Zaner made it known that no dragonhearts, nor any of the servants of the Dragon Society, were welcome there—though those he called
"my fellow victims of the southern witches" were cordially invited to call. Rime accepted that invitation, and reported back to Arlian that all in all, Zaner seemed to be adjusting to his altered circumstances quite well.
He had, for one thing, hired old Ferrezin as his steward. Whether Zaner had ulterior motives or simply wished to have an experienced man heading his staff, Arlian could not guess.
While the Duke was publicly pleased about Lord Zaner's submission, in private he informed Arlian that he and his magicians were not to solicit any further purifications.
"Your Grace's will is my own, of course," Arlian replied, bowing,
"but I do wonder why that will should take such a direction."
"Because I'm in the middle of trying to make peace with the dragons and convince them to drive the invaders out of the Borderlands, and they don't like it when we abort their children!"
"Your Grace, might I suggest that further cleansings would serve to put pressure on the dragons, and convince them to agree to your terms?"
"Obsidian, I don't dare do that! We need them. I can't risk the possibility that they might simply abandon the negotiations and resume the war, or worse, join forces with the monsters beyond the border. Yes, you've been remarkably successful against them thus far, and I truly do commend and admire your actions, but Lady Opal tells me that the surviving dragons have retreated to new, deeper lairs where you cannot find them . . ."
"I can find them," Arlian broke in. "One way or another, I can find them."
"Perhaps you can, and perhaps you cannot," the Duke replied, annoyed by the interruption, "but my point, my lord, is that I want the war against the dragons to end, so that we can deal with those nightmares in the south."
"Perhaps, Your Grace, there is some other way to defend the Borderlands without giving in to the dragons."
"And perhaps there isn't. I don't know of any; do you?"
"No, Your Grace, but I am contemplating a journey to Arithei to discuss the possibility with the magicians there."
"Well, you're free to do that, my lord—I grant you leave. Your presence here does complicate the negotiations, as I'm sure you can imagine."
Arlian could indeed imagine it. He had a few uncomfortable
encounters in the Citadel over the weeks of preparation; he and Lady Opal had been bitter foes for a decade and a half, and now she had been acknowledged as the Dragon Society's envoy to the Duke and given the freedom of the city, so it was not unexpected that they ran into each other on occasion, in the corridors of the Citadel or on the surrounding streets.
He remembered the first such meeting; he had rounded a corner while hurrying, deep in thought, through the Citadel, and had found himself staring directly into Opal's green eyes.
They had both stopped dead in their tracks, and stood face-to-face, scarcely a yard apart. Arlian had been only dimly aware of the guard at Lady Opal's elbow as he met her gaze.
He recalled how when he had first met her, over Lord Nail's
deathbed, he had thought her eyes dull and lifeless; that was certainly no longer the case. She had not yet tasted venom then, had not yet gained the heart of the dragon. Now her eyes shone.
The silence between them had begun to grow awkward, his staring rude; he forced himself to bow slightly and say, "My lady Marasa."
"Lord Obsidian," she replied, her voice strained.
"Your pardon; my thoughts were elsewhere."
"Of course." She did not smile, nor make any of the customary flir-tatious responses an unmarried woman might ordinarily offer in such circumstances—but then, this situation was not ordinary.
Arlian thought of any number of things he could say, subtle in-sults he could direct at her, but as both were the Duke's guests in the Citadel, protocol required them to be polite to one another.
No warmth was called for, and no one expected a pair of known enemies to express pleasure in each other's company, but civility was still necessary.
"If you will forgive me, I have business I must attend."
"Of course," she said again. She nodded, and he bowed again before stepping aside and striding past her.
That was not their only meeting, but it set the tone for all that followed. They continued to coldly acknowledge each other, but no more than that.
Even such minimal politeness required a considerable effort, apparently from both of them. Arlian did not enjoy those occasions, nor did he believe Opal liked them any better.
Of the others in her entourage, only Wing was openly acknowl-
edged as her companion; Ferret and Lady Tiria were allegedly simple travelers, unconnected with the Society or Lady Opal. Tiria, however, could hardly help but realize that Lord Zaner had betrayed her identity and mission to Arlian, and she now avoided him—but not always successfully. That, too, caused some awkward moments.
Arlian had, of course, warned the Aritheians of Tiria's presence, and provided them with all the guards they wanted—or really, more than they wanted; he took the threat more seriously than did the Aritheians.
Tiviesh, in particular, found the idea of an assassin targeting him absurd, and none of Arlian's protestations could sway him. Arlian hoped that the Aritheian would never realize that his food was being surreptitiously tested for poisons, his apartments carefully observed and occasionally searched for infernal devices.
Arlian had also set spies upon all of Opal's party, so that he might receive warning of any noteworthy activities. This yielded little, in truth, but some of the reports proved interesting.
For one, it seemed that Lord Rolinor had developed an infatuation with Wing, and was also spending what Arlian considered an unhealthy amount of time with Lady Opal in private conversation. This caused Arlian to doubt, more than ever, that Rolinor's earlier involvement with Wren had been entirely innocent; it was clear the young nobleman could not be trusted, and might well be hoping, even now, to earn a cup of blood and venom.
