Dragon Weather

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

“But what does Enziet care about?” Arlian asked. “You say he doesn’t fear death, so it’s not his life he values; what, then? His honor? His family?”

  “He has no family,” Rime said. “He never has, so far as I’ve seen or heard.”

  “And he has no honor, from what I’ve seen,” Arlian said.

  “It’s certainly not something he prizes greatly,” Rime agreed, “though I’ve always heard that he keeps his oaths. If he did not, the Dragon Society would probably have long ago come apart in a rain of blood.”

  “He’s chief adviser to the Duke of Manfort,” Black said. “Does he care about that?”

  “In a way,” Rime said. “I think he values power.”

  “But what could threaten his power?” Arlian asked. “The Duke himself is a harmless old fool—a man like Lord Enziet can’t possibly fear him.”

  “Of course not,” Rime said. “The Dukes have been the Dragon Society’s puppets for centuries, probably since before the dragons themselves departed.”

  Black cleared his throat. “I don’t think I heard that,” he said. “Please don’t repeat it.”

  “The dragons,” Arlian said slowly. “Does Enziet fear the dragons?”

  “I don’t know,” Rime said. “Certainly many of us fear them. And more of us hate them, as I do, and as I think you do.”

  “I do,” Arlian agreed, “but does Enziet?”

  “What if he does?” Rime demanded. “Where would that get us? You’re hardly in a position to bring the dragons up out of their caverns to overthrow Manfort.”

  “Could that be possible?” Arlian asked. “The Dragon Society has been studying the dragons for centuries, hasn’t it? You must know a great deal about them.”

  “Nowhere near enough,” Rime replied, tapping her bone again. “And I’d have said that Enziet knows more about them than any of us. If there’s a way to wake them, he would know it—and he would know that the Society would not want to use it. If you did know a way, that would be no threat to Enziet—he need merely tell us you proposed something so insane, and we would all want you dead.”

  “You’re right,” Arlian said. “Not the dragons, then—but what else could threaten his power?”

  Black cleared his throat again. “You understand I don’t know anything about any secret societies,” he said, “or anyone who might have had undue influence on the governance of Manfort or the Lands of Man, but if there were such a secret society, working behind the scenes, couldn’t that society pose a threat to Lord Enziet?”

  “But he’s a member of the Dragon Society!” Rime said. “The senior member, in fact, and the one most concerned with politics.”

  “Does he think there’s some way I could turn the rest of the Society against him?” Arlian asked.

  Rime froze, the shinbone suspended at the top of its arc. She stared at Arlian.

  “Do you know something that could turn us all against him?” she asked. “Because I can’t think of a more probable threat you could pose.”

  Arlian stared back.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “It would need to be something mentioned at your initiation,” Rime said. “Something we didn’t notice at the time, but which Enziet spotted.”

  “But what?” Arlian asked, baffled.

  “I don’t know,” Rime said, turning her chair to face Arlian more directly, “but I intend to learn. Tell me, then, Arlian of the Smoking Mountain, everything you said at your initiation.”

  Arlian gathered his thoughts and began speaking.

  He reviewed his discovery of the Dragon Society’s existence and his early childhood, and described the long spell of dragon weather that followed his eleventh birthday, culminating in the dragons’ attack on Obsidian. He went through every detail he could recall of the attack, his fall, his grandfather’s death, and how the vile mixture of blood and venom had dripped into his mouth.

  He went over waking up, and being rescued from the cellar by Lord Dragon’s men, and his meeting with Lord Dragon.

  Every so often Rime interrupted his narrative with questions, trying to elicit more facts, details Arlian had forgotten or seen no significance in. These sometimes jumped back and forth in the story, and in fact Arlian had begun on the unhappy journey down the Smoking Mountain toward Deep Delving when she frowned and asked, “How long were you unconscious, there in the cellar? Several days, I suppose?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Arlian said wearily. He grimaced at the memory. “My grandfather’s body had not yet begun to stink when I awoke, and I was thirsty, but not seriously dehydrated. The ruins were no longer aflame, but still smelled strongly of woodsmoke. The weather had broken and turned cool, but that could happen quickly up on the mountain. I would say that I slept at least several hours, but probably no more than a single day, or two at the most.”

