The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  It was only the merest scratch, but it stung—and it was not a good sign. Arlian pivoted back, attempting to disengage, but Toribor pursued him, forcing him backward three steps before he was able to stand his ground once again.

  This would not do.

  Arlian told himself that he was in the right, that justice demanded Toribor's death; he remembered Rose and Silk and the others, and remembered how Toribor had tried to delay or kill him in Cork Tree ...

  And he remembered how even when Toribor was at his mercy, he had begged not for his own life, but for Enziet's, to keep the dragons restrained. The man had courage—and he hated and feared the dragons. He had treated the slaves in the House of Carnal Society as tools rather than people, but he had not been deliberately cruel. Perhaps he had been under Enziet's thumb.

  Enziet could be very persuasive.

  All the same, he had been one of the Six Lords, and he constantly opposed Arlian. He must die for it. Arlian attacked again, moving first toward Toribor's left, as if to try for his blind side, then abruptly shifting direction and striking at Toribor's right.

  That did catch Toribor off-guard—for perhaps half a second. Arlian was able to slash diagonally across his foe's right wrist, drawing a widening line of red blood across the tight white sleeve, but did not manage the crippling blow at the inside of the elbow that he had hoped for.

  Toribor countered with a jab at Arlian's chest that speared through the silk scarf tucked into his breast When Arlian brought up his swordbreaker, hoping to snap the sword's blade before Toribor could free it from its silken entanglement, Toribor slashed upward, cutting free of the scarf and drawing a line of blood upward from Arlian's right eyebrow to his hairline.

  Neither man could spare a single breath for speech now; they were much too busy with their blades. Steel clashed against steel as both moved in to the attack.

  Arlian fought automatically, the long, hard training Black had given him returning now that his life depended on it; he sensed what Toribor intended and reacted before the blows could strike.

  Unfortunately, Toribor could do the same, just as effectively.

  Around them, the watching crowd cheered and whistled and applauded as the swordsmen fought; each attack, each retreat, elicited gasps and shouted comments and encouragement. Arlian and Toribor ignored it all, and focused only on each other.

  The two men maneuvered around one another, and at one point, as Arlian ducked under a high attack and sent his own blade stabbing toward Toribor's sizeable belly, Arlian found himself looking directly over Toribor's shoulder at the archers atop the city wall.

  Someone not in uniform was speaking to two of them, and each archer had an arrow in his hand, ready to nock and draw.

  But then Toribor turned to dodge Arlian's lunge and brought his own sword down toward Arlian's neck, and Arlian was too busy bringing up his swordbreaker to turn the attack to see any more of whatever might be transpiring on the battlements.

  Even in the midst of combat, Arlian found himself wondering once again who had sent the archers there, and why.

  Perhaps that distraction was why he misjudged a parry—or perhaps Toribor's greater skill simply caught up with him. Toribor's sword slashed across the inside of Arlian's wrist, and Arlian's hand spasmed slightly—enough to loosen his grip on the hilt of his own sword, and cost him a fraction of a second of control. Toribor reversed his blade's motion abruptly and thrust, and the point jabbed into Arlian's arm.

  Arlian's fingers twitched, and Toribor brought his swordbreaker slamming down on Arlian's blade.

  The sword did not break, but flew from Arlian's grasp and bounced, ringing, on the stone pavement.

  The audience suddenly fell still.

  Arlian quickly brought up his swordbreaker and countered Toribor's first thrust, but he knew then that he was doomed. He would die with his vengeance in-complete; the dragons that had slaughtered his family would survive, and breed new dragons in the hearts of unsuspecting humans ...

  Or perhaps not so unsuspecting.

  "Belly," he said, as Toribor disengaged from the swordbreaker and prepared to strike again, "don't let them side with the dragons."

  Toribor paused.

  "What?"

  "The others. The Society. Don't let them side with the dragons. Don't listen to Pulzera. You can destroy them if you'll just stay together, and use the obsidian weapons."

  "Don't talk to me about that!"

