Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "Not appalled, Ari. Tempted."

  That had not occurred to Arlian, but now he felt foolish that it had not. Certainly, Black had mentioned the subject often enough in the past.

  "You need not recite the litany again," Black said, before Arlian could regain his composure. "I know well enough that you consider the heart of the dragon more curse than blessing, and I have heard Lady Rime and Lord Zaner speak at length of how they have been freed from soul-deadening bondage, how they have regained their ability to love and their joy in life. I know the elixir would rob me of much I value—

  but time itself will do the same, and far sooner than I like. I am fifteen years older than you, Ari, and in any case you are a dragonheart—you do not feel the cold winds of age chilling your blood, as I do. The prospect of a thousand years of life, even the sort of bitter life you say you lead, is far more appealing than the spectre of death. I can resist that temptation when it is distant and difficult, but if you bring it into my home and ask me to live with it but a few steps away .. "

  "I understand," Arlian said. "You need say no more. You and Brook and the children are welcome to make your home at the Old Palace, or at any of my holdings outside the city, until the temptation has been removed."

  Black bowed. "Thank you," he said.

  "One last thing, before you begin your preparations for departure,"

  Arlian said.

  "Yes?"

  "Send a messenger to the Citadel, and inform His Grace of my return and my eagerness for an audience at his earliest convenience."

  "Of course." He bowed again.

  Arlian nodded an acknowledgment, then turned and headed for the kitchens, where his arrival precipitated much excitement among the servants there. They hurried to make him welcome and assure him that the household was in good condition and that his supper would be ready on schedule, in perhaps another half-hour; he could hardly object to these attentions, after a two-year absence, but he hastened matters as best he could, and finally arranged to speak to Stammer alone in one of the pantries.

  "I t h i . . . t h i . . . think you'll find everything in order, my lord," she said. "I have always n o . . . notified your steward promptly about any problems."

  "I'm sure you have," Arlian said. "I'm not here to discuss the kitchen staff."

  Stammer stared at him silently; he knew she would have asked for an explanation of why he was there had she been able to do so without stammering. Rather than prolong her discomfort, he quickly explained what he wanted.

  "It's ex . . . expensive," she said.

  She did not ask why he wanted dragon venom, he noticed. He was not entirely sure whether this was because she trusted him, or because she wanted to avoid a prolonged discussion.

  It was odd, he thought, how bad her stammer was when speaking to him; she barely stammered at all when talking to the rest of the staff, instructing them in their duties or choosing the day's menu.

  "I'll provide the money," he said. "That's no problem at all."

  "It may t . . . take a few days," she said.

  "Of course," he said. "As soon as you can manage it will be fine."

  She curtsied.

  And with that out of the way, he turned his attention to the preparations for the evening meal.

  Deceptions in Court and Street

  30

  Deceptions in Court and Street

  The morning after his return Arlian received word that the Duke requested his presence that very afternoon; he cut short his review of his finances and devoted himself to his appearance, as it would not do to go before the Duke with his hair unruly or his beard un-trimmed. His coach had stood unused for years and was discovered to have rotted beyond easy repair, so he was unable to ride to the Citadel in appropriate style, but when he walked up the hill he wore his best boots and a new hat, purchased in haste that morning, and thought himself suitably turned out.

  He waited slightly over an hour in a small salon before being shown into the audience chamber, where the Duke, looking rather the worse for wear, sat slumped on his throne, his fine blue jacket hideously wrinkled. Lord Zaner stood at the Duke's right hand, and Lord Spider at his left.

  There were fewer courtiers than Arlian remembered from previous occasions, and no one in the room was masked—that unwelcome fashion appeared to have finally ended, though whether of natural causes or ducal edict Arlian did not know. He saw no one he recognized as either a member or hireling of the Dragon Society—not Lady Opal, nor Lady Tiria, nor Ferret, nor Wing, nor Lord Rolinor.

  He had scarcely finished his formal obeisance when the Duke said,

  "Lord Obsidian—what news do you bring?"

