"I don't know. That's the major reason I want to speak to him."
Black nodded. "Ari," he asked, "how big is a dragon? A full-grown one, I mean, not like the one we killed in Nail's bedchamber."
"Big," Arlian said. "I couldn't say for certain. I haven't seen one since I was a boy of eleven, and the circumstances at the time did not allow for a very accurate estimate."
"Fifty feet from snout to tail-tip, perhaps?"
"More," Arlian replied. "A dragon's face filled almost the entire pantry door, top to bottom and side to side, and their proportions are roughly those of a winged serpent."
"And to kill one, you need to drive an obsidian blade into its heart"
"Yes."
For a moment both men were silent, but then Black asked die question both of them knew he would ask.
"Ari, your best spears are perhaps eight feet long. If you stood at a dragon's flank and drove one that full eight feet into the beast's flesh, would it reach the creature's heart? And how do you ever expect to get close enough to do anything of the sort?"
"I think it would reach, from the right angle," Arlian said slowly. "Dragons are very long, but slender."
"And how would you get close enough?"
"I don't know," Arlian admitted.
"And you don't even know whether obsidian can kill an adult Belly didn't think so."
"The dragon that spoke to me seemed to think it could."
"Did it say so T
"Would it matter if it did? We can't believe anything the dragons tell us."
"And how many dragons still survive?"
"I don't know. I can't really even guess."
Black said nothing, just looked at him, and Arlian continued, "Although it may well be overtaken by events, my original plan was to creep up on the dragons in their caves and plunge the spears into them while they slept"
"Drive a spear several feet into a monster while it sleeps? While its companions are in the same chamber?"
"There will undoubtedly be difficulties" Arlian said.
Black stared silently at him for a moment. Arlian let out a sigh. "Yes, I'm probably mad," he said. "It may well be impossible."
"It would seem to require rather more than human abilities, yes," Black said dryly.
Arlian blinked.
"Yes, it would, wouldn't it?" he said. He had somehow managed to not think very much about this until now, much as he had not thought about how he would defeat Toribor before the duel. While he still thought it might be possible to kill sleeping dragons, it now seemed obvious that getting at a dragon while it was awake would take more than human abilities—and he no longer thought it very likely that he could catch the dragons asleep.
Fortunately, more-than-human abilities were available. "I suppose it would take magic," he said.
Black's eyes narrowed.
"Is there magic that could help?"
"I don't know," Arlian admitted. "But I think that it's past time that Isein and the others made a buying trip to Arithei. I put it off because I had thought it might be better to cross the Desolation in cooler weather, but I think now that no more time should be wasted." He frowned. "Tell Isein to start planning what she will need for the journey."
Arlian awoke the next day to news that His Grace the Duke of Manfort would expect him at the Citadel the following day, at two hours past noon.
"I didn't expect it so soon!" he told Black at breakfast. "I had heard that it could take a fortnight to see the Duke."
"It would seem Lady Rime was right," Black said.
"His Grace does like you."
"Or he wants to confront me directly and demand I turn over the obsidian," Arlian said.
"Also a possibility," Black admitted. "Will Lord Hardior be present at your audience?"
"I don't know," Arlian said. He grew thoughtful. "I think I had best pay a call on Lord Hardior today, before I see the Duke, so that I know where I stand."
"1 think it wise, if it can be arranged," Black agreed.
"I'll arrange it," Arlian said. He beckoned to Wolt, who was standing nearby, and told him, "Fetch me pen and ink—I have a letter to write. And when it's ready, you will deliver it forthwith to Lord Hardior's estate, where you will see it delivered either into Hardior's own hand or, if he is not there, his steward's. If neither is there, you will wait, and make yourself obnoxious about it"
"My lord?" Wolt was plainly startled by this last directive.
"I don't want them to be able to ignore you. Don't let yourself be pushed into a comer and forgotten."
"Yes, my lord." Wolt bowed, then turned and left to fetch writing supplies.
