“What’s wrong?” Edine said.
“How far are we from the manor house?”
“It’s just over the next rise. A few minutes at most. Why?”
“It might be nothing. I’m not sure.” He concentrated for a moment longer, but the sensation had passed. “I think it’s safe to continue.”
“Can you tell when a dragon is close?”
He didn’t want to tell anyone about the Cup, so he said, “No, nothing like that. Just instinct.”
She nodded, and he smiled inwardly at having added to his warrior mystique. They continued on, slower now, as he kept every sense alert for a dragon. The mist that he had seen from afar earlier now swirled around them. It wasn’t thick enough to make him worry they might lose their way, but there was enough to allow something unpleasant to lurk in the gloom. As he had suspected, the fog was cold and damp, and the sooner they reached the house, the better.
It was always important to show due respect to the local lord. It would be rude not to, and it could cause problems farther down the road. Best to pay lip service to formality, and then get on with what needed to be done.
The manor house loomed out of the mist, and Gill could immediately tell that there was something wrong. As they grew closer, the damage became visible, and Gill realised that some of what he had taken to be mist was actually smoke.
“Gods alive,” Edine said.
Gill drew his sword, more out of habit than from fear of an immediate threat. The place had the still, dead atmosphere of a location where things had already occurred; the world had already moved on.
“Wait here,” he said. He urged his horse on toward the house. Scorch marks on the walls made it clear what had happened. Gill rode slowly around the building, watching the drifting clouds of mist and tendrils of smoke for anything they might be concealing. When he had completed his circuit, he sheathed his sword.
“I can’t see any signs of life,” he said. “You’re sure all those people were still here?”
“They’d have had to pass through the village to leave the area. No one saw them do that, so they must still be here. You think a dragon attacked the house?”
“It looks that way. I’ll go inside and take a look around,” Gill said. “Wait here and keep your eyes open. It might still be in the area.”
Gill dismounted and walked to the front door. It swung open to the touch, and his heart sank. The inside of the building had been smashed apart, as though the dragon had burned and broken through the roof, then forced its way down, tearing through the floors and any walls that weren’t built of solid stone. The remains of a person—a man, to judge by the clothing—lay on the hall floor, the legs and a significant portion of his torso missing. Gill stepped carefully around the remains and the slick of blood as he moved deeper into the manor.
Wood panelling had been torn from the walls and scattered about in chunks and splinters. There were scorch marks everywhere, but it was a raking claw mark in the plaster finish on one of the remaining walls that confirmed to Gill what had done this. The only light in the gloomy interior came from smouldering heaps of ash and glowing embers, or from rents in the exterior walls that let in the fading, misty daylight. He pushed past a door that was hanging from its hinges and was greeted by the smell of charred flesh. He could make out three bodies in this room, burned beyond any hope of recognition.
This was what had happened at Villerauvais. What had happened to his home, his people. The thought made him want to throw up. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand and backed out.
Edine and Val were waiting for him outside, concerned looks on their faces.
“Is anyone left alive?” Edine said.
“Not as far as I can tell. The house has been destroyed and everyone in it killed. We should get back to the village. The bodies can be collected and given a proper burial later.”
“Banneret dal Villerauvais, I was hoping I might have a word with you?”
The Humberlander. He had approached Gill the moment they’d gotten back to the village. Guillot stopped, turned, and forced a smile, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. It may have looked a casual pose to the uninformed observer, but the movement served to push the handle forward, making it quicker to reach.
“Certainly,” Guillot said, studying the face to see if it bore any similarity to one in his mental catalogue of men he had killed. It was a fruitless exercise—there were many that he’d faced in the heat of battle, or covered by armour, whom he hadn’t gotten a memorable look at.
The Humberlander approached at a half jog. “As I said, my name’s William Cabham. I think you knew my father.”
Guillot tensed.
“It was at the Battle of Carling Bridge.”
Gill killed so many that day that he had never been able to put a number on it. He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m sorry, but it was war.”
Cabham laughed. “Oh, it wasn’t that. You duelled my father outside the Humberland camp. Beat him, but spared his life. Banneret of the Red Alfred Cabham.”
Brow furrowed, Gill dug back into the murk. He remembered a single combat with a blond Humberlander officer, after they’d fought their way across the bridge. He’d been good, but not good enough to match Gill in his prime. He’d spared the man, because the battle had been won at that point. There was no need for any more killing.
“I think I recall,” Gill said. “I’m not sure if I ever knew his name, though.”
“He knew yours. Said you were the most honourable man he’d ever met. The bravest and the best too. He reckoned we’d have won Carling Bridge if it wasn’t for you.”
He wasn’t the only one, Gill thought, but kept it to himself, not sure whether to feel proud or uncomfortable. “How is your father?”
Cabham gave a wry smile and shook his head. “He was killed fighting the Ventish a few years back.”
Gill shrugged. “Soldiering. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Soldiering,” Cabham said, nodding in agreement. “I suppose we’re both here for the same purpose, and I wanted to say that I’d consider it an honour if you let me ride with you.”
“I’m flattered,” Gill said, put on the back foot now that what he was looking for had come to him, “but you have to understand how sensitive a time it is to be partnering with unknown talent.”
“I’d never have thought the contrary,” Cabham said. “I’d be happy to give you a list of my experience. While I realise time is too pressing to allow for references to be checked, there are one or two fellows I’ve served with in the past here at the moment who can vouch for me.”
Gill shrugged. He supposed it didn’t hurt hearing the young man out. “Please, go ahead.”
“I served in the King’s Fourth Infantry Regiment in Humberland for three years after graduating from the Academy. After that, I spent a year as aide de camp to the prince regent, mainly taking care of his hunting requirements, so I have experience tracking and killing dangerous game, including belek. I wanted to see a little more of the world, so I signed on with the Red Company. With them I saw service in Estranza and Auracia. That brings me up to the present. I was in Tarbeaux, on my way home, when I heard about dragons. Hard to walk away from something like that!”
“You’ve a solid list of credentials,” Guillot said, meaning it sincerely. Cabham had certainly packed a lot into his time since leaving the Academy. He needed to take someone on, and here was a young man with a solid career and the right types of experience. “There’s no pay and a high risk. All that you’ll get out of it is a little fame.”