Arlian remembered Cover’s belief that Lord Dragon was the master of the Dragon Society, and that his secret society controlled much of what went on in Manfort. “This society,” Arlian asked, “is there a person who calls himself Lord Dragon?”
Wither shrugged. “I have heard several of us use that name, now and again. I do not attach it to any one person. Now, boy, I’ve answered enough questions—can you help me, or not? Did you find a way to get the venom without facing a dragon’s wrath? How did you drink it yet remain unscarred?” His voice shook with eagerness.
Arlian shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said. “I drank my grandfather’s blood as I lay trapped beneath his corpse. I will not deceive you further—I have no venom, nor the means to obtain it, at present.” He cleared his throat. “I do have the services of half a dozen Aritheian magicians, and I will set them to seeking what you want, if you like.”
Wither stared at him for a moment, then growled, “May the dragons blast you for leading me on!” His left hand fell to the hilt of his sword.
“My apologies, my lord,” Arlian said, standing up straight. He recognized, with a sudden thrill of excitement and horror, that he was facing a challenge—his first since attaining sufficient status to be entitled by tradition to duel. “I am unarmed; if you wish to avenge this slight upon my flesh, I pray you let me fetch my blade.”
“No,” Wither said in disgust, his hand dropping. “The fault is not worthy of such a cost, and further, I might well be violating my oath by slaying you here.”
Arlian frowned, relieved to know he was not going to be forced to fight this fearsome old man, but also puzzled. “How is that, my lord? What oath do you speak of?”
“The oath of the Dragon Society, required of each member upon joining, is that none of us shall attempt to slay another member within Manfort’s walls,” Wither explained. “With more than a score of us gathered in one place for centuries duels would be inevitable, without that restriction—and what a waste to cut off a life that might, for all we know, last millennia! And so few new members ever appear that in time we would destroy ourselves, I’m sure.”
“I am not a member, though,” Arlian pointed out. He very much wanted to be one, though, now that he knew the Dragon Society really existed, for surely the man he knew as Lord Dragon was a part of it, even if not the master Cover had believed him.
“Oh, you are a member in all but name,” Wither said with a wave of his good hand. “I don’t concern myself with needless formalities. You can merely present yourself, undergo our little initiation, and swear to the oath, and you’ll be as much a member as I. The only difficult requirement is the first, the elixir that renders one suitable, and the mark of your eligibility is plain.”
Arlian considered that. “I was going to ask that the price of setting my magicians to searching be your sponsoring my application to join,” he said.
Wither shook his head. “You needn’t bother. You can join at any time simply by answering the ritual questions and swearing the oath.”
“Yet I owe you for the honest answers you’ve given me,” Arlian said. “I will set my magicians their task—though I cannot promise any result.”
“A kind gesture, sir,” Wither said. “Thank you.” He bent his head briefly in acknowledgment.
“Ah, thank you!” Arlian replied. “I have but one last request.”
“Ask it, then, and I’ll be on my way.”
“How am I to find this Dragon Society, should I choose to join?”
“Simple enough. Go to the intersection of Citadel Street and the Street of the Black Spire, and walk down the Street of the Black Spire toward the city gates until you come to a black door with a red bar across it. That is the Society’s hall; knock, and when the doorkeeper sees your face you’ll be admitted, I have no doubt.”
“Thank you.” Arlian bowed.
A moment later Lord Wither was gone, and Arlian settled into his chair, thinking hard.
This was his chance, surely—this Dragon Society could be the key to everything he sought. Everything was going as well as he could have hoped, as if fate itself was on his side.
Only belatedly did it occur to him that he had not inquired whether Wither had owned a share of the brothel in Westguard, but he shrugged that aside. There would be plenty of time to ask the old man later.
Arlian did see at least one potential problem ahead, however.
If he joined the Dragon Society and swore the oath, and found that Lord Dragon and the others he sought were members, then he could not try to kill them—at least, not within the city walls. Would he ever have a chance to meet Lord Dragon outside Manfort?
There were other questions remaining, as well—questions of timing, of strategy …
And the questions of preparation. Was he truly ready to meet Lord Dragon in combat?
He would know soon enough, he told himself. One way or another, now that he knew of the Dragon Society, he would find Lord Dragon. When he saw that hated face he would know whether or not he was ready to act.
34
Lord Kuruvan
As Arlian climbed into the coach the next afternoon he had still not decided how and when he should approach the Dragon Society. He had spent the previous evening running various plans and schedules through his mind, until at last he had made his way to bed having decided only that the meeting with Lord Kuruvan would come first.
For one thing, the possibility had occurred to him that Kuruvan might be a member of the Society himself, and he wanted to satisfy himself on that account before proceeding further.
He arrived at the gate of Kuruvan’s palace without incident and clambered from the coach, throwing Black, his driver, a quick salute. He was greeted by a pair of footmen, and escorted into a salon paneled in unfamiliar reddish wood. He surrendered his hat and sword to a maroon-robed slave girl, silver chains jingling on her wrists as she carried them away.
