He circled the room, studying the frescoes. Perhaps if they were contemporary to the actions depicted, they would give him a hint as to how the old Chevaliers achieved their supposedly great feats. He was quickly disappointed; they were far more style than substance. Men didn’t defeat something so terrifying as a dragon while looking as though they were hoping to make a dinner engagement that evening.
He looked around the hidden cellar and swore. How did all the pieces fit together? He spent hours studying the paintings and statues, then camped out by the house, prepared to continue his exploration the next morning.
CHAPTER
37
Solène woke to the discomfort of her face pressed against a hard surface. She sat up abruptly, disoriented, and took a moment to work out where she was. The archive. She wondered how long she had been asleep, but since she was underground, there was no way to tell what time it was. Day or night, she was famished, so she headed for the exit.
As she walked, the concerns she had fallen asleep with returned. The Silver Circle were empowered by drinking from an ancient cup, the location of which was unknown; mages did not seem to have been able to kill dragons by themselves. How little to show for a day’s work! Having discovered how to read the documents and to locate what she was looking for quickly were significant achievements, but she could only find something as long as she knew what she was looking for.
She walked up the spiral steps to the cathedral, legs stiff and protesting from the hours spent at the desk. Light came in through the stained-glass windows, so she must have slept through the night. She hoped her absence at the Priory that morning wouldn’t get her into trouble. She had planned to call at a café near the cathedral for something to eat before returning to the archive, but now wondered if she should go back to the Priory first.
Her attention was caught by the sharp footfalls of a grey-haired man who had just entered the cathedral, the door shutting behind him with a reverberating boom. His cloak billowed, revealing the Prince Bishop’s livery.
“Sister dal Bastelle,” he called.
It took Solène’s sleep-deprived mind a moment to realise he was referring to her. “Yes?”
“Good. I called at the Priory first, but they told me you weren’t there. The Prince Bishop wishes for you to attend on him at the palace to update him on your progress.”
It seemed the Prince Bishop wasn’t the most patient of men, and it worried her how little she had to give him. The man stood looking at her hopefully.
“Now?” she said.
“That would be perfect. I have a carriage waiting.”
“I was hoping to get something to eat.”
“I’m sure the palace kitchens will be able to provide you with far better fare than anything you can find on the Isle.”
Clearly, he wasn’t going to accept any delay and he was right that the food in the palace was going to be better than any of the cafés, plus, she wouldn’t have to pay for it. She nodded and followed him out of the cathedral.
The carriage waiting outside wasn’t the Prince Bishop’s personal vehicle, but Solène knew it wasn’t a good idea to get too used to such treatment—it had simply been the honey to catch the fly. She was, at least, allowed the privacy of the cabin, as the messenger sat outside with the driver. The seats weren’t cushioned, and there was no gilding in sight, but it still beat having to walk through dirty streets to the palace. She watched the city speed by, but without the interest she’d once had. She was quickly coming to realise that everything in Mirabay had a price higher than it first seemed.
The carriage came to a halt outside the palace gate, and Solène didn’t wait for anyone to open the door for her. Pushing it open, she hopped down and paced toward the palace doors. She had no idea what she would say to the Prince Bishop. How would he take the news that their only source of salvation was a cup that had been lost for a millennium and was unlikely to ever be found again? Unless there were a magical way to find it, which she had not yet figured out.
She breezed past the guards at the door with only the briefest interaction, so caught up in her thoughts that she walked straight into a man she recognised—Commander Leverre.
“Commander Leverre, isn’t it?” Solène said. “You were with Gill, weren’t you? I didn’t realise you were already back in the city.” She could see his confusion. “I’m sorry. We haven’t met. I am—was—a friend of Gill’s. My name is Solène. Initiate Solène.”
“Well met, Initiate,” he said, only now taking in her uniform. “I’m just returned.” His eyes were red and he looked like he hadn’t slept in several days.
“I was very upset to hear about Guillot. I hope you weren’t too badly injured in the fight.”
Leverre frowned. “He came out of it better than the rest of us. I have a constant headache, and there are the brothers and sisters we lost in the fight to remember, but I thank you for your concern.”
Solène’s mind spun and she opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it and smiled. Leverre gave her a curt nod.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I’m keen for a hot meal and a warm bed.”
She watched him until he disappeared into the sunlight beyond the great double doors. She chewed on her lip. Had the Prince Bishop been mistaken about who had died? It didn’t seem like the type of mistake a man as fastidious as he would make. On instinct, she knew she had been lied to.
Why would the Prince Bishop lie to her about Guillot? She considered asking him about it, but it occurred to her that there might be more to be gained by playing along for the time being. She knew the Prince Bishop had an agenda, but she didn’t know its goal, or where she would fit in when that point was reached.
The walk from the palace doors to the Prince Bishop’s offices seemed far shorter than it had the last time—too short, in fact. She found herself outside the door to the antechamber—used as an office by the Prince Bishop’s secretary—before she had a clear idea of the strategy she wanted to adopt. There were too many people passing by—from servants to courtiers—for her to loiter for long. She knocked, and was commanded to enter.
