Zaner hesitated, then turned away, saying, "I just want to help. There's no need for any trouble here."
Toribor and Arlian watched Zaner retreat; when fie was out of earshot, Toribor leaned across the table and said, his voice low but intense, "What did Enziet tell you?"
"A great deal, actually." He remembered that conversation in the utter blackness of an unlit cave, how Enziet had laughed at him, and told him that the dragons had been driven from the Lands of Man all those centuries ago not because the first Duke of Manfort and Ms warriors had fought them so bravely, but because Enziet had blackmailed them, had threatened to destroy their young.
He had no intention of telling Toribor all that, nor of describing how Enziet had died releasing a dragon from his own heart's blood.
"The point I wanted to mention to you," he said, "is that Enziet lied to you. He said that if he died, the dragons would return. Well, look around you—he's been dead for months, and has there been a single report of a dragon awake? He told me, there in the Desolation, that he didn't know what the dragons would do when he died. Yes, he had made a pact with them, and it ended with his death, so the dragons are no longer bound by its terms—but they're old and tired, and they still sleep."
Toribor stared at him for a moment, then said, "Why should I believe you?"
Arlian blinked in surprise.
"Because I have no reason to lie," he said. "I will swear, if you like, by the dead gods or whatever you choose, that Enziet admitted to me that he did not know what the dragons would do when he was dead."
"And why are you telling me this?"
That was a harder question, and Arlian struggled for a moment to compose a response.
"Because this was unresolved between us," be said at last. "When last we spoke, in the streets of Cork Tree, I made you a promise. I wanted you to know that, however it might appear, I kept that promise, and your concern, the concern that seemed more important to you than your life at the time, was baseless."
"You don't know that," Toribor said flatly.
Arlian stared blankly at him. "The dragons have not returned," he said at last.
Toribor snorted. "Of course not," he said. "Look outside, my lord—winter is just now passing away!
You should know, as well as any of us, that this is not dragon weather, that it has been too cold for them since well before you caught up with Enziet."
Arlian stared anew—not at Toribor, not at anything, but blindly, as he realized his own foolishness.
He had not thought of that, obvious as it was. When Black had first assisted him from the cave he had been too concerned with simply staying alive to worry about the possibility that the dragons might emerge from their own deeper caves to reassert their rule over the Lands of Man, and by the time he had recovered sufficiently to worry about other things the everyday business of traveling in an overcrowded ox-drawn wagon had distracted him. When at last he had begun to think of larger matters, enough time had passed that he had simply assumed the dragons were not coming.
He had thought they might not yet know of Enziet's death, or might be planning to negotiate a bargain with Arlian in Enziet's stead. He had considered it most likely, however, that they were simply too old and weary to be bothered with the outside world, despite Enziet's death.
After all, no dragon had been seen in the ten years since three of the creatures had destroyed the village of Obsidian, on the Smoking Mountain. According to everything he had heard, all the dragons that yet survived were the black of ancients; none were still the green of a dragon's vigorous prime. The youngest were at least seven hundred years old. Surely, even dragons did not live forever, and even dragons must grow tired and feeble with age. He had hoped to find and kill them while they still slept.
But he had not considered what was obvious to Toribor—that dragons were creatures of heat, and for centuries had only emerged in high summer, when the air was hot and thick and the sky dark with clouds.
Which meant that when summer came, the dragons might well come with it.
Suddenly, his plans to make obsidian weapons and find the dragons' lairs seemed far more urgent. He had assumed that, as Hardior had said, he could take his time in preparation, years or even decades if necessary—though he had never intended to wait that long.
But now he had to consider the possibility that he had only two or three months, that when the cool green of spring gave way to summer's heat the dragons would emerge.
He knew how they reproduced, and could surely, with the help of the rest of the city's population once they were alerted, destroy all their potential offspring by slaughtering the Dragon Society—but that would still leave the dragons themselves unchecked, and while he thought he might be able to drive an obsidian-tipped spear into the heart of a sleeping dragon, killing a dragon when it was awake would be far more difficult.
And it also assumed that anyone believed him when he explained draconic reproduction—it occurred to him that they might not. If he tried to stir up a crusade against the Dragon Society it would probably only serve to confirm the widespread belief that he was insane.
Killing dragons might be far more urgent than he had thought.
"Listen, Belly," he said, leaning forward, his eyes focusing again, "you may be right. I hadn't thought of that, and I feel like a fool that I didn't. And that makes it all the more important that we make common cause now. Yes, I have still sworn to avenge the wrongs you did to the women in the House of Carnal Society, but for now I would put that aside. I defeated you once, and took your two women and a horse, but I let you live; now I would let you live again, for a time, so that we can work together, so that all the Dragon Society can work together if the dragons do come back." '
"And what can we do, then?" Toribor demanded angrily. "We are not the warriors our ancestors were; we don't even know how they fought the dragons, or how they drove the dragons away. No man has ever killed a dragon; how can we even begin to fight them? If they return, we will all be enslaved, as the ancients were..."
