Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Arlian sensed a sort of hesitation, a thoughtfulness, and then the thing spoke again.

  Do you know, O man, I have not remembered those times in centuries? You have reminded me of where I came from, and I am unsure whether to thank you for it, or condemn you to decades of torment.

  "I would prefer the former," Arlian replied, as he tried to comprehend what the thing had said.

  I am aware of that.

  Arlian ignored that as he attempted to match the creature's words—

  or thoughts, or whatever he was receiving—with what he had thought he knew of the ancient past. The old tales spoke of a time when gods strode the earth, and the dragons were their dark and sometimes rebellious servants; then the gods had departed or died, and the dragons had reigned over the land for thousands of years, oppressing humanity, holding all the Lands of Man in bitter servitude. For centuries men and women had hoped and prayed for the return of the gods, but eventually most understood that the gods were never coming back; then a few brave men had risen up and begun the Man-Dragon Wars, which in time drove the dragons into their caves and left humanity free at last.

  But no one had ever explained how the gods died. Arlian had always assumed no one knew.

  Apparently, no one had asked the master of Tirikindaro.

  "You said the dragons betrayed the gods?" Arlian said. "We have no record of such an event."

  There were no human observers. Only the gods, the dragons, and myself.

  The dragons would hardly tell you what they had done, and the gods could not—and until now, no one had asked me.

  "I find that hard to believe, given how long you have lived."

  Few dare question me. Few dare address me at all. Even fewer of those who attempt it survive to tell the tale.

  "If you will forgive me, you do not seem so very dreadful; so far I have found you delightfully accommodating."

  I am not always so. You amuse me—your fearlessness is most unusual, and your song was comical. Your actions please me—you have slain dragons. Thus, I speak freely with you—though I may yet kill you, or transform you, or imprison you. I have lived long and seen much, and thus I can foresee many things, but I do not predict my own whims.

  "Thank you for the warning."

  It will do you no good.

  "Nonetheless, I am glad to have it, and hope I will have no use for it."

  You begin to bore me now. What is it you would have of me, beyond your own life?

  "You said it yourself—I want a way to destroy the dragons without unleashing wild magic in the Lands of Man."

  I know of none.

  "But you do not deny that one is possible?"

  There was of old a time when the gods ruled your lands, and dragons did not. Perhaps such a time can come again. I have no knowledge to the contrary.

  "Gods?" That was not anything Arlian had considered.

  Or some other beings. The magic of your lands, even when ordered, is not restricted to the form of dragons.

  "Can the magic be destroyed, or removed and sent elsewhere? Must every land have magic?"

  I am magic, given form, just as the dragons are, or wizards, or demons, or any of the lesser creatures—do you think I would tell you how I might be destroyed, even if I knew? The corridor shimmered, and the golden glow was shot through with red. Arlian decided not to pursue that particular line of inquiry.

  "Then is there some difference between the magic of the dragons and the magic of the southern lands? Why is our northern magic always bound up in dragons, while the southern magic takes thousands of different forms?"

  At root it is all magic, all the same essence of the land—I have tasted it in both realms and know this to be true. In the north the dragons pass it from parent to child, while in the south it arises spontaneously from the earth and air.; and returns to air and earth when each magical creature dies.

  "But why? How did this difference come about?"

  How it began I do not know; that happened long before I arose myself. How it continues is plain enough; the dragons' greatest magic is not their long lives, nor their strength, their armor,; their wings, their flame, nor even their mas-tery of the weather, but their venom, the venom that permits them to pass on their form to a new generation. No southern creature has any such gift. It is from this venom that all else derives.

  "But... then other magical creatures cannot reproduce their own kind?"

  They cannot. We cannot.

  "Then why do the same forms recur? How can we tell a wizard from a demon, or a nightstalker from a nightmare? I know they vary far more than dragons, but why are there any patterns? Or if they all arise in the same fashion, why are they not all the same?"

  Magic cannot take form from nothing,, the thing replied. Some, such as demons, are deliberately created by wizards or magicians, but those that arise naturally, like natural creatures, must have two parents. Where natural creatures are born of a male and female of the same kind, magical creatures are born of one magical parent and one natural one. In the north the parents are always dragon and human, and the result is thus always a dragon; in the south the magical parent is always the land itself but the natural parent can be a man, a serpent, a tree—any living thing at all down to the lowliest weed or worm. The form of the new creature, as with any species, is determined by its parentage—a human will produce a wizard, a predatory beast will yield a nightstalker, and so on.

  That accorded so well with what Arlian already knew—what he had been taught of the dragons by Enziet, what he had been taught of wizards by Isein and the Blue Mage—that he could not doubt it, and instead wondered why he had never guessed it himself.

  "And these creatures contain the magic that created them? They use it up? And when they die, the magic returns to the earth, to begin the cycle anew?"

  You seem to understand.

  "And the dragons use up so much magic that nothing else can arise in the Lands of Man? And this is why the only magic humans can use there is either sorcery, which draws on the tiny remnant of power the dragons have left unused, or magic that has been carried in from other realms?"

