"It wouldn't," Tiria admitted. "But chopping off hands and f e e t -
how could anyone even think ..
"Have you met my wife?" Black interrupted, his anger only imper-fecdy hidden.
Starded, Tiria looked at him. "No, I . . . "
"Let us just say that there are those in this world who would not balk at such measures," Arlian said quickly.
Tiria appeared unconvinced—and that, Arlian thought, was per-
haps the worst sign of all. She did not want to believe that she could not have it all, the thousand-year life and the restoration of her humanity.
And perhaps she could manage it—but not everyone would. Unless something was done to prevent the distribution of venom, there might soon be hundreds or thousands of dragonhearts in the Lands of Man, and a thousand years from now there would be hundreds or thousands of dragons.
The significance of this was just beginning to register on Arlian. He had had all the facts for hours, but had not really had die time to put them all together.
Now, though, with Lady Tiria's example before him, the pieces were falling into place.
The dragons had allowed the war, and Arlian's slaughter, to continue until the damage in the Borderlands was too great to ignore. They had been appallingly destructive themselves to further drive the point home—the Duke must make peace with them, or see the Lands of Man ruined. Exterminating the dragons would not bring peace; instead it would bring even greater disaster. A truce, allowing the remaining dragons to live so that their influence would keep the wild magicks at bay, was the only acceptable option.
And any truce would mean that their venom would be circulating, new dragonhearts being created. A ducal edict forbidding it would be worthless; any number of people would happily disobey such an order if it meant living for centuries.
The foul stuff was apparently already in circulation, at three hundred ducats a dose—there would be no established price if there were no supply. Arlian knew that the dragons had, for reasons of their own, not directly provided their followers with a supply, but presumably traces had been collected from destroyed villages or imperfectly cleaned lairs.
And if that supply should prove insufficient the dragons might, of course, change their minds and begin to deliver barrels of the stuff—
well, no, not barrels, since venom would corrode its way through wooden staves, but bottles and jars.
A thousand years from now a new generation of dragons would be born—and that generation would dwarf any that had come before, would far outnumber the seven dozen Arlian and his men had slain. If the dragons chose there might be hundreds of new dragons every year, beginning in a thousand years and lasting indefinitely, until the Lands of Man were so choked with dragons that there was no more room for men.
Everything that the Order of the Dragon, Lord Enziet, and Lord Obsidian had done would be undone. The Lands of Man would once again be ruled by dragons.
The alternative was to continue Arlian's campaign until the dragons were extinct—and if Lord Zaner was to be believed, there were far more than forty-six remaining, so exterminating them would be no easy task.
Then, when that had been accomplished, Arlian and his supporters would need to hunt down and kill or cleanse the hundreds of dragonhearts who would have come into existence by that point. That task was immense and daunting, and made all the more so because by doing so Arlian or his successors would unleash all the wizards, monsters, and nightmares that lurked beyond the borders, plunging the Lands of Man into utter chaos.
Domination by dragons, or descent into chaos.
Neither was acceptable, Arlian told himself.
He would have to find a third choice—some other magic that would protect the Lands of Man, as the dragons did, without killing innocents and devouring their souls.
But what that might be, he had no idea.
15
The Third Alternative
By mid-evening Lady Tiria had, to her disappointment, been sent back to the inn where her party was lodged. She had learned little, if anything, about the Aritheian magicians, and if she had made any progress toward assassinating Arlian instead, he was unaware of it. Messengers had been sent to ensure that all the Aritheians were guarded, and that Tiria would not be permitted near them.
Lord Zaner was another matter; he and Isein had discussed the gruesome details of the purification rite. When Arlian came upstairs after Tiria's departure he found Zaner shaken, but still determined.
"It has to be done," he said. "The dragons are evil, and I can't be a party to their evil any longer."
"Has it taken you this long, then, to realize their evil?" Arlian asked.
"It has taken me this long to understand and accept the extent of their evil. I didn't want to admit it, but I can deny it no longer."
Arlian stared at him.
If Zaner, who had served them for these past fourteen years, could no longer tolerate the dragons, then how could Arlian, who had sworn to destroy them, consider a truce? The dragons must be obliterated.
Yet the wild magic must also be kept out, if the Lands of Man were to survive in anything like their present form.
But then, perhaps another form would suffice. Arlian looked at Isein, the Aritheian, who had grown up in the lands beyond the borders, where creatures of air and darkness prowled the sky, and nightmares stalked the hills.
Perhaps the magic could be controlled, could be made acceptable.
Arlian had visited Arithei once, long ago, and had found the experience harrowing. Arithei itself had been strange and uncomfortable, but not really bad; it had been the journey across the Dreaming Mountains that had been horrific. When Lord Naran and the Duke had spoken of the wild magic of the south loosed in the Lands of Man, Arlian and everyone else had thought in terms of the Dreaming Mountains, or the jungles below Skok's Falls, or the wizard-ruled realms of Furza and Shei, or Tirikindaro and its abominable master—but Arithei and Stiva were human realms, albeit ones where magic was omnipresent. If the Lands of Man were to learn how those two nations survived . . .
