The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "Ah," Arlian said. "That explains the archers."

  "The Duke hesitated," Rime said. "In fact, I received the distinct impression that he was relieved to have Enziet and Drisheen gone, though of course he would never admit it. I spoke on your behalf, explaining that you were a headstrong young man with a personal grudge against six lords, of whom Toribor was the last survivor, and that you had no mysterious scheme to disrupt the city. The only threat you posed to Hardior, I said, was that he feared you might prove more popular than himself—which was a lie, of course."

  "Of course," Arlian agreed.

  "I also mentioned what a great benefit you had provided by bringing your Aritheian magicians and all their spells to Manfort I said that if you died, they would almost certainly return to their distant homeland. I carefully did not say what they might do to Manfort before their departure, but I made sure His Grace considered the possibilities."

  Arlian had not himself considered those possibilities; now he stroked his beard again as he did. Shibiel, Isein, and Qulu had no magic left to them—but he was unsure what Thirif or Hlur might yet be capable of, and of course the entire Aritheian House of Deri had professed to be in his debt. The magicians might have no magic available in Manfort, but they could always bring more.

  "And of course, I pointed out that intervening in an affair of honor was hardly going to help the Duke's own reputation," Rime added.

  "But why couldn't the Duke just kill Arlian after the duel?" Brook asked.

  "He could," Rime said, "but Lord Hardior could not propose it—that would violate the Society's oath, to arrange the killing of a fellow member that might take place inside the city's walls. And Hardior could not insist that it happen outside the city without telling His Grace things that he did not care to reveal."

  "The Duke could still..." Brook began.

  "The Duke doesn't want to," Rime interrupted. "He likes Lord Obsidian. He thinks Obsidian is a dashing young rogue who makes Manfort more interesting by his presence. I could argue for sparing Arlian's life, and Lord Hardior, bound by his oath, could not argue for killing him other than during the duel. Quite aside from anything else, that made the Duke's decision easy; with no one arguing otherwise he could do what he wanted, and spare Obsidian's life."

  "He didn't seem very impressed with me when we first met," Arlian remarked.

  "That was before you fought two spectacular duels and went roaming across the countryside in pursuit of your foes, before there were rumors about strange stone weapons and sorcerous images of dragons.

  You're much more interesting now."

  "And besides, there really are the magicians to think about," Kitten said, releasing Arlian's arm. "We really don't know what they would do if Triv were killed."

  "I should give them instructions," Arlian said. "I hadn't thought about it" He flexed the fingers of his right hand, winced at the resulting pain, then told Kitten, "Thank you."

  He was not entirely sure what instructions he should give the Aritheians, though, nor whether they would obey him. He had no hold on them; they had come to Manfort with him freely, for their own benefit. If they once returned home, they might not want to risk coming north again.

  And what did he want to happen after his death? He could ask Thirif and the others to avenge him, and one way or another they would probably do as he asked, killing those responsible—but what good would it do?

  He would be dead. Did he want to leave a legacy of vengeance, or of mercy?

  He wouldn't be around to see it in any case, so he was not at all sure he cared. He preferred to live, rather than leave a legacy—at least, until he had accomplished everything he wanted to accomplish.

  And at this point, that meant the destruction of the dragons. He had had enough of revenge against humans, and had rescued everyone he had wanted to rescue. But the dragons still lived, and therefore he wanted to live, too. He might take risks, such as defying the man who held a blade at his throat, but he did not want to die—he simply didn't fear it.

  "So you convinced the Duke to spare me," he said.

  "Thank you, my lady."

  "You're quite welcome, my lord," Rime replied.

  "Like the Duke, I find the world more interesting with you still in it. It's a more violent and less predictable place, but there's a certain promise to it. I think it far more likely that we will see the dragons exterminated if you survive."

  "You flatter me."

  "I speak the truth, no more than that. And to speak further, my lord, I would remind you that while I may have won today's debate with Lord Hardior, my opponent has not given up. He wants you dead, or at least gone. If he can't convince the Duke to eliminate you, he'll probably look for other means—which is why I wonder whether he was behind Zaner's accusation of cowardice."

  "Would he have had time to devise that?"

  Rime shrugged. "As to that, I can't say. It may be that Lord Zaner acted on his own."

  "He really thought Triv was scared of Lord Belly?"

  Kitten asked. "But that's silly."

  No one had a useful response to that, and the conversation died. A few minutes later they arrived at the gates of the Old Palace; Rime had declined Arlian's offer to deliver her to her own doorstep.

  To Arlian's surprise, most of the household was waiting for them—Venlin, several of the cooks and maids and footmen, even Ferrezin and one or two others in Enziet's livery who appeared to have just arrived. Hasty and Lily and Musk and Cricket had been carried out, and now sat on the benches in the forecourt; Vanniari was asleep in Hasty's arms. The Aritheian magicians in his employ, Shibiel and Qulu and Isein, were clustered to one side, watching solemnly; Thirif, who was technically Arlian's guest rather than an employee, was close by the gate.

  Stammer and Wolt were not yet back, and a few other faces were missing, but clearly word had run ahead of the coach.