  "But it's important! You're going to kill me before I can deal with the dragons, so someone else has to do it, and only the Society ,.."

  "Shut up!" Toribor bellowed, thrusting the tip of his blade past the swordbreaker and up against Arlian's throat.

  "But you mustn't let the dragons win! Don't you see..

  "I do see!" Toribor shouted. "You let me live last year in Cork Tree because I was more concerned for Enziet than for myself, so now you're trying to save your own miserable life by pretending you care about the Society!"

  "I care about the dragons, and what they may do to mankind if the Society sides with them! I know you're going to kill me..."

  "Beg for your life, damn you!"

  Arlian blinked at him, startled. "You know me better than that, don't you?"

  Toribor's face was purple with rage, and the tip of the sword had pierced Arlian's scarf and dug into the skin of his throat; a drop of red appeared on the white silk. "Damn you, Obsidian!" Toribor said. "If I kill you now, in front of all these people—they know you spared my life last time we fought. If I kill you, you'll be the better man forever!"

  Arlian could think of no intelligent reply to that, and stared silently at Toribor.

  "I'd almost think you dropped your sword on purpose!"

  The corner of Arlian's mouth quirked upward.

  "Unless I thought you as good a man as myself, that would simply be suicide," Arlian said. "And if I thought you as good as myself, why would we be fighting?"

  "A sword at your throat, and still you chatter and argue and bait me? You're mad, Obsidian!" The sword moved half an inch to the left, cutting the skin of Arlian's throat.

  'Then go ahead and rid the world of a madman, Belly, but just remember that mad or not, I do know I'm a man and not yet a dragon or the slave of dragons.

  You make certain that the others all know it!"

  For a moment Toribor stared silently at him; then he said through gritted teeth, "Pick up your sword."

  Arlian stared back.

  Toribor was not going to simply kill him. By ancient tradition, Toribor had every right to finish him off here and now—but Toribor was not doing it

  Enziet wouldn't have hesitated for an instant He wouldn't have cared what anyone thought of him. Drisheen would have relished every second, and found a way to kill Arlian slowly. But Toribor was giving him another chance.

  Arlian was not at all sure whether he would have done as much were the roles reversed. After all, he had killed Drisheen in cold blood, and Shamble—he had had Shamble at swordspoint, as Toribor now had him, and he had cut open the man's throat

  But Toribor was not going to kill him. Toribor did not even want to march back into the city and leave matters unsettled—he wanted a resolution.

  "If you care so much about your reputation, my lord," Arlian said, "you could withdraw your blade for a moment and then strike me down and say I'd lunged with my swordbreaker. I might even do it I'm not de-fenseless, not unarmed."

  '1 care about my honor, Obsidian, not my reputation."

  "And if there were no audience here, would you still tell me to pick up my sword?"

  Toribor hesitated, his anger fading.

  "I hope so," he said at last

  "An honest and honorable answer," Arlian said.

  'Tell me, then, what will you do if I choose not to retrieve my blade?"

  "I don't know. I might yet kill you. Why should you risk it?"

  "Because if I do retrieve my weapon, and we resume our duel, one of us will die, and I think the odds be
tter than even that it would be me. If I do not and we speak, either I will die, or neither of us will—and I think I've come to prefer the latter. I tried to make peace with you once before, and you refused—but I wish I had tried again, rather than challenged you.

  Now I do try again. Can we not end this without a death?"

  "And what of your famous oath, to kill me or die trying?"

  "I think the time may have come to withdraw that oath, my lord. I made that vow to myself, and I can therefore release myself from it."

  "And you'd do this to save your own life? You think so little of your own promise to die rather than forgo your vengeance?"

  "I would do this to spare your life, my lord. You have mine in your hand, and can take it if you choose."

  "I will take it honorably, Obsidian, if at all. Pick up your sword. You spared my life, I have spared yours—

  we are even. Now let us conclude the matter properly."

  "I will oblige you if you insist, but I would be far more willing to conclude our quarrel peaceably. You have shown yourself to be a better man than I thought you."

