The other officer had continued, saying that the general had returned to his tent and wept as he wrote a letter to the boys’ mother, telling her that he would not be bringing any of their sons home with him. It was grit, and knowing the full story, Gill had remained moved by it for the rest of his life.
As one of the farmhands led Guillot, Beausoleil, and Val from site to site, clearly terrified to be visiting the locations of the recent dragon attacks, Gill did his best to maintain the general’s sangfroid. From time to time, he would jump down from his horse and inspect the scorch marks on the ground, or kneel next to a talon print and prod it with a twig as though it was revealing something important to him. It was all for show, but he knew that giving people confidence was as much a part of his job as killing the dragons. Even if the people were killed, there was nothing worse than living out your last days in terror. At least if he did his best, he could give them hope.
There were titbits to be gleaned from what was left behind. The prints on the ground definitely indicated that these beasts were smaller than the one he had already dealt with, but not by much. They grew fast. At the location of the most recent attack, they found some remains of the dragons’ last meal. They were so mangled, and there was so little left, Gill couldn’t tell if they were human or animal. Either way, he didn’t think anyone would be eager to come out and collect them for burial.
“Whose farm is this?” Gill asked their guide.
“Louis’s. He came down to the village when the attacks started. That isn’t him.”
“That’s something, at least,” Gill said. He didn’t know what fate awaited Louis now that his entire herd had been slaughtered. For a peasant farmer, loss of their herd might be as bad an injury as death.
“What do you think?” Beausoleil said, speaking for the first time that morning.
Gill gave him a solemn look. “I think there was a dragon here a while ago.”
Val let out a laugh, and Beausoleil cast him a filthy look.
“What I think,” Gill said, “is that whichever dragon left this print is smaller than the last one I fought, and that’s a good thing. That there are two more of about the same size, and that they seem to enjoy each other’s company, is a very bad thing.”
“You think we’ll be able to manage?” Beausoleil asked.
Gill shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Particularly if we’re able to pick up another blade or two from the assemblage in the village. If we can separate the beasts, I’d rate our chances as pretty good. I think we should head back and set the village carpenter and smith to work. I have to ride out with Edine to speak with the local seigneur, so I’ll leave that to you.”
He had taken the precaution of using the Cup that morning, before leaving his room at the tavern. He wasn’t ready to reveal it yet, and eased a guilty conscience that he was protecting himself and not them with the thought that if they were attacked, he could hold the beast off while they retreated back to the village. He hadn’t had any sense that there was a dragon close by, but he knew that didn’t necessarily mean there wasn’t one—he still wasn’t fully sure of everything the Cup did, what was real, and what he’d imagined. He looked toward the mountains, seeing mist starting to descend from them. Such fogs had been common in Villerauvais at the same time of year. Anyone who got caught in it would be wet, cold, and miserable in a few minutes.
The fire in the tavern’s taproom was a very welcoming prospect by comparison, and he needed some time to consider the task they had ahead of them. He turned to their farmhand guide. “I think we’ve seen enough. We can return now.”
The city looked much as it had when she left. Though a lot had changed for her, a great city was almost timeless in the way it slowly evolved, oblivious of the toils of those who lived within its walls. Centred on an island in the middle of the River Vosges, it spilled over the isle’s confines and spread out over both the north and south banks. Mirabay was a splendour of white limestone and slate roofs, all observed silently by the palace with its cone-topped towers and streaming banners, on the high ground of the south bank.
Solène nervously approached the gate, wondering if the guards would be looking for her. A stream of people were passing in and out, as they had been the first time she came to the city. There was no sign of the panic Guillot had feared would spread with word of the dragon.
She urged her horse on. As she grew closer, Solène wondered if she’d overestimated her importance, and if all her concerns were nothing more than narcissistic paranoia. The guards made no attempt to stop her—they barely even gave her a second glance.
The next test would be at the Priory. If they knew she had been with Leverre and taken part in the killing of other members of the Order, they would hardly expect her to return. They would recognise her on sight, though, and things could go badly wrong if they tried to arrest her. Did she have it in her to defend herself if she had to? She couldn’t answer that. She thought about hiding somewhere and sending word to Seneschal dal Drezony, who she felt certain would help her.
She shook her head. She had no reason to doubt that Leverre had left a letter behind. The story of her journey home was plausible enough, especially if dressed up in sentiment and irrational emotion.
The Priory was in the city’s northern ward, which meant having to pass the whole way through, crossing the bridges that linked the isle with the two banks. There were few other points at which to get over to the north bank, one of the reasons Mirabay was situated where it was. Solène took her time, trying to behave as just another citizen going about the day’s business. A bill posted on a wall caught her attention when she neared one of the bridges to the island. In bold lettering were the words DRAGON SLAIN.
She went over and scanned the short notice, which stated that the beast had been killed by a team sent on the king’s behalf. It assured the people that the land was safe and that there would be a more detailed announcement from the palace in due course. There were no details, no mention of anything that was actually of interest to Solène. She wondered how much the king and Prince Bishop actually knew.
With nothing further to be gleaned from the notice, she continued on her way, more relaxed now that she’d spent some time in the city without any problems. It didn’t take her long to pass through the heart of the city to the north bank. From there, the building density decreased until she reached the walled compound occupied by the Order. Once she went inside, there was no turning back. She took a deep breath and rang the bell to notify the gatehouse.
It took a moment for the door to open, revealing a young novice. Solène drew back her travelling cloak to reveal her initiate’s robe, and he stepped back to let her in. She headed straight for dal Drezony’s office. Despite her misgivings as to what the Prince Bishop really intended for the Order, Solène liked the Priory. In bustling, hectic Mirabay, it was a serene place where calm and contemplation ruled, barring the occasional explosion when magical experimentation went too far.
Committed to her path, she knocked on dal Drezony’s door.
The seneschal opened it a moment later, not looking at all well. Solène frowned. “Is everything all right?”
“Solène?” dal Drezony said, ignoring her question. “I was worried. Where have you been?”
Solène shrugged. “It’s a long story. I went back to Bastelle. It’s near the dragon attacks. I had to see for myself if everyone was all right.”