"No," Arlian interrupted, "we will not. I told you Enziet told me many things. He had been researching for centuries, and had learned that obsidian blades can pierce a dragon's hide."
It was Toribor's turn to stare, though his expression showed more doubt than surprise.
"Obsidian can cut a dragon?" he said. "As Lord Obsidian slew Lord Dragon?"
"Indeed," Arlian said, a trifle uncomfortable at the comparison. He contemplated denying, once again, that he had killed Enziet, but decided there was no point in distracting the conversation with anything so irrelevant to the matter at hand.
"And you propose to arm us all with obsidian blades, then?"
"As many as possible, yes."
"And the possibility that these black weapons might be ensorcelled, that this might be some scheme of your own, is not supposed to occur to me?"
Arlian sighed.
"I am no sorcerer," he said. "You know that. I'm scarcely into my third decade, and it takes centuries to master sorcery."
"You have magicians in your household," Toribor pointed out. "Aritheian mages. Who knows what they might do with obsidian?"
"Not I," Arlian said. "All / know is that it should be able to kill dragons. I would like to arm the Dragon Society with obsidian."
I think not," Toribor said. "We have all known since you first joined that you're mad, Lord Obsidian; I, for one, do not care to join you in that madness." He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. "I do not think we have anything more to say to one another. I believe you when you say that Enziet did not know what would happen after he died, but beyond that I have no idea what is truth and what a madman's rav-ings. If the dragons do return, I will face them as best I can. If obsidian will indeed cut them, then I will accept a black blade and do what I can. Until then, my lord, I want nothing to do with you. We did not speak all winter; let us see whether we can better that record."
With that, he turned and marched away.
Arlian watched him go, dismayed and confused.
Ensorcelled weapons? The idea had never occurred to him, yet it had seemed obvious to Toribor. Could the Aritheians enchant weapons? Might that help against the dragons?
Could their magic help in any other way? He had not really considered the possibility. There were no dragons in Arithei, so the magicians could have no practical experience with them; he had not thought about whether they might know something of why the dragons did not travel beyond the Borderlands. Sorcery was useless against the dragons, so far as anyone knew, but southern magic was far more powerful than sorcery.
It was an interesting possibility—but not what he had come for. He had hoped to convince Toribor that they were all, as human beings, on the same side, but Toribor was clearly not ready to hear that.
He looked around at the other dragonhearts. Several of them were staring openly at him, and none of those stares were friendly.
Arlian sighed. He had done what he came to do; though the attempt had been an utter failure, it had given him a great deal to think about, and had added considerable urgency to his preparations. There was no point in sitting here, a target for hostile stares; he rose and headed for the door.
After his meeting with Toribor, Arlian put aside most of his other concerns and threw both his households into the business of making obsidian weapons, while he devoted much of his own attention to searching Lord Enziet's books and papers for any sort of map or guidance to the whereabouts of any sleeping dragons other than that one cave.
The possibility of going to the one cave he did know about was obvious, but he put it off—at this point he could not get there much before midsummer and, for all he knew, by the time he reached it the dragons might be out marauding while he searched their empty lair.
He had intended to travel to Deep Delving to buy amethysts and attend to other matters; his agents had acquired three more shares in the Old Man's mine, so he would be able to do as he pleased with it. He had also thought he might perhaps go on from there, but if Manfort was to be attacked that summer he did not feel he could spare the time. A caravan to Arithei could leave later in the year, cross the Desolation in the fall, winter in the warm southern lands, and return in the spring. If the summer had passed safely, he could accompany such a caravan into the Desolation, and di-vert himself from it in the cool of autumn.
But if the dragons were coming to besiege Manfort this summer, he wanted to be here to face them. For now, obsidian seemed more important than amethyst He did not explain to his staff why he wanted obsidian weapons. The very mention of dragons was enough to frighten or upset some people, and the idea of making weapons intended specifically for fighting dragons would probably have thrown a few of the more impressionable servants into fits. Fortunately, his reputation for eccentricity was well established, and allowed him to make this seemingly pointless demand without provoking undue comment.
Except, that is, from Black.
"I don't need to know all your secrets," Black said, in a private meeting in Arlian's study at the Old Palace,
"but this one I really do think calls for an explanation.
I know where this stone came from, but I still don't know why Enziet wanted it in the first place, or why you want it made into weapons. It smacks of sorcery, and that worries me— you aren't a sorcerer, but Enziet and Drisheen were both formidable in the art. For all I know, their spells might have survived them, and if so I don't like it."
"There's no sorcery," Arlian said. "At least, not the sort you mean. It's a discovery Enziet made—obsidian is the one thing that can pierce a dragon's hide."
Black considered that, and looked down at the obsidian dagger he had brought to the discussion. Then he looked back at Arlian. "Have you tested this, or are you taking Enziet's word?"
"I've tested it," Arlian said.
"This is connected with that scar on your cheek, and what happened in the cave, isn't it?"
"It is."
"And you aren't going to tell me the details, are your'
So these weapons are for use against dragons.
