"Yes," Pulzera said. "Why not?"
For a moment the room fell silent, and Arlian looked at the faces before him.
Ticker merely looked confused; Toribor was angry aad uncertain. Rime's face bore a wry smile, while Spider was deep in thought Shard was frowning, Shatter uneasy. To one side, flardior was clearly very unhappy indeed; to the other. Door appeared determined while Zaner was, like Arlian himself, looking at other faces to judge his companion's moods.
It was clear that while not everyone liked it, this proposal was meeting no more resistance, and perhaps much less, than Pulzera's initial suggestion of siding with the dragons in the anticipated war.
Arlian hid his own disgust
He should have known, he told himself. Most of these people were slave owners. Many had fought duels to die death. None of them had protested when Enact and his five partners had maimed slaves to prevent them from running away. None of them had objected when the Six Lords killed five women in closing down their brothel in Westguard. None had thought the Society had any reason to meddle when Enziet and Drisheen and others killed or tortured people. None of them had seriously objected, for that matter, when Arlian had, in turn, killed Horim and Drisheen and Enziet They attached no great value to human lives. The only lives they seemed to care about, and the only rules, were their own.
As Pulzera said, they were half-dragon—their hearts were cold. They were far more concerned with their own convenience than with anything like fair-ness, justice, or mercy. Arlian was appalled. He de-baled whether to point out that his own steward, Black, had been a witness to both deaths, or to mention that Shuffler might not be on Wither's staff at all, but decided that far from deterring anyone, he would merely be adding more names to the death list
He could keep at least one name off, he thought.
"Lady Opal wants to be a dragonheart," he said. "It might be better to arrange that than to kill her, if we start bargaining with the dragons—a little blood and venom and she would be happy to join you, leaving no need to risk upsetting her relatives or allowing a trial where she might say something unfortunate."
Even as he finished speaking, he realized he might have just made a serious mistake. Saving Lady Opal might be a generous gesture, but it would also mean empowering a woman who already hated him, and perhaps creating a new dragonheart.
Furthermore, it would set an unfortunate precedent.
If the Dragon Society began "rewarding" others with the elixir that spawned new dragons Manfort, far from being a refuge from the dragons, would become their breeding farm.
He silently thanked the dead gods that the Society had no ready source of venom. His own interests and intentions still included exterminating the dragons, not breeding more of them. Pulzera was probably a lost cause, but he still hoped to convince most of the Society's members to join him in that fight.
"Listen," he said, "if a war with the dragons begins, what makes you think the dragons will deal with you?
Might they not just destroy all of Manfort, and create new dragonheads to replace us all?"
"They won't want to do that," Pulzera said. "That would set them back centuries."
"Dragons are patient," Lord Spider said.
"But they can trust humans, when it suits them,"
Pulzera said. "They've done it before. Ask Lord Shatter—in the old days, before they retreated to their caverns, the dragons had their human servants who served them willingly and ruled over the rest of humanity.
Those servants lived like kings. We could be their new servants!"
"I would rather be a free man, and a lord in my own right," Spider said.
"But will we really be free if war comes? We will serve either the Duke or the dragons," Hardior said.
Several voices spoke at once in reply. Arlian realized as he looked around and listened to the deepening hum of conversation that the meeting was breaking apart into smaller discussions—or arguments.
He could not prevent that, but there were matters he felt needed to be addressed before anything got out of hand. He arose from his chair.
"Excuse me," he said loudly, raising his hands, "but I would like to warn you all that if you attempt to kill everyone on Nail's staff, or Wither's, I will take it very badly indeed. There are people there I think deserve better, and furthermore I think it likely that rumors have already spread from household to household, and that any such slaughter would simply draw attention and lend interest to these tales."
"He's right," Shard said, but before she could say more Arlian continued.
"I was summoned here for a hearing regarding secrets I had withheld from this Society. I have now revealed those secrets, and explained why I withheld them. Am I to take it that the charges against me have been answered?"
"Ah," Hardior said. He looked around the room."I am satisfied, and see no need to pursue this; I think you've given us all much more important concerns to think about."
"It's not for you to decide, Hardior," Toribor said.
"It's the Society that decides."
"Then should we vote?"
"The senior members usually speak," Ticker said.
"What senior members?" Toribor demanded, turning in his chair. "He's killed them all! Enziet, Wither, Nail, Drisheerv—all dead!"
"Who is senior, then?" Hardior asked. "I hadn't thought about that..."
Door cleared his throat, and Hardior turned.
"My lords," Door said, "the senior surviving member is now Lord Illis, known as Shatter."
"Me?" Shatter said, startled.
"Door's the archivist and herald," Rime said. "He should know."
"Yes, but... I suppose I am the senior now, but I hardly know what we should do about this! Young Obsidian has upset everything we thought we knew. He's telling us the dragons wanted us to survive, to bear their young—that our survival wasn't due to oversights and accidents. That's... well, it's different.
And we can't live forever, but only a thousand years?"
He snorted a quick laugh. " Only a thousand! But to end as mere eggshells for dragons—it's undignified."
"Undignified? It's horrific!" Toribor said.