  "No news of great importance. Your Grace, save that I have returned safely from the Borderlands and am once again at your service."

  "Your message expressed eagerness for an audience,"

  "Indeed, I am eager to know what you would have of me. Circumstances in Manfort appear to have changed somewhat in my absence."

  "Changed? Perhaps outwardly. In fact, we are much as we have always been—an island of civilization besieged by monstrous magic.

  The difference is that we now acknowledge this openly; pretense has been abandoned."

  "I observed the enhancement of the defenses."

  "Yes."

  "As your warlord in the campaign to exterminate the dragons, I take an interest in such matters. Alight I ask why this was doner"

  "Because I won't lose Manfort. I won't let them have it all. Maybe we can't obliterate the monsters, but neither will I allow them a complete victory. I will see Manfort destroyed before I allow them to come here."

  Arlian glanced at Spider's face, which was rigid and blank, and then at Zaner's, which was visibly worried.

  "I see," he said.

  "You were in the Borderlands," the Duke said.

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  "Has everything fallen to the monsters, then? The wild ones, I mean, not the dragons?"

  "Oh, by no means, Your Grace! The border is stable once more, albeit several miles north of where it was of old."

  The Duke blinked at him, then straightened in his chair. "Stable?"

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  "But you killed so many dragons ..."

  "Not enough to have weakened them that badly, it would seem; their power still protects much of the Borderlands. Some of the wild magic does seep through—we had nightmares well into the southernmost portion of the Desolation, near Orange River, and could see abnormalities in the sky—but tor the most part, the situation has stabi-lized and the new border is secure."

  "Is it? Remarkable!" The Duke sat up straight, his features animated. "I had assumed ... well, no matter what I had assumed. Then we have only the dragons to fear here?"

  "The dragons and their minions, yes, so it would appear. I saw the gate you had ordered built in the ravine south of Stonebreak; I fear that was wasted effort. Nothing unwelcome will be crossing the Desolation."

  "You encourage me, Obsidian. And y o u . . . tell me, did you visit Pon Ashti?"

  "Yes, Your Grace, I did, when first I reached the Borderlands."

  "Then what became of it, do you know? We received a report that the Blue Mage had been destroyed, and that the city was open to trade once again."

  "The Blue Mage died while I was there, Your Grace; she is indeed no more. Beyond that, I know nothing more than you."

  This was not literally true, but Arlian could not honestly be certain of what had happened to her—whether he had slain the Mage, or time had caught up with her, or something else entirely had occurred. He preferred not to try to explain this ambiguity to the Duke.

  "We thought it might be a ruse, to draw merchants and guards into her clutches."

  "She is unquestionably dead, Your Grace."

  "How? Did the dragons do it?"

  "No." Arlian hesitated; to claim credit for her death at this juncture would seem boastful. "I believe she simply died of old age; unlike dragons, wizards do no
t live forever."

  "So Pon Ashti is free?"

  "Perhaps not, Your Grace; it lies well beyond the current border."

  "Oh. And Skok's Falls . . . "

  "Gone. Everything we have lost remains lost. The Lands of Man have not regained any territory; we have merely stopped losing it."

  "Well, in these bitter days even that might be considered a victory.

  Thank you for bringing this news, my lord."

  Arlian bowed an acknowledgment. When he rose again, he said,

  "Your Grace, I am uncertain of the situation here, and of what my present duties are. I saw the gate at Stonebreak, and observed that you had removed the catapults from several towns while extensively reinforcing Manfort's own defenses. I understood when I left that I was not to kill any more dragons, but had assumed that I would, in time, be sent to build defenses throughout the Lands of Man. Is this not the case?"

  "You know, Obsidian, I'm not sure. I certainly don't want you killing any more dragons, but defending other towns? We withdrew the catapults from the southern towns lest they be captured by wizards from beyond the border—we did not want the wizards to slay the remaining dragons and thereby lay the entire realm open to their assaults. But now you say the border is stable, and the wizards cannot approach?"

