Dragon Weather

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Arlian considered that.

  His companions were probably still miles away, and although they were following him, guided by Thirif’s magic, they might never find this place. But why should he tell Enziet any of that? And he had caught up to Enziet this time; he could do it again, if he had to.

  “Move away, then, and I’ll come down,” he said.

  He heard the scuffing of boots on stone; Enziet was, indeed, moving back. Arlian stepped down into the chamber and felt his way along the wall.

  When he had gone seven or eight feet he stopped.

  “Tell me, then, what this dread secret is that you hold, that makes you so important.”

  “It’s simple enough,” Enziet said. “I know how the dragons reproduce.”

  For a moment Arlian stared uncomprehendingly into the featureless darkness. Then he asked, “What?”

  “I know how dragons reproduce—and how to stop them from doing so.”

  “But … but don’t they … I mean, the dragons are still animals, are they not?”

  “No, they are not,” Enziet said calmly. “They are the magic of the Lands of Man made flesh, a primal force drained from the earth and given shape; they only appear to us as beasts, as the reptiles we see. That is not what they are.”

  Arlian took a moment to consider this. He remembered the terrifying image of the dragons above the Smoking Mountain, the sight of that immense face peering into the ruined pantry, all the tales he had ever heard about the dragons.

  He remembered Black asking him, long ago, if he knew male from female, or whether dragons laid eggs. He remembered seeing the belly of one dragon as it flew over Obsidian—it had been bare and sexless.

  Creatures of sheer magic, like those things in the Dreaming Mountains, but vastly larger and more powerful—it all fit.

  “And that’s why they can’t be killed, then?” he asked.

  Enziet snorted. “I don’t know whether they can be killed in their mature form,” he said. “I think it’s possible. I was working on that—for more than six hundred years I’ve worked on finding a way, and I believe I was very, very near when you came to Manfort and cast my life into chaos. But yes, their true nature is why we have no record that any man has ever killed one.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Arlian asked. “Why did you conceal this from the Dragon Society? It’s so basic, so essential, yet you hid it for all these years!”

  “I had sworn that I would,” Enziet said.

  “And you swore to the Society that you would reveal what you knew about dragons! What oath did you swear that took precedence over that?”

  “Haven’t you guessed?” Enziet’s voice dripped sarcasm. “I thought you were such a clever boy!”

  “No, blast you, I haven’t guessed! Some ancient duke? Your father or mother?”

  Enziet laughed. “You’re a fool. Why would I care about an oath to someone long dead? No, I swore my oath to a power greater and older than the Dragon Society or anyone in it.”

  “Some sorcerer, then?”

  “Don’t be a fool, Arlian,” Enziet spat. “I swore to the dragons themselves.”

  59

  The Sword of Lord Enziet

  For a moment Arlian stared silently into the gloom, wishing he could see Enziet’s face—that he could see anything other than black emptiness. Then he said, “You mean you swore by the dragons.”

  “No,” Enziet said. “I swore an oath to the dragons themselves, when I drove them from the Lands of Man and bound them, by their oath, into the caverns.”

  “You bound them? You, yourself?”

  “I have that honor, yes.”

  “But they come out sometimes,” Arlian said.

  “In dragon weather, yes. They’re dragons, boy—they can’t be bound entirely by anything human, not even an oath. But they would speak to me, when the temptation grew strong, and we would agree on what would be permitted them.”

  “Such as my home and family,” Arlian said bitterly.

  “Such as that, yes,” Enziet agreed. “I chose your village for reasons of my own. I had not intended that anyone would survive, and that error has cost me. I should have known better—dragons are not to be trusted.”

  “What, you think they left me alive deliberately?”

  “Yes, boy, I do. I know more about dragons than anyone alive, and yes, I believe they knew you were there, and that they let you live intentionally.”

  “Why? I’ve sworn to destroy them!”

  For a moment Enziet didn’t reply; when he did speak Arlian could hear genuine mirth in his voice. “Have you? As you swore to destroy me?”

