“Here it is!” Edine reappeared and handed him a plump leather bag, bulging with coins. It wasn’t as large as he’d hoped, but it would have to do. He took the bag just as Val returned with Gill’s spooked horse. Gill mounted quickly.
“Get into the church. Wait for me to give the all-clear.” With that, he galloped off, his horse’s hooves clattering on the cobbles above the sound of roaring flame. He nestled the coin bag between his legs and the saddle’s pommel, with the top open. He had no idea how sensitive the beasts were to gold—if they could smell it or if they needed to see it. He hoped it was the former, but took a handful of coins out, and when one of the dragons passed over him, he flung them in the air.
Once out of the village, he cast a glance back and saw a great dark shape in the air turning to follow him. He let out a laugh of satisfaction, which momentarily displaced the terror in his gut. There hadn’t been time for the Cup. A jet of flame sizzled past to his left, his only saving grace being that the young dragon’s aim wasn’t good. He hoped the second dragon was on the scent too, and wondered briefly where the third one reported was—hopefully not somewhere down the road waiting for him.
He swerved off the road and into a grassy pasture. Although the night was clear, it would be easy for him to miss a rabbit hole that could be the end of him and his horse. He felt the animal start to labour as a fireball erupted ahead. The horse needed barely any guidance from him to avoid it, but Gill knew he couldn’t push his mount much longer. He took the bag of coins and slung it as far into the night as he could, then wheeled the horse around and started back toward the village, where he could see flames burning bright.
“Just a little farther,” he said to the mare, hoping she could understand him. He had no idea if his plan would draw the beasts away from the village, or for how long. He could only hope that the gold would provide enough of a distraction to leave the town in peace for the rest of the night. In the morning, he could get started making sure it didn’t happen again.
CHAPTER 20
Amaury sometimes wondered if killing the last king had been a good idea. While the old man had grown increasingly belligerent and obstinate, aging had robbed him of some of the faculties that had made the earlier part of his reign such a success. The last several years, when Amaury encountered the king’s opposition, it would have been easier trying to knock down the city walls with his head than win an argument. So he had removed the obstacle, in the hope that the king’s young, bon-vivant son would continue in the ways of his youth and busy himself with the pleasures of his kingdom, rather than the running of it.
That had proved to be a miscalculation. While the young king’s capacity for excess remained unchecked, he still somehow found his way to his desk well before noon each day and went through all his paperwork by the time he rose for supper. Then he spent most evenings entertaining himself before collapsing into bed, often with company.
That morning, by the time the monarch had finished his morning toilet, the citizens of Mirabay had been listening to the town criers for some time; those who were literate had learned more from reading the bills posted on walls and notice boards across the city. The king had saved them from the ravages of a dragon by training an order of warrior mages. Magic was back, a necessary evil in the face of the great dangers threatening the good people of Mirabaya. They had new heroes, new protectors, and they could sleep soundly at night, knowing that these brave men and women were defending them from things that came out only in the dark.
Amaury felt that it was one of his finer pieces of rhetoric, but he knew that wouldn’t make any difference when Boudain discovered what had been done in his name. The summons had come before lunch; Amaury made his way through the palace as slowly as he could, not wanting to make it appear the king could make him rush. He could hear shouting from the king’s office as soon as he entered the corridor that led to it. Whether the monarch’s anger was genuine or for effect, Amaury could not tell—and it might not make a difference. With the king’s name attached to the proclamation, he was as likely to feel the flames reserved for sorcerers as Amaury was.
The Prince Bishop had known he was risking all when he penned the announcement the previous night, but it seemed the gods had smiled on him, for he had received good news before dawn.
One of the king’s attendants waited outside the office door; he showed Amaury straight in. The king sat at his desk, with his steward standing at his shoulder. Opposite the king sat Chancellor Renaud, Commander Canet of the City Watch, and one of the king’s generals, whose name escaped Amaury—all stone-faced.
“What’s the meaning of this?” King Boudain demanded, holding up a copy of the proclamation.
From the look of the paper, it had been torn from a wall. Amaury briefly wondered what had happened to the handwritten copy he’d given to the steward the night before, then focussed on the tasks before him—soothing the king and protecting the Order.
“It’s the announcement proclaiming the Order of the Golden Spur as the new champion of the people. A politic way to place them, I thought,” Amaury said, as casually as he could. “We had discussed this, and I felt that with rumours spreading through the city, I needed to move quickly. The opportunity was there. It needed to be seized. I did send word…”
“You are the First Minister of Mirabaya,” the king said, his voice rising with anger. “You do not so much as sneeze without my permission.”
“If I sought out permission for every decision I make as first minister, very little would get done. Rubbish collectors would not get paid. The City Watch,” he said, gesturing to the commander of the City Watch, who sat silently, watching his ruler and the head of the church duelling with each other, “would not get paid. The army would not get paid. Management of a kingdom requires delegation, Highness, and I am here to see that you are not troubled by the minor things that need to be dealt with as they arise.”
“Announcing that the Crown has embraced the use of magic is not the same as signing off on the weekly payrolls,” Boudain said. His voice wavered and the vein in his temple pulsed with anger.
Amaury looked pointedly at the steward. “I called at the king’s apartments last evening, when the issue first became pressing, did I not?”
The steward hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Amaury turned back to the king.
“You requested I notify you. I did exactly that. The information was in your possession. The matter was time-sensitive, as I warned you it would become.”
“Do you think you fool me, your Grace, by paying lip service to my commands? Would it have been so difficult to wait an hour or two?” Boudain said, his voice full of fury.
“I believe it would, Majesty,” Amaury said. “You know how quickly people react to rumour in this city. By breakfast, the opportunity would have passed. Credit for your great victory would have passed to someone else, and the chance to announce your order of warrior mages might never come again.”
“It’s the wrong time, Highness,” the chancellor said.
Many of Amaury’s responsibilities had been usurped from the chancellor’s office during his predecessor’s term, and Renaud hated Amaury for it. Their relationship was a constant war of competing authority. To date, Amaury had won all the battles, but the chancellor was a tenacious and proud man. He might have to be dealt with once Amaury had the Cup.