"I commend you, my lord," he said to Zaner, "and I beg your pardon, but I find that I need to speak privately to Isein."
Startled, Isein looked at him. "I will not be performing the ritual, my lord," she said. "You know I have never learned it; I have suggested that Lilsinir undertake it, and of course she will need a day or two to prepare."
"I know," Arlian said. "What I wish to discuss has nothing to do with Lord Zaner, which is why I do not wish to bore him with it. This is another matter entirely. Lord Zaner, if it would please you to stay here as my guest, by all means consider my home your own; my staff will find you appropriate accommodations. I regret to say that they will not be luxurious; this house was built in those ancient days when defense was considered more important than comfort."
"Maybe I should return to the inn, so that my companions will not realize anything is amiss."
Arlian bowed. "If you prefer, certainly—whatever you think best. I will have Lilsinir make the preparations and await your convenience."
Arlian saw Zaner to the door, and when Zaner was gone Arlian stared after him for a moment, wondering whether he would indeed return to be restored to mere humanity, or whether he would lose his nerve and accompany Opal and Tiria and Ferret and Wing back to Sarkan-Mendoth, or wherever the Dragon Society was currently headquartered.
Then he turned and made his way back to the study, where he seated himself facing Isein and began questioning her about her homeland.
"How is it that Arithei has never been conquered by wizards, or overrun by other monsters?" he asked.
"It has been conquered," she replied. "Several times. The last wizard-king was killed when my grandmother was a girl—his slaves broke the protective circle around his bedroom and lured in a nightstalker."
Arlian blinked. "Why?"
"To kill him, of course. The nightstalker ate his eyes and brain from his head, and even a wizard cannot surv
ive that without preparation."
Arlian's mouth opened, then closed again; the implication that a prepared wizard could survive it was deeply disturbing. He knew that wizards were not human, despite their usual appearance, but he had still thought of them as merely mortal.
"He tried to claim the nightstalker's body as his own, but the slaves were able to disrupt the spell," Isein continued. "Eight of them died preventing it, and three of the others were mortally wounded driving the nightstalker back out. Their faces have been carved in iron on the wall of the House of Inde in memory of their courage."
"I see," Arlian said.
"That wizard was not as bad as some," Isein continued. "He at least wore human form much of the time, and only killed those who displeased him. A hundred years earlier there had been a . . . I don't know the word in Man's Tongue. A single being with three bodies. That one depopulated an entire city before its heart was found and shattered. Its death throes laid waste to so much land that hundreds of people starved for want of the crops thus lost."
"Oh," Arlian said, staring at her. How could she speak so calmly of such horrors?
But then, those who had never seen them spoke of the dragons'
depredations with equal calm.
"There are stories of worse, long ago, but I cannot say how reliable they are."
"Yet in the end, the wizards and monsters are always driven out or slain?"
"So far," Isein said. "The struggle is constant. You have seen Arithei; you know the iron wards that guard the roads and towns. Our magicians spend much of their time weaving other protections and driving back magical creatures that venture near. The entire House of Shalien is devoted to keeping the thing in Tirikindaro from taking an interest in Arithei; their magicians know more of distractions and misdirection than all others combined."
"What is the thing in Tirikindaro?* Arlian asked. "I don't believe anyone has ever told me, in so many words."
"No one knows."
"Is it a wizard-king, then?"
"No. No wizard could live as long as that thing has. We don't know what it is."
"Could i t . ."
"We don't know, my lord."
Arlian glowered at her.
"My lord," she said, "I understand why you are asking me this; you are trying to decide whether the Lands of Man would be better off with the dragons, or the wild magic. My answer is that I do not know that, any more than 1 know what the thing in Tirikindaro is—but despite the dragons I prefer life in Manfort to my home in Arithei. Here my dreams are my own, and I need not fear gaunts crawling into my bedroom while I sleep; I know that when I wake up I will still be me, still be human.
Children and sheep are never carried off by nightbeasts. People who stray from the roads are not found days or weeks later with their hearts or bellies eaten out from inside, their faces frozen in expressions of terror—nor do they come home marked with magic, clearly doomed, so that their families can spend the next several months waiting to see what sort of wizard or other monstrosity might in time be born from their kinsman's flesh. Yes, in the Lands of Man the dragons may come, entire villages torn be slaughtered in a matter of moments, but it is an under-standable threat, one that can be confronted."
"Then why does anyone stay in Arithei, or the other lands beyond the border" Arlian asked, trying to understand. If Isein spoke the truth, as he did not doubt she did, then how could anyone prefer to remain in the magical realms?
"Well no one can leave Shei or Furza because the mages do not allow it, and of course no one can leave Tirikindaro without permission.
Leaving Arithei would mean crossing the Dreaming Mountains, which cannot be done without amethyst and silver—not to mention a good steel blade! As for Stiva, I know nothing about it; perhaps a compulsion spell keeps them from traveling."
"Thirif and Shibiel went home to Arithei, rather than stay here."
"Indeed they did—but they have family in Theyani. And Thirif told me he could no longer stand the cold here in the winter."
