“Fields of sun-drenched vines and lavender stretching down to an azure sea?”
“Pretty much.”
“It rains a lot here. Something to do with the mountains, I expect. Good land for cattle, though. And game.”
“Plenty of food for a hungry dragon. Makes you wonder why they bother with people.”
“Maybe they like the taste?” Val said.
Gill cast him a look and shivered. He preferred to think of the dragons doing what they did because they were mindless beasts that acted on instinct. That they might actively seek out human flesh was a chilling thought.
“Perhaps they don’t see us any differently to cattle,” Gill said, realising he didn’t like that idea any more than Val’s.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Beausoleil said. “It’s simply a bigger and more dangerous type of beast that needs killing. And we’re the men to do it, eh?” He reached out and gave Val a slap on the back, eliciting an uncomfortable smile from the lad.
“Let’s get into town and see about some supper,” Guillot said. “My backside’s killing me and if I get any hungrier, it’ll be me eating the dragons.”
Towns like Venne tended to be sleepy places. Most of the villagers would spend the day working in the fields; the markets and taverns came alive only later, when the toil on the land was finished. Visitors were infrequent, and tended to be welcomed with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. This far from centres of power, bandits were common, and a new arrival was as likely a man intent on theft as an honest traveller with news from other parts.
It came as a surprise, then, to find that Venne was a bustling hive of activity. The men they had seen on the road were only the tip of the blade. Every swordsman in the south of Mirabaya must have been there. Before she left Trelain, Edine, the village’s mayor, had given Gill the name and location of the tavern where their arrival would be expected. Seeing how busy the village was, he hoped that there would still be rooms held for them. Otherwise they’d be relying on campaign tents and bedrolls—not so great an inconvenience so long as the weather held, but they were moving into the autumn now. Guillot and the others dismounted and led their horses along the narrow lanes into the town, at times having to push past groups of men who gave them the inquiring looks of those measuring their competition.
The tavern was easy to find, occupying one side of the small village square. There was no attached stable yard, nor anyone to take their horses. With no alternative, and feeling somewhat guilty, he shrugged and handed his reins to Val. Beausoleil followed suit.
“Watch the horses until we find out what’s what,” Guillot said.
The lad took the reins with eagerness. Gill had expected to be greeted with sullen disappointment at being left out of things, but the boy’s desire to please, to act as Guillot’s squire, made Gill feel doubly guilty.
“Shall we?” he said to Beausoleil.
Beausoleil nodded. He seemed to have regained some of the swagger he had displayed earlier, before the sight of Venne and the significance of the gathering of fighting men had silenced him for a time. Inside, they were greeted by even more curious looks. The taproom was small, but filled to capacity. If even one of the men there was a local, Gill would have been surprised. He wondered how the villagers were responding to the glut of arrivals, and how long it would be before saviours came to be regarded as an unwelcome inconvenience.
They forced their way through to the bar, where a delighted-looking keeper was filling an ale mug from a tapped barrel with one hand, while pouring a cup of wine with the other. Gill cleared his throat to gain attention, then realised that even he hadn’t been able to hear it over the noise of boisterous conversation. The room was filled with men trying to convince one another of how brave they were, and that was never done in hushed tones.
“Barkeep!” Gill said. He had to repeat himself before getting a response. As soon as two more cups and one more mug were filled, delivered, and paid for, the barkeeper made his way over.
“The food is finished, but we’ve ale and wine enough to keep you happy,” he said.
“When did all this lot get here?” Guillot said.
“Started arriving before dawn. Been coming in all day. Word is out. We’ve dragons here, as I’m sure you know. Everyone wants to claim one, just like Guillot the Dragonslayer.”
Guillot’s stomach turned over at the moniker, but he supposed it was only to be expected. At least it rolled off the tongue a little easier than Lord Villerauvais the Dragonslayer.
“Where have you come from?” the barkeeper said.
“I’m looking for Edine,” Guillot said, choosing to ignore the question. “Do you know where I can find her?”
“Across the square, in the mayor’s house. She’s a mite busy, mind. Trying to organise all this lot. Find out who everyone is, what they can do. What they’ll want in return. She’s told me to direct you all to her, but last time I checked the queue, you’d be as well off staying here awhile.” He waved a wine bottle before Guillot. “What can I get you?”
“A room,” Guillot said, finding the noise and the crowd increasingly oppressive.
The barkeeper barked out a laugh, but Guillot cut him short.
“I think Edine asked you to hold rooms for us,” he said. “I’m Gill … the, um, well, she asked me to come to help with the dragon.”
The barkeeper’s eyes widened. “You should let her know you’re here right away. I have two rooms for you. They’re not much, my Lord. They’re usually storerooms, but that’s all that’s left.”
“I’m sure they’ll serve admirably,” Guillot said, trying his best to put the man at ease, and get out of the taproom as quickly as possible.
It was already too late. One or two of the swordsmen closest to Gill had obviously been eavesdropping. A wave of silence, followed by murmuring, spread through the gathering as everyone strained to get a view of the heroic dragonslayer. Beausoleil lapped up the attention. Every jobbing banneret wonders, at some point, what it would be like to be a famed warrior. Pretty much every swordsman who steps into the duelling arena dreams of it. Even for Gill, the appeal of recognition from one’s peers, particularly after so long in the doldrums, was hard to deny.
“I’ve left my squire outside with the horses and baggage,” Guillot said. “Perhaps you could help him have them all squared away, and I’ll pay a call on Edine. Right across the square, you say?”
The barkeeper was still staring at him wide-eyed. “Straight out the door and keep going. Can’t miss it.”
Guillot gave him a nod of thanks. Assuming that Beausoleil had been paying attention, Gill made for the door, shouldering his way through the crowd until he was back out in the evening air. He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. True to the barkeep’s word, there was a queue of men outside the building opposite, leaning casually on the pommels of the swords at their waists in the almost weightless fashion that all Academy students manage to perfect no later than their second term. Guillot tipped the brim of his hat as he passed; the stares he earned held more outrage than curiosity. Some had clearly been waiting far longer than they thought their reputations deserved, and he wondered if he would make it into the mayor’s house without being challenged for queue jumping.
Happily, it seemed that no one wanted to blot their reputation before even catching sight of a dragon, and all swords remained sheathed. The queue continued inside, stopping at an old wooden table, behind which Edine—who, along with her party, had left Trelain well before Gill had—sat, marking a ledger with a wooden-handled copper-nib pen. He suspected he wasn’t the only potential dragonslayer she had called on when in Trelain, and he couldn’t deny that that bruised his ego.