  "And you have ... I don't know what you've done.

  Pick up your sword!"

  Reluctantly, Arlian stepped back, away from Toribor's sword, and stooped, keeping his eyes always on his opponent's right hand as he groped for his own blade.

  The crowd, which had been cheering and chattering so constantly until Arlian lost his sword, watched in utter silence.

  Toribor stood back as Arlian picked up his sword; he waited until Arlian was upright once more, sword ready, before he attacked.

  Arlian defended himself, but did not attempt a ri-poste; he no longer felt any desire to kill Toribor. He would do it if he had to to defend his own life, but he no longer believed that justice required it.

  Toribor had been one of the men who owned the brothel in Westguard; he had allowed the mutilation of the sixteen slaves imprisoned there, and the murder of four of them. He had taken two of the women as his share of the business when Lord Enziet shut it down.

  But he had not harmed the two he took. He had not harmed anyone else, so far as Arlian knew. He had allied himself with Enziet and Dri sheen and the others, but he had not instigated their evil.

  And he had argued, in Cork Tree, not for his own life but for the greater good of humanity. He had spared Arlian's life here and now. He was prone to anger and thoughtlessness, but he also maintained a sense of honor, something Enziet, Drisheen, and Horim had considered unnecessary.

  And he opposed the dragons. That was certainly a point in his favor. At one time Arlian would have taken that for granted, but now he knew better—Lady Pulzera had shown him that much.

  Toribor deserved punishment for his crimes, certainly. He owed the surviving maimed women a debt he could never pay. Arlian no longer believed, though, that he deserved death.

  Around them the crowd was cheering again, but with less enthusiasm than before; they seemed sub-dued. Steel clashed, and Arlian saw an opening, but he did not strike; instead he stepped back, his blades on guard. It might be that there was no way to end this fight short of death, but Arlian was not yet convinced of that

  Of course, Toribor was a dragonhead, his blood toxic, a monster growing in his heart. He might still be human enough for mercy and honor now, but he was centuries younger than Enziet had been. What would he be like in time, if Arlian let him live?

  And what would become of that dragon in his heart?

  Perhaps it was best if Toribor died, after all. Arlian parried a thrust, and this time he struck back, catching Toribor off-guard and scraping the tip of his sword across Toribor's right shoulder before Toribor could turn the attack.

  But there were dragons in so many hearts—thirty-eight, counting Arlian's own.

  And killing them would not end the threat; the drag-cms would pollute more, unless the dragons were destroyed first.

  And the people best equipped to destroy the dragons were the dragonhearts. Killing Toribor would not help-Killing Toribor would make it that much more likely that the other dragonhearts would distrust Arlian, and would listen to Pulzera and side with the dragons against him.

  Toribor made a low, sweeping attack, and Arlian was forced to concentrate on his swordplay. Steel flickered and clashed, the four blades locked together for a moment; then both men sprang back, disengag-ing. They stood, just out of each other's reach, staring warily at one another. The crowd's noise was only a murmur.

  Toribor would have to die eventually, but the dragons had to die first.

  "Belly," Arlian said, "I would swear a new oath, in your hearing, by all the dead gods and whatever else you ask. I cannot until we end this fight, but if you allow it, I will swear not to kill you, in Manfort or anywhere else, so long as we know a single dragon to survive."

  "What?" Toribor stared at him as if he were mad—

  and of course, Arlian remembered, Toribor thought he was mad.

  "I want the dragons dead far more than I want to harm you," Arlian said. "Can we not end this duel in a truce, and turn our whole attention to destroying the beasts we both agree deserve to die?"

  "With what, your stone knives? No one's ever slain a dragon—not a grown one."

  "Yes, with obsidian—or whatever else we can find.

  And if we never find a way to kill them, then I will never again try to kill you."

  "Unless you change your mind again." Toribor made a quick feint.

  "I do not change my mind so easily."

  "You change your name, Triv, and your appearance, and everything else."

  "Not everything. Never everything. I stand by my word."