  Rime frowned. “But then how could the looters have gotten there? Isn’t the Smoking Mountain at least five days’ ride from Manfort?”

  “Oh, more than that,” Arlian said. “Eight or nine, I’d say. I’ve wondered for years how Lord Dragon happened to be there so soon, and have assumed that he somehow knew the attack was coming. I understand he’s an accomplished sorcerer, so I suppose…”

  “Sorcery can’t do that,” Rime snapped, cutting him off.

  “Maybe he was in the area and saw the attack from a distance, and seized the opportunity,” Black suggested. “After all, why would someone like Lord Enziet bother looting a village?”

  “But Cover said that he was hired specifically to loot the village,” Arlian said. “So he must have known it would happen, and he did nothing to stop it. That’s all the more reason to seek revenge for his actions there.”

  “Why would he bother looting it?” Rime asked.

  Arlian shrugged. “He wanted the obsidian,” he said. “He asked me repeatedly where the workshops were.”

  “This is Lord Enziet we speak of,” Rime said. “He could have bought the obsidian, all of it. He could have bought the entire village.”

  “Why would he want obsidian, anyway?” Black asked.

  “It’s used in sorcery,” Rime said. “It has power against fire and darkness. But it’s not so precious as that!”

  Arlian nodded. “We had a sorcerer in the village who worked in it,” he said.

  “It doesn’t seem to have protected the village against the dragons,” Black said, “and if they aren’t fire and darkness…”

  “They’re a good bit more than fire and darkness,” Rime said, “and sorcery is limited in what it can do.”

  “Then why would Enziet bother with this obsidian?” Black asked.

  “It’s better than nothing,” Rime said, shrugging. “And I suppose he didn’t buy it because he didn’t really need it, but when he found the village destroyed he decided he might as well take it.”

  “But he didn’t simply find the village destroyed,” Arlian protested. “He knew it would be destroyed, before it happened. It wasn’t anything he did, of course—the dragons did it—but he knew it was coming, or he couldn’t have been there so soon.”

  “But he couldn’t know,” Rime insisted. “I was assuming that he came there with his hirelings to get the obsidian—to steal it, since he wouldn’t need the others to buy it—and that he found the village destroyed.”

  “I’ve always thought he knew the dragons were coming,” Arlian said. “I assumed it was sorcery.”

  “Sorcery can’t foresee the future,” Rime said. “If he had known the attack was coming, then going to the village would make sense—he might have sought dragon venom or other traces of their presence, or simply more information about dragon behavior. That’s well within what might be expected of any member of the Dragon Society.”

  “But did anyone else go to the village, then?” Arlian asked. “The destruction of Obsidian was no secret.”

  “Oh, much later, some of us went for a look, yes,” Rime said. “I wasn’t one of them—I don’t travel easily, with this leg
of mine. They didn’t learn much; venom and some of the other traces fade quickly.” She frowned. “Enziet didn’t say he’d been there. No one mentioned that.”

  “He was there,” Arlian said.

  “Do you think that’s what he’s afraid you’ll learn?” Black asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rime said slowly. “It could be. Or maybe it’s something we haven’t gotten to yet—something in the mine at Deep Delving, or the brothel in Westguard. Let’s go back to your story.”

  Arlian obliged, resuming his narrative with an explanation of how Hide had pulled him from the cellars. Rime had him provide detailed descriptions of each of the looters who had accompanied Lord Dragon, but nothing in his account caught her attention.

  They broke for supper after that, and then returned to the small salon and resumed with an account of Arlian’s years in the mines. He told her everything he knew of Hathet, of Bloody Hand and Lampspiller, and of all his fellow miners. She questioned him at length about the amethysts, and about the possibility that the mine’s tunnels were approaching the caverns where the dragons slept, but none of them could connect these questions to Lord Enziet.

