The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "Yes," Arlian said simply.

  '1 don't," Toribor said. "I believe you are an amazing man, Obsidian, but not that amazing. Killing a soft-skinned infant is not the same as slaying an armored sixty-foot adult."

  "I know," Arlian said.

  "I am not so foolish and selfish as to listen to Pulzera's nonsense—but I cannot believe yours, either. I find Pulzera's arguments much easier to believe, but I find yours far more appealing. If you really could slay tbe dragons ..."

  His voice trailed off; then, suddenly, he jammed his swordbreaker into its sheath.

  "Very well, then," he said. "Our fight is ended until you tell me otherwise, but you'll forgive me if I decline to sheathe my other blade, or to turn my back on you until we are safely inside the walls."

  Arlian bowed. "I'll have my steward retrieve my own blades, then."

  "That would suit me."

  Toribor stood where he was on the plaza and watched as Arlian retreated to his coach.

  "Where did the archers go?" Arlian whispered to Black as he neared the vehicle.

  "They received new orders a few moments ago, and withdrew," Black said. "Is there any point in asking what happened out there?"

  "You couldn't hear?"

  "Only when Belly shouted."

  "I'll tell you later, then." He waved at Brook and Kitten, who were leaning out the coach windows.

  "When everyone can hear. For now, would you be so kind as to recover my sword and swordbreaker? Lord Toribor does not trust me with them just yet."

  "I don't blame him," Black said. "I don't blame him at all." He strode forward to retrieve the blades.

  Arlian turned as he stepped up into the coach's door, and saw that Toribor had finally sheathed his own sword and was walking away, toward the city's gate.

  Toribor's final words nagged at Arlian. Toribor did not believe the dragons could be killed?

  Toribor was far older than he, and probably had seen more of the dragons—Arlian had been trapped in a cellar during most of the attack on his village. If Toribor believed, even after hearing what had become of the dragons born of Enziet and Stiam, that an adult dragon could not be killed, then how could Arlian be sure he was wrong?

  Did the rest of the Society also still believe any attempt to fight the dragons was futile, despite the obsid-you know what he did to Ferret and Sparkle? And what Horim did to Daub and Sandalwood?"

  "The women? You know all their names? And what became of them?" Toribor sounded genuinely surprised.

  "Of course I do," Arlian said, startled. "Did you think I simply wanted an excuse? I loved them all.

  They deserved far better than they received. You and Nail and Kuruvan treated the ones you held no worse than any other slaves might be treated, but the others—

  do you know what Enziet did to Dove? Did you know he cut Madam Ril's throat in the street? She was a free woman!"

  Arlian did not mention Sweet, whom Enziet had poisoned; that particular death was somehow not something to be shared.

  "I knew," Toribor said.

  For a moment die two stood silently, facing each other; then Toribor said, "You say you will swear not to kill me so long as die dragons live—do you seriously believe you can slay them?"

  "Yes," Arlian said simply.

  '1 don't," Toribor said. "I believe you are an amazing man, Obsidian, but not that amazing. Killing a soft-skinned infant is not the same as slaying an armored sixty-foot adult."

  "I know," Arlian said.

  "I am not so foolish and selfish as to listen to Pulzera's nonsense—but I cannot believe yours, either. I find Pulzera's arguments much easier to believe, but I find yours far more appealing. If you really could slay tbe dragons ..."

  His voice trailed off; then, suddenly, he jammed his swordbreaker into its sheath.

  "Very well, then," he said. "Our fight is ended until you tell me otherwise, but you'll forgive me if I decline to sheathe my other blade, or to turn my back on you until we are safely inside the walls."

  Arlian bowed. "I'll have my steward retrieve my own blades, then."

  "That would suit me."

  Toribor stood where he was on the plaza and watched as Arlian retreated to his coach.

  "Where did the archers go?" Arlian whispered to Black as he neared the vehicle.

  "They received new orders a few moments ago, and withdrew," Black said. "Is there any point in asking what happened out there?"

  "You couldn't hear?"

  "Only when Belly shouted."

  "I'll tell you later, then." He waved at Brook and Kitten, who were leaning out the coach windows.

