“There’s no need to dissemble. I can smell it on you, and I know that is why you are here. Fortuitous timing, I think, as you would not have found what you seek were I not here to show you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of your kind have become enlightened. You wouldn’t be the first. Even without the ritual, you are close to enlightenment. Somewhat like this goldscale here,” it added, tilting its head to indicate the smaller dragon.
“I don’t understand.”
“In this place, we are one,” the dragon said.
Solène’s eyes widened. The dragon appeared to smile.
“Ah, so you have heard the Fount call to you.” It moved a little farther into the chamber, the smaller gold dragon shuffling behind it like a duckling following its parent. “So, what to do?”
Did it see her as a threat that needed to be destroyed?
“I apologise. I am Pharadon, Drake of the Crooked Mountain. You are?”
“I … I’m Solène.” She was still struggling to absorb the fact that she was having a conversation with a dragon. That they existed at all was something she was only beginning to be accustomed to; this was almost too much for her.
“I have encountered two others of your kind who were like you. They came here for enlightenment. Is that what brought you?”
“In a manner of speaking. Well, perhaps. I don’t know what ‘enlightenment’ is.”
“It’s the higher state. It’s being a creature of reason, a creature at one with the Fount, where shaping it is as easy as drawing a breath of air. For your kind, it is more.” Pharadon paused, and adopted a thoughtful expression. “I apologise if this startles you, but please bear with me a moment.”
Solène’s eyes nearly popped out of her head as the dragon began to shrink and take on the shape of a human man. A naked human man. Solène turned her gaze away; when the dragon cleared his throat, she looked back and saw that he was fully clothed in tunic and britches of contemporary style. She could have walked past him on a street and not suspected there was anything unusual about him. He stretched his neck and walked toward the altar.
“I’m not as accustomed to human form as I once was,” Pharadon said. “It takes a little practice. The clothing in particular, but I’m getting the hang of it again. I’ve brought this goldscale here to be enlightened. All dragonkind are capable of it, but most require the ceremony to reach that state.”
“Are you a dragon or a person?” Solène said.
Pharadon smiled, an awkward-looking expression at first, which softened a little as he looked at her. “Does it matter? I am what I choose to be, when I choose to be it. That is one of enlightenment’s great gifts. The physical body is secondary to the mind. Its servant, if you will. We find the greatest comfort in the form we are born to, however, and are restricted in what we are capable of when in a different one. The Fount brings great power to an individual, as I’m sure you have realised, but it is limited by what our minds and bodies are capable of channelling. Enlightenment extends that limit, and it is a life well lived to search out and explore the boundaries of what we can achieve.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Solène said.
“Because you are one short step away from enlightenment. When I look, I can see your presence in the Fount. It’s the responsibility of all enlightened to offer the opportunity to others capable of it.”
“Not all are capable?” Solène said, grasping onto the hope that no matter what he did, the Prince Bishop would never be able to acquire the magical power he sought for himself.
Pharadon shook his head. “All beings of higher thought may be enlightened. That is not to say they are capable of being enlightened. There is a distinction. Having the power enlightenment brings, and being enlightened are not necessarily the same thing. The former can be taken by anyone, while only a few have the potential for the latter.”
“Why do you think I do?”
Pharadon shrugged. “I just do.”
Solène felt her heart sink. Should she take this step purely so she could prevent the Prince Bishop?
“All you need to do is open your mind to the idea and drink from an untouched vessel of enlightenment.” He gestured to the altar and the cup that sat on it. “The Cup can give magical blessings to many, but can only enlighten one. This one is yours if you wish it.”
Solène hesitated. “Don’t you need one for your … friend?”
“There are others here.”
“What will … happen … to me?”
“Nothing. You will simply become one of the enlightened. A being in harmony with the Fount. One of us.”
Solène frowned, not sure if she had taken the correct meaning. “One of you? Do you mean a dragon?”
Pharadon began to answer, but was drowned out by shouts. Vachon and a dozen Spurriers entered the chamber. Behind them, with his hands bound, was Gill.
CHAPTER 49
“Gods alive,” Vachon said.
There was only one dragon—the gold one—in the chamber when Gill and the Spurriers got there. To Guillot’s complete surprise, Solène was there, standing next to something that looked like an altar. He had blinked and looked again, but still couldn’t believe it was her. Pharadon, in human form, was standing next to her. Confusion swirled through his mind.
“Gill?” Solène said.
He shrugged, lifting his hands high enough that she could see they were tied.
Pharadon had broken their agreement, and dislike Vachon though Guillot did, perhaps the beasts did indeed need to be eradicated. Seeing Solène in proximity to the deceitful creature worried him, and he was tempted to take up a sword and help the Spurriers in whatever way he could.
Vachon was in front of his fighters, sword drawn, but clearly had no idea what to do next. Who did, the first time they encountered a dragon? Vachon’s gaze was locked on the gold dragon, which didn’t seem particularly interested in anything that was going on. It was looking curiously at the reliefs as though struggling to understand them.
Finally Vachon acted. He moved quickly, attacking the gold dragon. His blade snapped on impact against the armour-like scales, which was exactly what Gill expected would happen. The goldscale let out a hiss. Out of the corner of his eye, Guillot saw Pharadon move. In the next instant, Vachon flew through the air and was pinned against the wall, held in place by some great unseen force that was causing him visible discomfort.
“Put down your weapons,” Pharadon said. “There is no need for violence.”
Gill could see that the Spurriers were twitchy and unclear what to do. Their instinct was to attack, but it didn’t seem like there was a clear enough chain of command for someone to take over from Vachon. Gill glanced at Solène, who didn’t seem to be in any way threatened by Pharadon. Noticing Gill’s look, she shook her head subtly.
What’s that supposed to mean? he wondered. She indicated Vachon with her eyes, telling Guillot that the Spurriers—her comrades, he assumed—were the ones she was worried about.
“I’d do what he says,” Gill said to the fighters. “He can turn your boss into raspberry jam if he chooses. Nothing to lose in hearing what he has to say.” Despite his words, he wasn’t confident that was the case, and wasn’t altogether against the idea of Vachon meeting an untimely end.
The Spurriers relaxed a little, but there was still enough tension in the chamber that Gill could feel its weight bearing down on him. Pharadon didn’t release Vachon, who seemed to have been robbed of the power of speech.