Edine stood from her seat at the top of the head table.
“Welcome to Venne,” she said. “Is there something we can help you with?”
“We’re here on behalf of the king to slay the dragons in this region,” the lead rider replied.
He had a worn face with a twisted nose that had seen plenty of bad weather out-of-doors, and hair cropped so tightly it was impossible to tell what colour it was. Something about him seemed familiar, but Gill couldn’t quite place him.
“We’re grateful for your journey, but the problem’s been dealt with. The dragons are dead.”
The man nodded. “You’re the head of this village?”
“I am,” she said.
“Perhaps we could speak in private?”
She shrugged, then gestured to the mayor’s house. “This way.”
The man dismounted, casting a glance over the gathered crowd as he did. Gill couldn’t be certain, but it seemed as though his eyes stopped on him for a moment. He followed Edine into the mayor’s house and shut the door behind them.
“Bit late,” someone said.
“King’s always late,” someone responded. “Unless it’s for a party.”
There was some laughter, and then everyone got back to their dinner. Gill wanted to do the same, but couldn’t help feeling concerned. These were the Prince Bishop’s people, and in his experience, their appearance was rarely a good thing.
He had barely swallowed his first mouthful of food when Edine appeared in the doorway and called to him.
“Gill, would you mind joining us a moment?”
He nodded and got to his feet. Once he was inside the house, Edine turned to face him.
“Commander Vachon here says the dragons aren’t all dead.”
Gill looked at Vachon.
“How would he know?”
“We can tell when there are dragons near,” Vachon said. “And I can tell there’s one near.”
Guillot looked at him carefully, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth or not. If Vachon could detect the dragons, then he had undergone the ritual with the Cup. That meant that the Prince Bishop had the Cup, that he was the one responsible for the theft and for Barnot’s murder. Gill cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Every time something in his life went wrong, Amaury was connected in some way.
“I said the dragon won’t bother you again,” Gill said, trying to explain the situation without revealing anything important. “And that’s the truth.”
“You mean you didn’t kill the last one?” Edine said.
He hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “I didn’t need to. It fled into the mountains.”
“What’s to stop it coming back?”
“It won’t. You have my word on that.”
“We’re supposed to believe that?” Vachon said. “It’s a good thing the king isn’t as cavalier when it comes to the safety of his subjects.”
“I’ve killed three and chased a fourth off,” Gill said. “Where were you while that was happening?”
“We were dispatched as soon as we were ready to properly deal with the threat,” Vachon said.
As soon as the Prince Bishop got his hands on the Cup, Gill thought.
“There will be no more trouble with dragons here, or anywhere else,” Gill said. “You can take my word for that or not. I really don’t care. I’ve done more to protect this region than the king, the Prince Bishop, and all their men. You can come here and question my honour all you like. What I’ve done here will speak for itself.”
The door opened and two more Spurriers walked in. Vachon gave them a nod, then turned back to Gill.
“I want more than to question your honour,” Vachon said. “In the name of Boudain the Tenth, I arrest you for murder and high treason.”
Gill did a double take. “Pardon me?”
“You heard,” Vachon said. “Take him.”
The other two Spurriers moved to seize Gill. His hand automatically dropped to his waist to draw his sword, but he wasn’t wearing one—no need for a sword to cart timber. His sword was leaning against the end of the bed in his room at the inn. Each man grabbed him by one arm, leaving him little option but to go with them. Trying to get away now would earn him nothing but a beating. He’d have to bide his time and hope an opportunity presented itself.
“You needn’t worry, ma’am,” Vachon said, as Gill was bundled toward the door. “We’ll take care of the dragon for you. And this rotten cur.”
The last thing Gill saw as he was shoved out of the building was the disappointment in Edine’s eyes.
“Where are we headed?” Gill asked. He was mounted on his own horse, with his hands bound and tied to the saddle’s pommel. They had gathered his things from the inn, and loaded them onto the horse in front of Gill. He stared longingly at the hilt of one of his swords, sticking out tantalisingly, but so out of reach it might as well have been a world away.
“Shut your mouth,” Vachon said.
“I’ve a bit of experience in this line of work. I might be able to help.”
“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll shut it for you.”
“Don’t know where you’re going, then?” Gill said, forcing a condescending chuckle.
Vachon backhanded him in the face. It was a respectable blow; Gill ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth to make sure all of his teeth were still where they were supposed to be.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Gill said. “Dragon hunting is a tricky business. I wouldn’t worry too much, though. Getting killed by one is pretty easy, so you won’t have to go home a failure.”
Vachon hit Gill again.
“Bring him down the back,” Vachon said to one of his men. “Keep a careful eye on him.”
Gill feigned hurt. “Was it something I said? We were getting along so well.”
The man came alongside Gill and took hold of his horse’s reins, then took him to the back of the group.
“Your boss doesn’t have a clue where we’re going, you know,” Gill said.
“Yes, he does. We all know. We can sense the creature.”
Gill looked over his shoulder at the mountains, which were dropping away slowly into the distance. He reckoned they were heading east, which on the face of it didn’t make much sense. If Pharadon was heading deeper into the mountains, then they should be chasing him west, or south. He wondered if Vachon had used the Cup correctly.
PART THREE
CHAPTER 43
Ysabeau had to admire the young woman’s resolve not to light a fire. It was a cold night, and was only going to get colder before dawn broke. Ysabeau had been on Solène’s trail for much of the afternoon and evening, riding hard and drawing on the Fount to keep her horse fresh, in the hope of catching up before Solène found anything.
Without a fire, Ysabeau had almost missed Solène’s campsite in the dark. It was only by chance that Ysabeau had been drawing on the Fount while she was passing by, giving both her horse and herself a little freshen-up. Solène’s magical energy gave her away, lighting her up as clearly as if it had been daylight. Wrapped in a warm blanket, Ysabeau was settling in for the night, having found a good vantage point from which to watch her quarry. The woman didn’t seem like anything special, but if her father was to be believed, she was the most powerful mage alive, albeit not yet fully able to tap into her powers. The Prince Bishop had once hoped Ysabeau would be that powerful, that useful to his plans. Sadly, her abilities were modest at best; she just had a little more flair than most at using them. She hated this woman, Solène, though they had never met. She threatened to give the Prince Bishop—Ysabeau’s father—what his daughter never could.