In the village, they headed straight for the tavern, eager for something to wash the tang of smoke and charred flesh from their throats, and for a hot meal to help them recover from the strains of the day. As they approached the building, Gill thought he felt the pull and quickly turned his attention to the sky, a flash of panic sweeping through him. There was nothing up there. He was exhausted; his body was sending him all sorts of unusual signals and sensations, none of them welcome.
“Is something wrong, my Lord?” Val said.
Gill scanned the sky a moment longer, but it was clear. Perhaps the feeling was a sign the Cup’s effects were wearing off. Perhaps he was just so tired he was imagining the sensation. In any event, he couldn’t really tell where it was coming from.
“Nothing,” Gill said. “Let’s get inside.” He was surprised to see that the taproom was empty save for one man sitting at the bar, hunched over a mug of ale.
“Where is everyone?” Gill asked when Gaufre appeared.
“A few were killed yesterday,” Gaufre said, his voice mournful. “A few more today.”
Gill couldn’t work out if the tavern keeper was lamenting the men’s untimely deaths or the fact that they could no longer patronise his tavern. Either way, it was bad luck they had met with the dragons before Gill had gotten there.
“Some have gone home,” Gaufre continued with a shrug. “Too dangerous for them. Others are still out in the field. I expect it will get busy later.”
“I expect it will,” Gill said, feeling his second question had been answered without his having to ask it. “We’ll take some hot food and water as fast as you can rustle it up.”
They took a table near the fire. Guillot had always preferred empty taverns, where there was less to distract him from his drinking and his self-loathing. As the warmth from the fire soaked into his stiff muscles, Gill tried to get his head around the idea that he had to go out first thing in the morning and do it all again. He wondered how many times he could go dragon hunting before his luck ran out.
He stretched out his shoulder, allowing the heat to do its work. As Gaufre brought the food, the door opened, and a man wrapped in a cloak, topped with a wide-brimmed hat, walked in. Judging by the firelight reflecting on the beads of water covering his cloak like tiny red jewels, it was drizzling outside. The man looked about the place, his gaze stopping on Gill.
“Captain?”
Gill frowned.
The man removed his hat and pushed back his cloak. He was thinner than Gill remembered, and a bit older, but there was no mistaking him.
“Barnot? Sergeant Barnot?”
“As I live and breathe. What brings you to this armpit of nowhere, Captain?”
Gaufre shot Barnot an unappreciative look. Gill had no doubt he was calculating how much money the new arrival might have, and if he could make up for the day’s loss of custom. If the coin was good enough, anything could be forgiven.
“The same thing I expect brought you here,” Gill said, his pleasure at encountering a friendly face filling his voice. “Come, sit with us. Gaufre! Bring another plate! A mug of ale too.”
Barnot sat with a nod of thanks.
“How long has it been, Barnot?” Gill said, delighted to see a man he knew he could rely on.
Barnot raised his hands. “Just before you left the city. The duel. I tried to get in touch after, but…”
“It took me some time,” Gill said. “To, you know. I wasn’t very good company. But tell me, what have you been doing? Still soldiering?”
“Not for a time now. I’d saved a bit, so I opened a tavern. Not much bigger than this. In a village called Nordonne.”
Gill frowned. “What happened? Couldn’t leave the life of adventure behind?”
“More like it wouldn’t leave me behind,” Barnot said. “Wasn’t suited to the tavern keeping business. Neither was Missus Barnot. She ran off with the baker, and the bailiffs took the tavern.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gill said.
Barnot shrugged. “That’s the way of these things. I’ve much to be grateful for. I’ve already lived far longer than I deserve. I’ve enough left in me for one more adventure, at least.”
Gaufre arrived with another plate of food and a mug of ale.
Barnot lifted the mug. “Ale and good company. What more could an old soldier want?”
Gill lifted his cup of water, to Barnot’s mug of ale. The old soldier gave him a crooked look.
“You know it’s bad luck to toast with water, don’t you, Captain?”
Gill shrugged. “I try to stick to water these days.”
The door opened again before Barnot had a chance to comment. Gill looked up to see Cabham walk in with two men behind him. The Humberlander shut the door and bolted it behind him. That told Gill all he needed to know about what was to come. When Cabham spotted Gill, he started over, then hesitated at the sight of another man at Gill’s table. A moment later he stepped closer, his two new associates in tow.
“What can I help you with, William?” Gill said. There was no way he was going to afford Cabham any of the usual courtesies bannerets reserved for one another. Not after their short, shared history.
“I’m going to need that cup thing you have.”
Gill laughed out loud, although he had a sick feeling in his stomach. Revealing the Cup to Cabham and Beausoleil had been a bad decision. “That’s not going to happen,” he said.
“If it sounded like I was asking, that was just me being polite. I’m telling you to hand it over.”
Gill flicked his eyes to Barnot, who raised an eyebrow.
“I see you’ve made some new friends,” Gill said. “Have you told them what happened to your old ones?”
“Hunting dragons is a dangerous business,” Cabham said. “People get killed.”
“You certainly know more about that than I do.”
“I didn’t come here for a chat. Either hand over the cup or there’ll be trouble.”
“Trouble?” Gill said. “Go home before your luck runs out, Cabham.”
“There’s three of us. Only two of you.”
Gill looked over to Val. “Three of us. Or can we add counting to the list of things you’re not very good at?”
“Leave the lad out of it,” Cabham said. “You’ll only end up getting him killed like you did Beausoleil.”
“Beausoleil was killed because you were more interested in personal glory than getting the job done properly.”
“Enough,” Cabham said. “Hand it over and we’ll be on our way.”
Gill shrugged. “Even if you have the Cup, you need the words. I seem to have forgotten them.”
Cabham smiled and started to recite them, perfectly. Gill’s heart sank.
“I heard them four times. I’m pretty sure I had them all after the second time. Like I said before, I tend to remember things.”
“I’m not giving you the Cup,” Gill said. “So either you draw steel or you piss off.”
Blades were out before he’d even finished the sentence. Gill jumped up from his chair and drew. Barnot didn’t need an invitation; he stood at Gill’s side, sword at the ready.
“Don’t know you, friend,” Cabham said to Barnot, “but feel free to leave.”
Barnot’s response was a lunge at the man to Cabham’s left. Cabham went straight for Gill, thrusting across the table, but Gill was able to parry with ease. He cast a concerned glance at Val, hoping the boy had the sense to stay out of the way. Like as not they’d kill him anyway if they got past Gill and Barnot, but he’d be committing suicide if he tried to take on a banneret. Gill kicked the table to one side—it was heavier than he had expected, and the blow hurt his foot, but he ignored the pain and feinted at Cabham. He’d never seen the Humberlander’s swordplay, but there was no reason to believe he wasn’t a decent swordsman. He might have had many flaws, but he might still have been useful with a blade.