“I…” Ysabeau said. “I … We need to send word to my fa—the Prince Bishop. He’ll want to know about this right away.”
“Aye, my Lady,” the workman said. He turned to his mates and whispered orders. One of the men headed off with haste, no doubt delighted to be putting distance between himself and the creature of nightmares, contained only by an unfinished cage.
“How much work is still to be done?” Ysabeau asked. Her heart was racing; her gaze remained locked on those two magnificent eyes. If it got out now, what kind of destruction and mayhem might it cause before they could kill it?
“One section left, my Lady,” the workman said. “This one here.”
“Get it finished. Fast.”
CHAPTER 30
“What happens now?” Solène said.
Guillot shrugged. “The king doesn’t have enough men to march on the city, but with his cousins out of the way”—he did his best not to glance at the body hanging from the tackle beam extending from the gable of the village’s storehouse—“rallying troops to his banner should be easier. Amaury will be trying to do the same, I expect. Not sure how much success he’ll have. Probably some in the environs of the city, but beyond a day’s ride, the king will hold sway. A little time to build his army, then we march.”
“So it’s war then?”
Gill looked about and nodded. The village was a hive of activity. The smithy was being extended and any man who had ever swung a smith’s hammer was being drafted to help repair weapons and armour. Heralds had been sent across the country to rally men to the king’s banner, and spies had been dispatched to scout the countryside. Gill still felt drained by the previous day’s battle. The energy that had coursed through his veins took time to wane, and although he had been exhausted when he had finally crawled into bed, the jitters and anxiety left behind—the thousand “what if”s—ensured it was hours before he eventually found sleep.
“I don’t see any other way,” he said. “All things considered, Amaury isn’t going to apologise and step aside. He knows he’ll swing for what he’s done. If he’s lucky, which judging by Cousin Chabris over there, he’s not likely to be, I expect Amaury will be looking at an extended stay in Mirabay’s dungeons before he’s put out of his misery.”
Solène grimaced.
“It’s nothing he doesn’t deserve,” Gill said. “Nothing he hasn’t brought on himself. He’s not a man to feel sympathy for, no matter what you might think he’s done for you.”
She took a deep breath. “Everything he did for me had a price attached. That much was very obvious.” She glanced at the king, who was standing outside the inn, deep in discussion with Savin and a couple of distinguished-looking men she didn’t know. “I fear there’s another price I’ll have to pay now.”
“A good king will always see things of value in people,” Gill said, following her gaze. “And exploit them for his own gain. The best you can hope for is that he’ll be generous in return.”
“Will he want to use me or burn me at the stake?”
Gill raised an eyebrow. There was nothing flippant about her question.
“I saw the way the people of Mirabay reacted to the announcement of magic,” Solène said. “The king will have a much easier return if he turns on it.”
“You saved his life,” Gill said. “That will count for something.”
“Will it? Or will his memory only last until his next problem needs to be fixed—a problem that I’m part of?”
“Only if people know that about you,” Gill said. “The first thing I’d be doing, if I were you, is burning any item of cream clothing in my possession.”
She gestured to her clothes, which, like his, she had borrowed when they reached the village. “This is all I’ve got.”
He nodded. The reminder of their lack of personal possessions made him wonder again about his swords. The fighting was far from over and he would far rather be walking into it with one of his Telastrian blades, though his altered munitions blade had served him well enough so far. Fetching them from Mirabay didn’t seem like an option.
“The king owes you his life,” Gill said. “I won’t let him forget that. He’ll ask much of the people around him over the coming days, but he’ll have to remember what they do for him.”
“I hope so,” Solène said. “I’m going to spend some time with the wounded, see what I can do. The count’s physician will talk me through what he knows of anatomy. I seem to have gotten the hang of doing more good than harm.”
Gill gave her a reassuring smile, but wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure. He knew only too well how quickly kings could forget the good service done them.
“What’s he doing here?” Solène said, looking startled.
When Gill turned to look, he saw Pharadon, in human form, striding purposefully toward them.
“I wish I knew,” Gill said, “but something tells me in a few minutes, I’ll wish I didn’t.”
Pharadon raised a hand in greeting. “I have need of you both, and of your Telastrian sword, Gill.”
Gill forced a smile. Whatever it was, he was sure it wouldn’t be easy. “I’m afraid I don’t have any Telastrian swords at the moment.”
Pharadon frowned, the expression far more fluid than it had been the last time Gill had seen it on the dragon’s human face.
“The blade you carried when we first met?” Pharadon said.
“At the Wounded Lion, in Mirabay.”
“Oh,” Pharadon said. “It would be better if you had Telastrian steel.”
“What is it you need our help with?” Gill said.
“Of course,” Pharadon said. “I apologise for not making that clear. Venori. No more than a dozen, I think.”
It was Gill’s turn to frown. He looked at Solène, but she didn’t seem to have any more of a clue than he did.
“Venori?” he asked.
Pharadon nodded, then seemed to pick up on Gill’s look of confusion. “You have … demons in human mythology?”
Gill nodded. He hadn’t thought Pharadon would bear welcome news, but even with all he had witnessed in recent days, Gill’s imagination hadn’t stretched nearly so far as to think demons might be their next problem. Dark creatures of the shadows that fed on newborns and tempted the wicked to ever greater depravity, they featured on the stained-glass windows of nearly every church in the land—hairless, pointed ears, flesh that looked as though it had been charred by the fires of all three hells.
He described this to Pharadon, who smiled broadly and nodded. “Venori. Demons. Time is of the essence,” he continued. “You’re certain your swords are at the Wounded Lion?”
“Certain,” Gill said. “Unless they’ve been stolen.”
“I’ll return with them as quickly as I can,” Pharadon said. “Be ready to leave when I do.”
“My armour is there too,” Gill said. “It would be great to have it back.”
Without another word, Pharadon turned on his heel and strode away as purposefully as he had approached.
Gill gave Solène a bemused look and shrugged. She shrugged back.
“We’d be delighted to help, of course,” Gill shouted after Pharadon.
“How much is there?” Amaury said, as he surveyed the front of the warehouse, peering out the window of his unmarked carriage.
“Enough to feed the city for three months, your Grace,” Voclain said.