It took Arlian a moment to remember that Theyani was the capital of Arithei. He had visited that sunbaked city, long ago. "I can sympa-thize about the cold," he said.
"I rather like it," Isein said. "I like the north."
"Then you would accept a bargain with the dragons, even though it would mean that a thousand years from now, when the new dragonhearts hatch, there will be hundreds of dragons roaming the earth?"
"A thousand years from now I will be long dead," Isein said. "What does that matter to me? Who knows what might happen in a thousand years?"
"The longer a truce holds, the more dragonhearts there will be in the end."
Isein spread her empty hands. "My lord," she said, "while I honor the memory of the slaves of the House of Inde, I admit I would not have had the courage to join them, to give up my life for the good of others who would come after me. And they, at least, hoped that the wizard-king's death would benefit their own friends and family, while you are asking me to concern myself with the people of a future a thousand years away. I cannot bring myself to believe that their eventual doom is important enough, and inevitable enough, to justify destroying the dragons and unleashing wild magic upon the Lands of Man."
"And what if we could find some way to hold the magic back, without the dragons?"
"Why, that would be the best of both worlds, surely—but how can it be done? My people have struggled for centuries to keep Arithei safe, and their success, while real, is a very limited one. Arithei is a very small land, and the Lands of Man are vast—all of Arithei would fit easily into the Borderlands, which are the merest corner of your nation. Every town, every city, every farmstead would need magicians protecting it; every road would require iron warding posts along its entire length. And the Desolation—no one can live there, so how could it be protected? It would become your equivalent of the Dreaming Mountains, the vast haunted wasteland that would be forever spilling its horrors down upon its neighbors."
Arlian knew she spoke the truth, but he refused to accept it.
This was hardly a new experience for him. He had sworn vengeance on the dragons when he was a mere boy, and for years he had been told he was mad, reminded that no man had ever slain a dragon—but he had found a way, all the same. Lord Enziet's six hundred years of research into sorcery and the nature of dragons had paid off in the identification of obsidian as the one substance that could pierce a dragon's flesh, and Arlian had put that discovery to good use.
Surely, there had to be some way to drive both the dragons and the wild magic from the Lands of Man!
And he had somewhere between nine hundred and a thousand years to And it.
And he knew where to start looking; Isein had told him. The
Aritheians surely knew more about defending against hostile magic than anyone else. They had not yet found the one great key that would let them keep their land completely safe, but they could still tell Arlian what would not work, what would provide a partial solution.
He would go to Arithei. He would talk to the magicians. If necessary, he would learn their language so he could speak to them in their own tongue—at present he knew only a few half-remembered words in Aritheian. He would learn as much as he could, and he would seek some final solution.
And if the people of Arithei could not provide it, he would go to Stiva, or even to the wizards of Furza and Shei. In time, if all else failed, he might approach the Blue Mage, or perhaps even the master of Tirikindaro.
Somehow, he would find a way to defend the Lands of Man against hostile magic.
And when he had, he would resume where he had left off. He would exterminate the dragons once and for all.
B O O K
II
The Magicians
16
Plans and Preparations
Plans and Preparations
The long-overdue Qulu never returned from Arithei, and after a month's stay in Manfort, Arlian reluctantly concluded that he probably neve would. Even i
n the best of times the road was hazardous, and these times were anything but the best.
That month had been an odd and troublesome one, Arlian had carried through on his intention to retire Ferrezin, though the old man had protested. In the end he had accepted the pension, packed up his few possessions, and departed though he would not say where he was bound.
Lord Zaner had carried through on his promises, as well. In one of the upstairs rooms in the Grey House Lilsinir had removed Zaner's heart, driven the dragon taint from it, and then restored the purged organs to Zaner's body. Arlian had watched the whole thing, and had killed the misshapen horror thus expelled from Zaner's heart; the loathsome little thing, still five centuries short of its full growth, was no larger than a kitten and barely recognizable as a dragon when it took form from the bloody talisman Lilsinir had placed in Zaner's chest to draw out the poison in his blood. It mewed piteously as it crawled across the bedclothes and tumbled awkwardly to the floor, and it had scarcely struck the carpet when Arlian drove an obsidian dagger through it reducing it to broken shards in a puddle of blood, venom, and offal.
The carpet, as well as the ruined bedding, was burned in the courtyard; die resulting stench took several days to fade.
Despite the stupefying herbs the Aritheians had provided, the procedure had been agonizing, and Lord Zaner had lost consciousness.
When he awoke he wanted nothing more to do with Arlian—apparently the mere sight of him was now associated with unbearable pain.
The Duke of Manfort, although generally preoccupied with negotiations with the Dragon Society and reports from the Borderlands, had formally pardoned Lord Zaner for any offenses he might have committed while in the thrall of the dragons, and had furthermore restored to him all his lands and properties that had been confiscated during the fourteen years he was outcast from Manfort.
His wealth and welcome renewed, and any fondness for Arlian
destroyed, Lord Zaner was now recovering in his own old mansion—
which had been standing empty for fourteen years, and was therefore badly in need of extensive repairs, repairs Zaner was supervising from his sickbed.
Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) Page 14