  “Yes! They killed my mother, my father, my grandfather, my brother—if a mortal man can destroy a dragon, I will!”

  “No dragon would fear your vengeance, Arlian,” Enziet said. “They fear no one but me. A boy of ten or twelve, as you were—pah! They’d consider you no more threat than a kitten!” He laughed. “They don’t know you as I’ve come to.”

  “Can they be killed, then?” Arlian asked eagerly.

  “The black dragons? The elders? I don’t know. I believe it’s possible.”

  “You said they fear you.”

  “They do. I know how they reproduce—and I know how to prevent it. Dragons don’t live forever, any more than we who they’ve polluted do. We live centuries, and they live millennia, but we all die in the end, and they want their kind to live after them, as we do. I may not be able to kill a grown dragon, but I can kill their unborn young, and they know it, and fear me in consequence.”

  “How did you learn this?” Arlian asked. “Did you stumble on it by chance?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It might. If you learned it, might others not be aware of it as well, without your knowledge?”

  “And then you’d have no compunctions about killing me, eh?” Enziet laughed again. “No dragon has been born in a thousand years, Arlian. How could anyone else have learned what I know?”

  “Then you’ve prevented births?” Arlian asked. “And the dragons permit it?”

  “No, Arlian,” Enziet said—and Arlian realized his foe’s voice had moved closer; he had become so caught up in the conversation he had let his enemy creep closer unnoticed. Now he slashed at empty air and took three quick paces to the side. “It was not I who prevented the creation of new dragons for all those years. The gestation of a dragon takes a millennium, and the first new ones should be arriving within the next century, I would say. Only a very few of them will be born in the next thousand years—but there have been none in the thousand just ended.”

  “Why?” Arlian demanded. “If you’re the only one who knows…”

  “I was not always the only one who knew the secret,” Enziet interrupted. “The Man-Dragon Wars were fought not simply because humans dared to resist draconic rule, but because humanity had discovered the hope of destroying the dragons entirely. The true nature of that knowledge was kept hidden by a secret society, and I was just one member of that original Order of the Dragon. The Dragon Society you know is a sick parody of the Order, Arlian—a parody I created after I betrayed the Order to save my own life. And when the Order was gone, I alone was left in possession of the Order’s secret, and was able to do what the Order had not—free humanity of the dragons, not by warfare, but by an exchange of oaths.”

  “And if you die, the dragons are free of their oath?”

  “Of course.”

  “And they’ll emerge and reassert their rule over all the Lands of Man?”

  “I don’t know what they’ll do, Obsidian,” Enziet said wearily. “I don’t understand them so completely as that. I only know they’ll be free of constraint when I’m gone, when the secret of their origins is lost.”

  “You’ve told no one? Never written it down?”

  “You are a naive young fool,” Enziet said. “I don’t want to die, and I don’t care very much what becomes of all the rest of you once I’m dead. There are other reasons, as well—
but no, I have told no one, nor have I written down my deepest secrets. There is no one I would trust with this knowledge, and documents can be stolen, or copies, or simply read by the wrong people. So, do you still want to kill me, knowing what you might unleash?”

  “You’ll die someday in any case,” Arlian said.

  “Indeed I will,” Enziet agreed. “As will you. I might have an hour left to me—less, if you manage to slay me—or I might have a century. Is not the chance of a century’s delay in the return of the dragons worth forgoing your revenge?”

  “No,” Arlian said. “Not when it might be only an hour, and not when you’ve said we won’t both leave this place alive. I don’t know that any of what you’ve told me is true—you could be making it all up to trick me!”

  “I swear, by all gods living and dead, that what I have told you is true.”

  “And I cannot accept your word,” Arlian said unhappily. “If it’s the truth, you are already forsworn in your oath to the Society.”

  “The Dragon Society is a sham!” Enziet shouted.

  “Yet you swore,” Arlian insisted.

  “Then you don’t believe me,” Enziet said.

  “No,” Arlian said. “If it’s true, then tell me your secret, if you want it to survive—because you won’t survive, if I can prevent it.”