  "When everyone can hear. For now, would you be so kind as to recover my sword and swordbreaker? Lord Toribor does not trust me with them just yet."

  "I don't blame him," Black said. "I don't blame him at all." He strode forward to retrieve the blades.

  Arlian turned as he stepped up into the coach's door, and saw that Toribor had finally sheathed his own sword and was walking away, toward the city's gate.

  Toribor's final words nagged at Arlian. Toribor did not believe the dragons could be killed?

  Toribor was far older than he, and probably had seen more of the dragons—Arlian had been trapped in a cellar during most of the attack on his village. If Toribor believed, even after hearing what had become of the dragons born of Enziet and Stiam, that an adult dragon could not be killed, then how could Arlian be sure he was wrong?

  Did the rest of the Society also still believe any attempt to fight the dragons was futile, despite the obsidian blades? If so, no wonder they had taken Pulzera's words seriously.

  Arlian looked thoughtfully out at the plaza.

  The crowd that had watched the fight was dissipating, many of them clearly disappointed to see no deaths, no crippling injuries. As Arlian stood in the door of the coach, Lord Zaner pushed forward through the throng, clearly wishing to speak a few words with him.

  Perhaps, Arlian thought, Lord Zaner could tell him something more of what had been said yesterday on the Street of die Black Spire.

  Stammer had been moving hesitantly toward the coach as well, but when Zaner pushed past her she stopped, frowned, waved, and then turned toward the gate, leaving Arlian and his party to those more important than herself.

  Politely, Arlian waited as Zaner approached. Several other spectators turned and fell silent, eagerly waiting to hear what one lord had to say to the other.

  Zaner stepped up to stand a few feet from the coach and said, without preamble, "Lord Obsidian, I had not realized you were a coward, to fling down your sword when bested!"

  That had not been what Arlian expected. He knew Zaner considered Toribor a friend, and had thought perhaps Zaner intended to thank Arlian for not fighting to the death. Apparently, Zaner did not see anything to be grateful for; presumably he was quite certain that it was Arlian's death, not Toribor's, that had been avoided here. All the same, his remark seemed unreasonable.

  "You think it cowardice to stand unarmed before a foeT Arlian asked mildly.

  "You knew Belly would not kill you! Had I faced you out there, I wouldn't have killed you, but by the dead gods, I'd have at least slashed that pretty face of yours!"

  Arlian dabbed at the blood running down his cheek from the cut above his eye and said calmly, "I will keep that in mind should we ever meet at swordspoint, my lord."

  Black had come up behind Zaner as they spoke, and now he pushed past the dragonheart, interrupting Zaner as he was about to say more.

  "Your pardon, my lord," he said, as he extended Ar-yan's sword, hilt-first. "You'll want to clean the blood off before you sheathe it," he said.

  'Thank you," Arlian said, accepting the weapon. He was gratefiil for both the reminder and the interruption; the exchange with Lord Zaner did not seem to be going anywhere profitable. He pulled out a handkerchief and began ostentatiously wiping Toribor's blood from the steel.

  Zaner looked from Arlian to Black and back, then snorted and turned away, to Arlia
n's relief.

  A moment later the blades were clean and back in their scabbards, and Arlian was aboard the coach, the door closed and ready to go. Before he could give the command, though, he heard a woman's voice call,

  "Lord Arlian!" He turned and leaned out the window.

  The plaza had been transformed from a cleared stone circle surrounded by an audience to its more usual existence as a thoroughfare and meeting place; the duel was definitely over, and its traces fading—at least, those traces outside the coach; Arlian's handkerchief was bloody, his shirt and scarf slashed and bloodied in several places, and the wounds on his arm, shoulder, forehead, and throat all stung.

  Making her way through the milling crowd was Lady Rime, stumping along on her wooden leg, bran-dishing the bone she carried everywhere she went.

  "Arlian!" she called again.

  "My lady," he called back. "Would you care to join me? It's a long walk back to the Upper City."

  "Of course I would," she said. "And you can tell me how it happens that you and Belly are both still alive."

  Ariian opened the coach door and waited, and a moment later he helped her up, into the coach and onto the seat, where she settled beside Brook, facing Ariian and Kitten. Black watched from the driver's seat, and when the door was closed again he shook the reins, setting the horses in motion.

