“I’m told the Order’s healers can accomplish all manner of things that are far beyond the skills of an ordinary physician,” dal Ruisseau Noir said after they had gone a short distance.
“I, yes, they can,” Solène said. “I didn’t have the chance to get any training in healing, though.”
Gill could tell where dal Ruisseau Noir was going with this, an odd thing considering he was an Intelligencier, but they blended devotion to their original purpose with patriotism in a way that Gill had often found difficult to get his head around.
“But you have the ability to heal?” dal Ruisseau Noir said.
“The ability, yes. I suppose I do. But I really don’t have the skills needed. I can heal a cut, ease the pain of a bruise. I can even take a chance at mending some broken bones, but nothing more complex than that. It’s very easy to do more damage than was there to begin with, if you don’t know what you’re doing. Which I don’t.”
Gill raised an eyebrow, wishing he could see dal Ruisseau Noir’s reaction. Gill reckoned Solène was treading on dangerous ground, making jokes about magic with an Intelligencier. Nonetheless, it was clear he was building up to ask a very big favour of her, so she could probably get away with it.
He already knew what the favour was, and he was sure Solène did as well. He could tell she was getting uncomfortable. She’d tried to heal people only on two prior occasions. Her first patient, Felix Leverre, had died. In great pain, if her description had been anything to go by. The second time, she’d healed Nicholas dal Sason—indeed, she’d made him a bit too healthy for Gill’s liking, considering they’d fought a duel to the death a short time after. Dal Sason’s injuries had been limited to a fever and some broken ribs. Nothing compared to whatever was wrong with the king.
“We have to find him first,” Gill said, hoping to move the conversation on. It seemed to have the desired effect, as they all fell silent. They spent another hour on horseback before a lone figure, leading a mule, emerged from the darkness.
As they grew closer, Gill realised that it was Pharadon, back in human form, and that there were two bodies draped over the mule’s back. Gill’s heart dropped into his stomach as he wondered where he should bury Val. The lad had never spoken of any family, had given every indication that he was an orphan. The speed with which he departed Trelain suggested he didn’t have any great love for the city. Gill decided he’d find a nice churchyard somewhere, perhaps even this village, and make sure he had a plot and headstone to himself.
“I’m glad to see you all alive,” Pharadon said.
“Likewise,” Gill said.
“I apologise for my delay. It takes some time to recuperate enough from one transformation to carry out another, and I felt I would be safer travelling the countryside in your form.”
“It’s lucky we happened upon you,” Gill said.
Pharadon gave him a curious look. “No, it wasn’t. I knew exactly where you were.”
Magic, again, Gill thought. He was starting to feel a little inadequate, having to rely on the traditional ways of doing things.
“The king?” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “Is he well?”
“As well as he was when I took him from the city,” Pharadon said, “which is to say, not well at all, but he lives. I brought Val, also.” He gave Gill a sad look as he handed the mule’s reins to dal Ruisseau Noir.
“Where did you get the mule?” Solène said.
Pharadon shrugged. It seemed that was all the answer they were going to get. He returned his attention to Gill. “It’s been an interesting experience, Guillot, but I bid you farewell.”
“Where will you go?” Gill said.
“Back to the temple and the goldscale. Dragons reached enlightenment before we began using the Cups as a tool to ensure the process was successful. Perhaps I can find a way, some method of the ancients.”
“Thank you for helping us,” Gill said.
“Likewise,” Pharadon said. “I’m only sorry that our respective quests have led us to so much sorrow and disappointment.”
There was something tragic about the matter-of-fact way Pharadon delivered this line, as though in his ancient wisdom, he had come to accept such things without question. For someone so short-lived as Gill, such resignation was difficult.
“Wait,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “You might not be able to cast spells on a person, but you do know much about magic?”
Gill had to think for a moment to digest the abrupt change in the conversation’s direction.
“Spells aren’t cast,” Pharadon said. “Magic—actually the energy that allows it, the Fount—is shaped. That shaping of that energy is what affects the physical world. And yes, dragons are creatures of the Fount, and I know as much about it as I suppose anything living at this moment. Even your Prince Bishop.”
“So you could instruct Solène on how to heal the king?”
Pharadon hadn’t been back in human form for very long, so Gill wasn’t sure if his stiff expression stemmed from that, or if he was truly dumbfounded.
“You’ve learned firsthand what a dangerous threat to the world the Prince Bishop is now that he has all this magical power,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. “Do you think he’ll rest easily knowing there are dragons in existence, that you might be strong enough to tear down all he’s built up? He sees your kind as vermin, and once he is secure, he will have you all hunted until he is certain you are no more.”
“His task might be easier than you think,” Pharadon said, “considering I am likely the last of my kind. Seeing as this is something he has already tried, I’m inclined to agree with your assessment, however.”
Gill felt guilty that his behaviour had contributed to losing the Cup, and more so at prevailing upon the dragon’s charity when the only other dragon they knew to be alive was inching ever closer to a descent into savagery. How could they ask him for anything more?
“The temple’s intense magical power means the slumber I put the goldscale into should keep her frozen until I release the magic,” Pharadon said. “As the situation is so dire, I’m willing to chance a little more time with you if it means your Prince Bishop might meet with justice. I will try to guide you, Solène, if you are willing to attempt a healing. There is only so much I can do, however. I can teach you how to guide the tool with precision, but not necessarily which bolt to turn. That is a matter for those with knowledge of the human body to instruct you on.”
They all gave him an odd look at the use of the idiom.
“We can find a physician to give you guidance in that regard,” dal Ruisseau Noir said. His voice was full of energy again, now that he saw a solution to his problem. “Let’s return to the village.”
Gill cleared his throat and gave dal Ruisseau Noir a look.
“Of course,” the Intelligencier said. “Thank you, Pharadon. For your continued help. The kingdom will owe you a great debt.”
CHAPTER 18
Daylight, the next morning, gave Gill his first proper look at Castandres. It was a little larger than Venne, but built along similar lines—a rectangular market square surrounded by two-story buildings. The church stood proudly at one end, its belfry towering above all else. There were some stone buildings, and a stretch of arcade across the square at the end opposite the church, but most structures were rendered timber construction, with old, bleached oak beams crisscrossing their façades and lending the place a charming character.