A moment later Arlian began composing his note.
He kept it short:
"Inasmuch as I have recently been taken to task for keeping secrets, I think it urgent that we discuss certain matters before I speak to His Grace the Duke tomorrow. I would not care to inconvenience you by remaining silent when I should not, nor by revealing matters you would prefer to keep private. I will be delighted to wait upon you at your earliest convenience."
He signed it "Obsidian," then folded and sealed it, and handed it to Wolt.
"Off with you," he said. Wolt bowed, and turned to go. "And hurry!" Arlian called after him. Wolt hastened his footsteps, though he did not actually run. Arlian watched him go, then sighed and headed for his regular morning visit to Hasty and Vanniari.
Hasty was as cheerful as ever, and Vanniari growing at a healthy pace—she focused on Arlian's face when he bent over her, and when she did she stopped waving her hands about and stared at him in wonder and awe.
Of course, she stared at any human face with that same fascination.
Arlian spoke gently to her, and allowed her to grab an extended finger. He listened to Hasty chatter about the baby, and about how foolish Arlian had been to fight a duel with Lord Belly, and how brave it had been to throw down his sword, and how she didn't believe those people who said Arlian had begged for his life.
Arlian glanced at Hasty. "Who said that?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Oh, you know, people who don't know any better. I heard Stammer and Cricket talking about it. They don't believe it, of course, any more than I do."
"Of course." Arlian shook his head, amazed. Beg for his life? Why would he do that?
He had left Hasty and her daughter and was striding along the east gallery on his way to speak to Isein when Wolt came running up to him.
"My lord!" he called, out of breath.
Arlian turned. "Sir," he said. "You delivered my note?"
"He's here!" Wolt gasped.
"Your pardon, Wolt.. "
"Lord Hardior is here, my lord, in the Old Palace,"
Wolt said. "He insisted on coming back with me. He's waiting for you in the foyer."
"Indeed!" Arlian had not expected quite so prompt a response to his threats. 'Take him to the small salon, and I will be there presently."
Wolt bowed, and hurried away.
Arlian watched him go, considering whether there was anything that he should do before meeting Lord Hardior. Nothing came to mind; accordingly, he was already standing in the salon when Wolt showed Hardior in a moment later.
"My lord," Arlian said, holding out a hand. "Welcome to my home, and my thanks for so prompt and unexpected a response to my missive!"
Hardior ignored the outstretched hand. "Unexpected, Obsidian? I doubt that."
"Unexpected in truth, my lord—while I expected you to agree to a meeting, I had thought it would be I who was the guest, and you the host, and that we would meet later in the day."
"1 don't have time for that," Hardior said. He glanced aI Wolt "Might we speak privately?"
"Of course," Arlian said. He gestured to the footman, who quickly left the room, closing the door securely behind him.
"Might I offer you a seat, my lord?" Arlian asked, gesturing at the silk couches.
"I think not," Hardior snapped. "You have an audience with the Duke?"
'Tomorrow afternoo
n, my lord."
"And just what do you intend to tell him? Are you planning to babble all your supposed secrets?"
Arlian frowned. "My lord, I think your manner is inappropriate. I asked to meet you so that we might avoid any unnecessary conflicts."
"I suppose you mean to make sure that I won't again try to arrange your assassination."
Arlian closed his eyes and let his breath out slowly, then opened them again before speaking.
"Lord Hardior, I am far more interested in learning why you sought my death than in preventing a recurrence. I know I am safe from you as long as I remain within Manfort's walls, so my safety is not a significant concern—but I had thought we were on the same side, and the archers on the ramparts were disturbing.
What is it I have done that prompted you to place them there, and to petition the Duke for permission to have me slain?"
Hardior stared at him for a moment, then said, "I had forgotten—you truly are mad. I had thought it would be plain to you."
"It is not." ,
"You threaten to bring the dragons down on us all."