  “I might kill you, instead.”

  “You’re welcome to try. Tell me the secret, then—if you kill me, it won’t leave this cave.”

  There was a long pause before Enziet replied thoughtfully, “I don’t think I want to do that. The time may come when you learn for yourself, but I won’t tell you.”

  “Then I won’t spare you.”

  “And I’ll do my best to kill you. No quarter asked nor given.”

  And suddenly Arlian felt a rush of air and sidestepped. He brushed against cloth and swung his own sword, but hit nothing. He turned toward the sound of Enziet’s breath, both his blades ready.

  “I lived seven years in the mines of Deep Delving,” he said. “You won’t find me frightened by the dark.”

  “And I spent two years in the caverns with the dragons, long ago,” Enziet replied. “The darkness holds no terrors for me, either.”

  “Why did you come here?” Arlian asked. “Did you think you could escape me?”

  Enziet snorted. “I thought I could bribe Wither,” he said. “Bribe Wither, trust Drisheen, talk Nail around, terrify Belly into obedience, and keep my hold on the Dragon Society. I thought you would die on the way here—but I should have known better. Fate clearly has plans for you. I realized that long ago.”

  “Bribe Wither with what?” Arlian, thinking he sensed movement, thrust even as he spoke, but struck only air. He knew what Wither had demanded of Enziet, but he wanted to keep his opponent talking.

  “With venom, of course,” Enziet said. “This cave is an entrance to one of the dragons’ lairs—five or six of them sleep in a chamber not far below us. Collecting venom that drips from their jaws as they sleep is simple enough; I’ve done it before, long, long ago.” His voice moved as he spoke; he was circling around. Arlian turned, tracking his opponent’s movement.

  “Wither’s been seeking venom for years,” Arlian said. “Why are you only doing this now?”

  “Because I didn’t need Wither’s support before, and did not care to see more clean blood tainted by the filth the dragons spew. You should appreciate that—you must have seen what happened to that whore you stole from me.”

  Arlian leaped and slashed at that, and heard cloth tear, but again he failed to strike flesh, and again he heard footsteps retreating.

  He pursued, but after a dozen paces the sound of his own steps and the clattering of the stones he dislodged had drowned out Enziet’s, and he lost the trail. He paused, trying to locate Enziet, but once the stones had stopped sliding the cave went utterly silent.

  “You dare speak of her?” Arlian bellowed.

  “Of course,” Enziet replied, from somewhere far off to Arlian’s left. “I dare anything. I am Lord Dragon, after all; I am he who makes the puppets dance. Human or dragon, free or slave, duke or whore, you all dance when I pull the strings.” He laughed bitterly. “Or so I thought; perhaps Fate is pulling my strings now. Or perhaps the dragons have all along played a deeper game than I knew.”

  Light suddenly flared up; Enziet had struck sparks onto tinder. Arlian turned toward the light and hurried toward it, sword raised to strike, but Enziet stepped back and snatched up his own sword.

  The tinder smoldered dimly, and clearly would not last long.

  “I thought the time had come to get on with it, and settle matters between us,” Enziet said. “Let me light a lamp, and we’ll have it out properly.”

  Arlian stopped, and took a step back.

  “Do it, then,” he said.

  Enziet nodded, stepping forward into the fading orange glow. He reached for a pouch on his belt as he knelt.

  A moment later Enziet stood, a brass lamp burning in his hand. He placed it upon a ledge on the wall of the cave, then turned to Arlian.

  For the first time since climbing down into the cave Arlian could see his surroundings. He could see where he had stood, and where he had run blindly across the cave floor, and he realized how lucky he had been—he had run right by a huge stalactite, and narrowly missed slamming his head into it.

  Enziet had undoubtedly known the stalactite was there—but however familiar he might be with this place, he could not have been here for long, and had not been here in years before this visit, so his knowledge of the cave would not be complete.

