Servant of the Crown

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  Might there be different types of dragon, some a danger and others not? Were they capable of higher thought? Certainly this dragon’s eyes contained far more intelligence than many men she had encountered over the years.

  “Eat, damn you,” she muttered under her breath. The dragon just lay there, staring at her. Ysabeau swore in frustration. She’d not left the old arena since the dragon had been installed there; she’d been sleeping in a tent in the workers’ camp. Now she decided she’d had enough of the place, that she needed a break from those mournful, accusatory eyes.

  She left without a word to her work crew—she was sick of them too, and she had no doubt they would be delighted by a few hours out from under her harsh glare.

  Ysabeau had never been one for wine or ale—waiting for others to get drunk had always been a favourite tactic—but she felt as though she could use something to take the edge off the tension that gripped her like a vise. As she walked toward a tavern she knew, she realised the city was in a similar state.

  The violence she’d heard of soon after her return to Mirabay seemed to have abated; perhaps her father was starting to get a grasp on things. Yet there was still an uncomfortable air of tension on the streets, though she didn’t feel unsafe, exactly. The ordinary business of the city seemed to be continuing. Maybe now that the agonised initial adjustment period was over, people were coming around to the new reality. That almost seemed too much to hope for, but Mirabay had always been a city of passion, where emotions ran high and the mood swung from one side of the balance to the other in moments.

  The Little Palace had always been a favourite of Ysabeau’s, even when she was too young to be allowed in. It was a place of agitators, anarchists, and intellectuals. Over the years, she had killed at least a dozen men and women who had gained notice within those walls, removing those whose voices were loud enough to make the wealthy and powerful uncomfortable. At times she had wondered at the morality of it—cutting down voices championing the rights of the poor, the downtrodden. People like her. Her mother. Her friends. The half brother who had died in the night one bad winter, starved and frozen.

  Such moralising rarely lasted long. She knew reality too well. No one really wanted equality, or rights for the downtrodden, they simply wanted to lift themselves up. Become the ones doing the shitting, rather than remain the ones getting shit on. Those foolish and naive enough to listen to their mellifluous words wouldn’t reap any benefit, just get killed during the process. People like her. People like her mother. Her brother too, had he lived.

  Better cut those hollow words out of their throats before they convinced other people to get themselves killed. It wasn’t so hard to justify how she had made her life when she thought of it like that.

  The Little Palace was quiet that afternoon. There were plenty of people about, but there was no noise, no lively discussion or passionate speech, merely groups huddled around tables, drinking and talking quietly. Intensely. Ysabeau sat and ordered a drink. One of the dandies, who appeared to fancy himself as an intellectual, or at least liked to give ladies the impression he was, made his way over, wire spectacles perched rakishly on his nose in a way ironically similar to a dandy banneret who wore his sword low on his hip and walked with a swagger.

  She forced a smile as he sidled up next to her at the bar as her glass of warm spiced wine arrived. She had ordered it from habit—it was the drink of Kate dal Drenham, her Humberland alter ego, a woman who wore silk skirts and had perfect hair and makeup. As for Ysabeau dal Fleurat, in her leather riding britches, boots, and a swordsman’s tunic—Ruripathian whisky was more suited to her, but it was expensive and difficult to come by, not something to be found in the Little Palace, where claims of penury were worn like badges of honour.

  She looked at her unwanted drinking companion and wondered what about her appearance had said “come and have a drink with me.” It certainly wasn’t her expression. She’d have thought that said something far, far different.

  “Gerard Planchet, at your service,” the bespectacled dandy said.

  Gerard Plonker, more like, she thought.

  “What brings a beauty like you to so dreary a place as the Little Palace?”

  If he thinks he’s poetic and charming, he ought to get a refund on his rhetoric classes. She flashed him her most radiant smile, the one she reserved for men whose decision-making she needed to relocate below their belt, and did her best not to laugh when she saw his overeager reaction.

  “I’ve not had reason,” she said, drawing out her words with a level of delectation that she realised ought to shame her, “to geld a man for irritating me in over a week. I started getting twitchy, so here I am.”

  Planchet’s grin widened, and he made as though he was about to laugh, until her facial expression convinced him she wasn’t joking. She brushed back her cloak to reveal the three daggers neatly strapped to her hip.

  “I … If you’ll excuse me, madame, I think I see someone…”

  She watched him walk away and almost smiled when he cast a furtive look back to make sure she wasn’t going after him. She turned her attention back to the spiced wine, and the question of how she was going to get the bloody dragon to eat.

  CHAPTER

  35

  “We’re close,” Pharadon said.

  Gill kept his eyes peeled and looked dead ahead. They hadn’t encountered any more Venori and he felt like they were long overdue. Pharadon was certain there were more of them down there, and Gill would prefer to be done with them rather than live with the thought of them lurking in the darkness, ready to attack at any moment. They couldn’t be that hungry if they were showing such restraint.…

  The tunnel opened out into a large cavern. The light from Solène’s globe didn’t reach as far as any of the walls, imparting an air of uncertainty. How big was this chamber? What lurked in the darkness? Gill reckoned they’d reached their destination.