'Tes," Shatter agreed, "it is. But Pulzera here proposes that it's still a better fate than we would otherwise face, and that we should be grateful to the dragons, and serve them. Some of us remember the dragons' servants from before, the ones who ruled over us in the old times, that Pulzera spoke of, and I don't think we remember them fondly—-do we want to become their successors?"
"Do we have a choice?" Pulzera said.
"We always have choices," Rime said. "Wither made his choice."
"That's not one I'd take!" Pulzera retorted.
"Excuse me," Arlian said, "but I insist we return to the original subject—decide my fate, please, before you debate these far weightier and more complex matters I had sought to spare you."
"Let him go," Shard said. "He doesn't matter anymore."
"Kill him," Toribor said. "For the murder of Lord Drisheen, if nothing else."
"Exile him," Ticker said. "Make him leave Manfort."
"Take away all those stone weapons," Pulzera said.
"If they really can kill dragons, then aren't we better served if they're destroyed?"
"We might need them," Spider objected. "What if the dragons can't be trusted? What if they decide we'd be safer locked away in their caverns?"
"I don't see how we can justify killing him," Shatter said. "He killed Drisheen outside the walls, apparently in his own defense, and don't we owe him something for finally showing us the truth?"
"He broke his oath!" Toribor insisted.
"I have now revealed what I withheld," Arlian said.
"I don't recall that the oath specified how quickly I must share my knowledge with the Society. I seem to recall you, Belly, telling me that when Enziet withheld secrets from the Society that he had his reasons, and this somehow mitigated his treachery; well, I had those same reasons."
"Punishi
ng Arlian would be foolish," Lord Voriam said from one side. "He's brought us vital information, and what does it matter if he dawdled a month or two?
All here possess the heart of the dragon, and a life expectancy measured in centuries; this delay is of no moment."
"I would tend to agree," Spider said.
"And I," Shatter added.
Hardior looked uncertain, but said nothing.
"Who present yet opposes a dismissal of the charge?" Door bellowed.
"I do!" Toribor shouted.
"I'm not sure," Ticker said. He looked around at the others.
No one else spoke; silence settled over the room like a cloud of dust.
At last Hardior reluctantly spoke. "It would seem the charges are dismissed."
"No!" Toribor bellowed, rising.
Arlian considered swiftly. He had tried to make peace with Toribor when they had spoken before, and Toribor had refused; indeed, he had had Arlian summoned before this hearing, clearly hoping to see Arlian destroyed. Now that that had failed, Toribor still would not accept it
He clearly didn't want peace. He didn't even want to be assured that he was safe from Arlian's revenge.
He wanted Arlian dead.
And after all, why would he not? Arlian was responsible for the deaths of five of his friends, and had wounded and arguably disgraced him in a previous duel. Toribor wanted revenge.
Arlian understood revenge.
"My lord," Arlian said quietly, "it is not for you to say whether the charges are dismissed. It is for die Society as a whole."
"I don't accept that!" Toribor said angrily.
"My lord, I think you are acting from personal motives now, not in defense of the Society's interests."
"I hardly think it is in the Society's interest to keep a liar, a traitor, and a murderer alive in our midst!"
Arlian would have preferred to make peace with Toribor, but if that was not possible, then he wanted to get the entire affair over with now, rather than later. He did not think the Dragon Society could ever be united while both he and Toribor lived—Toribor would not stand for it.
"I think that is for the Society to decide," he said. "If you will not accept the decision of this body, and insist that matters between us be settled by blood, I am ready to meet you outside the gate, with swords, at a time of your choosing, to end this once and for all."
"That would resolve everything nicely," Spider said, sitting back in his chair. "If Belly kills Obsidian we'll be rid of someone given to making trouble, and if Obsidian kills Belly he'll have completed his vaunted vengeance and can behave like a civilized man thereafter."
Arlian did not say anything further, but he knew that killing Toribor would hardly complete his quest for revenge. The dragons were far more important. Disposing of the last of the Six Lords would merely end the overture, and allow him to raise the curtain on the main action.
Toribor stared at Arlian for a moment, and for a few seconds Arlian thought he was going to refuse—but that hardly seemed possible. A simple refusal would brand Toribor a coward and make a mockery of his accusations; only an apology and a genuine attempt at reconciliation could avoid both duel and disgrace, and Arlian did not think Toribor would do that.
For a few seconds, though, he hoped Toribor would make peace.
But then Toribor threw up his hands.
"Fine!" he said. "Fine. I think it's mad, but the whole world has turned mad since you first appeared, Obsidian. You should be hanged, but if I can't arrange that, then I will kill you myself. Tomorrow at midday, Obsidian, I'll gut you before a hundred witnesses."
"Tomorrow at midday, then," Arlian agreed, "in the plaza beyond the gates."
"Then I must ask one of you gentlemen to leave this hall," Door said. "It is not appropriate for you to debate by any means other than cold steel prior to your arranged meeting."
"I left last time," Toribor said. "It's your turn. Besides, you challenged me, not I you, and that makes the responsibility yours."
