“Let them in, if they wish to speak to me,” Guillot said.
The innkeeper cast a look back, then gave Gill a forced smile and nod before stepping aside.
The lead member of the party approached Guillot, while her comrades remained by the door, taking in the luxury of their surroundings with open mouths.
“My Lord,” the woman said. “My name is Edine. I’m the mayor of a village called Venne.”
It seemed he was popular with mayors this morning. Guillot searched his memory, and vaguely recalled a village by that name a few valleys over from Villerauvais.
“Guillot dal Villerauvais at your service. What brings you to Trelain, Mayor?”
She looked about nervously. “Dragons, my Lord.”
“I can assure you, it’s dead,” Guillot said, turning to gesture to the stable yard where the head resided.
“No, my Lord. Dragons.”
The polite smile on Guillot’s face fell away as her words sank in. He took a long inhale, composing himself, before speaking.
“Dragons, you say? As in, more than one?”
She nodded. “Yes, my Lord. I’ve seen three of them at the same time. They’ve attacked every night for a week. Cattle, sheep. People.”
Guillot’s stomach turned over. He knew why she was bringing this news to him, and the memory of how one dragon very nearly killed him was still fresh in his mind.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance they’re small dragons?”
She nodded, and Gill felt a wave of relief.
“They were small at first, my Lord, no bigger than a horse. But they’ve been growing fast. They’re bigger every time they’re seen. They attack, they feed, they get bigger. Much bigger.”
The relief washed away as quickly as it had come. He waved for the waiter.
“I’m sure you and your people have had a long journey,” Guillot said to Edine. “You must be thirsty? Hungry?”
“I wouldn’t say no to something, my Lord. My friends the same.”
“Bring these people something to eat and drink,” Guillot said, turning to the waiter. “Whatever they want.”
The waiter hesitated for a moment.
“It’s all on the Prince Bishop’s account,” Guillot said. “You can bring me a glass of Lower Loiron.”
“Right away, my Lord.”
Gill grimaced. A little stressful news, and his instinct was to reach for the bottle. He took a deep breath. “Actually, forget the wine.”
He wanted to tell this woman that the dragons were not his problem, that the king, the Prince Bishop, the duke, would protect them, but he knew they would not. If he sent Edine to any of those men, all it would do was delay the matter. They would end up knocking on his door, wherever that turned out to be. He wondered if this was his lot now, to be a dragonslayer. It did not fill him with enthusiasm.
When he looked across the small table at Edine, he could see Jeanne’s earnest eyes looking back at him. The tavern keeper in Villerauvais was now no more than dust, a fate he had not been able to stop. If there was even a chance he could prevent the same from happening to Edine and her people, there was no question of refusing to help her. Shame had followed him long enough.
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. “It’s my help you want?”
She nodded.
“It must have taken you a day or two to get here. How did you find out about my slaying the other dragon so soon?”
“We came seeking the duke’s help. We heard what you’d done when we got here, and reckoned you were the man to see.”
He thought it over for a moment. He knew how to use the Cup now, knew the benefits it brought him. He also had the experience of dealing with a dragon behind him. Men had made their living as dragonslayers in the past—he could see no reason why he might not do the same. A few more months of regular practice and some active living and he’d be able to call himself in good shape.
Also, it wasn’t as if he was going into this alone. For one, he’d need Solène’s help, both in conducting the Cup ritual and in fixing his broken bits after the fact. Surely others would happily accept the risks and add their swords to his.
Who, though? His mind flicked back to dal Sason’s deceit, and Gill found himself wishing for some of his men from the old days—Mauvin, Barnot, Vincin, among others. Some of them had tried to contact him over the years, but he was too shamed by his disgrace to respond. He never thought he’d come to regret that, but he had no idea where any of them were now, or if they even still lived. Finding new men, competent men, and learning to trust them would be a challenge.
Guillot realised that Edine was staring at him intently.
“I should add,” she said, “that there are no villages between Venne and Trelain. When they are done with us, they’ll come here.”
Three of them unleashed on Trelain was a terrifying prospect. Stopping them then would be impossible without causing death and destruction on a major scale. There was no way he could refuse her request, so he nodded.
“I can’t promise you anything, other than that I’ll do my best. If that’s good enough for you, then I’ll help.”
She broke into a relieved smile. “Thank you, my Lord. Thank you. We’ll be in your debt.”
She stood, but he gestured for her to sit again. “Please, wait for your food. It will take me a little time to get my affairs in order.” He wondered how long Solène would need. “I should be ready to leave the day after tomorrow. Do you and your people have somewhere to stay for the night?”
“I’m sure we can find somewhere,” she said. “A stable, or barn, or some such.”
Guillot smiled. “I don’t think there’ll be any need for that.” He knew for a fact there were only one or two other guests at the inn, and he had few pleasures in life more enjoyable than running up a bill at the Prince Bishop’s expense. Though he tried to make the most of the contented feeling that brought, his good humour soured. He wondered how Solène would take the news.
CHAPTER 8
Luther was at the bar in the Three Trees when Amaury returned, watching, as always, for clients old and new, and anyone worth putting on his roster of sell-swords. He nodded as Amaury approached, and without a word, both men headed into the snug, where they could talk without fear of being overheard.
“I have to admit I was a little worried when you first gave me the name,” Luther said. “I made a few inquiries though—”
Amaury’s face darkened, and Luther held up a hand.
“All discreet. Nothing that can be traced back. You don’t get to where I am by making mistakes.”
Amaury nodded.
“Anyhow, it gave me enough to put a plan together,” Luther said. “He’s spent years at the bottom of a bottle—”
“You’d be a fool to underestimate him.”
Luther held up his hands again. “I don’t underestimate anyone, but I know men like him. He’s been surviving on the memory of better times, and we can use that.
“I’ve found a fellow who will be able to get close enough to dal Villerauvais to get the job done.” Luther waved to a man at the bar—one of his heavies. A moment later, the man returned, ushering another into the snug.