“There’s something down there I wasn’t expecting,” she said quietly to the three Spurriers.
“What?” Hangdog said.
It was no surprise that he was the only one to speak. The other two were professional soldiers, happy to follow orders. Likely they would voice an opinion only when dealing with a matter of a military nature.
“There’s a dragon down there.”
“What in hells?” one of the soldiers said.
“Sergeant Tresonne, isn’t it?” He nodded. Ysabeau smiled thinly. “It’s sleeping.”
“Great,” Hangdog said. “Let’s get out of here before it wakes up.”
“Would you like to be the one to tell the Prince Bishop why we’ve failed our mission?”
Hangdog shook his head.
“Didn’t think so. I’ve no more desire to die here than any of you, but if we can complete this mission, we will. Now, the dragon seems to be very deeply asleep. Hibernating maybe, I don’t know. It didn’t react to me being down there at all. We might be able to do what we need to do and get out of here before it wakes.” A thought occurred to her: just how deeply did this creature sleep?
“We’ll need to be careful,” Hangdog said.
“Of course,” Ysabeau said, not bothering to hide the contempt in her voice. “Why don’t you go and explain the situation to our learned friends? Try not to scare three hells out of them. There’s a good chap.”
Ysabeau needed to give everyone a few minutes to come to terms with the fact that they were standing next to a real, live dragon. It wasn’t as large as the other one she had seen, but its lustrous golden scales made it far more magnificent. It had to be one of the ones that had reached the temple when she had been there the last time, so it had been awake recently, and that made her wonder if it might awaken again soon. Was her intention to push forward worth the risk?
Every one of them had heard tales as a child, of slumbering dragons in dark, forgotten places, keeping an ages-long vigil over their hoards of treasure. She supposed the treasure in this instance was the forgotten knowledge the temple contained. That might disappoint an ordinary person, but for those who already had money and power, this was the true treasure.
No one dared let out even an overly loud breath, let alone speak. They were all in awe, even Ysabeau, who had seen the creature before. It truly was incredible, and she reckoned she could stare at it for hours.
Recalling the violence that had taken place during her previous visit to the temple, she looked around. There was nothing to mark that incident—not even patches of blood on the floor. Of the bodies, or the Spurriers who had still been alive when she left, there was no sign. It was curious, but then again, the temple was a curious place.
The magic here was potent beyond belief—there was no dust, no deterioration, nothing at all to indicate how old the place was. The reliefs were crisp and pristine, as though they’d been created only yesterday; the inscriptions were sharp and distinct. The statuary, mainly of dragons, was vibrant and lifelike. There was no moss, no muck, nothing but what the creators of the place had intended. Perhaps there was an enchantment that kept it clean. She hoped that it was included in what was inscribed on the walls—she could certainly do with it for her apartment in Mirabay.
“All right,” she whispered. “Time to get to work.”
The academics reluctantly pulled themselves away from the spectacle of the slumbering creature. The temple was surely an incredible place for them, the type of thing archaeologists and linguists must dream of. That the three of them had barely noticed the wonders on the walls spoke volumes about how breathtaking the dragon was. As they walked by, she couldn’t help but glance at their britches. None of them had pissed themselves, which impressed her. Perhaps they were made of sterner stuff than she had given them credit for.
Now that their attention was turned to the wealth of material all around them, they whispered excitedly, dividing tasks up amongst themselves. That done, they unpacked materials from their satchels and moved to their designated sections of wall. They were in their element now, exploring knowledge being their comfort zone. Gone were the quiet, sullen countenances, replaced instead with excited faces full of youthful energy. She supposed if you matched someone to their interest, anyone could display passion.
“I suppose we just need to wait and let them do their thing,” Hangdog said. “How long do you think they’ll take?”
Ysabeau shrugged. “As long as it takes. I want to be out of here in no more than three days, though. If they’re done before then, great. If not, best make yourself comfortable. And useful, if they need any of your ‘special’ help.” She turned to the soldiers. “Let’s keep an eye on that dragon, be ready if it wakes up.”
They both visibly paled.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not trying to make a bunch of dragonslayers out of you. We just need to hold it at bay long enough for that lot to get away with whatever information they’ve gathered. That’s the mission goal, that’s what we have to make sure happens.”
“We could build a picket of some sort,” Tresonne said. “I doubt it’d last long, but it might buy us the time we need if that thing wakes up.”
“Get on it,” Ysabeau said. “But do it quietly.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than there was a clatter behind her. She turned to see what had happened. One of the academics stood sheepishly over a portable easel that lay flat on the ground. Fear surged through her as she turned back to the dragon, but the beast slumbered soundly. She breathed a sigh of relief.
The noise had been loud—certainly loud enough to have woken the beast. Perhaps this dragon was in one of the thousand-year sleeps the old children’s tales spoke of. The thought she’d had earlier returned. What was more impressive a feat—slaying a dragon, or capturing a live one?
She clapped her hands hard, then again. The sound rang sharply through the temple and everyone flinched, even the soldiers.
“What in hells are you doing?” Hangdog said.
“It’s out cold,” Ysabeau said, clapping again. “It must be some kind of hibernation.” She clapped one last time, then shouted as loud as she could, then laughed.
“Tresonne, that last town we passed through. Get back there fast and have the smith build us a cage. I think you know how big it needs to be!”
“You want to capture it?” Hangdog said.
“Why not? Better than leaving it here, don’t you think?” If this didn’t impress her father, nothing she ever did would. Bringing home a live dragon … The thought brought a smile to her face. She walked forward and reached out. Ysabeau hesitated for a moment—was this the most foolish thing she’d ever tried?—then placed her hand on the dragon’s snout.
It didn’t feel how she expected it to, but then again, she had no idea of what to expect. She’d seen snakes in menageries, but never touched one. The dragon’s scales were hard, but not like pieces of slate—more like a boiled leather cuirass, but thicker. They were warmer and softer to the touch than metal or stone, but looked like they were made from beaten gold. She wondered if there was any actual gold in the scales. If there was, the scales on this creature would be worth more than the king’s fortune.
The beast was breathing, albeit very slowly. Ysabeau counted twenty of her breaths for one of its, although she was breathing faster than normal. Her heart was racing, too. It would take far more than a gentle touch on the nose to get the dragon into a cage. She tapped it and immediately sprang back, but it didn’t react. She moved forward and tried twice more. Still nothing.