  He described his escape, his flight cross-country, and his arrival in Westguard. He described each of the sixteen whores in the House of Carnal Society, as well as the guards and the dreaded Mistress, Madam Ril.

  Rime took a special interest in his description of Rose, and coaxed out half-remembered details. Her expression hardened as he spoke.

  “Who actually killed her?” Rime asked.

  “Who held the knife?” Arlian asked. “I don’t know. She was killed at Lord Dragon’s order, though, I’m certain.”

  Rime frowned, her mouth drawn tight. “Go on,” she said.

  Arlian continued his tale.

  By the time he was done the candles were burned down to stubs, all the servants but Black were long since abed, and every drop was gone from the decanter of wine they had brought.

  “We may be missing some key detail,” Rime said thoughtfully. “If we are not, I see two possible areas of concern for Enziet. One is a personal matter, and would mean both that he knows a secret I thought well guarded, and that he deliberately sought to harm me; I doubt that’s the case, and will assume it was mere mischance at work. The other is the mystery of how he came to loot the village on the Smoking Mountain so soon after the dragons struck—and that is a mystery.” She glanced at Arlian. “That best fits what we know. When you were merely Lord Obsidian, or Lanair, seeking vengeance upon the Six Lords, he did not seem overly concerned; when he learned you were Arlian, from the Smoking Mountain, you became an immediate threat. He wouldn’t know what befell you in Deep Delving after he sold you, but he would know what you saw in Obsidian. I’d say that must be what troubles him.”

  “But why?” Arlian asked.

  “That is, as I said, a mystery,” Rime replied. “And I think it’s one that deserves investigation.”

  Arlian, muddled with wine and fatigue, stared blankly at her.

  “Go to bed,” she said, reaching for her cane. “Think it over.” She rose, then hesitated.

  “Please, Lady Rime,” Arlian said, leaping to his own feet despite his weariness, “be my guest for what remains of the night—I won’t forgive myself if you venture out on the streets at this hour!”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Black took his cue. “I’ll show you to your room,” he said, taking Rime’s arm.

  The two of them departed, Rime leaning heavily on Black as she hobbled, leaving Arlian standing alone in the dim salon. One of the candles had guttered out, and others were fading.

  He looked around, reluctant to retire while so many questions remained unanswered, but he could see nothing more he could do in the salon. He sighed, and set his feet toward the stairs. His thoughts were far from clear as he made his way slowly to his own bed, but he was already planning further investigation.

  44

  Hide and Seek

  The following day Arlian put his plans into effect. If it was true that Lord Enziet desperately wanted to conceal something about his visit to the Smoking Mountain, then obviously Enziet himself wouldn’t say anything about it, and Arlian couldn’t see what it would be himself—but the two of them were not the only people who had been there on that day. There had been six others present.

  Cover was dead. The whereabouts of Dagger and Tooth were a mystery, and one or both of them might be dead, as well. Shamble was probably still working for Lord Dragon, and would almost certainly be impossible to approach without alerting Enziet. Stonehand had joined the Duke’s guard, and was therefore also still, at least indirectly, under Lord Dragon’s thumb.

  Hide, though, was reputedly a dealer in gemstones and curiosities on the Street of the Jewelers, just a few hundred yards away from Arlian’s front gate. What could be more natural than that Lord Obsidian, known to be a collector of obsidian trinkets, should pay Hide’s establishment a visit?

  Accordingly, Arlian put on his best satin blouse, wrapped a fine velvet cloak about himself, clapped on a dashing feather-trimmed hat, and set out for a brisk walk to the Street of the Jewelers. Once there, however, he encountered a delay he had not foreseen, one so obvious that he cursed himself for not expecting it.

  He didn’t know which shop it was.

  There were signboards, of course, and even names painted on window glass, but he would hardly expect a jeweler to use the name Hide. Jewelry was meant for display, not concealment.

  He ambled down the street, glancing in windows, looking for some indication and trying to conjure up Hide’s image in his mind’s eye.

  It was still there—that moment when Hide had beckoned to him and said, “Come on, lad. We’ll get you out of here,” was burned into his memory—but it was not as clear as he might have liked. And of course, that was nine years ago—Hide would undoubtedly have changed considerably.

