It occurred to her that she might not need a good reason to go back to Bastelle. A childhood home—and a family—that she’d run away from for fear of being burned at the stake was always going to provoke illogical, emotional responses. Bastelle was only a day or two east from where the dragon Guillot had killed had been attacking. She could claim she needed to see the place, the people, to confirm to herself that they were alive and well. Of course, there was the possibility that the town had been destroyed during the dragon’s rampage. That seemed unlikely—word of it would surely have gotten as far as Trelain—but the possibility couldn’t be dismissed. She supposed she could claim the destruction had happened after her visit, and call on her dramatic skills in a showy display of grief to hide her lie, and potentially save her life.
How much simpler it would all have been if Arnoul had left her alone, and she had been able to stay at the bakery in Trelain. There was a time, back in Bastelle, when she had fed her imagination with the books from the village’s church library. Back then, the idea of a simple life—the only life that everyone around her seemed to be able to comprehend—had filled her with dread. The books had told tales of cities filled with great lords and ladies, universities and libraries larger than the village, places where people from all over the world met, mixed, and exchanged news and ideas from places she had never even heard of. She had been to those cities and libraries now, but wished for that naive enthusiasm again, when she had thought of the world as a place of wonder and excitement.
A visit back to her hometown it was, then. While the story had flaws, most of them could be explained away. She continued to mull it over as she rode, growing comfortable with the tale, making it part of herself, almost coming to believe it.
“I’d say it could eat you whole,” Beausoleil said.
“Leave him alone,” Guillot said. They trotted along the road in silence for a moment before he felt the urge to justify himself. “I tried to talk him out of it. He wanted to come anyway. Takes more guts than most have.”
“Or a measure less common sense,” Beausoleil said. “What’s his name, anyway?”
Guillot realised he didn’t know. “Lad” had served well enough up to that point. He looked at the youth, who, true to his word, had bought a pony and travelling kit, and managed to wash off some of the dirt and smell of the stable, which was a welcome change.
“Val,” the youngster said.
“Like Valentin?” Beausoleil said.
“No,” the boy said sullenly.
Beausoleil had been teasing Guillot’s new “squire” since they’d left Trelain, and it was starting to get on Gill’s nerves. It was the type of banter and ribaldry that Academy students typically indulged in, particularly those who felt they had something to prove. Some never quite grew out of the behaviour, and it seemed Beausoleil was one of those. For someone unaccustomed to it, like the stable boy, Gill could see how the treatment might feel grating.
“What, then?” Guillot said, curious now himself.
“Valdamar.”
Beausoleil let out a guffaw, and Guillot cringed.
“Valdamar?” Beausoleil said. “Big shoes to fill, those.”
“Not so big as you might think,” Guillot said. The boot plates from Valdamar’s armour were in his saddlebags, and they fit him almost perfectly.
Beausoleil gave him a curious look.
“Never mind,” Guillot said.
“It strikes me that we’re travelling a little light,” Beausoleil said, switching his attention from the former stable boy to the leader of their little expedition.
“We’ll have lances and spears made in Venne. Any carpenter or pole turner will be able to make up what we need. No point in carrying them all the way there. I have Telastrian spearpoints to fit on them so they’ll be effective against the dragons.”
“Telastrian spearpoints?” Beausoleil said.
Gill shrugged. He had taken them from the chamber under his ruined manor before killing the first dragon, but there was no reason to reveal that. “The Chevaliers had some old dragon-hunting equipment left. I took what I thought might be useful.”
Beausoleil nodded, looking impressed. “I’ve always wanted a Telastrian blade. To think someone wasted the steel on spearheads.”
“Necessity, I imagine,” Gill said. “They proved handy last time. It wouldn’t hurt to have some more hands to put them in, though.”
“You think we’ll be able to find more men there?”
“I think so,” Guillot said. They had seen a number of riders on the road who were making all speed in the direction of Venne. Only one type of man rode toward danger, so Gill reckoned there would be at least a few bannerets there interested in joining him.
“I’d be happier if we had some backup people,” Beausoleil said. “There are only so many lances young Valdamar here will be able to carry.” He gave a mischievous smile. “I’m sure the name is burden enough already. But enough of that. I’ve been wondering, how does one actually go about killing a dragon? Charge in, lance leading the way, close your eyes and pray it strikes true?”
Guillot shrugged. “Didn’t get to try that, as far as I can recall. Admittedly, the memory is a bit hazy. Got my bell rung a couple of times that day. Telastrian steel will get through its hide. Can’t say the same for regular steel. Might work, but I didn’t have any luck. Anyway, if we’re there to protect the town, the least they can do is lend us a hand with the details. To answer your question: bait them out, then kill them as fast as we can, however we can.”
He thought it judicious to keep the fact that he might be able to track them by unconventional means to himself for the time being. “My Telastrian blade and the spearheads are the best assets we have, but against a younger dragon, regular steel might work too. There’s only one way we’ll find that out.” Gill chewed his lip as he wondered how much to reveal. As if it knew his thoughts, he became aware of the weight of the Cup in the purse on his hip.
Beausoleil nodded thoughtfully, as though he had enough information on the matter to properly consider it.
“There’re other things, too,” Guillot said, “but we can discuss them later. We need to push on. I want to get to Venne before dark.”
CHAPTER 13
The sun had dipped below the horizon by the time they reached Venne, but there was still enough dusky light to take the village in. It looked much like any other village in the rural provinces of Mirabaya—a small number of buildings clustered around a church steeple. It was larger than Villerauvais had been, but was still a long way from being called a town. The countryside surrounding it was lush green pasture, with hills rolling gently toward the mountains that dominated the horizon to the south.
As he stared at the countless peaks where dragons came from, Guillot wondered if this was the new normal, if the time of dragons had returned, if life in these parts would always be lived in the shadow of the beasts. Was this how he was to spend the rest of his life? Hunting and killing them, until one day—perhaps sooner than he might like—when he was a little too careless, or a little too slow, one of them killed him?
“Not much to look at, is it?” Beausoleil said.
“What were you expecting?” Guillot said.
Beausoleil shook his head. “Never been in this part of the country before. Wasn’t sure. It’s very green here. Beausoleil’s not a whole lot farther south. Doesn’t look anything like this, though.”