  "Oh, of course you do." Toribor's blade flicked out, and Arlian turned it aside.

  Words alone would not end this fight, he saw—but he knew what would He launched a sudden quick attack, a lightning series of jabs, none really meant to kill or seriously injure, but enough to keep Toribor very busy for a moment.

  Toribor fell back a step, and as he did Arlian leapt backward himself, out of reach.

  And once the two men were too far apart to reach one another with their swords, Arlian flung aside both his sword and swordbreaker. Steel jangled on the pavement, and the murmur of the crowd suddenly stilled again.

  "Our quarrel is ended," he said. "Kill me if you must, but I will fight no more."

  "Oh, now you're doing it deliberately?" Toribor shouted. "You think because I spared you once, I'll do it again?" He stepped forward and raised his sword, but did not strike.

  "Yes," Arlian said, spreading his empty hands. "You have shown me that you're a better man than I had thought, that I was wrong to seek your death. I swear, Lord Toribor, that I will not fight you again today, that I will not try to kill you while a single dragon yet lives.

  My vengeance oath was to myself, and I have released myself from it; this oath I give to you"

  Toribor hesitated.

  "You can still prove me wrong," Arlian said

  "Plunge your blade through my heart, and we'll both see that you are less honorable, less worthy, than I thought. I don't think either of us wants that."

  Toribor growled, then said, "Confound you, Obsidian!" He lowered his sword.

  Then, for the first time since Arlian had stepped out of his coach, Toribor took his eyes off his opponent and looked around at the crowd of spectators. He glanced up at the city wall.

  "No archers," he said. "The ruse was hardly a clever one."

  Startled, Arlian turned. Sure enough, the archers were gone.

  "They were there," he said.

  Toribor snorted.

  "I never know where I stand with you," he said.

  "You lie as easily as most men breathe, and you're loyal to no one but yourself. I would not put it past you to pick up your blades and strike at me, despite your new oath."

  Wounded, Arlian said, "The archers were there, and I will not break my oath." He stepped back, away from his discarded weapons.

  "You won't r
esume the fight, and put an end to the matter?"

  "You heard my vow. I consider the matter ended."

  "And I must accept that?"

  "You have your sword, my lord; I am at your mercy."

  "No, you aren't. I don't think you even understand the concept. Are you afraid of nothing, Arlian?"

  Arlian blinked in surprise. "I am no more fearless than you," he said.

  "You lie as easily as others breathe. You claimed to be pursuing sworn vengeance, unappeasable, yet now you say it's over, and that means our quarrel is resolved. Forgive me if I do not immediately agree—let me remind you that while I may have abused women you came to care for, you have slain three of my comrades, two of them men I had known for hundreds of years. Horim and Kuruvan died in honest duels, but you murdered Drisheen. The circumstances of Enziet's death remain unclear, despite your claims, and I might reasonably believe you had slain him as well.

  You did not kill Wither, but you encouraged him in his suicide. Am I to simply forget all these, all my friends?

  Have I no right to seek vengeance upon their slayer?"

  "I am here, unarmed," Arlian said. "If you think Drisheen deserving of such revenge, strike me down—

  but remember first what kind of man Drisheen was. Do you know what he did to Ferret and Sparkle? And what Horim did to Daub and Sandalwood?"

  "The women? You know all their names? And what became of them?" Toribor sounded genuinely surprised.

  "Of course I do," Arlian said, startled. "Did you think I simply wanted an excuse? I loved them all.

  They deserved far better than they received. You and Nail and Kuruvan treated the ones you held no worse than any other slaves might be treated, but the others—

  do you know what Enziet did to Dove? Did you know he cut Madam Ril's throat in the street? She was a free woman!"

  Arlian did not mention Sweet, whom Enziet had poisoned; that particular death was somehow not something to be shared.

  "I knew," Toribor said.

  For a moment die two stood silently, facing each other; then Toribor said, "You say you will swear not to kill me so long as die dragons live—do you seriously believe you can slay them?"