“I think the temple is the key to everything. The archive has too many holes to be fully relied upon. The Cup and the temple are connected, and it is there that we will learn what the vessel is fully capable of.”
Solène forced a smile and nodded. She had no difficulty giving the Prince Bishop the means to defend the realm from dragons. Handing him unlimited power was an entirely different problem.
“I’m going to sleep awhile if I can,” he said. “I haven’t had much opportunity for it over the past few days. Wake me when we arrive.”
He shut his eyes and was snoring gently a few moments later. Solène watched him, wondering if he was really asleep or using a ruse to put her off guard. She wondered if a man with as many schemes as he ever truly slept.
It was the middle of the night when they arrived at the camp, though Solène suspected dawn could not be very far away. Everything about the place said military, from the orderly grid layout to the presence of a large command tent at the centre. Lit with campfires and flickering torches at regular intervals, it was exactly what she imagined an army camp to look like, though she assumed this was much smaller than one of those. Something about it made her feel ill at ease when she thought of the Order and its aims, and there was no longer the comforting knowledge that dal Drezony was working behind the scenes.
The Prince Bishop woke as soon as the carriage lurched to a halt, adding support to her suspicion that he had not been asleep at all. When he and Solène got out, they were greeted by Vachon, who looked as though he had only just hauled himself out of his camp bed.
“Your Grace,” he said. “Good news, I hope?”
“Indeed,” the Prince Bishop said. “Sister Solène here will administer a magical rite that will aid you in your fight against the dragons.”
“About that,” Vachon said. “Word passed through the local village that one of the dragons has already been killed.”
This was a surprise to Solène, but if the Prince Bishop wasn’t expecting the news, then he certainly didn’t show it.
“Was there anything else?”
Vachon shook his head. “No. Only that every unemployed banneret and his dog has turned up at the closest village, Venne, looking to kill a dragon. Sounds like one of them managed to pull it off.”
“All the more reason to move quickly, then,” the Prince Bishop said.
“We’ll be ready to ride hard once you’ve done what you have to do. I’ll take a flying column with me and leave some people to break camp and follow us. The village is less than a day from here. With a bit of effort and some help from your sorcerers, we can be there in time for supper.”
“Very good. Have your people ready themselves. This won’t take long.”
Vachon barked out commands, and a dozen men and women in the Order’s cream robes grudgingly emerged from their tents and assembled in front of them. The Prince Bishop presented the box to Solène, who opened it. Inside, the Cup sat nestled in wine-coloured velvet like a religious artefact. Trying to give the impression that she had never seen the thing before, she took the Cup from the box, showing as much reverence as she could. The Prince Bishop smiled genially, with the arrogance of one who thinks he has the solution to everyone’s problems.
“We’ll need water,” she said. “Not much. Just a drop for everyone here.”
Vachon issued another command in his usual abrasive tone, and a full water skin was presented. Solène filled the Cup halfway, then took the slender dagger from her belt and dipped the tip into the water.
“Who’s first?” she said.
She expected Vachon to volunteer, but he hesitated. Even one so blustery as him feared magic, it seemed. Eventually his will overcame his misgivings and he stepped forward. “It’s safe?” he said.
“Perfectly,” the Prince Bishop said.
“Open wide,” she said, enjoying the experience of being able to command Vachon to do something he was clearly afraid of. Her mind flashed back to the impassive way he had watched the man being flogged at the Priory; she wondered if there was any way she could add a dose of vomiting and diarrhoea to the Cup’s gifts, but reckoned this wasn’t the time to start improvising. She lifted the dagger from the water and began reciting the charm in old Imperial—she wanted to make it as difficult as she could for anyone to replace her—as she waited for a droplet to form at the tip of the blade. She lifted the dagger, allowing the drop to fall from a height into Vachon’s mouth, trying to give the Prince Bishop and everyone else a bit of a show.
Vachon winced as the cold liquid hit his tongue, then smacked his lips and looked at Solène. “Is that it?”
She ignored him and finished the recitation, only then looking him in the eye. “Yes. Next.”
“I don’t feel any different.”
“You won’t until it matters. Next.”
She repeated the process for all the members of the Order. The Prince Bishop watched in silence. When she finished and stepped back from the row of people, he asked, “You’re certain that’s all that’s required?”
“As certain as I can be.”
“How long will it last?”
“I don’t know for sure,” she said.
“You heard her, Commander. We don’t know how long the effects will last, so you best get it done quickly.”
“Can’t we bring her and the Cup with us?”
“Not possible,” the Prince Bishop said smoothly, “though I wish it were.”
Vachon furrowed his brow in thought. “I need some idea of the duration.”
Solène furrowed her brow also, trying to recall how long after the ceremony Gill had killed the first dragon. She had a rough sense of the rate at which her own magic decayed. In theory, the Cup’s power should be stronger than hers, and the old Chevaliers were not allowed to take the vessel with them, so it stood to reason the effect would last long enough to get the job done. She took a guess. “After two days, you should expect the effects to have dissipated below a worthwhile level. The magic might last longer, but it would be a serious risk to try to find out.”
“That’ll be long enough,” Vachon said, as firmly as though he had hunted enough dragons to know exactly how long it would take.
“Prepare your people for the march, Commander Vachon,” the Prince Bishop said, and added, “A word in private with you before you go.”
“There’s a man I believe to be at large in the region you’ll be travelling to, Commander,” Amaury said once he and Vachon were a distance from Solène.
“At large?” the Order’s new commander asked.
“He’s a fugitive from the king’s justice. He did some work for the Crown in the recent past, but has been actively obstructing us at every opportunity since.”
“Want me to kill him?”
“I’d prefer not. I’d like him arrested and brought to me in Mirabay. He’s a tricky character, but if the Cup has given you the abilities to deal with dragons, then I expect you and your people will be able to deal with him too, so long as you exercise due caution and skill.”
Vachon nodded. “Who is it?”
“Guillot dal Villerauvais.”
Vachon laughed broadly, then stopped when he saw that Amaury was serious. “Villerauvais? Didn’t he kill the first dragon? People talk about him like the sun shines out of his arse. Seem to remember them saying something similar a few years back.”
“Do you know him?”
“Met him once, years back. We were both in the Royal Army then, fighting in the north.”