  "I see everyone else—where's Hlur?" Rime asked sardonically, as she stepped to the door of the coach.

  Black had leapt from the driver's seat and was reaching for the latch.

  "Presumably still at the Citadel, where she belongs," Arlian retorted from behind her. Hlur was the Aritheian ambassador to Manfort, and although she and her husband, Kthelik, had originally been brought to the city by Arlian they had long since taken up residence in the Duke's establishment, as befitted Hlur's station.

  Arlian waited until Rime, with a little assistance from Black, had climbed down and gotten herself steady on the ground, and then he scooped up Kitten and handed her to Black.

  Black promptly passed her along to a waiting footman, and turned back for Brook.

  When all three women were out of the coach Arlian was finally able to disembark himself and demand,

  "What are all of you doing out here?"

  Thirif cleared his throat, but before he could speak Hasty called, "It was my idea, Triv! We wanted to let you know that we're all on your dde."

  Arlian stared at her for a second, then turned to Thirif.

  "My apologies, my lord," Thirif said, "but she has the gist of it. We felt a show o f . . . community? No, solidarity. We felt a show of solidarity was in order."

  Arlian was impressed that Thirif had found the right word in a language other than his own. He stared at the Aritheian for a moment, idly stroking his left hand over the wounds on his right arm as he did, then asked,

  "And why is this display in order? Simply because I've survived my duel?"

  "No. Because the Duke's guards tried to force their way into the Old Palace, and we drove them away."

  "They came to the Grey House, as well," Ferrezin said. "We turned them away, and then came here to report."

  "The Duke's guards?" Arlian was still trying to absorb this.

  "You're hurt!" Hasty called, seeing the blood on Arlian's sleeve and scarf. Arlian held up a hand to silence her.

  "The Duke's guards came here? What did they want?"

  "The glass weapons," Thirif said.

  Arlian turned
to Rime, who shrugged.

  "I have no idea what this is about," she said. 'This must have happened after I left."

  "Tell me what happened," Arlian said to Thirif.

  Thirif nodded, and began. "Chiril was at the gate,"

  he explained, gesturing at one of the footmen, "waiting for news of the duel. He saw the guards coming and ran to tell others. I was nearby and heard, and I came out to see."

  "The Duke's guards?" Arlian asked. "You're certain?" Chiril was one of his more reliable footmen, but not the brightest of them.

  "Yes, the Duke's guards," Thirif said, visibly annoyed at the interruption. "An officer spoke to us and said that they had come to take the obsidian weapons.

  He told Chiril and Venlin to bring the weapons, and Venlin said he could not do that without his lord's permission."

  Venlin pointedly did not meet Arlian's glance at him. This was Thirif's story.

  "The officer said that the Duke had ordered it, and that if we did not give him the weapons he would come in and take them. I said he would not. Then he and his men tried to force their way in, and I used a spell I had saved for an emergency and drove them away."

  "It was a big fiery monster, Triv!" Hasty called.

  "An illusion," Thirif said with a shrug. "My last."

  "We had no magicians at the Grey House," Ferrezin said. "We told the officer we could not admit him without your consent, and barred the door."

  Arlian nodded; he could see how that would be sufficient. The Grey House was built like a fortress, with massive stone walls and heavy bars and shutters on the few ground-floor windows.

  "I left by the postern and came to fetch you, my lord," Ferrezin continued. "The Duke's men may well still be there."

  "This is bizarre," Arlian said. "Why would he try to confiscate those weapons? And why would he do it when he knew I wasn't home?"

  "I suspect Hardior's hand in this," Rime said. "Perhaps he doubled back after we left the Citadel."

  "It seems to me that the Duke might have intended this as a precaution," Black said. "Suppose you had lost your duel, and died—who would then own those weapons, which are rumored to be magical?"

  "You would," Arlian said.

  "Does His Grace know that?"

  "No." Arlian frowned. "I think it's time I spoke to His Grace myself. And a word with Lord Hardior, as well, might not be amiss."

  Speaking with His Grace the Duke of Manfort was not simply a matter of walking up to the Citadel and sending in a message, Arlian knew; he had to petition for an audience. Accordingly, he composed an appropriate note and sent a messenger to deliver it. He did that immediately, while still wearing the slashed, sweaty, and bloody blouse he had fought in; only when the messenger, one of the two men who had accompanied Ferrezin from the Grey House, was on the way did he allow himself to relax and tend to his own needs.

  It was plain that Ferrezin wanted instructions, that Black wanted to know what he and Toribor had said to one another, that several people wanted detailed descriptions of the duel, but Arlian did not feel himself ready to deal with any of that. He retired to his chamber, pleading the need to get out of the clothes he had fought in.

  When he had removed his ruined clothing and donned a robe he closed the door of his chamber and lay down for a rest, intending merely to close his eyes for a moment before speaking further with his staff and guests.

  He was awakened by Venlin's announcement that dinner would be served shortly.

  Embarrassed, he dressed, and came downstairs to find that Stammer and the others had returned, and the household had regained the appearance of normality.

  The servants were bustling about, preparing for the coming meal; Rime was in the small salon, chatting with Kitten, Brook, and Cricket. Ferrezin and the others in Enziet's livery were nowhere to be seen.