That caught Arlian by surprise, and he hesitated. He had not thought about that before offering to fight, but Toribor was quite correct, according to the customs of dueling—the burden of any inconvenience was on the challenger, not the challenged.
But Arlian wanted to hear what the Society's members had to say! He wanted to take part in the debates...
"My lord Obsidian?" Door said.
Arlian looked around, and saw three dozen people watching him intently—three dozen people he hoped to convince to join him in his crusade against the dragons. He would not convince them of anything if he ignored the proprieties and customs of Manfort's nobility.
"As you wish," he said, picking his hat up from the table. "Tomorrow at midday, Belly, we will see who is the better swordsman." He turned and headed for the door, donning his hat on the way.
As he stepped through the littie vestibule he grimaced. He was fairly sure who was the better swordsman, actually. They had fought before, and while they were closely matched, Arlian thought he knew who was the superior fencer.
Toribor.
When they had fought before Arlian had won, but he had relied on trickery and darkness, and Toribor had been distracted and unprepared, not fighting his best.
Tomorrow Arlian would not have those advantages.
He would therefore have to find others.
He had fought swordsmen better than himself before—Toribor, and Enziet, and Horim had all been more practiced with a blade. He had won all three bouts, through cleverness and good fortune rather than swordsmanship.
He hoped that cleverness and good fortune would be enough once again, tomorrow at midday.
"You really are mad," Black said, as he handed Arlian the wooden practice blade. "You haven't used a sword seriously in months, not since Enziet's death! An hour's practice isn't going to make up for that"
"I doubt Belly has had any more practice than I,"
Arlian replied, hefting the mock weapon—but even as he spoke, a memory tickled at the back of his mind.
Hadn't Lord Hardior said that Toribor spent all his time practicing swordplay?
"I wouldn't be any too sure of that," Black said.
"How do you know he hasn't been planning this ever since he got back to Manfort?"
"Black, I challenged him," Arlian said. "He could have issued his own challenge and met me outside the Eve
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haps Toribor had deliberately goaded him into issuing a challenge, to avoid alienating other members of the Society. It did not seem in character for him, but Toribor was a dragonheart, centuries older than Arlian—it could well be that he had depths Arlian had not per-ceived.
"And what if he thought you'd been practicing day and night, preparing for exactly such a meeting as this?" Black asked. "Wouldn't he have tried to stay in form against the day when he found it necessary to leave the city?"
Lord Hardior had said that Toribor had been practicing, Arlian was sure of it now—but there was little he could do about it. "Then he's more prepared than I,"
Arlian said with a shrug. "I'll just need to find some way to handle him. I'm younger and lighter than he is, and not that much less skilled; I have no intention of dying today."
"What we intend and what we accomplish often don't match," Black said, raising his own wooden sword. Then, without warning, he lunged.
Arlian parried clumsily, and the practice bout was on. At the end of the one-hour limit Arlian had set both men were tired and sweating, and Arlian was worried.
"You're not as rusty as I feared," Black remarked as he placed the swords back on their rack.
"I'm worse than I thought," Arlian said. "You would have killed me in seconds had these blades been steel."
"But I'm a better swordsman than Lord Toribor,"
Black said. "It's my job."
"No, yo
ur job is overseeing my household," Arlian said. "You haven't worked as a guard in over a year."
"I'm still better with a blade than he is."
"Well, that's true," Arlian admitted—and he did not add aloud, but thought, "though not by much." He had fought Black in practice, and he had fought Toribor in earnest, so he knew both men's abilities; Black had no such direct knowledge, and Arlian thought Black was underestimating Toribor.
Either that, or Black was trying to be encouraging, to keep Arlian's fighting spirit up.
"And you were doing better toward the end," Black added.
Black was being encouraging. Arlian made a noise but did not reply in words. For his own part, though, while he knew he had indeed done better toward the end, he was fairly sure that his recovery was due more to Black's tiring than his own improvement—dragonhearts tended to have somewhat more stamina than ordinary men. That was not an advantage he would have against Toribor.
Furthermore, he now doubted he would last long enough for stamina to matter. He would need to find a stratagem of some sort; in a straight and fair duel, he could expect Toribor to defeat him in fairly short order.
Of course, he shouldn't have been a match for Horim, and he had won that fight. Fate had often seemed to be on his side.
Relying too much on Fate would be foolish, though.
Fate might have had a purpose for him—but if that purpose was accomplishing Enziet's death, or killing Nail's dragon, or revealing secrets to the Dragon Society, then it had now been fulfilled and Fate was done with him. It was entirely possible he was about to go to his death.
He had lived with the possibility of sudden death much of the time since he was a boy of eleven, but just now, when the Dragon Society was debating its alle-giances and dragons might be about to attack, did not seem a very convenient time to die.
When he had issued his challenge he had not been very concerned with the possibility of dying, but now he had reconsidered, and was beginning to regret his decision to fight Toribor. It had seemed an obvious way to dispose of the last of the Six Lords he had sworn to kill, to remove his greatest opponent in the Dragon Society, to reduce the number of gestating dragons, and generally to settle several old matters so that he could devote his entire attention to the likelihood of open war with the dragons, but all those purposes assumed he survived the encounter.
The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) Page 20