  That was why he had made a light—the cave was almost as dangerous to him as to Arlian. Not only were there stalactites to hit, stalagmites to trip over, and loose stones to stumble on, but there was a black pit to one side that they might have fallen in. The ceiling varied from too low to stand under to too high to see.

  “That leads down to the dragons,” Enziet said, pointing to the pit. “If you kill me, you might want to go down there to see if you can kill them.” He smiled unpleasantly, twisting his scarred cheek.

  “Are the three that destroyed my home down there?” Arlian asked.

  “I don’t know,” Enziet said. “Quite possibly.”

  “You know so many secrets—do you know why they chose my village?”

  Enziet laughed. “They didn’t choose it,” he said. “I did. I had an interest in obtaining a supply of obsidian, and the dragons were eager for a little entertainment—you must remember that summer. The weather had their blood boiling. They told me they were going to strike, but allowed me to name the place, and I thought I would save myself a little expense.” He laughed again. “I cost myself far more than I expected. Had I known you were there, and what would come of it, I’d have directed them elsewhere and paid for my obsidian in gold.” He raised his sword and stepped forward, between Arlian and the lamp, casting an immense shadow across the cave.

  Arlian dodged sideways, then ran and lunged; Enziet dodged, and counter-thrust. Arlian parried, riposted, then broke away.

  Enziet stepped down, away from the light, into the shadow of a stone pillar. Arlian circled to the other side of the pillar.

  For several minutes the two men maneuvered about the cave, stalking one another, looking for advantageous positions, occasionally exchanging a flurry of blows. Their shadows surged and shrank, twisted and dodged as they moved.

  At one point Arlian slipped on a loose sloping stone and went down on one side; before Enziet could take advantage of this Arlian snatched up a handful of dust and pebbles and flung it at his foe’s eyes. As Arlian regained his feet Enziet stepped back, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, knocking his hat off and recovering just in time to meet Arlian’s attack.

  Swords clashed, and Arlian tried to snag Enziet’s blade with his swordbreaker. Enziet dodged, and slashed, drawing a bloody line across Arlian’s left forearm.

  Arlian gasped and fell back—and Enziet fell into his trap, stepping fo
rward to take advantage of a feigned weakness. Arlian’s sword flashed orange in the lamplight as he struck; Enziet parried at the last moment, swinging his swordbreaker up, but the tip of Arlian’s blade punched through Enziet’s left shoulder, a far more serious wound than the scratch Enziet had inflicted.

  Both men retreated, pulling apart; they stood facing one another, swords gleaming. Arlian’s blade was tipped with red; Enziet’s had a smear of blood diagonally across it.

  “The dragons down below,” Arlian said, hoping to disrupt Enziet’s concentration. “Are they black? Or green?”

  “Black,” Enziet said. “All the surviving dragons are black.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Because they’re old, Arlian. A newborn dragon is red as blood, but by the time it’s a year old that fades to gold. A few decades and it’s green as grass, and a few centuries darken that to a black as black as their hearts.”

  “And are their hearts any blacker than yours, Lord Dragon? Is that why you called yourself that?”

  Arlian had expected Enziet to laugh and make some sardonic reply at that, but instead he looked as if he had been struck.

  “I have the heart of a dragon,” he said bitterly, “as do you, and all the rest of that foolish little society. Yours may still be red, or at least gold, but mine is old and weary and black, just as you say—and as yours will be, one day, if you live that long.”

  “Never,” Arlian said, lowering his sword and launching a fresh assault.

  60

  The Final Duel

  The fight dragged on; the lamp burned low, and the two men called a brief truce to refill it before resuming their combat. Arlian received a gash across his ribs and another just above one hip, while Enziet’s left shoulder was pierced again, and a long gouge cut into his right leg. Blood was smeared across the rocks, on the stalagmites and along the walls. Both men grew tired, but fought on. Neither wasted breath on further speech; the time for talk was past, and both men knew it.

  Arlian had no idea how long the fight lasted; in the cave there was no sun moving across the sky to tell him how much time had passed. He could only judge by how tired he was, by how heavy his sword had become.