Servant of the Crown

by Duncan M. Hamilton

  * * *

  Solène felt a chill of fear run through her. She was torn between wanting to ask why, and not wanting to have the answer she already knew confirmed.

  “The passage we entered through is clear,” Pharadon said, “but there are many coming from deeper in the mountain. Too many. They will catch you, and kill us all.” He lifted the Cup to his lips, drained it. He let out the sigh of a thirsty man refreshed, then dropped it to the floor. Reaching into his cloak again, he pulled out the last two Cups and offered them to Solène. “You must promise me two last favours. Enlighten the goldscale.”

  “I’ve no idea how,” she said. “Why can’t you do it?”

  “I’ve done most of it,” Pharadon said. “All that remains is for her to drink from the Cup. That is the spark that will light the fire. The goldscale is far enough along the path that she will accept the Cup willingly, but there is one condition.”

  “What?”

  “That it is offered by one of the enlightened.”

  The colour drained from Solène’s face.

  “I can’t. I don’t want it.”

  “You are so close to enlightenment that this will make almost no difference. It will only free you from the fear of destroying yourself with your own power.”

  Solène shook her head. “That fear is what lets me know magic will never be the ruin of me.”

  Pharadon smiled grimly. “Using the Cup will also stop anyone else from obtaining its power.”

  Solène opened her mouth, but said nothing.

  “The Fount has already called to you, Solène,” Pharadon said. “It told you at the temple. ‘In this place we are one.’ You can be one with it, in this life and the after. Have faith in yourself. Enlightenment is meant for you. I beg you. Do this one thing for me. Save the last of my kind from ferity.”

  Solène swallowed hard. It made sense, and as noble a thought as her fear of magic being a good thing for her was, she knew it was naive. They day would come when she would regret turning down the benefits enlightenment would bring her. If it was as Pharadon said, and she already enjoyed most of the power it offered, why not have the safety benefits it brought also? She reached out and took the Cup, her decision made. “Now?”

  “Is there ever a better time? The water is brackish, but it will not do you any harm.”

  Solène knelt and filled the Cup. She hesitated for barely a moment, then threw the contents down her throat and grimaced. It was salty and bitter, but no more than unpleasant—certainly nothing that would make her ill. She took a breath, wiped her mouth, then stood.

  “Is that it? I don’t feel any diff—”

  The world flashed blue—the world, for she could see it all. More than see it, she could feel it, hear its beating heart as though it were a living thing, as though each living creature was part of one single entity. Everything seemed so simple in that moment. Solène remembered the voice in the temple—or perhaps she was hearing that same voice again now, it was difficult to tell. In this place we are one. Everything truly was one at that moment. All the differences and squabbles and rivalries of the world seemed utterly foolish and trivial.

  The Fount surged and swirled within her, not like an untamed external force that she needed to tap into, as it had been, but as though it was part of her. Not just subject to her will, it was her will. It was like music and the touch of the sun on a warm day combined. It imparted a feeling of joy unlike any she had ever known.

  For the first time in her life, Solène no longer felt alone, as the song of all enlightened creatures that had ever existed welcomed her. She couldn’t understand them, but the sentiment was clear, like the welcome home by her parents that she dreamed of, but knew she would never have. It was a feeling of belonging. It was a perfect moment, one she wanted to remain in for as long as she could.

  But there was darkness there also—darkness that balanced the light—and there was struggle, where the two met. That reminded her of who she was. Where she was. The peril they were all in. The realities of the world beyond that moment of perfection. She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was back in the cave, in a space lit only by the magical orbs of cold white light she herself had cast.

  When she looked at Pharadon, he gave her a sad smile.

  “You’ve made the right choice. Welcome. Now, take the last Cup and go. Don’t look back.”

  She took the Cup from a hand that was already starting to elongate and become covered with red scales.

  “Pharadon, I —” Gill said.

  “Help her with the goldscale, Gill. You are one who does the right thing, and this is the right thing.”

  Gill’s mouth opened, but closed again before any words came out. The footfalls were no longer echoes, but distinct sounds. The Venori were close.

  “Go!” Pharadon roared, now twice the size of a horse and more dragon than man.

  Solène and Gill made for the entrance. She could see the pain on his face, which mirrored that in her heart. Each step away from their comrade tore at her heart.

  * * *

  The power the Cup had filled Pharadon with allowed his transformation back to dragon form to happen quickly, albeit painfully, with energy left over to shape magic. He didn’t plan on using magic, though—his flame glands had gone woefully underused in recent days.

  Once he was fully returned to his natural state, he glanced at the passageway leading out of the chamber—far too small for him to fit through now. Gill was standing at the mouth of the corridor, silhouetted by one of Solène’s lights. He raised a hand in salute, then was gone.

  Pharadon’s heart felt heavy for a moment. He had slumbered for so much of his existence, missed so much of the joy of life. It was easy to regret such things when near the end. Oh, but this, this would be something that would have been sung about by his kind—a noble battle, a good fight, facing a great malevolence as the best of his kind had. There would be none to sing songs of what he did here, but he knew he would fly the Fount’s breezes with his ancestors forever more, proud of the way he had lived his life. Prouder still of the way it had ended. His life, his deeds, would join the song.

