“This really is something special,” the Prince Bishop said. “And to think, Solène, that you’ve had nearly this much power all along, and done what with it? Bake nice bread in Trelain until you were nearly burned at the stake? You could have flattened that mob and taken the whole town as your own. What a wast—”
The Prince Bishop’s words stopped abruptly. Gill looked at Solène, who had a look of furious concentration on her face.
“Get out now,” Solène said. “I’ll. Hold. Him. As. Long. As. I. Can.”
“I can’t leave you here,” Gill said.
“Go!” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ll follow when I can.”
Pharadon grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him out the door. They started to run.
CHAPTER 14
Gill slumped down on the riverbank, exhausted from running through the palace corridors. He and Pharadon had attracted a number of disapproving looks from senior serving staff, and possibly one or two admiring glances from younger ones who had not yet fully given in to the rules. The boat wasn’t waiting for them, and neither were dal Ruisseau Noir and his party. Either they’d already left—and Gill reckoned dal Ruisseau Noir’s devotion to his cause would have allowed him to make that call with little hesitation—or they had not yet returned.
Hopefully their mission had gone better than his. He couldn’t look Pharadon in the eye. His desire for revenge, to settle the score with Amaury, had cost them everything. How could he have been such a fool? How could he have allowed himself to grow so arrogant again? A little luck against one deranged adult dragon and a couple of immature, unenlightened juveniles, and he had behaved like he was back in his prime. Was he doomed to never learn from his mistakes?
“We were so close,” Gill said. “Pharadon, I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”
“Perhaps it is,” Pharadon growled.
His voice held that low rumble that Gill had only heard from dragons in their natural form. It seemed completely unnatural coming from a man and made the hairs on the back of Gill’s neck stand up. Feeling naked without a sword at his waist, Gill looked at the dragon in human form, but it was impossible to judge what Pharadon was thinking or feeling. Every expression on his face was artifice, intended to make him look like a normal person. If he believed Gill was responsible for their failure, there was no telling what the dragon’s reaction would be. Likely it would be fatal.
“I can’t believe I let Amaury get the better of me again,” Gill said, unable to bear the silence any longer; Pharadon remained standing, staring out into the mist. “He pulled my strings perfectly. I should have thrown my dagger into his eye the moment I walked through the door.”
“Though, perhaps, it isn’t,” Pharadon said, his voice back to normal, completely ignoring Gill. “There’s no way to know, and no way to change what has happened. It was merely luck that the Prince Bishop didn’t use the Cup as soon as it came into his possession. We were lost the moment his agent managed to sneak it from the temple.”
“What do we do now?” Gill said. “Is there any hope for the goldscale?”
Pharadon shrugged. “So long as we draw breath, there is always hope. It’s said goldscales can reach enlightenment by themselves, but that might be legend. I wasn’t willing to take that risk—she might be the last of my kind. I can’t claim to know all the secrets of my race, so I’ll return to the temple, and read from the inscriptions. Perhaps there will be an answer there. Perhaps fate will be more discerning, than to see my kind vanish from the world.”
“I’ll help you,” Gill said. “However I can.”
Pharadon turned to him and smiled. “Thank you.”
Noise in the passageway drew their attention. The commotion grew closer, and Gill swore in frustration. Why had he not left some swords on the riverbank? They had moved from plan to action so quickly that he had not had time to think through every potential problem.
Dal Ruisseau Noir emerged from the tunnel, a man-sized bundle on his shoulder. He was breathing hard.
“We got the king,” he said, but there was no triumph in his voice.
His silent comrade emerged from the gloom of the passageway a moment later, also carrying someone over his shoulder. Gill felt his stomach turn at the sight. It was Val.
The Intelligencier set his burden down on the shore. Val’s face was deathly pale and there was a trickle of blood coming out of the side of his mouth.
“What happened?” Gill said.
“There was a small skirmish,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “Val did well. Very well.” He paused, then said, “They wounded him.”
That much, Gill could see. “How do you feel, lad?” He took Val’s hand. It was cold.
“Sore,” Val said. He tried to smile, but his face was too twisted with pain. “We saved the king, didn’t we?”
“We did,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “We have him here. He’s safe.”
Gill feared anguish would overcome him. Where was Solène? Had she managed to get away from Amaury? If she was here, she’d be able to do something for Val. He should have stayed back in the office to allow the others to escape. They were all of more use than he was. Another mistake.
Val coughed wetly, splattering blood over his ghostly white face.
“Rest easy, Val,” Gill said. “Solène will be here soon. She’ll be able to help you.” He looked up to Pharadon. “Is there anything you can do?”
Pharadon shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Gill. I can’t shape magic like that on anything but my own kind.”
Full of despair, Guillot squeezed Val’s hand and felt the lad’s feeble effort in response.
“I didn’t get to be a banneret, Gill,” Val said.
“It’s a silly thing, Val, just a name, nothing more.”
“Still,” Val said, his voice fading, “I slew dragons and saved the king. That’s not bad, is it?”
Gill felt tears stream down his face. “It’s more than most bannerets can ever dream of.”
“I liked being your squire,” Val said. And then he was gone.
“No, no, no,” Gill said, balling his hands into fists and pressing them against his eyes. “No more. I’m going back in to get Solène. I can’t lose anyone else.”
He stood and made for the entrance to the passageway, but Pharadon grabbed him, then embraced him. Gill let out three great, wracking sobs. He had no more fight left in him. Every time he tried, it ended in disaster. He was a disaster.
“There’s nothing to be gained by going back,” Pharadon said. “You’ll die. Only Solène had the power to delay the Prince Bishop and get away. She knew that, and that’s why she did what she did.”
“I’m sorry about the boy,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “It was damned bad luck.”
Gill nodded mournfully. “How is the king?”
Kneeling beside Boudain, dal Ruisseau Noir shook his head. “Not good. I don’t know what the Prince Bishop did to him and I don’t know if it can be undone.”
“Where’s your boat?” Gill said.
Dal Ruisseau Noir got to his feet and looked across the river, seeming worried. “I don’t know. It should have been here by now.”
There was more noise in the passageway. They all turned, and drew whatever weapons they had on them. Solène emerged, looking utterly drained.
“Where’s the boat?” she asked, seeming surprised to see them all standing around.