  Most of the shops, he noticed, did not make ostentatious display of their contents—but then, what jeweler could afford to keep enough stock on hand to make a grand presentation, and to risk showing it where a bold thief might break in and grab it? The displays Arlian saw were modest—one goldsmith had a single pair of ornate gilt candlesticks in his window, while a nearby jeweler made do with simply the tools of his trade.

  A silversmith by the name of Gorian, on the other hand, had an impressive decanter and matching goblets surrounded by lesser works—buckles, brooches, even a silver-trimmed leather slave collar—in his window, behind heavy iron bars.

  And just beyond, Arlian saw, was an even gaudier display—crystal, mother-of-pearl, rare woods, onyx and jade, made into boxes and candelabra and statuettes. Arlian stopped and studied this assortment, hoping to catch a sight of the shop’s proprietor.

  A plump young woman emerged from the shadowy interior and called through the open door, “Is there something you’d like to see better, my lord?”

  “No, thank you,” Arlian said, tipping his hat. He turned away. She might be Hide’s wife, or sister, or even daughter, but she was certainly not Hide …

  But she might know where Hide could be found. Arlian turned back.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Perhaps you could help me after all. Someone mentioned that an old acquaintance of mine who went by the name of Hide now has a shop on this street, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the details of how to find it. Might you know? He was a well-built fellow when I knew him, and had a sleeveless leather jacket he was fond of, but I can’t think of his true name at all.”

  She smiled charmingly at him. “He doesn’t use his true name,” she said. “And in truth, my lord, I think you’d know his new name when you saw it, even though it’s not Hide.”

  “Oh?” Arlian smiled back. “What is it, then?”

  “Seek,” she replied.

  “Oh,” Arlian said, grinning foolishly.

  “He specializes in finding unusual items,” she explained. “He and I have done business on occasion—when I�
�ve come across something so strange that he’d have an easier time selling it, or when he’s acquired a fine piece that isn’t sufficiently out of the ordinary for his customers.” She pointed down the street. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding him.”

  “Thank you, madam,” Arlian said, with an elaborate bow and flourish. “I am in your debt.”

  “Then perhaps you’ll pay that debt by sending me some trade, eh?”

  “I will, indeed,” Arlian said. “For now, though, I really must find Hide—or rather, Seek.” He made a second, smaller bow, then turned to go.

  “It’s on the right!” the woman called after him, and he waved his hat in acknowledgment.

  A moment later he reached his goal, and recognized it immediately.

  Seek’s shop was small but elegant; the signboard read simply SEEK, CURIOSITIES, and the window held nothing but a blue velvet cloth and a white card reading, “The Finest Exotica in Manfort.” The door was equipped with a glass bell that tinkled brightly as Arlian stepped in.

  He found himself in a small room furnished with two velvet-upholstered chairs and a counter faced with an unfamiliar wood. The walls were paneled with the same material, and polished to a silky gleam. Whatever the wood was, it had a grain that curled and twisted like nothing Arlian had ever seen before.

  There were three small shelves on the right-hand wall, providing the only display of merchandise to be seen. One held a set of four goblets made from inverted human skulls set on claw-shaped silver stems; the next bore a display of gemstones carved into detailed likenesses of various insects and spiders; and on the last sat an elaborate construction of gold wire, crystal rods, and orbs of multicolored glass that Arlian could make no sense of whatsoever.

  Arlian was looking at this last, trying to puzzle it out, when the blue velvet drapery behind the counter parted and Seek stepped out.

  Arlian turned and studied him.

  It was a man of roughly the same size as Hide, and the right build, and the face was familiar, but Arlian was not absolutely sure it was the same man. This person was visibly older, visibly softer and plumper, and far better dressed than the Hide Arlian remembered—the shopkeeper’s hair and beard were trimmed and oiled and flawlessly arranged, his cream-and-gold vest was embroidered silk rather than leather, and his entire appearance generally that of a wealthy, sophisticated man.