Before he could take a seat a handsome, gray-haired man in a more elaborate version of Kuruvan’s maroon-and-gold livery appeared and bowed. “If you would accompany me, my lord?”
Arlian had assumed the meeting would be in the salon, but he made no protest as the steward showed him down a passageway and into a smaller, more cluttered room where Lord Kuruvan was waiting.
“Lord Obsidian,” Kuruvan said, rising from his chair. “A pleasure to see you again!”
Arlian bowed in acknowledgment, forestalling any offered hand. “The pleasure is mine,” he said.
Kuruvan gestured toward a chair, and a moment later the two men were seated facing one another. Arlian studied his foe, looking for some sign of the intensity Black and Wither called the dragon’s heart, but found none.
“Now, my lord,” Kuruvan said, “I believe you said you wished to discuss a private matter?”
“Indeed,” Arlian agreed. “Before I explain myself further, however, I really must ask for the names of your five partners in the House of Carnal Society in Westguard. I believe this matter concerns them, as well, though in a lesser degree.”
He tried to appear calm, but this was a decisive moment for Arlian. He had Rose’s word that Kuruvan had claimed to be one of the six lords who owned the House, but while he trusted Rose, Kuruvan might have lied to her. His reaction now would show Arlian whether or not Rose had been deceived, whether or not he had found one of her killers.
Kuruvan sat back and stared at Arlian; his fingers fidgeted on the arms of the chair. He laughed nervously. “You have me at a disadvantage,” he said. “You obviously know something about me, while I am in utter ignorance of your own history and connections. I don’t know your true name…”
“I deal in magic,” Arlian interrupted. “I dare not give my true name.” He did not let his relief show, but Kuruvan’s response removed any doubts—this was one of the men Arlian had sworn to kill.
Kuruvan nodded an acknowledgment. “Fair enough. Can you tell me nothing about yourself, though?”
“I will trade
you, fact for fact, if you like,” Arlian suggested, trying hard to sound unconcerned. “To begin the exchange, I will tell you that while I was born and raised in the Lands of Man, I never set foot in Manfort until two years ago. Now, tell me the name of one of your partners—by preference, the dark-haired man with the scarred cheek who cut down Madam Ril and carried a letter from the Duke granting him immunity from the consequences of that act.”
Kuruvan, his hands now motionless, stared at him. “You know the oddest details,” he said. “You know about Ril, and the letter, but you don’t know Lord Enziet’s name?”
“I do now,” Arlian said, his blood pounding. “I had heard the name, but did not know him by sight, and had not made the connection.”
Now he had, though, and pieces began to drop into place. Lord Enziet, chief adviser to the Duke of Manfort, was Lord Dragon. He was certainly a member of the Dragon Society, as well, scarred as most of the members of the Dragon Society were scarred, with that dragon’s gaze that let him command others as he had commanded the looters so long ago in Obsidian—and that undoubtedly let him command the Duke and many of the other lords of Manfort.
That he had not told the looters his identity, nor revealed his true name in connection with the ownership of a brothel, now made perfect sense—someone so highly placed would naturally want to keep his distance from anything so sordid. And that no one in Westguard had recognized him also became understandable—Lord Enziet was known to be reclusive; he spoke with the Duke and the Duke’s other advisers in private and was rarely seen in public.
Killing Lord Enziet would not be easy. He was said to keep largely to himself, staying within his own manse just to the east of the Citadel, behind dozens of guards, but he was no coward, no helpless fop—he just didn’t want to be disturbed. He was said to have fought a dozen duels, invariably killing his opponent. He was rumored to be a sorcerer, as well. He was famous for his cold brilliance and ruthless efficiency, both in his advice to the Duke and his own affairs. He had no known family, and few real friends.
This, Arlian thought, would be a worthy challenge. “It is, I would say, your turn to ask a question,” he said.
Kuruvan considered him. “And I take it that I am not yet entitled to an explanation of this private matter you came to discuss?”
“Not until I have the other four names,” Arlian said. “True names, if possible, not just nicknames.”
“I have little patience for these games, O mysterious guest; I’ll give you the names, and you’ll tell me what this is about, and then you’ll owe me three further answers on subjects of my choice.”
“Good enough,” Arlian said. “Though I have another question of my own, I’ll want to ask, in time. The names?”
“Drisheen, Toribor, Stiam, and Horim.”
Arlian was disappointed to realize he knew only one of them by name—Lord Drisheen had visited the House on occasion during Arlian’s residence in the attic, and was reputed to be a sorcerer and an adviser to the Duke, though one of the lesser ones. Except for an overindulgence in scents Drisheen had not been extravagantly unpleasant in his treatment of the women in Westguard, nor had he otherwise made the thought of killing him easier to handle—but the six lords were all enslavers and murderers, and Arlian would kill them all if he possibly could. He had sworn as much.
“Thank you,” he said.
“And the matter you wished to discuss?” Kuruvan demanded impatiently.
“Ah,” Arlian said. He considered asking his other important question, but decided he really did need to give something in return before he could expect a reply. “You own an inn called the Blood of the Grape, I believe.”
“Yes,” Kuruvan agreed. “What of it?”
