked did little to quell the butterflies in Guillot’s stomach, but the sense of foreboding and unfinished business that had lingered with him for days finally felt as though it was being addressed. It was a small mercy, but one he happily clung to.
“What do you think it does?” Guillot said, asking again in the hope an answer would distract him from his anxiety, or at least give him a shred of hope to cling to.
Solène shrugged.
“Best guess?”
She looked at him seriously. “Something that helps you kill a dragon.”
Guillot burst into laughter. It took him a moment to get it under control, his nerves feeding the chuckles. He spotted the stand of trees where they had camped and retreated to, and his laughter came to an abrupt halt. He looked up the mountain to the dark void on its side.
“That’s it,” he said, nodding to it with his head.
“It’s amazing to think a dragon lives there. I’m still not sure I believe it.”
“It’s certainly something that needs to be seen to be believed,” Guillot said, “although I think I could have happily gone to my grave never having had the pleasure.”
“It’s quite a climb to get up there,” Solène said. “Should we rest first?”
Guillot shook his head. “I want to get to it. Brother Hallot gave me a touch of something—energy, or stamina, I think—the last time. If you can repeat that, it will get me up there ready to go.”
“Should be simple enough,” Solène said. “Do you have everything else you need?”
He took one of the Telastrian spears from its fastening on his saddle and checked the edge on its head. It was perfect, as Telastrian steel edges always were, and he hoped it would be of more use than the spear he had hauled up the mountainside the last time. “I think so. Come with me as far as the mouth of the cave so you can get rid of the fatigue after the climb.”
“I can do more than that,” she said.
“I’m sure you can, but who’s the anointed dragonslayer? Enough people have died up there already. If everything works as it’s supposed to, I won’t need your help. If I do, well, then you’ll have another opportunity to earn the dragonslayer title for yourself. I want you to head straight back down to the valley’s entrance. If I don’t join you by nightfall, I won’t be coming. Get straight back to Mirabay and make sure that bastard Amaury sends an army to deal with it once and for all.”