The Prince Bishop’s personal secretary whisked Solène straight through to his master’s office, where the Prince Bishop stood staring out the window. He remained in his silent vigil, not acknowledging her arrival until the secretary had left and closed the door behind him.
“Have you discovered anything of use?” he asked, without turning.
Solène shifted the weight between her feet. “I have, but I fear it might not be enough.”
“I still want to hear it.”
Solène took a deep breath and made her decision. The less he thought she knew, the better. “I’ve found some records documenting the early days of the Silver Circle. They make mention of a cup used to anoint the new Chevaliers under the supervision of the College of Mages. It supposedly ended up in Mirabaya. Perhaps if we could find it and learn how to use it…”
She paused to gauge his reaction, but his gaze remained fixed on whatever he was looking at below—perhaps one of the palace gardens. The silence grew until Solène wondered if she should say something else, for no reason other than to fill the space.
“I had heard of special initiation rites,” the Prince Bishop said at last. “I had hoped that something of them might have carried over to the present day—my reason for sending Guillot on the mission in the first place. Now I see the modern rite omitted the key component.”
Seeing her chance, Solène threw caution to the wind. “I was wondering. Guillot showed me a great deal of kindness, and, well, I know he doesn’t have anyone to mourn or remember him, so I thought perhaps I could repay his kindness in that way. Do you know … how it happened? I mean, was it quick? Did he suffer?”
The Prince Bishop turned to face her with an abruptness that startled her. “I believe it was instantaneous and bravely met,” he said. “Dwelling on such things never does anyone any good.” He walked to his chair, sat down, and
steepled his fingers.
She studied him closely. Now that he had confirmed the lie, Solène knew there was more to him involving Guillot in his plans than she had thought. What would he do if he were caught not only in the initial lie, but in compounding it? Surely Leverre had given the Prince Bishop a complete report on what had happened? Why, then, did the Prince Bishop continue to perpetuate a lie when a simple claim of incomplete information would have swept the matter to one side? Unless he intended that the lie never be found out.
She felt the blood drain from her face as what that meant dawned on her.
“Solène? Are you all right?”
She forced a smile. “Yes, thank you. I’ve not had much sleep the last couple of days.”
The Prince Bishop nodded. “It certainly looks that way. Go back to the Priory and get some rest. You can continue your investigations tomorrow. A hot meal and an early night will put you to rights.”
She smiled again and nodded. “I expect so.” Gazing around the room, she saw a pile of books in the corner. They looked old, like those she had spent the last few days surrounded by. She decided to ask a risky question. “Have you heard any mention of this cup before? It was referred to as the Amatus Cup. Any hints of how to track it down would be a big help.”
The Prince Bishop frowned for a moment as though in deep concentration. “No, I’m afraid not. If I come across anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Suspicious, Solène reached for the Fount and focussed her thoughts on the Cup and the Silver Circle. She let out a surprised cough when she saw the books twitch.
The Prince Bishop gave her an inquiring look.
“I’m sorry, my Lord,” she said. “I’m fit to drop. If I might be excused?”
“Of course,” he said.
With a false smile, she left the room as calmly as possible. She took a deep breath when the door closed behind her, but was startled when she realised the Prince Bishop’s secretary was staring at her. She gave him a curt nod, then left, walking quickly.
Questions, questions, questions, she thought as she headed for her waiting carriage. Why are there always so many questions and so few answers? That the Prince Bishop was keeping something from her came as no great surprise. She gave her driver a wave, told him to take her to the Priory, and hopped into the carriage. It struck her as odd how quickly she was becoming accustomed to such things. As he pulled away one thought plagued her. If Guillot wasn’t already dead, then he soon would be. But why, and could she stop it from happening?
Leverre was the only man who could shed light on it all. She was certain she would find him back at the Priory. Once she knew where Guillot was, she could somehow get a warning to him that the Prince Bishop did not intend to let him live. Was she being paranoid? She chewed her lip. Part of her said it had to be a mistake, but her gut told her there was something wrong. She hoped Leverre had some answers. She tapped her foot against the side of the carriage and willed it to go faster.
* * *
As soon as Solène arrived at the Priory, she asked for directions to Commander Leverre’s quarters. Even though it was the height of the day, and the Priory was as buzzing with activity as it got, there was still a serenity about the place that was completely absent in the city. It had been her home for only a handful of days, yet she had already developed an affection for it. In the pit of her stomach, however, she could not help but feel her time there was already nearing its end.
Officer accommodation was not far removed from that provided for sisters, brothers, corporals, or sergeants, although their barrack houses were in a quieter part of the Priory’s grounds. More than enough time had passed since she’d encountered him at the palace for him to have eaten and gone to bed, and he hadn’t struck her as the type of man who would take kindly to having his sleep interrupted. There was no time to delay, however, so she marched up to his door and pounded on it.
After a moment she heard noise from inside, then the door creaked open.
“What is it?” Leverre said, looking ruffled.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Commander, but I wanted to ask you a few things.”
For a moment she thought he was going to turn her away, but then he nodded, although he did not move to let her in.
“You’re certain Guillot wasn’t hurt? It’s just that, well, I don’t have very many people I can call a friend, and I’m worried about him.”
