The early pages dealt with the basic things that she already knew, and she turned them quickly. When she got to a chapter on the theories of the origin of the Fount, she started to pay more attention. The Imperial mages had viewed magic as a science to be studied and tamed. In many respects, they had been right. However, it didn’t take long for Solène to realise that they didn’t know a whole lot more about the Fount than she did. Everything she read was theory and speculation. Considering the Fount was a magical power that gave effect to the user’s focussed desire, it was a very tricky thing to study—under experimentation, it would give you whatever results you desired, making empirical evaluation impossible. It made Solène laugh, thinking of those old mages, trying to work out a way to focus their mind on an experiment with no thought as to the result. She thought she was frustrated, but that must have driven them to insanity.
She read and read, scanning page after page as quickly as her mind could translate the old writing, and finally stopped at the sight of two words. Fount Stones. That caught her interest. Before the Empire, magic had been used by humans in a limited, almost religious way. Druids had been priests, healers, and mages. Their power was derived from these Fount Stones. It seemed the Empire had discovered a number of them during its expansion, and, showing great respect for cultures other than their own, destroyed every single one. The Imperial mages didn’t need the stones, being able to draw on the Fount wherever it was. The druids, on the other hand, seemed to need access to these stones—or nodes as the writer called them—to carry out greater works of magic. Without the nodes, the druids posed no threat and the Imperial armies were able to advance unimpeded.
What if the enlightened had been a group of druids? It seemed likely. If they needed access to these nodes, then they would certainly have built their temple next to one. Solène sat back for a moment and rested her eyes, satisfied that she was getting somewhere. She certainly had something to report to the Prince Bishop, which was the important thing.
If the Empire had destroyed all the nodes they found, wouldn’t they have done that when they had come to Mirabensis? If so, might they have destroyed this ancient temple without realising it? She had heard stories of how victorious soldiers behaved when given free rein in villages—picking them clean of anything of value, including whatever they found in churches. She doubted they were ever much different, and couldn’t see an Imperial army treating an enemy temple with any great reverence. It had probably been stripped bare and burned to the ground.
Then it occurred to her—perhaps destroying it to keep it from the Prince Bishop was not the worst idea.…
CHAPTER 32
Pharadon wondered, as he watched the young golden dragon from a distance, if not killing the slayer had been a bad idea. When the time had come, Pharadon hadn’t been able to bring himself to commit murder, for that was what it would have been. The man carried great pain, and was trying to extinguish it by protecting innocents from the actions of base dragons. Pharadon could not condemn him for that.
Pharadon was careful to remain downwind of the goldscale, not wanting it to catch his scent. To say he was surprised to see a goldscale was an understatement, as was his relief that it seemed far smaller, and less mature, than the others. A female, she must have hatched after the males, or fed less voraciously.
A brood always produced dragons of different colours, with no two of the same shade in a single clutch. Black, green, red, yellow, brown, and blue were the most common. Silver was unusual, bronze slightly less so, but goldscales? They were rare. Special. So rare and special that Pharadon, despite his long life, had never seen one before. His great old heart beat faster than normal at the sight.
That she was still of modest size meant he had a little more time than he had feared. Even so, Pharadon knew he needed to be as careful as possible. A great shock could be enough to cause her to mature, and then all would be lost. It was said that under the right conditions, a goldscale could reach enlightenment all by themselves. That was something Pharadon couldn’t take the chance on, though. In another time, this juvenile would have become a queen amongst dragons. In this time, she might not even know the joy of enlightenment.
His trip to the village had apprised him of another danger—adventurers seeking to slay dragons. As individuals, none represented the threat the slayer did, but combined they were a problem he would have to stay alert to. There was also still the slayer. Pharadon hoped he would be able to avoid another encounter, but if they met again, it would be in honourable battle. Pharadon hoped there would be no need for killing, but he would not allow anything to stand in his way—the goldscale was too important. She had to be enlightened.
Alone, he would not be able to complete the task. Traditionally, enlightenment would be marked by a gathering, where the combined magical power of several dragons would provide the spark to complete the juvenile’s journey to enlightenment. He believed it could be accomplished by two dragons, but it might as well have been a million—it seemed he was the last of his kind. All was not lost, however. There was another way. Dragonkind’s priesthood had created vessels of intense magical power and stored them at their temple. He could use one of these.
He hovered in the air a while longer, watching, and debating the best way to go about it. He considered going to retrieve one of the vessels, but realised there was too great a danger leaving the goldscale here alone. Her siblings had been killed and he had no doubt she would be too. He would have to convince her to follow him, and start her on the path to enlightenment on their way to the temple.
He was fascinated by the young dragon’s perfect golden scales, each one gleaming like the most perfect coin in a hoard. There was an innocence and naivety that was endearing about the juvenile, and Pharadon wondered for a moment if she was not better off as she was. A beast of instinct, she would feed, sleep, and exist in the most natural of ways, not questioning any of the things she did. No complications of life would weigh on her mind, and it seemed likely to Pharadon that she enjoyed far more peaceful sleep than he did. Part of Pharadon yearned for a similar simplicity of existence, and it occurred to him that perhaps enlightenment was as much a curse as a gift. It gave a great deal, but so too it took, and there was tragedy in that which made his heart heavy.
There was danger, too. Even a juvenile dragon could pose a threat to an elder, like Pharadon. All the more so a goldscale, whose affinity with the Fount was already likely as strong as his own. Tackling enlightenment alone was a danger, one that could see him killed if the goldscale reacted violently at the wrong moment. Still, it was a risk he was willing to take. What choice did he have?
Decision made, he headed for the temple, but had given only two beats of his great wings when he spotted a group of horsemen riding quickly in the juvenile’s direction. There were a lot of them—at least twenty at a quick count. The adventurers. Pharadon grimaced in disappointment. It seemed they had her scent, and so there would be more killing after all.
Pharadon circled in a wide arc to bring himself behind the horsemen. He wondered if the slayer was with them, but could detect no magic. He was both disappointed and relieved. His flame would have no effect on the slayer, something Pharadon had learned the hard way, centuries earlier. These men, however, appeared to have no such protection.
He allowed himself to fall into a silent downward glide and started to prime his flame glands. This wasn’t to be an honourable battle—he sought only to eliminate the threat to the goldscale. The first they knew of his presence was the heat of his flame. Those at the front of the group had the time to hear the screams of their comrades at the back, and some even had time to cast a backwards glance at the source of their impending death.