  Obviously.

  "So if I could find some other magical creature, some benign one, that could reproduce itself, then that could replace the dragons?"

  As the dragons long ago replaced the gods, yes—if such a benign creature existed, which to the best of my knowledge it does not.

  "Because the only way any magical creature can reproduce itself is the way the dragons use their venom, combining it with human blood and having a person swallow it? And no other creature can do that?"

  No other means is known to me, nor do I know of any other magical creature that produces such a venom—nor do I know of a benign magical creature of any sort, not since the gods died.

  "But why are there no benign magical creatures?"

  I do not know.

  That was a profoundly unsatisfactory answer. This nameless thing that ruled Tirikindaro was the closest Arlian ever expected to come to finding a living god, or a reliable oracle, and to be told that it could not answer a question was thoroughly frustrating. He tried to think of some other way to approach the issue.

  "So all the magical creatures except dragons are completely sterile?"

  Magic is inherently sterile. yes.

  "But dragons aren't."

  Their unique magic allows them to reproduce their kind, yes—but even then, it takes centuries to reshape a human soul into a dragon, and the human's own fertility is destroyed. Dragons are destroyers, not creators, and must be born of destruction.

  "How do you know that, when you admit you do not know so many other things?"

  I lived among the dragons. I spoke to the gods before they died. I sought to extend my own life, and therefore inquired at length about the nature of gods and dragons, and why they lived so much longer than all other magical beings.

  "And they told you?"

  Or I drank the knowledge from them.

  "In t
he god's blood?"

  Or a dragon's.

  "You drank their blood, too?"

  It was in my nature. The golden glow was growing redder, and the light in the corridor was starting to dim. Arlian began to wish he had a blade—silver, steel, obsidian, anything. He had left his silver behind, his steel was in the bundles on his vanished horse, and his obsidian lay in scattered shards on the Blue Mage's courtyard pavement.

  "Why is that?" he asked.

  You heard what I said of my origin. Have you not wondered what my natural parent was, or why I keep my human slaves?

  "I... was more interested in other matters," Arlian admitted. "I did not wish to intrude on your privacy."

  I said that the earth's magic could impregnate even the lowest living thing, and my beginnings were low indeed. I was born of a leech. An ordinary leech.

  "And you have transcended your birth magnificently."

  You hope to save yourself from my hunger—but I see you also speak your honest belief and are not disgusted, as most men would be. Yes, I have transcended my origins; I have drunk the blood and knowledge and power and magic of a million more exalted creatures, and made it all mine. I have made the essence of those myriad beings my own essence. That is my magic, as venom is the dragons'—and I have used it as no other before or since. So other leech-thing has ever risen to even a fraction the heights I have attained.

  The glow was golden once again, the red fading, and Arlian could feel the creature's pride—pride that Arlian thought was entirely justified. To start out as the magical spawn of a loathsome little bloodsucker and grow into something many believed to be a god—that was an accomplishment to be proud of indeed!

  I had thought a dragonhearts blood might be an interesting new taste, but now I think I will spare you, it said. I think you might well serve me better if I set you free. If anyone can destroy the dragons that drove me here, I think Fate has chosen you for the task.

  "I will certainly try," Arlian replied.

  The dragons cast me out; now, in turn, I cast you out, Arlian of the Smoking Mountain. Complete the circle, and earn this life I grant you.

  And then Arlian found himself standing in a deserted, sloping field, beneath thick clouds that flickered with purple and gold; clumps of brownish mist rolled across the dried stalks and bare earth. The air was hot and moist, and his sweat-soaked blouse clung to his back.

  His horse stood a few yards away, pawing the ground uneasily but not fleeing; the remaining bundles of supplies were still in place.

  Arlian turned slowly, looking for some trace of the "palace," or the being that had transported him back and forth and spoken to him without ever making a sign.

  He and the gelding stood at the foot of a mountain, its peak lost in a seething mass of something that was not exactly cloud.

  Arlian looked up the stony mountainside for a moment, then

  decided that he had probably learned everything worthwhile that Tirikindaro could teach him.

  And the leech-god had certainly given him plenty to think about. If he could find some other magical creature that could breed true, some less harmful creature, then he could use it to replace the dragons.

  But what could it be?

  He spoke quiet, soothing nonsense as he walked up to the horse and caught the reins, and a moment later he was riding away from the mountain, down the slope in the direction he hoped was north.

  The Lands of Wild Magic

  25

  The Lands of Wild Magic

  Although he regretted any delay in exploring further beyond the bor-Although he regretted any delay in exploring further beyond the border, Arlian rode directly from Tirikindaro to Orange River, back into the Borderlands to collect Isein, Double, and Poke. He had said he would return within a month, so he intended to return.