"Yes."
"You really do intend to hunt down and kill the dragons who destroyed your home."
"Yes."
Black nodded thoughtfully. "But you don't need dozens of spears to do that. You're just one man; you can't carry all the weapons you're having made."
"I'm aware of that"
Black tapped the black glass dagger against the nails of his left hand as he silently studied Arlian's face.
"Just how bad is it?" he asked at last.
"I don't know," Arlian admitted. "It may be nothing.
But I want to have the weapons ready if the worst comes to pass."
"And what about the men to wield the weapons?"
Arlian sighed. "I can't raise and train a private army," he said. "I am viewed with quite enough suspicion as it is. If the weapons are needed, there will be men who want them—and probably women, too, for that matter."
"That bad?"
"I hope not"
"Do you have enough obsidian?"
"I think so."
"I could inquire after more."
"That might be wise."
"Lord Wither's man Horn has been talking to the staff, you know, hoping someone will tell him where to find the dragons. I believe some of them have been invited to meet Wither himself and discuss the matter."
"I know where the entrance to one cavern is, holding no more than half a dozen of the great beasts; if Lord Wither locates any others, I would be pleased to hear of it"
"I doubt he has any way of finding otters, but what if he learns where that one is?"
"Then presumably he'll attempt to fetch some venom, either in person or by hiring others to make the journey on his behalf. But who on the staff could direct him? You and I were the only ones to set foot in the cave there. I doubt Rime or Shibiel or Thirif could give useful directions; I'm not entirely sure I can find it again without a great deal of effort"
"Cricket and Brook were with us."
"And, being amputees, they cannot walk and therefore never left the wagon; what could they tell him?"
"You may misjudge Brook's abilities."
That struck Arlian as curious, that Black would single out Brook. Arlian remembered Brook as a clever and usually cheerful woman who liked to hum quietly or talk to herself when focused on some task; he remembered that she had been quick to help him out in Coik Tree, when he had rescued her from Toribor's party. On the long ride back from the Desolation to Manfort, Brook had helped tend Arlian's wounds and had been good company for them all.
But Arlian did not remember any indication that she would be any better at navigating the Desolation than anyone else, and how would Black know her any better than he did? Perhaps, since arriving at the Old Palace, the two had spoken when Arlian wasn't present.
Perhaps, it suddenly occurred to Arlian, they had done more than merely speak.
"And if I do misjudge, if Brook could somehow lead Wither to that cave, why would she?"
'For gold, Arlian."
"I give her whatever she needs here."
"But she might prefer to be entirely in command of her own destiny, and not dependent on you. You freed her from slavery, but she may want more freedom than you can give her."
"She may, at that," Arlian acknowledged. "And she has every right to earn her own way however she can.
If you would be so kind as to inform her that I would prefer she not sell that particular bit of information, I would appreciate it—but on the other hand, I will not slop her. If Lord Wither does find that cavern, he does so at his own risk. It's a two-month journey, more or less, and by then die weather will be much warmer, especially in the south; I would not care to venture into a dragon's cave in warm weather. It's not entirely coincidental that Enziet led us there in winter. You might mention that to Lord Wither."
"Indeed I might," Black agreed. "He's a patient man, and he may well decide to wait until autu
mn."
"By which time the matter may be moot."
Black hesitated, then asked, "And suppose, Ari, that Lord Wither does seek out a dragon's cave, either the one you know or another, and finds what he's after.
What will you do?"
"That depends what use he chooses to make of it,"
Arlian said.
"And would you provide him with some of the weapons you have Ferrezin and the others preparing?"
Arlian leaned back against the desk.
"Now, that is an interesting question," he said. "I think that if asked, I would sell him a few, yes. I have no great dislike for Lord Wither, even though I would prefer he not obtain what he seeks."
"You prefer him to the dragons, at any rate."
"Yes."
"And you're making obsidian weapons because you expect a need for them?"
"Rather, I think a need may arise; to say I expect it is to overstate the case. And I would prefer it if you did not mention any of this to others."
Black snorted. "They would probably think me as mad as you."
And with that, the conversation was at an end.
Days passed, each a little longer and a trifle wanner than the one before, and Arlian accumulated a sizeable arsenal of obsidian weapons—black-tipped spears, black glass daggers, and a few hybrid swords that had pieces of obsidian fitted into steel blades. These last were clumsy and fragile, but Arlian thought they might be useful even so.
He concentrated on spears, some of them of prodi-gious size—after all, dragons were big, and while obsidian could presumably cut them anywhere, it had taken a thrust to the heart to actually kill the one he had fought beneath the Desolation. Some of these spears were of a size that would require a giant, or at least two or three men working together, to wield—but the possibility that they would be needed could not be ignored.
Arlian wished that finding the giants to wield them was as easy as constructing the spears.
While his employees were making weapons Arlian also accumulated a great deal of knowledge about Lord Enziet's past and possessions, but little of it was any use. The enciphered notebooks remained largely mysterious.
The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) Page 10