  Kitten was already dabbing at Ariian's wounds with her own delicate little handkerchief, cleaning away blood and fibers.

  "Now," Rime said, "I seem to have missed the entire thing, so pray tell me, Ari, just what happened."

  "Black wanted to hear, as well," Brook said, before Ariian could reply.

  "Indeed he did," Ariian said, "and I'm sure that several others will want to know the details as soon as we're home, so he can hear it all then. For now, rather than keep Lady Rime in suspense, I will say that we fought, and Lord Toribor had the best of me at one point, having knocked the sword from my hand. He declined to slay me on the spot—I believe the parallel to our previous meeting in Cork Tree, when I left him wounded but alive, was responsible for this, as he did not care to be seen as less merciful than myself. Once I had recovered my sword he intended to continue to a fatal conclusion, but I thought better of it. Belly is a braver and more honorable man than I had believed him to be, and I therefore decided to abandon my pursuit of his death; I flung aside my weapons, and offered him a choice between killing me, or ending our quarrel peacefully. I am pleased to say he chose the latter course."

  "Lord Zaner called you a coward," Brook remarked. "I thought he meant to challenge you on the spot."

  Arlian opened his mouth, then closed it again. He hesitated, then said, "You know, I believe he did."

  He had honestly not considered that when speaking to Zaner; he had been tired and bloody and eager to sit down and rest, and had not considered the implications of allowing Zaner to insult him. Zaner had probably expected him to take umbrage, if not at the blunt accusation of cowardice then at the remark about slashing his face, so that the exchange of words would escalate into something irretrievable. He had not risen to the bait, and Black had interrupted before Zaner could try again.

  Arlian had simply not thought about the significance of the exchange. He had unjustly been called a coward often enough in the mines of Deep Delving that although he knew it was considered a deadly insult among noblemen, the word carried no special sting for him; he had been a slave in the mines, not a lord, and a slave had no honor to defend from such accusations, so dire insults were often directed at him.

  In his days in Manfort he had been called mad often enough that it had become merely tedious, but no one here had ever before called him a coward. After all, he had crossed the Dreaming Mountains to Arithei alone.

  He had dueled Lord Kuruvan and Lord Horim, called Iron, men older and more practiced than himself, and had killed them both. He had openly challenged the dreaded Lord Enziet, and had pursued him into the Desolation and fought him to the death. He had faced dragons. While his sanity might be called into question, his bravery had never been.

  Until now.

  Had Zaner truly thought him a coward, or had he merely intended to provoke him? Did Zaner want him dead? He knew Zaner didn't much like him, but he had thought that was due to the bad blood between himself and Toribor, which would hardly account for a challenge when he and Toribor had just made peace. He had never wronged Zaner, he had scarcely met the man...

  "Zaner?" Rime asked. "I wonder, was that Hardior's doing?"

  Now Arlian was not merely puzzled, but baffled.

  "Hardior?" he asked.

  "Yes, Hardior," Rime said.

  "He wasn't even here, so far as I could see," Arlian said. "No more than you were."

  "And that was because we were both at the Citadel with the Duke, arguing our respective positions. I'm afraid that Lord Hardior may have a bone to pick with me." She tapped her legbone against the windowframe and smiled crookedly. "It's entirely possible I have displaced him, at least for the moment, in the Duke's favor."

  "Indeed?" Arlian asked. "Might I ask how?"

  "Because the Duke likes you, Arlian, or at least likes hearing about your adventures, and Lord Hardior wanted you killed."

  Arlian stroked his beard with his left hand and stared at Rime's unreadable face; Kitten held his right hand as she swabbed at the cuts on his wrist and forearm.

  "Why would Lord Hardior want me dead?" he asked.

  "I don't know for certain, but I would suppose it is because he understands that if you live, one way or another you'll almost certainly destroy the Dragon Society."

  Kitten looked up, startled, and exchanged a glance with Brook. Arlian eyed Rime thoughtfully.

  "You phrase that in a way that implies you believe it, too," Arlian said.