  “The Cups are here,” Pharadon said. “They’re here.”

  Gill could sense the relief in his voice, and realised that up until that moment, the old dragon hadn’t been sure they’d get this far. Given what they’d seen of the Venori, Gill didn’t understand Pharadon’s worry. He wasn’t ready to start underestimating them yet—he had too many fights under his belt to think he’d seen enough of them to form a worthwhile opinion. Nonetheless, he wasn’t quite as terrified of the demonic-looking creatures as he had been on entering the mountain tunnels.

  “The Venori?” he asked.

  “They’re around. I’m not sure where.”

  “Let’s get what we need and get out of here fast, then,” Solène said. “I could live quite happily not seeing one of those creatures ever again.”

  She cast another light, illuminating more of the cavern. Other than their footfalls and breathing, the only sound was of dripping water, falling from the countless glistening stalactites lining the roof. Gill felt a shiver run over his skin as he looked up at them. If one fell, it would spear right through whatever it hit.

  The new light fell on an object sitting amongst a cluster of stalagmites. It looked like a chest, but it had slowly been swallowed up by the mountain. Only the top remained visible, its metal bands and latches and wooden frame looking unnaturally fresh considering how long it must have been here. Magic, once again. Was there anything it could not do?

  “What happened to the chest?” Gill said, unable to work out how rock might have grasped it as it had.

  “The water falling from the roof,” Pharadon said. “It’s gathered around the chest and is starting to turn it into a stalagmite. We may have to break it free.”

  Loud hammering was something Gill would have preferred to avoid, though he realised the Venori were attracted by other things. He scanned the cavern as he advanced on the rock-encased chest, but there was no sign of the Venori, nor any trace of them having been there—not that Gill had any idea of what he should be looking for.

  “I think it’s safe,” Gill said, fully aware tha
t Pharadon probably had a better sense for where the Venori were than he did. Still, he was there as the muscle, and he reckoned he should at least maintain the illusion that he was protecting them.

  Pharadon moved forward and inspected the chest. His face broke into a smile when he placed his hands on it. Opening the latch, the dragon in human form gave the lid an experimental tug; it opened as though the hinges had been oiled that morning. He let out a sigh of relief.

  “They’re here,” he said. “Intact and unused.”

  “Gather them up and let’s get out of here,” Gill said.

  “How many are there?” Solène asked, craning to see.

  “Three,” Pharadon said as he picked them up, one at a time, and deposited them in pouches in his cloak that appeared to form out of nowhere as Pharadon required them.

  “Three Cups,” Solène said.

  Gill didn’t like the consternated tone of her voice.

  “You’ll use one of them on the goldscale,” she said. “What will you do with the others?”

  Pharadon shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. Once the goldscale is enlightened, the two of us will be able to enlighten any other juveniles we come across. We’ll have no need of the Cups. I have no interest in shaping the types of magic the old temple priests created. They’re of no use to me. Would you like them?”

  “No!” Solène said, her harsh voice echoing around the cavern.

  The question had been innocently asked, but the strength of Solène’s reaction allowed Gill to piece together her concern. They had fought so hard to stop Amaury from getting his hands on an unused Cup. Now there were more, and who knew what might happen if they fell into the wrong hands.

  “No,” Solène said again. “No human should have that type of power.”

  “What they offer is not so great a step beyond where you already are,” Pharadon said.

  “Might they help us against Amaury?” Gill said.

  “Giving anyone else that type of power would be an act of madness,” Solène said. “Who would you trust with it?”

  The king was Gill’s first thought, but he quickly dismissed it. Solène was right. The Cups were too dangerous to let out into the world.

  “Can you destroy them?” Solène said.

  “I … I’m not actually sure,” Pharadon said. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever tried. In any event, I’m not willing to risk any of them until I’ve brought the goldscale to enlightenment.”

  “We can’t let anyone use those Cups,” Solène said.

  The tension in the cavern rose instantly. Gill watched Solène carefully. Whatever she did, he would follow, but he wondered if this was where their common cause with Pharadon came to an abrupt end. A lot of unpalatable courses of action flashed through Gill’s mind. Pharadon would be tough to take down, unless Gill could get to him before he left his human form.

  The silence that followed Solène’s declaration seemed to stretch for an eternity. Gill was glad he was already holding his sword—this was the moment he would have drawn it otherwise, and that rarely defused a situation.

  “Once the goldscale is enlightened,” Pharadon said, “we can try to destroy the other Cups. If we can’t, I’ll take them far into the mountains, where your kind will never find them.”

  Solène nodded slowly, and Gill let out the breath he’d been holding, as quietly as he could. The sound of footsteps flooded the cavern. The Venori had decided it was time to make their appearance.

  In the open space, Gill was concerned that they might be swamped by the demons, that their incredible speed would make them impossible to hit. At least Solène’s issues with killing didn’t seem to extend to the Venori. He didn’t fancy his chances of fighting them off alone.

  The three of them gathered at the chest. It sounded as though the creatures were coming from the passage they’d used to enter the cavern.

  “Are there any other ways out of here?” Gill said.

