The helpful stranger. François. It could only have been he who had taken the Cup. How had he known what it was? It didn’t look valuable, and Gill was certain he hadn’t talked about it. But Cabham had. If he was willing to die in the attempt to get it, François must have thought it was worth having. Gill swore. If the man had taken it and killed Barnot, he was likely hours away by now.
It took a moment for the full ramifications of that to hit Gill. There was still a dragon out there, and to have any chance of killing it, he needed the Cup. He hadn’t just let himself down when he’d accepted that first drink. He had let down every single person who would lose their life to the beast. He vomited more water, then dry-retched until he thought his insides were going to come out. It was Villerauvais all over again. Could he not even learn his lessons the hard way?
He went back to the horse trough, plunged his head in, and held it there, his head upside down, bubbles coming out of his nose and tickling his chin. He contemplated staying there until he had rid the world of his failings, but knew that wasn’t the answer. He allowed himself to topple backwards until he was sitting on his behind, water running from his face and hair and soaking his clothes.
“Refreshing?”
He looked up and saw Edine standing in the sunlight.
“Someone murdered my friend last night,” he said.
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.
“I think I know who it was,” Gill said, “but he’ll be long gone by now.”
“I’m sorry. No one’s ever been murdered here before. I don’t know what to say.”
Gill shrugged. “It was a bad night for the village, then. Three men came at us in the tavern last night. We killed them.”
“I heard. Gaufre isn’t pleased.”
“I’ll pay for the damage and clean-up.”
“Do you think that had anything to do with your friend?”
“No. That was Cabham. We took care of him and the men he had with him. The murderer was someone else. He helped us against Cabham. He’s long gone by now.”
“I’ll talk to the vicar and have your friend taken care of.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
She hesitated before speaking again. “I can understand the need to let loose a little when you’re doing such dangerous work. All the more so when your success has come at a heavy price. The people are frightened. All their hope rests on you. It won’t do them any good to see you like this.”
“I’m sorry,” Gill said. “I’ll get inside and clean myself up.”
CHAPTER 31
Solène rose early to head for the archive. She had spent only a little time with dal Drezony, feeling that they were repeating the same exercises over and over. She was glad to be getting away from the Priory—the character of the place had changed so quickly. Gone was the fraternal atmosphere of morning exercise and afternoon study. It felt more like a military camp in preparation for war. Dal Drezony didn’t seem to like it either, but Solène couldn’t see what might be done to stop it.
In her work in the archive, she was doing little more than paying lip service to the Prince Bishop’s orders; she was sure that if there was something relating to the enlightened and their temple in the archive, she would have found it by now. Being there was simply a good excuse to get some time alone, and away from the braying, spittle-spraying Vachon, as he laid down his authority on everyone within shouting range.
A loud crack split the air, jolting her from her thoughts. There was a second crack, which was almost as much of a surprise as the first one. So uncharacteristic a noise bore further investigation.
She walked through the main garden courtyard, past the refectory building, and into a smaller, cobbled square that was surrounded by the stables. A group of people were gathered around an unladen cart. She could just make out the back of a shirtless male figure, tied with his arms outstretched, to one of the wagon’s huge wheels. The Order’s new commander, Vachon, was standing, arms akimbo, to one side. There was another ear-piercing crack as she drew close enough to see three angry red lines on the man’s back. Her eyes widened with horror. One of the gathered men held a long, wicked-looking black whip. There was a fourth crack, and then a loud cry—the first one the unfortunate tied to the wheel had uttered.
“What in hells is going on here?” Dal Drezony strode into the square, her expression a picture of fury.
Vachon turned to face her. “Matters of military discipline, Seneschal. Nothing to bother yourself with.”
“Damn your eyes,” dal Drezony said. “We don’t flog people here.”
“This is a military order, is it not?” Vachon said.
Dal Drezony’s face twisted with indignation. “After a fashion,” she admitted.
“Military discipline for a military order,” Vachon said, turning back to the flogging. “Continue.”
There was another loud snap and another cry of pain.
“Stop this now!” dal Drezony said, her face grey with anger.
“I don’t give you orders in matters of sorcery,” Vachon said, still not deigning to turn and face dal Drezony. “I’d thank you to show me the same respect in matters military.”
Solène’s skin prickled at the use of the word “sorcery.” It was laden with all the connotations that caused people to fear magic so much.
“We don’t practise sorcery here, and we certainly don’t flog people. I strongly recommend you stop right now.” Dal Drezony’s voice came out like a growl.
Vachon finally turned to look at her again. He met her volcanic glare and gave her a thin smile. “We’re done here anyway.” He turned back to his men. “Untie him and take him to the infirmary. I’m sure the healers will have him back on his feet in no time. Magic does have some uses, I suppose.”
“I do not want to see this happening here ever again,” dal Drezony said.
“I suggest you shut your eyes when you hear the whip’s report,” Vachon said.
“I’ll be taking this up with the Prince Bishop at the earliest opportunity.”
“Please, do,” Vachon said with another thin smile.
Dal Drezony walked away, glancing at Solène. It wasn’t anger on her face that Solène saw, but fear.
Solène paced up and down the archive’s aisles, her mind clouded by what she had witnessed at the Priory that morning. She still couldn’t quite believe it had happened. If this was the new direction the Prince Bishop intended for the Order, she wanted nothing to do with it. Perhaps he would take dal Drezony’s complaint seriously. Living in fear of a flogging was no way to develop a controlled and focussed mind and increase one’s magical skill. That thought brought her back to what she was supposed to be doing.
She had been trying to think of different words she might use to draw out the information she was looking for. She had tested dozens now, but had turned nothing up. She had begun to wonder how much value this temple could have after being lost and forgotten for so long. The Imperial mages had not been able to find a trace of it, but that didn’t hinder them in developing enormous magical power that allowed the Empire to conquer half the world. Between her, the Cup, and the Priory’s resources, surely the Prince Bishop and the Order would have all they needed.