  "Oh, of course I do," Rime said. "You may say you have not yet decided, but I think I know what your decision must be, given your rightful hatred of dragons, and that in the end you intend to systematically murder us all. Even if you don't, you've certainly divided the Society against itself in a way I find it hard to believe can be mended."

  "Have I? I had hoped to rally the Society to action, not divide it."

  "Arlian, you've pitted hatred of the dragons against the desire to live. Pulzera is not the only one to choose life—but not all of us can stomach her answer. The Society is split."

  "You seem surprisingly untroubled by this," Arlian remarked.

  'There are two reasons for this," Rime said. "The first is that I believe the damage has been done, and the rift cannot be mended, regardless of whether you live or die; given that, I'd prefer to have you alive."

  The coach jerked suddenly as a wheel bumped over an obstruction, and Arlian grabbed at the windowframe. "Thank you," he said. "And the second?"

  "I think you're right to destroy us," Rime replied. "I think we deserve it. We can hardly complain that our deaths would be untimely; I have lived more than four hundred years, five times what any ordinary woman could expect, and at least half the Society is senior to me. If our deaths are necessary to eliminate the threat of the dragons, then let us die. Wither believed that, and acted upon it. I am not so noble as he, and have no intention of taking my own life, but I have another five centuries or so in which to change my mind. If you cut my throat one day, I'll try not to resist."

  Arlian stared at her, then smiled crookedly.

  "And here I had decided that I could not in good conscience murder the entire Society," Arlian said.

  "When I threw down my weapons it was no stratagem to prolong my own life; I genuinely no longer wanted to kill Toribor. And if I cannot bring myself to kill him, how could I slay you, or the others?"

  "I had wondered why you did that," she said. "Have you, then, chosen to side with the dragons, after all?

  Has Pulzera won you over?"

  "No!" Arlian was genuinely shocked at the suggestion. " The dragons must be destroyed—but killing the people who unwillingly bear their young is unjust.


  There must be another alternative—keeping a careful watch and killing each new dragon as it's born, perhaps."

  "Ah," Rime said. "And who would undertake this task? It will be a thousand years before the last dragonheart—you, that is—will die, and even that assumes the dragons do not contrive to create more. How can you hope to arrange this watch over such a span of time?'

  "As the youngest of the dragonhearts, I would say the onus falls upon me."

  "So you would devote the rest of your life to this?"

  "There are only thirty-eight of us, my lady. Spread that over a thousand years, and it's no great hardship."

  "If you have no opposition, perhaps."

  Before Arlian could reply he noticed Kitten's expression; she was staring at him with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open, her ministrations to his wounds forgotten. Brook had managed to keep her face under better control, but she, too, was staring, clearly astonished by what she heard.

  "I see that neither of us is much concerned with secrecy," he said. "It would seem we've just revealed things to these two that they had not known."

  "Indeed," Rime said, glancing at the astonished women. "I had assumed that you had told your entire household all about the situation, and nothing remained to conceal; it would seem I misjudged."

  "I have not been profligate in such matters," Arlian said.

  "You'll live a thousand yearsT' Kitten asked.

  "More or less, if I am not killed," Arlian said.

  "And you're four hundred years old?" Brook asked Rime.

  "Four hundred and some, yes. I no longer recall the exact number." She met Brook's gaze evenly.

  Brook shifted away from Rime on the seat.

  "And that brings us back to your meeting with the Duke," Arlian said. "I'm sure that you and Hardior were not as open with His Grace as we have been here."

  "Indeed we were not."

  "And just what did you tell him? How did Hardior argue for my death, and you for my life?"

  "Oh, that was simple," Rime said. "Hardior argued that you had murdered Drisheen and Enziet, that you intended to kill Belly by fair means or foul, and that you had threatened him, Hardior, as well. He accused you of conspiring to remove all the Duke's advisers, and other powerful figures that threatened unspecified plans you had made. This was all nonsense, of course, as I'm sure Hardior knew as well as we do, but he made it quite convincing—Hardior can be persuasive when he chooses. He told the Duke that he had taken the liberty of placing archers on the city wall, and at a signal he would have them remove you, once and for all, and end the threat to the peace and welfare of Manfort."