He studied his companions. Val had gone the colour of milk and Gill suspected it was everything the lad could do to hold down his breakfast. Gill wondered if he still thought being a squire and working toward being a banneret was a good idea. Probably not. In that moment, shovelling horse dung didn’t seem like such a bad career choice, even to Gill. Beausoleil and Cabham both had the set jaws of men who were afraid, but had faced that fear before and survived it. They weren’t boasting that morning, which was something—Gill always appreciated the small mercies. He realised his concern for the others was nothing more than his own coping mechanism for the fear that was gnawing away at his gut. It frustrated him—he wanted his anger to outweigh his terror, but it had not.
No amount of anger could shake his deep-rooted horror at the prospect of riding out to once again face a creature out of nightmare. He couldn’t help but recall the heat and choking smoke of the cavern the first time they had encountered the dragon, of being unable to see the deaths of the men with him, but hearing it in excruciating detail. Of Sergeant Doyenne draining the life from herself to give her surviving comrades the chance to escape. The memories were seared into his mind.
They had not gone far before he noticed the first sensation. It was similar to the feeling he’d had the last time, but it seemed to be stronger now. Perhaps that was due to the repetition of the ritual?
He tried to focus on the sensation, but it felt as though it was pulling him in several directions at once. It took him a moment to conclude that the feeling indicated each dragon individually, but that concept was quickly scotched when he felt a fourth tug, coming from Venne. Might there be more than three dragons? If there were three, he supposed there could be four, perhaps more. If that was the case, it was time to ride back to Mirabay to tell the king to reestablish the Silver Circle, and fast.
They followed a herdsman’s trail into the foothills until mid-morning, with Gill trying to fine-tune his sense of where the beasts might be. The others were silent, perhaps concentrating on their own sensations, perhaps simply trying to appear unafraid. Either way, they were all lost in their thoughts. The directional sensations remained confused, although they seemed to be growing stronger.
He decided that if they hadn’t found something to go on—a carcass or tracks—by noon, he would find an animal to kill and use as bait. There was no more gold to be had in Venne, but the scent of blood should attract the beasts. He would feel a fool if some of the other adventurers beat them to the kill, but the goal was to save the village, not win more fame by adding to his tally of slain dragons.
Stopping his horse, Guillot took a moment to survey the countryside they had been riding through. It was a beautiful landscape; green and fertile, laced with rivers and dotted with forests. He imagined it burning, strewn with the half-devoured carcasses of people and animals. As he urged his horse on, Gill tried to push the thought from his head. A wave of nervous energy coursed through him, so strong that he thought he would vomit. If that wasn’t a warning, what was?
CHAPTER 23
“Get ready,” Gill shouted.
“For what?” Beausoleil said.
“It’s coming.”
The other three wheeled their horses around, searching the sky for their quarry, but there was nothing to be seen. Gill looked about frantically, his helmet narrowing his field of vision, even with the visor up. Nothing. Was the tugging feeling simply a side effect of the Cup? Had he gotten the ritual wrong? His question was answered by the sound of crunching from ahead of them. There was an escarpment a little farther up the trail. A head appeared from behind it, similar to the first dragon’s, though this one was smaller and a deep bottle green, rather than black. The creature fixed its gaze on the hunting party.
“Gods alive,” Beausoleil said. “It’s big.”
It was. Smaller than the first, for sure, but far bigger than Gill had hoped. He did his best to be positive. “It could be much bigger,” he said.
The creature continued to stare at them. It seemed to lack the chilling intelligence and expressiveness the other one had possessed.
“Spread out and be ready to charge it,” Gill said. “Wait for my word.”
Their position on the trail was far from ideal for a charge on horseback, but if they surrounded the beast, they could advance slowly, trap it against the escarpment, and slay it.
“What should I do?” Val said.
There was more grit in his voice than Gill had expected, and certainly more than he felt himself. “Stay behind me. Keep me between you and the dragon.”
The dragon remained still, flicking its gaze from one to the other as they moved to surround it. If it was in any way concerned, it didn’t show it. He tried to see if its scales were any less armour-like than its predecessor’s, but it was impossible to tell, and he had no great enthusiasm for the idea of trying to get a closer look.
“Steady now,” he said. “We want to corner it against the rock. Don’t do anything to spook it.”
One of the horses scuffed a rock with its hoof. The dragon’s head snapped to the sound and it let out a hiss. Gill winced in anticipation, but there was no flame. In another few seconds, they’d have it surrounded. Despite his helm, he could hear Val struggling to control his horse. He dared not look back to see what was happening. The horse let out a whinny and Gill could hear it rear and scrabble back. Val grunted and Gill cursed between gritted teeth. He hoped the lad had spent as much time riding horses as he had clearing up after them—he hadn’t thought to ask. He and the others all rode warhorses, trained to cope with noise and the chaos of battle. He hadn’t asked where Val had acquired—
The dragon moved before Gill had time to finish the thought. It burst into motion with speed that would shame a thousand-crown horse. Gill was unseated and lying on his back on the ground before his brain had fully registered the movement—it was even faster than the one Gill had killed. The wind had been knocked from his lungs, and he gasped, trying to breathe and stand up at the same time.
A tail swipe as soon as he got to his feet sent him flailing through the air long enough to feel victimised by the fact that out of three armoured targets, he was the only one to have been hit, and had been so twice. He hit the ground again with a crunch of armour, but was unhurt.
Gill looked back in the direction he’d come from. The dragon was approaching Val slowly, like a cat stalking its prey.
“To me, lad! To me!” Guillot shouted as he scrambled to his feet.
Val had managed to still his horse—either that or it was so terrified that it was unable to move. Everyone seemed frozen in place. Gill could see Beausoleil and Cabham staring with a mixture of horror and fascination as the beast approached Val. Looking around frantically, Gill spotted his horse, along with his lance, too far away to be of any help. He drew his sword and started to run, but as the dragon paced ever closer, he knew he would be too late.
Cabham was the only one close enough to Val to be of use.
“Cabham!” Gill shouted. “Protect Val!”
If Cabham could get between Val and the dragon, he could keep the beast engaged while Beausoleil charged it from the side and give Gill time to get into a useful position. Even if Beausoleil’s lance couldn’t get past the scales, Gill would be able to strike with his Telastrian sword and they could all go home healthy and better for the experience.
There could be no doubt that Cabham had heard Gill—their eyes met. Don’t freeze, Gill thought. But instead of charging into the dragon’s path, he backed his horse away, then turned and galloped in the other direction. Val was locked in place, his gaze fixed on the dragon, apparently mesmerised by the creature.