Darkness meant they could continue their journey. Even now, Pharadon could sense the pathways in the young goldscale’s mind opening up. It had taken longer than Pharadon had hoped to reach the temple—the goldscale was easily distracted, wanting to investigate every new sight, sound, and smell. Frustrating though it was, Pharadon had to indulge her as much as possible, guiding the goldscale gently rather than trying to force her. Amenable though she might be, Pharadon knew she could turn on him in an instant, and then all would be lost—perhaps even his life.
He circled the site when they reached it. His fear that its power had dissipated over the years was unfounded. If anything, there was more power coursing around the ancient standing stone than he had experienced before. More surprising was the fact that the temporary cover they had erected to hide the cavernous structure below—and then magically encouraged grass to grow over—was still intact. It looked as though one small portion had collapsed, but the area seemed to be deserted, so he wasn’t too worried. There were, however, two horses nearby, and some other signs of disturbance, which meant humans. That was far from ideal, but at this stage, he would kill without hesitation, to make sure the goldscale’s enlightenment proceeded.
He looked at the young dragon, whose joy was evident. It was the greatest concentration of the world’s energy that the young dragon had ever experienced, and it was invigorating, even to an ancient like Pharadon. With only one way to get in, he swooped down, trying to remember where the edges of the covering were—if he landed on it, his great bulk would smash the barrier, and he was hoping for a tidier solution.
The covering was fitted with a handle that was intended to allow it to be lifted off and discarded. Pharadon searched through his memory for its location. There were no surface landmarks to gauge it by—trees had germinated, grown, died, and disappeared to be replaced by others in the time since he was last there. Instead, he used the focal point of the Fount, around which the temple was built, as his reference, and after some careful clawing around, he found the handle. Gripping it with his talons, he gave a great beat of his wings to pull the “lid” free of the ground. He’d raised it only a small way before it disintegrated into a mass of rotten wood, grass, and soil that crashed down, littering the antechamber below. If Pharadon had been able to shrug in dragon form, he would have. He’d have to create some new form of concealment before he and the goldscale left the area.
To his relief, the temple’s magical protections seemed to be intact, and the familiar sight of the entryway stirred memories in the dustiest recesses of his mind. It was a pity he’d made such a mess, opening it up. Fights to the death had started for far less than fouling the Temple of the Enlightened and he remembered at least one or two dragons who would have taken offense at his inadvertent act. The goldscale, who didn’t know any better, had watched the whole process with curiosity.
The way below was clear, but he saw light coming from within. Pharadon hoped the humans would not pose too much trouble.
Ysabeau had always had a healthy sense of when danger was coming and when she needed to make herself scarce. She felt it came of having been born with a magical gift in a world where such people got burned at the stake. On this occasion, it was easy to tell that trouble was coming. It seemed like the world had crashed in behind her. She had been pelted with flying debris and didn’t intend to hang around in the open long enough to find out what had caused it.
The temple’s abundant decorations offered plenty of opportunities for concealment. She’d tucked herself behind one of the ornately carved pillars that held the roof up before the dust settled, and decided to use a little magic to make sure she went unseen. She opened her mind to the Fount—and shut it again almost as quickly. The energy had hit her like a hammer, knocking the wind from her. There was no safe way for her to use magic in that place. She could only risk using it if she absolutely had to.
The increase in light coming from behind her told Ysabeau that the antechamber had somehow been opened to the sky. When two large shadows blotted out the moonlight and starlight, Ysabeau suddenly felt very afraid. It was a primal, instinctive emotion that she could neither explain nor control. It angered her. She was not one to frighten easily, but all she wanted to do in that moment was find the deepest, darkest corner and squeeze herself into it. The shadows moved toward her, and Ysabeau had to stifle a gasp when she saw them: two dragons, one large, one small.
As curious and awestruck as she was, she had to be careful to remain unseen by these dangerous creatures of myth. She had no desire to be burned to death or eaten by one of the beasts. She held her breath as they passed, seemingly oblivious of her presence. Only when they had disappeared from view into the next chamber did she breathe a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER 48
“It wears off, you know,” Gill said. The Spurrier ignored him, but he was too bored to stay silent. “The magical protection. It wears off. By now you might be completely vulnerable to the dragon. We both know how things went for the last Spurriers that tried to kill one unprepared.”
“We’re close!” Vachon shouted from the head of their small column, pointing to an area of grassland lit with ghostly pale moonlight.
Even so many days after having last used the Cup himself, Gill could feel a gentle pulling sensation in that direction and wondered if he was benefitting from a cumulative effect, having drunk from the Cup a number of times. He knew that the protections had faded long ago, but that might have had something to do with the skill of his application. A proper mage might have been able to make it last longer. Either way, he was glad the Spurriers were the ones who were going to bluster in and find out the hard way if the Cup’s boon was still active.
They had barely paused since leaving Venne, so Gill was confident his teasing had had some effect on Vachon. He hadn’t wasted a moment in getting to the dragons, and now that they were close, the tension in the group had ratcheted up noticeably. None of these men or women had ever seen a dragon before and now they were preparing to fight one. He didn’t envy them, but could at least appreciate that they were going about it in a professional way. There hadn’t been much chatter among them to begin with, but now there was complete silence. They were riding fast—a particularly uncomfortable thing for Gill since his hands were bound, but he managed to hang on.
Vachon held up his hand, a great slab of a thing, gnarled like an old tree trunk, bearing the scars and swellings of a lifetime of fighting, and his followers stopped immediately. Gill had to strain around the Spurrier guarding him to see what had caused their abrupt halt. Before Vachon was a huge, almost perfectly square, hole in the ground. Clearly it wasn’t a natural feature; it seemed Pharadon had made a stop before heading deep into the mountains as agreed.
Orders were given by hand gesture in silence. The Spurriers dismounted and started to attend to their kit. Gill’s guard unceremoniously pulled him to the ground and left him in a heap. Despite his bound hands, he managed to manoeuvre himself into a cross-legged sitting position and watched as the Spurriers donned their armour and checked their weapons. He cast a wishful eye at his own, still secured to the back of a packhorse. Gill wondered if they were going to leave him aboveground. He doubted Vachon would want to face the dragon a person down, but Gill could cause merry havoc if left unattended. It would be a long walk home without horses, if any of them survived.