Arlian blinked. "Threaten? My lord, the mere fact that you know this means that in all probability I have already brought the dragons down upon us, and they wait only for the weather's cooperation before striking. I hardly see what my death will accomplish now."
"It may not be too late to stave them off, Obsidian—
but not if you continue to live, to threaten them, to goad them to action with your profligate revelations of their nature, and your distribution of obsidian weapons, and your plans to slaughter their young. I know you better than to think you will abandon your mad schemes of vengeance while you still draw breath—and therefore, I hoped to stop that breath."
Arlian gazed at him in silence for a moment, then said, I am honestly disappointed, my lord. I had hoped for better from you."
"Better?" I am attempting to shield all the Lands of Man from the consequences of your folly—what else would you have of me?"
"My lord Hardior, you told me not so very long ago that if I could slay a dragon, or better yet, exterminate their entire race, then I would be a great hero. You saw me slay the dragon that rose from Lord Stiam's heart, yet now you seem determined to reward that heroism with death, rather than aiding me in achieving the second. greater goal."
"You slew a newborn thing that was no more a true dragon than a newborn babe is a man. Yes, you killed it, and yes, it would have become a dragon, but you cannot kill a dragon, any more than a babe in arms can kill a trained warrior."
"You seem very certain of that."
1 am certain of that! I have seen the dragons, Obsidian—I have fought the dragons. I was not a boy hiding in a cellar when they destroyed my hometown; I was a grown man, and I saw my sword shatter on a dragon's scales." He drew a shuddering breath, and said, "We thought they were gone, you know—they had not been seen in fifty years, not since my grandfather's day, when the wars mysteriously ended, when the dragons withdrew to their caves. We didn't realize they still lived. And then one day when the skies were hot and dark we saw them coming.
"We had heard the old stories about how warriors defied the dragons on the ramparts of Manfort, and how our weapons would be useless, but the dragons had gone, hadn't they? We thought they must be old and weak, that the weapons had hurt them and they had merely concealed their injuries. So we did not run and hide; instead we gathered, swords in our hands, to face them.
"At the last minute I was sent to chase a few children who had disobeyed their parents and come to watch the battle to what we thought was safety. I had done that, sent them into the guildhall, and had turned to rejoin the others, when the dragons arrived.
"That was how I survived. I saw what they did, saw it all—saw them spit flaming venom at the gathered warriors, then systematically tear apart each and every building and butcher the women and children hiding within. I heard the screams ..."
He shuddered. Arlian said nothing for a moment; then Hardior continued.
"There were four. When the biggest one came to the guildhall I ran at it with my sword, screaming with rage, trying to drive it away. It did not bother to kill me, or even knock me aside—it simply ignored me as it ripped away the roof. I was hit by falling stones and burning thatch, my head was cut and my face covered in blood, but the dragon itself never deigned to touch me as I hacked at it.
"My sword broke, and I picked up stones and flung them, and it looked at me, and a dribble of venom from its jaw struck the stone in my hand and burned my fingers. I dropped the stone and put my fingers in my mouth—which is why I am here today, instead of six hundred years dead.
"And then it turned away again, and set about burning out the interior of the guildhall, making certain it killed each of the children I had sent there, but it did not trouble itself any further with me.
"And now you say you can kill these monsters with your magic glass spears?" Hardior snorted. "I say you are a madman. They can't be killed."
"So you propose to appease them, instead? To serve as a mere incubator? To become one of their servants?"
"I intend to communicate with them, if I can. Blood and water in a bowl is simple enough; you spoke to one, and you're no sorcerer. We will offer them peace—if they continue as they have, then the Society will keep silent about their young. After all, as Pulzera said, they want us to live—and we want to live."
"Pulzera," Arlian said. "You are siding with Pulzera?"
"Because she is right, my lord," Hardior said. "I did not like it at first, either—I remember the screams of my brothers, and those children in the guildhall. I remember the utter disdain on that dragon's face, and the savage cruelty they displayed. I hate the dragons as much as you, my lord—but I know better than to think we can defeat them. If there is war, there will be many, many more screaming children, slaughtered by the great beasts; if we bargain with them ..."
