Gill woke with a start to see Solène’s face hovering over him. His last memory was getting a face full of Vachon’s spittle as the man vented all his fury on Gill’s head. Sitting up, Guillot looked at the half-dozen bloodied and charred corpses scattered around the goldscale, which looked remarkably placid, considering what it had done. Revulsion swept over him—they had utterly failed to prevent any killing, as Solène had wished.
“What happened?”
“You killed Vachon,” Solène said. “He managed to knock you out before he dropped. The goldscale…” She shook her head. “Well, you can see for yourself. Pharadon was able to subdue it once I’d taken the dagger out of his shoulder. It was Telastrian steel. They all had one.”
Gill grimaced. “I’m sorry for the loss of your comrades. I know only too well what that’s like.”
“I barely knew them, to be honest. Most are—were—mercenaries the Prince Bishop hired recently. So much death, though…”
He let her help him to his feet. Considering the fight he’d been in and the beating he’d taken, he didn’t feel all that bad. He suspected he had Solène to thank for that.
The Spurriers might have been dealt with, but there was still the question of the dragons, however benevolent Pharadon might seem. Gill was under no illusion that he would be able to slay the two beasts, but he at least wanted some answers.
“I want to know what you’re doing here,” Gill said to Pharadon, staring at the man who was also a dragon.
“I have to bring this goldscale to enlightenment before we can leave the area. Once I have, we will leave the lands of humankind forever.” Pharadon paused. “I saw no reason to tell you this before. You would not have understood.”
“The Cup!” Solène said. “It’s gone!”
Pharadon turned. “It must be here somewhere.”
A badly wounded Spurrier had propped himself up against the wall. Now he let out a raspy chuckle.
“You didn’t even notice her,” he said. “She walked right in, took it, and walked out again.”
“Who?” Solène said, walking over to him.
“Heal me and I’ll tell you.”
Looking furious, Solène clenched her fist, then took a breath and relaxed. Gill wondered if she was still thinking of the day she had told him about, when she had needed to kill to save her life. He had thought she would get over it and realise that sometimes you have to do things you don’t like, but it seemed she hadn’t.
Gill had no similar compunctions. He picked up a dagger from the floor and strode over to the Spurrier who had spoken. Pressing the tip against the soft part under the man’s chin, he applied a little pressure.
“Talk fast. She does nothing until you tell us all you know,” he said.
For a man who had just seen Gill kill three of his comrades, including his commander, and probably still expected to be eaten by a dragon, the Spurrier held out for a remarkably long time. There was blood trickling down the dagger’s blade and pooling on Gill’s hand when he finally made to speak.
“I don’t know who she was. Dark cloak with a hood. I barely noticed her myself. Moved like a cat. Knew what she was here for. No hesitation. Took the cup from the altar and was gone.”
Gill looked at Solène, who shrugged. He reckoned from the man’s expression that he had said all he knew. Tossing the dagger to one side, Gill stood and moved away. Solène knelt beside the wounded man. From the look on her face, it didn’t seem that she’d had time to increase her knowledge of healing.
Her eyes were squeezed shut and her face was a picture of concentration, but Gill had seen enough wounds to know it would take a miracle, rather than magic, to save this man. Indeed, between one breath and the next, he expired.
“He’s gone,” Gill said. “I’m sorry, Solène, but no amount of magic could have saved him.”
She nodded grimly, and looked at him with such pain in her eyes that he felt ashamed at what he had done. Still, he had found out what they needed to know, and he was certain the man had been on borrowed time.
“We have to catch her, Gill,” Solène said. “We can’t let the Prince Bishop get that Cup.”
“No, it can’t be,” Pharadon said.
Gill turned to see that a cylindrical stone plinth lined with shelves had risen from the floor. More magic, he supposed, since it had moved silently and without vibration.
“There should be more cups here,” Pharadon said. He looked at the goldscale with an expression of panic on his human face. “Unless one of my brethren took them into the mountains to hide them from your kind…” He stared into the distance for a moment before speaking again. “They could be anywhere. It could take years to find them. It will be too late.”
“Too late?” Gill said.
“She can only be brought to enlightenment while she’s a juvenile. She’s not far from maturity now.”
“What can we do to help?” Solène said.
He furrowed his brow in thought. “I can quiet her—put her into a sleep that will slow the process a little. I might gain a few more days, perhaps. But I still need that cup. It’s the only way I can be sure of enlightening her.”
His face, which had been pale and drawn with worry, sharpened.
“Gold,” Pharadon said. “Do you have any?”
“Pardon me?” Gill said.
“I need some gold. A coin or two will do, but the more the better.”
Gill reached for his purse and tipped out a few coins. Only one was a gold crown. He tossed it to Pharadon, who caught it without having to look. He placed it on the ground in front of the young dragon, and started to speak in a hushed tone. The dragon lay down and placed its head on the coin. Its blinks grew slower as Pharadon continued to speak, until its eyelids remained shut. When Pharadon saw their curious stares, he shrugged.
“Dragons like gold,” he said. “Now, we’re ready to leave.”
“We?” Gill said.
“You have to stop the vessel of enlightenment falling into the wrong hands, and I need to use it. I’m going to help you.”
CHAPTER 50
Ysabeau rode as hard as she could, away from that strange, ancient place. She could feel the Cup she had taken pressing against her hip. It was uncomfortable, but she liked to know it was there. She could feel the power in it; far more than was in the Prince Bishop’s. Recalling what the dragon had said about a Cup being able to enlighten only one person, she wondered if her father’s had already been used. If so, the one she was bringing him would more than make up for the fact that she had found out little on how to use it.
Her horse was starting to tire, even with magical help, but so long as it got her to the next town, she didn’t care. She could find a new mount there, and send word that her mission was a success. She had found the temple and what her father needed—a Cup that still had all its power.
She continued to use her magical veil to conceal herself, though now that she was drawing away from the ancient temple, it was becoming more taxing to maintain. Nonetheless, she persisted. She had stolen something she was certain was a relic of some ancient dragon culture, and done so in front of two dragons. That they could transform themselves into humans left her with a lingering sense of terror, but her greatest fear at that moment was to look over her shoulder and see one sweeping down behind her, a great jet of flame erupting from its mouth.