  He greeted the first of the Venori with a jet of searing flame that he knew would leave nothing but ash. Solène’s light was fading rapidly; Pharadon’s flame lit the chamber once more, this time bright red. The Venori charged, driven by the madness of their hunger and the succulence of the Fount that coursed through Pharadon’s body. They hissed and screamed, but the sounds were drowned out by the thunder of his flame. The temperature in the cavern rose like a welcoming embrace. It was no longer an empty, dead place. It was his.

  The next group to rush forward received the same treatment, but they were followed by more, crawling out of the darkness like rats. Soon the cavern was full with them, and Pharadon knew there was only so much fire he could create. But it was ever going to be this way.

  The newly arrived Venori did not attack. Their numbers swelled until Pharadon realised that they were waiting until their forces were large enough to swarm and overcome him in a single attack. If he was being given a respite, Pharadon did not intend to waste it. He concentrated the Fount into refilling his flame glands to the bursting point.

  At last they surged toward him, howling with savage hunger. Pharadon tried to smile, but couldn’t in dragon form. How quickly he had become accustomed to being human. He lifted his right claw and plunged a talon into his throat, piercing both flame glands and allowing the entirety of their contents to mix in an instant. The cavern flashed bright as the energy exploded with tremendous ferocity, destroying all before it.

  Now we are one.

  CHAPTER

  37

  Gill and Solène didn’t stop running until they reached the mountain ledge. An incredible jet of hot air swept up the passage as they neared the exit. Gill felt the sickening realisation that it marked the moment of Pharadon’s passing. It was difficult to comprehend the idea that a dragon—the creature of childhood nightmares
—had saved his life.

  Outside the cavern, they fought to catch their breath. At last Gill drew in enough air to speak.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Solène said, between laboured gasps.

  It took him a moment to recall that she had drunk from the Cup, that she was now enlightened. He still wasn’t entirely clear on what that meant, though he found himself hoping it might provide a solution to their most pressing problem. Pharadon had flown them to that distant mountain ledge. Not only was there no obvious way down, they were a very long way from civilisation. He didn’t fancy their chances if they had to climb down and walk back to Mirabay.

  “Do you think he managed to kill them all?” Gill said.

  Solène smiled grimly and shook her head. “Most, but not all. Now that I know what to look for, I can sense them. There are more elsewhere, reawakening.”

  “Wonderful,” Gill said. “We probably shouldn’t stay here any longer. Is there anything you can … do about getting us out of here?”

  “No,” Solène said. “Wait. I. Oh … I think I can.” She straightened and took a long, deep breath. “Take my hand.”

  Gill did as she asked. A gust of cold mountain air blasted him in the face and he closed his eyes against it. There were no mountains to be seen when he opened his eyes again. He and Solène stood on open grassland; the breeze was light and the day far warmer than it had been moments ago.

  “Oh,” Gill said, wobbling on his feet. “Wow, that feels very odd. Ooooh.” The closest he could come to describing the feeling was that it was akin to the one he had after his third bottle of wine. The end result was the same. He threw up on the grass at his feet.

  He felt a comforting hand on his back as he retched out the last of the nausea.

  “Are you all right?” Solène asked.

  “Ugh, yes. I think so.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have given you more warning.”

  “I doubt it would have made much of a difference,” Gill said, standing up and drawing in a laboured breath.

  “Probably not.”

  “When did you learn how to do that?” Gill said.

  “I didn’t. Not exactly. It’s all part of being enlightened. When I want to do something, I know how to do it. It’s strange. Overwhelming.”

  “Does that mean Amaury can do the same?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Pharadon said something to me back in the temple, that many creatures can be enlightened, but not everyone is capable of being enlightened.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “But when I drank from the Cup, it felt as though I was being welcomed to something. Maybe that’s it?”

  “So there’s hope?” Gill said.

  Solène laughed. “There’s always hope.”

  He did his best to smile, but he wasn’t as confident as she was. If Amaury could do half what Solène could do, Gill didn’t fancy their chances of beating him. With sword in hand and nothing else, Gill knew he would always best his old friend, but with magic added to the mix, what hope had he? An honourable death seemed like an empty promise.

  Solène stared at the remaining Cup, which she held before her in the palm of her hand. “We can’t tell anyone about this,” she said. “They’ll just want to take it for themselves.”

  “You’re going to enlighten the goldscale?”

  She nodded. “I promised. I’m going to see it through. One way or the other. Leaving so great a creature locked in a cage, never able to realise the potential of what it might have been. It’s too horrible a thought.”

  Gill smiled as comfortingly as he could. “It’s about as dangerous a task as you could take on.”

  She shrugged. “The right things are never the easy ones. What about you? What will you do now?”

  “Report to the king, I suppose. After that, I’ll help you however I can.”