  No more soldiers had appeared at the gate, but somehow, Arlian doubted that this appearance of nor-malcy was reliable. The afternoon's events surely could not be dismissed as easily as that.

  He greeted Rime and the others, and took Rime into dinner on his arm. As they ate he described the duel in some detail, repeating as much of his conversations with Toribor as he could remember; several of the servants stood close by, much more closely than usual, and Arlian was careful to speak loudly enough that they, as well as all his guests, could hear him.

  When the meal was over, and most of the questions answered, Arlian sat back in his chair, a glass of sherry in his hand, and listened to the women arguing about Toribor's motives in not killing him. He had drunk only half the wine when Venlin bent down and whispered, "Your messenger has returned from the Citadel." Arlian looked up, then set his glass aside and rose.

  The messenger was waiting in the servants' corridor. He bowed as Arlian approached.

  "You delivered my note?" Arlian asked.

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Who did you give it to?"

  "To His Grace's chamberlain," the messenger said.

  "Is there a reply? Did he say anything?"

  "He asked who it was from, my lord, and when I told him he said, 'Oh, the Duke will want to see this one!' I asked whether there would be a response, and he said to wait, so I waited, but then he came back and told me to go, that the Duke would not read it tonight."

  That was reasonably promising, at any rate. "Fine,"

  Arlian said. "Have you had anything to eat?"

  "No, my lord."

  Arlian turned. "Venlin, see that he's well fed before you send him home, would you?" Then he turned back to the messenger. "If there's any trouble at the Grey House, come and tell me at once, and thank you." He clapped the man on the back, then watched as he marched down the corridor to the kitchens.

  Venlin hesitated for a moment, then hurried after the messenger. He seemed uncomfortable with the messenger's presence, and Arlian realized that he probably wasn't sure how to treat the man. After all, the messenger worked for the same master, but was not part of the same household, and Venlin was unsure of their relative status. For a man like Venlin that was awkward.

  This business of maintaining two households and two separate staffs was absurd, Arlian told himself—

  especially if he might need to defend them against the Duke's guards. One would have to go.

  And after today's events he knew which he intended to keep. The Grey House was the smaller, the more practical, the more defensible—and that was why he intended to sell it. He had no desire to barricade himself into a fortress, to shut out the outside world; if he were to live in the Grey House it would be all too easy to cut himself off from humanity as Enziet had.

  Furthermore, Sweet and Dove were buried in the garden here at the Old Palace. The Grey House had no gardens at all; instead there was the room on the top floor where Dove had been murdered and Sweet held prisoner. Arlian did not care to live in the same building as that ill-omened room.

  Arlian stepped back through the door into the dining hall and signaled to Black.

  "When you have a moment, could you have a few words with Coin? I think it's time we sold Enziet's house. Also, I'll want all the furnishings—the books, trunks, all of it—transferred here, at least initially.

  There should be room in the north wing. I'll want to keep Ferrezin on; we'll determine his exact position later"

  Black did not reply at first, but simply stared at Arlian.

  Arlian stared back, then realized the situation.

  Black wanted an explanation, not just orders. He was no bora servant, like Venlin, but his own man, who stayed in Arlian's employ because he had taken a fancy to Arlian, not because he had ever aspired to be the steward of a great house.

  And for months, Arlian had told Black far too little of what was going on. It was time to end that.

  "Ah," Arlian said. "The Duke's chamberlain accepted my message, but His Grace was not disposed to read it as yet. Seeing the messenger in Enziet's livery was what reminded me about the house."

  Black nodded. "I was beginning to think
that keeping secrets had become a habit."

  Arlian smiled crookedly. "I believe it has," he said.

  "I depend on you to help me break it. If you think I'm concealing something you deserve to know, please do speak up—I don't want to keep secrets from you any longer, Black. I've had enough of secrets. It's time to let them all out."

  Black smiled in return. "In that case, I think you should expect a late night tonight—there are several questions I intend to ask."

  "As you please—but do send word to Coin first, and to Ferrezin"

  Black bowed mockingly.

  Arlian returned to his guests, and made polite conversation for another hour or so before seeing Rime to the door and calling the coach for her. Hasty had already gone to put Vanniari to bed, with Wolt carrying Hasty and Stammer carrying the baby, but the other women continued to talk.

  Arlian did not join them; when Rime had departed he turned to find Black waiting for him. The two men retired to Arlian's study, where Arlian finally told Black, in detail, what had happened to Enziet beneath the Desolation; what had happened when Arlian washed his hands after Nail's death; what had been said at the hearing in the hall of the Dragon Society.

  Black took it all in, then asked, "What happens now?"

  "I don't know," Arlian said. "I don't know what the dragons are planning, or what the Dragon Society is planning. I don't know what anyone is planning, not even myself! I don't know whether the dragons will attack this summer, or cower in their caverns. All I know is that sooner or later, the dragons and I will meet-and when we do, I want to be ready."

  "So you want those spears."

  "Yes."

  "Why do you think the Duke tried to take them—so he would have them, or so you or your heir would not?"