Not that Opal or Wing could necessarily provide one readily; while the dragons did communicate with the leaders of the Society, they did so only by sorcerous means over long distances, never face-to-face, and they did not freely supply their followers with venom. The dragonhearts were always eager to obtain more venom from any source they could find, to use in rewarding their followers—that had been part of Wren's assignment, after all.
Wing and Opal were reasonably attractive women, of course, as was Wren, so Lord Rolinor might attribute his interest in all of them to a normal young man's lusty nature, but there were plenty of comely young women in Manfort who did not have such unfortunate connections. Rolinor did not seem to spend an inordinate amount of time pursuing those others.
Whatever the reason for Rolinor's current attachments, Arlian was not pleased. "I should have killed the young fool there in the cave," he muttered.
"It wouldn't have mattered in the long run," Black pointed out.
"There will be hundreds of eager buyers once it becomes generally known that the Duke is no longer having dragonhearts put to death on sight. Where there is a demand, there will be those who find ways to supply the desired goods."
"I know," Arlian conceded. "I still should have killed him."
Rolinor's activities aside, other reports led Arlian to conclude that Lady Opal had been sent as the Society's representative because the Society's leaders—Lord Shatter, Lord Hardior, and Lady Pulzera—
considered her expendable; had she been killed, it would have been seen as no great loss. Now that she had succeeded, her position in the Society was, despite her youth, enhanced.
For centuries, rank within the Dragon Society had been determined by seniority; Lady Opal, as the youngest known dragonheart, should have been the lowest of the low. Instead, because she was the first to deliberately choose the heart of the dragon, and because she had been active and ambitious in pursuin
g the Society's ends, she seemed to have built up considerable influence.
Fourteen years before, Arlian, then the youngest dragonheart, had broken the Society into several factions with his actions and discoveries; the current reduced Society was the only surviving one of those factions, and now it appeared that Opal's actions might be splitting it anew.
That was not really surprising. The situations were complex, and the individuals involved varied. There were never simply two sides anymore. The Dragon Society nominally served the dragons, while the Duke and all Manfort nominally opposed them, but there were always complications, ways in which the Society's wants diverged from the dragons, ways in which the Duke's needs converged with the dragons, reasons for divided loyalties in individuals on either side.
Arlian hated that. He wanted the dragons dead, gone, abolished; he wanted vengeance for what they had done to his family, and he wanted to spare all the other villages the dragons would destroy in the future, if they were permitted to survive. He wanted to save those souls the dragons would devour, if Zaner was right in his understanding of the beasts diet. Arlian did not want any complications to this simple, albeit extremely difficult, goal.
Unfortunately, there were complications, as even he had to admit.
He found it maddening.
He spent many evenings visiting Lady Rime and her household,
enjoying the sound of childish laughter and the cheerful chatter of Rime's adopted family, and trying to distract himself from thoughts of magic and dragons and death.
It never worked for long.
And when the last trace of snow had melted, the spring flowers come and largely gone, the days grown warm, and Qulu had still not returned from Arithei with word of circumstances there, Arlian could stand it no longer. He had made preparations, and now he put them into effect.
"I am going to Arithei," he told Black at the supper table. "I leave tomorrow."
Black glanced at Brook, who sat on his right.
"I hope you will remain here, to tend to my affairs and keep a watch on events," Arlian added.
Brook smiled.
"How can I refuse?" Black asked, smiling back. Then the smile vanished. "I would accompany you, if you asked me," he said. "If you thought an old man's sword might be of use."
"I'd rather have someone with common sense looking after things in Manfort," Ariian said. "Swordsmen are far more easily found than sensible men."
Brook's smile widened. "I've told him that," she said.
Arlian nodded. "Though swordsmen of his caliber, I am sure, are far less common."
That settled, the question of who Arlian would take with him arose; after all, a lone man, even one of Arlian's experience, could not reasonably hope to cross the Desolation unassisted. The remainder of the evening was spent in considering the possibilities.
In the end, there were three men aboard the wagon that rolled out of Manfort two days later: Arlian and two young soldiers from the Duke's guard, men known as Double and Poke. For now, all three rode behind the oxen; Arlian intended to buy a horse or two in Stonebreak, so that one of the soldiers could scout the surrounding area thereafter.
The party also included a woman: Isein.
"I thought you preferred Manfort," Arlian had teased when she volunteered.
"I do," she said. "I don't intend to stay in the south. I do hope to hear what became of Qulu, though, and to see for myself just how bad things have gotten. Besides, my lord, you will need a translator and guide."
"Indeed I will," Ariian agreed; despite his months of study, his Aritheian remained quite limited. "Thank you."
The wagon itself was large and heavily built, its painted sides reinforced with strips of black iron; fine silver filigree decorated the gaps between iron bars, adding another layer of protection against magic, and an amethyst was concealed in each of its four corner joints. Each of the four travelers carried at least two steel blades at all times; each wore a good-sized amethyst around his or her throat on a heavy silver chain.