  He had also said he would bring the magician to her homeland, and he thought that Arithei might as well be his next stop—he doubted that the wizards of Shei or Furza would tell him anything significant that he had not already learned from the Blue Mage or the thing in Tirikindaro, while the human magicians of Arithei might provide a different perspective.

  As he rode past the orange groves into the village he saw Isein standing by the roadside, talking to one of the natives. He recognized her immediately by her Aritheian attire, its colors so much brighter than the local garb.

  "Hello there!" he called.

  She and her companion turned at the sound; Isein's eyes widened, and she screamed, clapping her hands to her mouth. The Borderlander started at the sound, and stared at her, obviously astonished by her reaction. He began babbling at her, trying to calm her, as Arlian swung down out of the saddle and ran up.

  "Isein!" he called. "Isein, I'm just Arlian!"

  "You're..." she gasped. Then she caught herself, took a deep breath, and straightened up.

  "You said you were going to Tirikindaro," she said accusingly. "You said you were going to talk to the thing that rules there."

  "I did," Arlian said, stopping a pace away from her while the man accompanying her held her arm—Arlian was unsure whether he was comforting her or restraining her.

  "But here you are alive! Did they stop you at the border? Couldn't you find it?"

  "I found it," Arlian said. "I spoke to it."

  "But you're alive—aren't you?" She reached out to touch him, but he was a few inches too far away. He stepped forward and took her hand. "It didn't enslave you, or kill you, o r . . . or transform you?"

  "I'm alive," he said, holding her hand reassuringly in both of his.

  "Alive, free, and untransformed."

  " I t . . . it didn't do anything to you?"

  "I amused it," Arlian said wryly. "And we have a common foe. It let me live and go free."

  Her astonishment suddenly transformed to anger, and she snatched her hand away. "How could you do that?" she said. "Just leave the three of us here, while you go off to do something insane?"

  "I assumed you could take care of yourselves," Arlian replied. "And my life is my own, to risk as I please."

  "You are inconsiderate, as well as mad," she said.

  "I am a dragonheart," Arlian answered. "A monster, without true human warmth. You have known this for years."

  "Ordinarily you do a better job of concealing it," Isein replied, but she spoke more calmly now.

  "My apologies," Arlian said. "I was indeed inconsiderate. Nonetheless, it is done now, and I have survived, and the time has come to journey to Arithei, so that I might speak with the scholars and magicians there."

  She considered that for a moment, then glanced at the man who had stood silently by throughout this exchange.

  "Doni, it appears I will be traveling on on the morrow," she said. "I must therefore decline your offer, at least for the present." She threw Arlian a glance that let him know her anger had not entirely abated.

  "However, I will undoubtedly be returning this way eventually, and as I am not at all certain that I wish to continue in Lord Obsidian's employ, I may well reconsider at that time."

  "As you please, Isein," the Borderlander replied, with a slight bow.

  His own glance at Arlian was more confused than angry. "If there is anything I can do to be of service to you, you need but ask, and it will be done."

  Isein returned his bow.

  Arlian decided that this would be a good time to retrieve his horse, in case the two had anything more to say to one another that his presence might inhibit; by the time he had found and recaptured the gelding, which had wandered a few yards into the grove, and returned to the road with the animal, Dori had departed and Isein was waiting impatiently.

  No words were spoken as they walked on into Orange River, Arlian leading his mount. They were almost to the inn when Isein said, "Dori wanted to hire me as the town's defender against the spread of magic. I told him I wasn't sure how much I could do, but I could try."

  "Very commendable," Arlian said.

  "I had considered trying to reach Ari
thei on my own, of course—

  well, with Double and Poke, really. They don't know any better, and would have come if I asked."

  "Indeed."

  "I didn't want to rush into anything, though."

  "Wise of you."

  "We were in the South Groves so that I might attempt to sense how close the border has come; it didn't have anything to do with you"

  Arlian tied the gelding's reins to the inn's rail and said, "I hadn't supposed otherwise."

  "I assumed you were dead."

  "As you had every reason to." He patted the horse, then turned to the door of the inn.

  For a moment Isein was silent; then she burst out, "What did it say?

  What was it like?"

  Arlian smiled. "I will be delighted to tell you all about it, once the horse has been tended to and we have let the innkeeper know that I'm here, and in need of food and drink."

  He swung the door open as he spoke, and any further discussion was momentarily lost in the shouts of greeting from Poke and Double, who had been seated, beer mugs in hand, just inside the inn.

  Arlian did describe his adventures in Tirikindaro at great length that night, to a rapt audience composed not merely of his three traveling companions, but of a dozen locals as well.

  That delayed making any preparations for departure until morning, and in fact the four northerners spent another full day in Orange River, resting, planning, and loading, before setting out for Arithei.

  The traditional route to Arithei led first westward, then south, then southeast, to avoid Tirikindaro and other established magical demesnes—

  but the borders had changed, and furthermore, Arlian felt he had an understanding with Tirikindaro. He suggested taking a more direct route.

  The others argued against such an action. "We don't want to miss Qulu on his way north," Isein said.