  “Plenty,” Solène said. “I’ve no idea where any of them lead, though.”

  “Looks like we’re fighting our way out, then,” Gill said. They were surrounded by the pool of light created by Solène’s magic, which showed neither the edges of the chamber nor the Venori, though Gill could hear them shuffling around just beyond its periphery. His skin crawled as he thought of them, out there, concealed by the darkness, balancing the danger against their hunger. That they wouldn’t actually eat him, merely drain him of the vital Fount energy within his body, was no less disconcerting than the idea of having them gnaw on his bones.

  “Why aren’t they coming at us,” Gill said.

  “I don’t know,” Pharadon said. “The Venori are almost as much of a mystery to me as they are to you.”

  Guttural sounds echoed about the cavern—the demons were talking to one another.

  The tension was reaching a breaking point. If something didn’t happen soon, Gill would rush into the darkness and let the dice fall where they may.

  “Cover your eyes,” Solène said.

  CHAPTER

  36

  Gill had fought by Solène’s side enough times to not ask, “Why?” He trusted her, and covered his eyes with one hand just as the cavern exploded with light. It would have been silent, were it not for the pained hisses coming from all around him. If there was ever a better invitation to act, Gill hadn’t seen it. As soon as the searing light fighting its way between his fingers faded, he charged.

  The Venori were stumbling around, startled by the sudden illumination. Though Gill cut two down before they even started to come out of their daze, he didn’t get long to congratulate himself on his swift reaction. He could see at least a dozen more, all beginning to regain their senses.

  The massive discharge of magical energy had taken its toll on Solène—she was wavering on her feet as she recovered from the strain of the magic she had just shaped. Pharadon rushed to her side. With the dragon in human form, Gill knew that for the next few moments, he was on his own. There was a good chance the fight wouldn’t last much longer than that.

  He roared at the next group of Venori and rushed at the nearest. It jinked out of the way of his thrust, but Gill kept going, cutting deep into the one that had been behind it. The creature reacted to the touch of Telastrian steel the same way the others had, hissing in agony as its vitality quickly drained away.

  One jumped on Gill’s back, sending him staggering. He could feel the creature’s breath on his neck as he twisted, trying to shake it off. No matter what he did, he couldn’t throw it clear. He started to feel tired, as though his heart was struggling to find the energy to beat, and panic flashed through him as he realised what was happening.

  He ran backwards with everything he had and slammed into the cavern wall. The Venori hissed, but still it clung tight. It didn’t seem to be feeding off him anymore, but the sight of him weighed down with one of their kind was an invitation to others, who rushed toward him.

  Again he bashed the one on his back against the cavern wall, while attempting to swing his sword at the two approaching from in front. His movements were restricted by the grasping demon on his back, and the ones in front were being a little more cautious. By now the Venori knew what his blade was made of and that he didn’t need to make a killing strike to finish them with it.

  Gill slammed the demon on his back against the wall one last time, then pulled the dagger from his belt with his free hand. It wasn’t Telastrian steel, so he didn’t know if it was a futile gesture. He stabbed at the Venori clinging to him as best he could, while waving his sword menacingly before him. The dagger connected with something fleshy and Gill dug it in as hard as he could.

  His hand grew wet with whatever the Venori had for blood; the creature loosened its grip as it sought to get away from his blade. One more bash against the wall and it was off. He spun fast, whipping his sword around, then across the demon’s flesh. Its scream of agony was enough to tell Gill that he could return his attention to the other two.

  Wheth
er enraged by the death of their comrade or overcome by their hunger, they launched themselves at Gill. The first was easy to deal with—it was moving forward with such speed that Gil cut clean through its midsection. The second was on him then, bowling him over backwards. Morning left Gill’s grip with a clatter. He got to his hands and knees and scrabbled about for it in the gloom, finding it just as the creature leaped onto his back. The impact knocked the sword farther from Gill’s grasp. He managed to hold on to his dagger, though, so rolled over, pinning the demon beneath him.

  The Venori didn’t seem to pay the blade any attention—all it was interested in was pulling Gill close enough to feed. It might not have feared regular steel the way it did the Telastrian variety, but Gill could cause plenty of mischief with it. He plunged the blade into the demon’s throat up to the hilt, then pulled it sideways, severing all but a chunk of its neck, then hacked through the rest. Relieving the demon of its head seemed to do the job, as the body went slack.

  Gill grabbed his sword and jumped to his feet. Solène had a pile of bodies around her now—more than Gill could claim, but he was happy to concede the tally to her, so long as she was recovered from her initial effort, and they got out alive. There were not many left—only two that Gill could make out. It looked like they’d managed to get the upper hand, but it wasn’t time to relax just yet.

  Gill joined the others, cutting down the last two Venori while their attention was fixed on Pharadon.

  “Might be time to make a run for it,” Gill said. No sooner had he spoken than the sound of charging feet echoed into the chamber from any number of directions. “Gods alive, how many of these things are there?”

  “More than I could ever have imagined,” Pharadon said. He drew one of the Cups from his cloak, crouched, and filled it with water from a cave pool. “One day soon, your kind will have to confront them, but for now, you must run.”