The interior was jammed with supplies, much of their volume simply water—they were going to be crossing the Desolation in summer, after all. There was almost no room for trade goods, but that did not concern Arlian; this was no money-making venture, no miniature caravan.
This was a scouting expedition.
He was, after all, the duly-appointed warlord of the Lands of Man.
The Duke of Manfort might hope to make peace, to arrange a compromise with the dragons, but Arlian preferred to find a way to win the war against them.
17
Into the Borderlands
Into the Borderlands
The journey south was not a happy one. Rumors of the magical disasters in the Borderlands had reached every town and village along the road, and were the universal topic of discussion in the inns and taverns Arlian visited.
In the towns where he admitted his identity openly he was questioned to the point of harassment about what he and the Duke intended to do to rid the Lands of Man of both dragons and wild magic, and his insistence that no final decisions had been made provoked anger and derision.
"So the warlord himself is going to personally scout out the situation, with just two men and a wizard to help him?" one villager sneered in Benth-in-Tara, as Arlian looked over the town's array of half a dozen catapults.
"She isn't a wizard," Arlian corrected idly. "She's a magician, an Aritheian magician."
That provoked an argument that escalated rapidly and eventually led to drawn blades, though in the end tempers were calmed without drawing blood; several of the villagers seemed to feel that all Aritheians were wizards, rather than human beings, and varied only in how well they hid their true nature. Other villagers considered this a side issue, and only wanted to know more about the Duke's intentions, and whether Arlian was genuinely scouting, or being sent into exile. Arlian's explanations foiled to satisfy them or quell their suspicions.
At first Arlian had assumed this incident to be a fluke, but when roughly similar events occurred in Jumpwater and Blasted Oak he resolved not to admit his identity further. In Sadar he claimed to be a messenger in the Duke's service, forbidden to reveal his destination or the contents of his message. Astute natives noted the iron and silver on the wagon, and concluded he was bound for somewhere beyond the border.
The resultant prying for hints was maddening; Isein was reduced to tears and fled back to the wagon, while Poke resorted to drinking himself insensible in silence to avoid letting anything slip.
The overgrown ruins of Cork Tree, while depressing, at least did not demand explanations from the travelers. Arlian picked his way through the stones by the roadside, identifying the foundation of the tavern where he had run Lord Drisheen through, and locating the site of his nighttime duel with Lord Toribor, before settling to sleep in the wagon.
This was the one town on the route where no obsidian-armed catapults stood ready to defend against dragons; none had been ready in time. The meager remnants of Cork Tree served as a stern reminder of why those catapults loomed over the other villages.
In Stonebreak Arlian required Poke and Double to wear ordinary clothing, rather than their white and blue uniforms, and refused to give any account of himself whatsoever. That proved the best course yet—
the townsfolk seemed far more willing to accept a completely mysterious stranger than an imperfectly explained ducal representative. The party stayed two days in town, and Arlian took the opportunity to buy a pair of horses, so that one or two of the men would be able to scout ahead of the wagon in the wilder lands to the south. He first chose a big chestnut gelding, a calm-tempered and well-trained beast, and then a somewhat more skittish bay mare who showed a promising turn of speed.
The negotiations for the horses went smoothly; the seller, not want-ing to lose the sale, did not pry into Arlian's intentions nor make any mention of magic loose in the Borderlands.
The horse trader was perhaps the only person in Stonebreak who did not warn
the travelers against venturing further south; wild rumors and thirdhand reports of magic filtering northward, of horrific happen-ings in the Desolation or the lands beyond, were everywhere. Arlian tried to tease out fact from gossip, asking for names and dates and places, and could find no reason to believe any of these tales.
Despite the rumors and arguments and nervousness in the various towns, Arlian and Isein found no evidence at all that any wild magic had intruded into the surrounding territory. Everything seemed entirely normal until they were well into the harsh uplands of the Desolation.
Arlian dared hope, as they wended their way into the stony wasteland, that the reports received at the Citadel had been exaggerated.
By the time the wagon rolled down the rocky defile that led from the Desolation into the Borderlands, however, Arlian had known for days that the situation ahead was very bad indeed. He had seen the magic flickering across the southern skies while still deep in the Desolation, and he suspected that the uneasy dreams that had troubled any of them who slept outside the amethyst-guarded wagon were not entirely the natural product of their apprehensions.
Although they had taken the East Road, as Arlian had on his previous visit to the Borderlands, the terrain had not looked familiar for the last few days; the sands of the Desolation often shifted, drifting in the wind, and he was fairly sure he had come down a different canyon than had his previous expedition.
That meant that the village ahead was probably not Sweetwater.
Arlian remembered that there were three routes down from the Desolation in the vicinity, one of which ended at Sweetwater, and he was fairly sure the steepest and least likely did not emerge near any settlement at all; unfortunately, he could not recall the name of the town at the foot of the third.
Well, he would find out soon enough. He urged the oxen forward.
Double was riding ahead on their surviving horse, the big chestnut gelding; the bay mare had died ten days earlier and been left lying on the stony ground, as they could not spare the time and effort to bury her. They had never figured out exactly what had killed her, and Double had expressed doubts about the honesty of the trader in Stonebreak.
Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) Page 15