Leverre nodded. “He had barely a scratch on him when I left them in Trelain.”
“Where is he, exactly?”
He frowned, and she worried that she’d overstepped the mark.
“The Black Drake. It’s a classy spot, so I doubt he’ll get himself into any trouble there unless he goes looking for it.”
“And the beast?”
“Guillot got one good cut at it, but that’s about it. I expect the injury won’t bother it for too long.”
Solène grimaced. It wasn’t much for the cost of four lives. “I’m sorry about your people.”
“Our people, Sister.”
Solène smiled. “Of course. But I didn’t know them.”
“The Order and its members are intended for dangerous work. When we join, we accept the fact that one day our duties may cost us our lives. For them, that day came. For the rest of us, it’s waiting out there.”
“Still, it can never be easy.”
“It isn’t.”
Silence fell—Solène felt awkward but Leverre seemed comfortable. Feeling she had exhausted him as an avenue for information, she turned, preparing to leave.
“You really do care for him, don’t you,” Leverre said before she could take a step.
“He saved my life when I was nothing but a stranger in a bad situation,” she said. “So yes, I do.”
“He saved mine, too,” Leverre said. His face was knotted as though he was struggling with a difficult thought. “Men are on their way to Trelain to kill him,” he blurted out.
“What?” Solène said, allowing her surprise to conceal the fact that he had confirmed her worst suspicion.
“It’s complicated, but the Prince Bishop wants Guillot’s failure to be complete, so he can bring the Order out into the open as the country’s saviour.”
“And for complete failure he needs Gill dead?”
Leverre nodded slowly, his face twisting into an uncomfortable grimace.
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do. I was supposed to make sure he didn’t come back from the cave alive. But that wasn’t the right thing to do, so I didn’t do it. What are you going to do now that you know?”
“I’m going to warn him,” Solène said, incredulous at the idea that there was anything else to do. His eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to stop me.”
Leverre’s face split into a weary smile, the first time she had seen him look anything other than sullen. “I’ve no intention of trying to stop you. I wouldn’t have told you if I was going to. It’ll mean going against the Prince Bishop. That mightn’t go so well for you.”
The reality of her intended action had not escaped her, but she had chosen not to think about that. “I know,” she said, at last allowing the fact that she could not return to the Priory, or the safety of the Order, to sink in. She would have to go back to her old life, constantly looking over her shoulder—now with one of the most powerful men in the country as her enemy.
“If we’re to beat the men the Prince Bishop has sent to Trelain, we’ll need to get moving.”
“What do you mean we?” Solène said.
“Like I said, he saved my life too. I owe him more than sending a slip of a girl to give him a warning.”
She glowered at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Get some travelling rations together for both of us, and anything else that you need,” he said. “Keep it to a minimum, though. We’ll need to move fast. Meet me at the stables in fifteen minutes.”
CHAPTER
38
Gill returned to the underground chamber as soon as he woke the next day. He discovered another door at the back of what he was coming to think of as a nave, tucked behind the statues depicting the ceremony. He tried to ignore the judgemental stares of the marble Chevaliers as he investigated the new doors. All the while, he was plagued by the question of what a replica of the little cup he had found in a dragon’s cave was doing in a chapel under his family home.
Though it was dry and cool down there—its suitability for storing wine was not lost on him—the newly discovered wooden door had grown far more brittle than the one he had forced open to get into the chapel. At a firm push, it splintered from its hinges, clattering to the ground with an echoing din and such a cloud of dust that Guillot coughed and spluttered before retreating into the larger room until it subsided.
At first he thought the new space was empty, but after the air cleared a little more, he could make out plaques lining the wall. That they were funerary was immediately obvious to him—he had seen their like many times before, including in the family mausoleum that now lay in a pile of rubble somewhere above his head. He held his torch up to the nearest plaque, engraved with finely chiselled lettering in a language he could not read. The letter forms were similar to those he knew, but distorted. The spellings were strange, with letters clustered together in unusual ways. He tried sounding out the words but they refused to make sense.
The next plaque was the same, as was the third. He was about to curse when he spotted something he recognised on the fourth plaque—a name he knew. Valdamar. It sent a chill down his spine. The lettering was odd, but when he looked past that, the word was there, as clear as day, dancing in the flickering red light of his torch.
There wasn’t a boy or girl in Mirabaya who didn’t know that name. Valdamar—Blade of the Morning Mist. One of the most famous of the dragon-slaying Chevaliers, Guillot could remember his father telling him at least a dozen stories about Valdamar. One for each of the dragons he was reputed to have slain. He was said to have come from a rural province, one known for being misty and mysterious, but more importantly, one known for being plagued by dragons. It occurred to Guillot that Villerauvais was almost perpetually shrouded in mist in spring and autumn. He had never considered a connection before, but now? What was someone like Valdamar doing buried here? While there was a family legend about descent from one of the founders of the Silver Circle, Valdamar had lived later, during the fall of the Empire and the early days of the kingdom. He was one of the last great Imperial Knights. After his generation, the Silver Circle became what Guillot knew it as.
Dragonslayer (The Dragonslayer) Page 26