"Then there will be fewer at any one time," Arlian said, "but the dragons will survive forever, preying on our people. If we fight them, and kill them, yes, many will die, but in the end we will win, we will destroy them."
"We will not!" Hardior shouted. "You can't kill them! No one has ever killed a grown dragon, in all the thousands of years that men and dragons have existed."
"No one else ever thought to use obsidian!" Arlian shouted back. "Lord Enziet spent six hundred years studying the dragons and sorcery in order to learn what could harm them, and he succeeded! You have seen me kill a dragon—how can you deny it?"
"I saw you kill an animated cloud of blood,"
Hardior said. "Not a dragon! An ordinary sword could probably have done as well as your silly stone knives."
"No, I tried that," Arlian said. "In the cave beneath the Desolation, where Enziet died. My sword could not cut that newborn dragon any more than you could cut the one you fought. When I ran my blade down its throat, it simply bit it off."
Hardior stared at him.
"You lie," he said at last.
"I do not," Arlian said.
"So obsidian can cut where steel cannot—still, do you think you could kill a grown dragon?"
"Yes!"
"I do not," Hardior said, "and I believe that your schemes are going to enrage them all and bring them down upon us. Further, you have said that you considered killing all the dragonheads in Manfort—should I trust you? You showed what your vows are worth when you threw down your sword fighting Belly—so much for your oath to kill him or die trying! Should I put any more faith in your vows to the Society? You are a madman, and a danger to us all, and I had hoped the Duke would have you killed. He did not, and I cannot try again while you remain in Manfort, but by the dead gods, Obsidian, I will do what I can to keep you from antagonizing the dragons and endangering this city."
"So they are already your masters, even while they lurk in their caverns," Arlian said in disgust. "You will not help me in my campaign to destroy them?"
"Help you? I will do my best to stop
you!"
"Then I think we have no more to say to one another, my lord." Arlian gestured toward the door.
"Oh, no," Hardior said. "You brought me here to discuss what you will tell the Duke tomorrow, and we will discuss that before I depart."
"Will we? You have just reminded me that you are sworn not to harm me, so why should I not tell His Grace whatever I please, regardless of your wishes?"
"Two reasons, my lord. First, I doubt you intend to spend your entire life inside the ramparts of Manfort, and while I may not have your obsessive concern with revenge, I can hold a grudge as long as may be necessary. Second, I am not sworn to leave the Duke himself unharmed. The old warlords' blood of Roioch's line has grown very thin in these modern generations, my lord, and it would be little loss to the Lands of Man if the present line died out completely. His Grace has no heir, were he to die there would be an end to the Dukes of Manfort, and a new system of governance would arise—a council of lords, perhaps, as some towns have. And can you doubt who would control such a council? I do not kill the Duke because I prefer not to deal with the consequences, and because I like the old fool—but if I am confronted with the possibility of even worse consequences if I let him live, if he falls under your sway, listens to your tales about weapons that can kill dragons..."
He did not bother to complete the threat.
"Then you would have me keep silent on the manner of draconic reproduction, and on the uses of obsidian," Arlian said.
"Of course. I suppose you will have to discuss your silly spears with him, but I trust you will be discreet as to their actual purpose."
"I will not promise that, my lord."
Hardior sighed. "Obsidian, I probably won't be there tomorrow, but do not think that means I won't know what you say. I have eyes and ears in the Citadel besides my own, and there are sorcerous methods for hearing what is said elsewhere. I cannot prevent you from saying what you will—but I will know what you have said, and 1 will respond accordingly. Do not sign the Duke's death warrant with careless words—nor your own!"
Arlian stared at him for a moment, then said, "I thank you for your advice, Lord Hardior, and I think we have now said all that we need say."
The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) Page 25