“You stored a keg of gold there, long ago, against the eventuality that you might someday wish to flee Manfort.”
Kuruvan sat bolt upright. “Who told you that?”
“Someone who is now dead,” Arlian said. “You need not worry that any of your other secrets might escape.”
“You owe me three more answers, Obsidian, and that must be one of them—who told you that?”
“Rose,” Arlian said. He found himself trembling as he said her name, though he could not say whether he shook with grief or fury or something else entirely. “A crippled whore called Rose.”
“She’s the mutual acquaintance you mentioned?” Kuruvan rose from his chair.
Arlian nodded.
Kuruvan took a step toward Arlian, fists clenched. “What else did she tell you?”
Arlian looked up at him and struggled to remain calm in the face of Kuruvan’s rage. “I spent a considerable amount of time in Rose’s company, and we spoke a great deal. Could you be more specific?”
“What else did she tell you about me?”
“That you were one of the owners of the House of the Six Lords,” Arlian said. “That you can’t hold your liquor. That you had promised to take her with you if you ever fled Manfort.” He shrugged—which took a real effort in his tense condition; his shoulders were more inclined to shake than to rise and fall. “That’s all, really. No more secrets.”
“And my gold?”
“It’s gone,” Arlian said. “Taken by the youth who called himself Lord Lanair.”
“Him! The one at the inn down the street?” Kuruvan started to turn away, to pace the floor, then stopped. He turned back. “You’re Lanair, aren’t you? You made yourself rich with my gold?”
“I was Lanair,” Arlian agreed. “And I invested your gold in a caravan to Arithei, which was one element in how I became wealthy enough to be here, your fellow lord, today.”
“Have you come to pay it back, then, as if I’d made you a loan? Or are you here to taunt me for my foolishness in telling that faithless bitch where I hid it?”
Arlian rose and faced Kuruvan from mere inches away, looking up into Kuruvan’s bright brown eyes.
“I am here to avenge her death, Kuruvan,” he said. “I needed the names of the other owners, and you’ve been kind enough to provide that; now, will you tell me where the two women you took from the House are, or will I need to search for them after I’ve killed you?”
“You mean to kill me?” Kuruvan stared. “Over a whore? A slave?”
“Over a woman you wronged, and for a dozen other crimes.”
“You, a thief, call me a criminal?”
“And you, who had women enslaved for your pleasure, and mutilated and murdered them at whim, dare deny it?”
“Of course I deny it! Those women were bought openly, and what we did with them was entirely within our legal rights!” Both men were shouting now, standing nose to nose, Arlian’s head tipped up and Kuruvan’s tipped down.
“Within your power, perhaps, but no law can make it right,” Arlian replied.
“You think you’re above the law, then?”
“I think you have abused the very concept of law!”
Kuruvan stepped back, making a visible effort to calm himself. Holding his voice to a normal conversational level he asked, “And you intend to kill me? Have you a knife tucked in your boot, then, or were you planning to use your Borderlands magic?”
Arlian lowered his own voice to match Kuruvan’s. “I intend to meet you fairly, sword in hand, at a time and place of your choosing, and convenient to us both.”
“A duel?” Kuruvan sneered. “You think yourself a nobleman, and not a mere assassin?”
“I am no assassin,” Arlian replied. “I own businesses that are run for me by others—does that not entitle me to the rank I claim?”
“You bought them with stolen money!”
“Nonetheless, I own them. Choose where and when we shall meet, Lord Kuruvan, and I’ll take my leave until the appointed time.”
“You’re an unarmed thief, here in my home—why should I meet you honorably? Why should I not have you slain on the spot?”
Arlian smiled a tight little smile. “I see at least two reasons,” he said. “Firstly, if we do meet fairly,
I will bring with me a keg of gold equal to what I took from you at Rose’s behest—and in return I ask that you bring the two women, the survivor to claim all.”
“And…?”
“And secondly, I have friends and retainers awaiting my safe return, including half a dozen of Arithei’s most powerful magicians, who do not consider me a thief; do you really want to risk their vengeance?”
Kuruvan stared at him.
“Were I the assassin you think me, you would already be dead,” Arlian said. “You may have heard what happened to Sahasin.”
Kuruvan considered that before replying slowly. “You intend to fight me fairly? And you think you can kill me?”
“Indeed I do,” Arlian said.
“I’m twice your age. I have trained with the sword since I was a beardless child.”
“Then perhaps you will kill me,” Arlian said. “Either way, my need for vengeance will be at an end, either satisfied or destroyed.”
“You must be mad,” Kuruvan said. “You seek me out, confess to robbing me, then challenge me to fight to the death over a dead slave. You boast of complicity in the assassination of the Aritheian ambassador…”
Arlian interrupted. “On the contrary, I do not even know whether Sahasin is truly dead. Otherwise, yes, you’ve stated the case accurately—and perhaps I am mad. You’re not the first to suggest it.”
Kuruvan stared at him a moment longer, then said, “Very well, I will face you. Tomorrow, at my own gate at midday.”
Dragon Weather Page 31
