Knowing there would be people gathered at the central square in front of the cathedral on the Isle, she took the longer route, around the back of the cathedral to the right bank at the eastern end of the city. She would have to walk the length of Mirabay to reach the palace on the western hill, but she reckoned she would have a safer journey through the less-populated southern section.
She was not surprised to see far more soldiers on duty at the palace than during her previous visits. They were far more alert, as well, and she was subjected to a barrage of questions before they sent for someone from the Prince Bishop’s office to confirm her identity.
When she finally got to his office, she was shown straight in. The Prince Bishop looked at her with tired but hopeful eyes.
“Have you got anything for me?”
“I believe I do.”
The goldscale had wandered off into the foothills toward the end of Pharadon’s encounter with the slayer—with Gill. Pharadon had needed to rest for hours after changing form—it still wasn’t coming easily to him—and in that time, he had seen the goldscale following her curiosity, exhibiting all the encouraging signs of being perfectly suited for enlightenment. It was always thrilling to bring a mind from the darkness into light, no matter how many times Pharadon had done it. In this instance, it was both terrifying and exciting.
Pharadon could tell that the power this young dragon would enjoy after only a few years of maturity would make his own pale by comparison. It was an incredible thing to consider. Intimidating. Tragic that the goldscale would never have the chance to reside at the highest levels of dragon society.
Only hours remained before the goldscale would be too mature to be brought to enlightenment, so he knew he had to act soon if he hoped to get her to the temple in time. Once he had her subdued—in a kind of magical half sleep—he would have more time to prepare and carry out the ceremony, which he would do at the temple. So long as he was careful, he could keep the goldscale in half sleep for as long as a couple of weeks, though not much longer. While this semi-hibernation would prevent the juvenile from doing anything that would hasten maturity, such as excessive eating, it would not halt the slower, longer natural maturation process. So he would have time to prepare the temple and remind himself how the alternative process of enlightenment was carried out, but he would need to be mindful of the goldscale’s development so that he did not miss his opportunity.
The human had asked him if he had taken his cup—what was he talking about? Pieces moved around inside Pharadon’s mind until a connection was made. Might Gill’s “cup” be a vessel of enlightenment? He had not encountered any human mages since waking, which struck him as odd. When he had exiled himself into the mountains, there had been many of them, with some capable of shaping magics as powerful as any dragon. The Chevalier had no detectable affinity to the Fount, yet he had the remnants of magical protections, which could have been bestowed only by a mage. Or by a vessel of enlightenment. Such vessels were imbued with the power to bring a single creature to enlightenment; afterward, they contained enough residual magic to confer abilities of respectable strength, albeit fleeting in terms of longevity. The Godsteel they were forged from had innate magical qualities, including an affinity to the Fount that allowed it to draw power to itself and store it.
He focussed on the goldscale again. The first goldscale had come to enlightenment all by itself. Watching the juvenile, Pharadon wondered if this had been the way: curiosity and exploration stressing its mind until it opened up and began to understand the things around it.
Back in dragon form now, he hovered over the goldscale, downwind and high enough that she would not be able to detect him with her normal senses. He added a little magic to mask his presence and set to drawing enough of the Fount to himself to shape the magic he needed to use. As tendrils of the Fount swirled up toward him and enveloped him, he purged his mind of all but the desire he wished to fulfill, refining the thought into a concept so precise that it seemed like it could exist on its own.
The goldscale started with surprise and looked about herself for a threat. She couldn’t sense him, and she certainly couldn’t smell him, so unless she looked directly at him, she would be unlikely to detect Pharadon. She moved about in agitation—she did not need to be enlightened to know that something was going on. Pharadon maintained his focus, forcing as much of the Fount’s energy as he could toward his desired outcome. Gradually, the goldscale’s movements began to slow, although they became more agitated. She looked as though she was struggling against invisible bonds, which was exactly what she was doing. At the same time, Pharadon’s magic was trying to soothe her mind, which was proving far more challenging.
Eventually he could sense the quieting take effect, the fear and resistance born of the goldscale’s instinct for survival giving way to the weight of the magic Pharadon pressed upon her. Eventually, she sat and grew still. Now for the hard part, Pharadon thought. No creature could be brought to enlightenment unwillingly. Even in its base state, a dragon’s mind contained a kernel of wisdom and insight. The savage parts of its being prevailed most of the time, but base dragons could, in moments, be capable of behaviour as refined and insightful as any of their enlightened brethren.
Enlightenment allowed wisdom and insight to take charge, but even afterward, the savage part remained, lurking deep within, waiting for any opportunity to reassert itself. Having heard Gill’s story in the small village tavern, Pharadon knew the tragedy in Alpheratz’s life had caused the balance to shift, allowing his more savage instincts to control him. That sort of tragic descent was feared by all enlightened; thankfully, few ever had to contend with it.
When he was certain the goldscale was not going to attack him, Pharadon landed and approached in as unthreatening a way as he could. Memories of his long-ago enlightenment let him recall how powerless he had felt at the time. Though still young, he had seen dragons fight and kill one another, and had been afraid he was about to meet his end. However, the old dragon who was going to enlighten him had sat next to him and started to tell a tale. At the start of their path to enlightenment, each dragon was told a similar tale, one that had taken on features added by each teller. Whole clans and even individual generations could be identified by how their story differed from others’.
“Araxion was the first of our kind to call himself enlightened,” Pharadon said now. The juvenile goldscale looked up at him with wild eyes in which he could see a glimmer of awareness. “Like you, he was a goldscale, as rare a thing then when the sky over these mountains was filled with our kind as it is now. You are fortunate to be blessed so, and I hope that you can come to understand that.
“Araxion’s time was a savage one, a time without reason, but Araxion was different. Araxion asked questions of the world around him, as I have seen you do. He wanted to know, to understand, but his mind was still in the dark and could not make sense of what he experienced, nor give voice to the questions he was trying to ask. He struggled with this for days. For weeks. For months. Then, one day, he understood the question he had fought to find within himself. It was the first question of all things: Why?
“Why does the sun shine? Why does the wind blow? Why do the tides ebb and flow? Why am I?
“The question showed Araxion that a path existed, a path that he had yet to venture down. Ask yourself, of all the wonder you have witnessed during your short life, who are you, and where do you fit in it all?”
The goldscale’s eyes narrowed for a moment. Pharadon felt encouraged.