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Guillot watched Val ride away until he disappeared into the distance. He had told the lad he was giving him an important message to be delivered back to Mirabay, and that he was to follow whatever instructions the recipient of the letter gave him. As was ever his character, Val took on the task with enthusiasm, and was on his way a short while later. Gill felt bad for lying to him, but being killed by a dragon when he was still in his teens would be a waste.

He began his own preparations a short while later. There seemed to still be a slight trace of the Cup’s effect in him, as he could feel a gentle tug coming from the west and reckoned that it indicated the presence of a dragon.

Assuming he survived the encounter with the dragon—a big if, even with what remained of the Cup’s boon—there were other things he wanted to do. Catching up with the fellow who had murdered Barnot was top of the list. Then there was the mastermind of the whole mess, Amaury. He would still very much like to run a blade through Amaury’s chest.

Some men got it all wrong, then carried a grudge with them for life. Amaury had stepped into Gill’s blade that fateful day in Mirabay’s arena. What he had been trying to do at the time wasn’t at all the type of thing friends did to one another, but Gill had always known that their friendship had only been one of convenience.

Kicking dust into your opponent’s face might be acceptable on the battlefield or in a fight to the death, but it wasn’t done by gentlemen bannerets in the arena. The gods had shown Amaury the error of that effort—his leg had swung into the dulled tip of Gill’s rapier, and the combined force of the kick and the thrust had driven the blade far into his hip. He had brought the injury on himself, but he’d never forgiven Gill nonetheless. If Gill lived past his dragon-slaying career, Amaury would surely send more men to try to kill him. He wouldn’t allow Gill to redeem himself with the fame of slaying the dragons. That was an insult too far.

He thought of Auroré as he tightened the strap on his saddle, checking it once and then again, to ensure it would hold him when the time came. She would have been disappointed with what he had allowed himself to become, and he could only hope that if she watched from wherever the gods lived, she might understand that he was trying his hardest to be the best man he could be.

The pull was strong enough to guide Gill out of Venne and to the west. Just as a forest came into view, he felt a sharp, abrupt tug on his being. A great golden dragon emerged from the tree line. It was still some distance away, but even from afar, it was magnificent.

It stretched its wings lazily, looking at Guillot. There was nothing threatening in the act, and, if anything, Gill thought it looked carefree and not at all interested in him. Nothing about this creature seemed fierce or aggressive, qualities that had been all too obvious in the others he had encountered. The most likely reason for its behaviour was that it had recently fed, and hadn’t previously encountered any humans who could pose a threat to it.

In all the time that Gill had known about dragons being back in the world, he hadn’t had much time to observe them going about their day. Every one he had met was either trying to kill him or someone else. That dragons were magnificent creatures was beyond question, but this one was special even compared to the others he had seen. Its scales had the colour and lustre of pure gold, while the look in its blue eyes spoke of a curious intelligence that Gill had never seen in an animal. It was fascinating to watch the creature and feel that he was in relative safety. He would be the one bringing violence to that moment.

As peaceful as it seemed, Gill could not let it live. He watched it a while longer, enjoying the experience, much as he had the ride until now. The world was full of simple pleasures and you didn’t need a bottle, a card table, or the adulation of your peers to find happiness. He only wished someone had told him that when he was younger. There was nothing to be gained by tarrying any longer, so he checked over his armour, and readied his lance. If the beast continued to behave in such a docile way, then Gill’s job might not be so difficult after all. He might not have to pay for losing the Cup quite as heavily as he expected.

The dragon was ambling along by the tree line, minding its own business. Something felt wrong about what he was going to do, but he knew that like any wild creature, just because it seemed peaceful one moment didn’t mean it wasn’t capable of killing, of creating devastation. He urged his horse forward at a trot. It wasn’t keen to approach another dragon, and it took some encouragement, but eventually it relented and they started to advance toward their quarry.

  CHAPTER 35

Closing the visor on his helm and lowering his lance, Gill urged his horse to a gallop. His world closed down to the narrow field of vision allowed by the slits in the visor. He leaned forward, bracing the lance, trying to keep its bobbing tip aimed at the spot where the dragon’s neck joined its body. A good strike there would leave it ripe for a killing stroke with his sword. He watched the dragon fill what little space he could see, its beautiful golden scales becoming individually distinguishable.

Gill’s vision was abruptly filled with red. His lance hit, bent, and shattered with a great crack, the impact launching him from his saddle. He could hear his horse whicker in terror as he sailed through the air; he landed with an all too familiar crunch of metal. He struggled to his feet as he tried to catch his breath. He flipped up his visor, then drew his sword. It had all happened so quickly, he didn’t know what was going on. The only signal his brain could process was “danger.”

He lifted his visor and looked around. A hulking mass of red flesh and scales occupied the space between Gill and the golden dragon. The beast was as big as the first one he had killed, and its face bore none of the docility of the golden one Gill had come to slay. He hadn’t felt any trace of this dragon, and as surprises went, this was one he would rather have done without. He had already lost the initiative, but he wasn’t willing to stand around waiting for death. As soon as he was steady on his feet again, he charged. There was no one to help him, no one to distract it. The big red swatted at him with one of its talons, but Gill managed to duck out of the way in time. As he made for the briefly visible clear path to the beast’s underbelly, the dragon caught him with its snout and knocked him to the side again. Gill rolled away, coming to his feet with his sword at the ready; his head was spinning inside his helmet and he couldn’t focus on what was in front of him.

A jet of flame arced toward him and he braced himself for the rush of hot air. He roared in pain as he felt the plates of his armour heat and start to broil his flesh through the quilted jacket he wore underneath. The Cup’s boon wasn’t working anymore. He dived out of the way, into another roll. This time he wasn’t able to get back to his feet. He was still on his hands and knees when the clawed talons slammed onto his back and pressed him down, into the dirt.

The structure of his armour bore most of the weight, but he could feel the shaped plates of his cuirass start to flex, putting intolerable pressure on his chest. He fought to draw breath and tried to struggle free, but the weight on his back only increased. He flailed behind him with his sword, hoping to connect with dragon flesh, but found nothing but air. He was slowly getting pressed into the ground; soon the only give left would be from his squishy body. He roared at the increasing pain, feeling his eyeballs start to bulge. It wouldn’t be long before his head popped like an overripe berry. He kept slashing back behind him as best he could, to no avail. He could feel the sinews in his shoulder strain to the breaking point as he cut and cut and cut at the awkward angle. Then the dragon withdrew its paw.