  "So I have observed, Your Grace." Arlian restrained himself from commenting on the logic in removing the catapults. It was actually a rather ingenious theory, if the Duke had honestly believed the Borderlands to be irretrievably lost and a horde of wizards and gaunts on their way across the Desolation. Having now spoken with a number of wizards, however, he doubted that any of them would have had the wit or initiative to have turned the catapults on the dragons, or that they would have triumphed had they attempted it.

  It did explain the Duke's actions, in any case.

  "Then perhaps the situation is not as black as I feared," the Duke mused. He glanced up at Zaner. "What have you to say, my lord?"

  "I hope Lord Obsidian is right, Your Grace," Zaner replied. "You know I have counseled against despair, as well as against over-confidence."

  "Indeed. And what would you suggest our friend Obsidian do now, since he says he is unsure of his duties?"

  "That is clearly for Your Grace to decide, but perhaps Lord Obsidian himself has suggestions? He has proven himself resourceful many times, after all."

  The Duke nodded, and even managed a smile. "Yes, he certainly has. Have you any plans of your own, Obsidian?"

  Arlian bowed again. "If it pleases you, Your Grace, there are certain experiments in magic I would like to undertake. I have hopes, albeit faint ones, of finding some way to guard our lands against the depredations of wizards and monsters without any further need for the dragons."

  "Do you?"

  "Faint hopes, Your Grace, but hopes."

  "Are you a sorcerer, then?"

  "Not in any real sense, Your Grace, though I have dabbled in the arcane arts. Rather, I have spent these past two years in studying with magicians in the lands beyond the border—Arithei and Stiva and Pon Ashti—and have devised certain theories I wish to test."

  "Ah! And can you tell us the nature of these theories?"

  Arlian hesitated.

  "I fear you would find them tediously esoteric, Your Grace," he said at last.

  "Oh, I suppose I would—I have never been one for theories." He pulled at his lower lip, glanced up at his advisors, and then said, "I have faith in you, Lord Obsidian—after all, it was you who first demonstrated that dragons could in fact be slain—but you must nonetheless provide me some assurances. Can you promise me that these experiments will not make matters worse?"

  "I can only assure you, Your Grace, that I have no reason to believe there will be any unpleasant results, and that they cannot possibly aid either the dragons or the wild magic of the south. I will do my very best to prevent any of my creations—if there are any creations—from doing any harm to anyone in Manfort or the surrounding lands."

  "Then I grant you permission to conduct your experiments. Will you require any assistance from me or my guards in performing them?"

  The Duke's resources would undoubtedly be helpful, but on the other hand, allowing anyone else to be involved in his trials carried several risks. If word were to spread that he was using dragon venom in strange new ways, he would undoubtedly attract unwanted attention from both men and dragons—men seeking to obtain the venom, and dragons seeking to ensure the failure of his efforts. Even mentioning to the Duke in private might be unfortunate, as despite his protestation of faith he might well have second thoughts upon learning that his heredi-tary foes' venom was involved.

  Better, then, to keep everything as private as possible. He might call on the Duke's services later, if and when it became necessary, but for now he preferred to hold on to as many secrets as he could.

  "Thank you, no, Your Grace," he said. "I believe 1 have what I need."

  "As you please, then."

  As Arlian left the audience he considered what he had told the Duke. Obviously, he did not yet have what he needed; he had no venom.

  But Stammer would solve that problem for him in another day or so, he was sure.

  In fact, it was four days after Arlian's return to Manfort that she appeared in his study, holding out a small black bottle. He took it from her gingerly, and pulled the cork, anticipating the familiar stink of venom.

  The sickly-sweet odor that reached his nose was strange and pow -

  erful, but not the smell of dragon venom. He looked up at Stammer, startled.

  "It's not venom," he said.

  She blinked at him, her mouth falling open; she tried to speak" but could not get a word out.

  He held up a hand. "Stop," he said. "Catch your breath. Think what you want to tell me, then say it."

  She closed her mouth, swallowed, closed her eyes and hunched her shoulders. Her lips drew into a thin line as she concentrated.