  “I suppose I’d better come with you to the king, to back up your story!”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Gill said, not quite ready to see her march off alone to what could well be her death. He took a breath. “Do we have to do the thing again?”

  Solène pointed behind him. He turned to see Castandres a short distance away.

  “Ah,” he said. “Impressive. Shall we?”

  * * *

  Gill and Solène were challenged by sentries at the pickets, but were quickly identified and allowed through. The atmosphere about the town had changed dramatically in the time they’d been away. Gill wasn’t sure exactly how long that was, considering that he’d spent a chunk of his absence in the bowels of a mountain with no sense of time on the outside, and had travelled a distance that would have taken days if not weeks, in the blink of an eye. Had that been instantaneous, or did even magic have to pay heed to the running sands of the hourglass? He suspected they’d been gone for only a day, but there was no way to be sure.

  As word of their arrival spread, a runner appeared, demanding their attendance on the king at once. They hurried toward the inn, where his headquarters were still housed. On the way, Gill took note of the sense of purpose that prevailed throughout the village, as men prepared for their next move, which would undoubtedly be advancing on the city. Gone was the sense of uncertainty and disunity that had filled the camp when he had first arrived. It was encouraging. An army won and lost on morale, which existed now, and was infectious. Perhaps Solène was right—perhaps there was hope.

  “General Villerauvais,” the king said when they entered the taproom. His voice sounded stronger than it had the last time Gill had heard it. The tone was also far more authoritative. Boudain was blooded now, and clearly liked the taste. He stood, surrounded by his officers and nobles, at the head of a large table that was covered with maps and lists.

  “I, uh, yes, your Highness?” Gill wasn’t sure when his promotion had come through, but he could think of worse things to happen. Or could he? he wondered.

  “I’m glad to see you back safe and sound. You were successful in your endeavours?”

  “We were, but I’m afraid I bring news that might not be best received.”

  “Go on.”

  “It seems that dragons aren’t the only ancient creatures of magic that have awoken recently. We encountered humanlike beings called ‘Venori.’”

  “What are they? Will they cause us trouble?”

  “Not immediately, your Highness,” Solène said, “but they will come out of hiding in the near future and will need to be dealt with. As to what they are … I believe them to be the creatures that gave rise to our myths of demons.”

  Boudain barked out a laugh and looked at Gill, but cut his mirth short when he saw the expression on Gill’s face.

  “Demons?”

  Gill nodded.

  Boudain took a deep breath and paced toward a window, where he stopped, arms akimbo. “I wonder if any of my forebears have been so vexed.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. “They are not an immediate threat, you say?”

  “I don’t believe so,” Solène said. “But they will come, perhaps in only a matter of months, and when they do, we must be ready.”

  “Well, then,” Boudain said, “right now, they’re a problem for another day. When we take my throne back, you can tell me all about these Venori. Until then, I’ve a dragon of my own I wish to see slain, and we’ve been busy during your absence.”

  Gill frowned before getting the reference, and wondering again how long they’d been away.

  “Over the past day, troops have arrived to bolster our forces, and reports have been received from spies and scouts,” Boudain said. “Amaury has recruited a force of mercenaries who are marching up from Estranza. I’m given to understand that it is comprised of several companies and is a significant body of men. I’d hoped we might be able to move and take the city before they arrive, but I’m informed this is overly ambitious. As such, we need to stop this force from being added to Amaury’s army.

  �
��We have two options, as I see it. We can meet them on the field and destroy them before they link with Amaury’s force, or we can pay them to turn around and go home.”

  “I must counsel against that, your Highness,” the Count of Savin said. “It sets a terrible precedent. Every rogue band of mercenaries short of work will march into Mirabaya, expecting to be paid off. We must send them packing by force of arms.”

  Boudain tugged at his beard. “What do you think, Villerauvais?”

  “I think that every soldier we lose fighting off the mercenaries is one less we’ll have to fight Amaury. There’s no reason to think mercenaries will see Mirabaya as an easy touch after this crisis is dealt with.”

  Savin let out a dismissive breath, and his smugness was mirrored by several of the other nobles surrounding the table. It was interesting how hungry they all were for another fight, having witnessed their first from the safety of the village church’s belfry.

  “You both have a point,” Boudain said. “And I’m loath to put Mirabaya’s sons at risk any more than is absolutely necessary. The funds so kindly bequeathed by my recently departed cousins are necessary to pay and feed my troops until I can gain access to the royal treasury again. Either way, I risk losing men, either to the sword or to desertion.”

  Only one involves them dying, Gill thought, but realised that the king would see it as much the same—a deserter forfeited his life in shame. A dead soldier gave his for glory. The latter really didn’t seem to offer much more than the first to one so jaded by war as Gill. Still, that wasn’t the way kings thought, and it wasn’t the way they wanted their men to think.

  “We ride to intercept the mercenaries,” Boudain said. “Prepare the men to march.”

  There were the usual utterances of bravado as the officers filed out to pass the order on to their men. Gill made to leave, but the king caught his eye and gave a curt shake of his head. They waited until everyone else had left.