  Then she said, "This is what they sell on the streets as dragon venom, I bought it from the most reliable source I could find, and if it isn't real then the real thing is not to be found anywhere in Manfort, my lord!"

  "Can you smell it?" he asked, holding out the open bottle and its cork.

  She sniffed, then nodded rapidly. "That's . . . they tell me that's the way it always smells, my lord."

  "But that's nothing like the smell of real venom," he said. "Any of my men, anyone who has been in a dragon's lair, any dragonheart.

  would know it to be false in an instant."

  She closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating, then said, "They aren't the ones who would be buying it, my lord."

  "Indeed they are not," Arlian agreed, looking down at the open bottle. "A very good point. Thank you."

  Stammer curtsied, and turned to go, but Arlian stopped her with a word. "Fetch me a magician," he said. "Whoever can be here most quickly."

  " A s . . . sorcerer, or an Aritheian, my lord?"

  "Either one."

  She curtsied again, and hurried out.

  Arlian stood for a moment, studying the bottle.

  He should have guessed, he told himself. After all, dragonhearts were recognizable, at least to the experienced eye of another dragonheart, and if venom were indeed available in the streets of Manfort at any price, would there not have been scores of new dragonhearts making their presence known?

  Still, he was curious about what this potion was that was being sold as venom; was it perhaps some potentially useful magic?

  The following day's analysis, conducted jointly by Lilsinir and Lady Rime, indicated otherwise. "The juice of the crimson poppy and the white lotus," Rime told him. "From the Eastern Isles."

  "And the leaf of the ko plant, from the jungles below Skok's Falls,"

  Lilsinir added.

  "The combination would feel powerfully magic," Rime said. "The drinker's heart would race, and he would feel a rush of tremendous exhilaration."

  "And he would dream strange and wonderful
visions, clearer and more powerful than any ordinary dreams," Lilsinir concluded.

  "I see; and how, then, would he know he had been deceived?" Arlian said. "There may be a hundred men and women here in Manfort who believe themselves to be secretly possessed of the heart of the dragon."

  "Until they fall ill, of poison or disease," Rime said. "That would reveal their folly. Whatever effects this fluid might have would be mere passing illusion, and would cause no lasting change."

  "Indeed." Arlian stared at the black bottle for a moment, then set it once again on his desk and turned away. "In that case," he said, "I must fetch some real venom, as quickly as I can. I yet have evidence of the hiding places of another forty or so dragons."

  "But the Duke has forbidden you to kill them!" Rime protested.

  "Killing them will cost the Lands of Man more territory," Lilsinir said. "Wild magic will encroach further. Another lair might mean all the Borderlands will be lost"

  Arlian stopped and stood for a moment, eyes closed. He breathed in deeply and slowly, then let out a long sigh.

  "I know," he said, opening his eyes but looking at the door, not at the women. "I know. But if no one learns more, if no one finds ways to divert the land's magic, then we will never be free of these monsters. Our state of affairs will never be better than it is now. I must have the venom to experiment with. If I can take it without slaying the dragons . . . "

  He stopped and closed his eyes again.

  I want the dragons dead," he said, jaw tense. "I want my revenge.

  Even after all these years, I want them to pay for what they did to my parents, my brother, my friends and neighbors, and all the thousands of innocents they have slaughtered; what I have done has not been enough.

  I do not think anything will ever be enough. I know this for a failing in myself, that I cannot accept the injustice of the dragon's existence and nature, that they keep us and prey upon us as we keep and prey upon cattle; nonetheless, I want them all dead. To go into their lair and not butcher them all goes against my heart's dearest desire. Still, I do not want the deaths of still more innocents on my conscience; I do not want the Duke's truce broken, nor the horrors beyond the border unleashed upon more unsuspecting villagers. I will try to restrain myself, I promise you. I will creep into whatever lair I can find only when the weather is cold and bright, so that the dragons will be soundly asleep; I will catch the drippings from their jaws and collect the residue from the cavern walls, rather than cut open their throats to take the venom directly from the sacs there. If they do not wake, I will not kill them.