The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "It is late for that." Arlian noticed that it did not say too late. "You have revealed our secrets."

  "I know," Arlian said—though he had still hoped the dragons did not yet know. "But is there no bargain we can make?"

  "Oh, there are no doubt many possible bargains. To make a bargain, one party must state a desire, and the other must set a price for its fulfillment—what do you desire of us?"

  "I want you to stay in your caverns, and harm no one."

  The amusement was much clearer now. "It is much too late for that"

  A cold sense of foreboding swept over Arlian.

  "Why?" he asked.

  "Because we are already a-wing," the dragon replied. "A fishing village is aflame, and soon another will be, as well."

  "Another? A second, so soon? But I thought... you never before..

  "We were bound," the dragon said, before Arlian could bring his thoughts to order. "By our bargain with the other."

  Arlian knew it meant Enziet's bargain, the agreement that had ended the ancient Man-Dragon Wars and driven the dragons into the caverns. "Then you're on your way to Manfort? You mean to rule the Lands of Man, as you did long ago?"

  "There is no hurry," the dragon replied. "We are un-bound, but we are few and old. First we must rebuild our strength, which you have depleted."

  "Rebuild?" Arlian was baffled.

  "We think one survived in the first village—perhaps more than one. There will be more in time."

  And then Arlian understood. "You're making more dragonhearts."

  "Of course. You slew many, you and the other. We must make many."

  Arlian was too distraught to notice the confirmation that Enziet had, indeed, killed dragonhearts. "But they won't be dragons for a thousand years!"

  "We are patient."

  "And if I hunt down these new ones, and kill them?"

  "We will make more. We are old, but we will yet outlive you, little one. We are few, but we will make more than you can kill."

  "Not if I kill you.r

  The amusement became even plainer and more derisive—the dragon was laughing at him. "With your black spears? Kill us all?"

  "Do you think I can't?"

  "We think you can't."

  "I'll find a way! I'll make you tell me how."

  "You cannot compel us."

  "No? Then why are you talking to me?"

  "Because it pleases us to do so. You are no sorcerer, little one. We speak to you at our pleasure, not your own—if you attempt another summoning, it will fail.

  We have no more to say to each other."

  "But you haven't heard what I have to say!"

  "You can have nothing more to say that will matter to us."

  And with that, the image abruptly broke up into a swirl of blood.

  "No!" Arlian shouted. "Come back!"

  The dragon was gone.

  Arlian stared at the bowl for a moment, his mind struggling with too many concerns at once. He thought of emptying the bowl and trying again, but he did not really doubt what the dragon had said, that the summoning was at the dragon's whim, and not his own—if a binding sorcery had been so simple as that, the real sorcerers in the Dragon Society would all have learned it long ago.

  And even now, the dragons were out of their caves, and burning villages on the coast, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Or almost nothing. There would be survivors, their homes destroyed, their friends and families dead. If he could send help, bring them to Manfort, keep them under watch, maybe someday use Aritheian magic to cleanse their blood ...

  But he didn't know where on the coast the dragons were attacking, which villages they were burning, where the survivors would be. Most would flee and take shelter elsewhere—he couldn't expect them to be trapped in cellars as he had been. By the time he could reach the coast and find the destroyed villages, the survivors would be long gone, scattered across the land.

  Perhaps he could do something for them, though.

  And most importantly, perhaps he could find a way to kill the dragons and stop the killing before it spread much further. The truce he had hoped for was out of the question now.

  He rose from his chair, opened the shutters to let in the dim light of the overcast day, and poured the bloody water out the window; then he crossed to the door and left the private room.

  A few minutes later he was in the street, calling

  "Thirif! Isein!" as he strode purposefully toward the caravan. The freed mine slaves who were still milling around the street—perhaps half the party that had accompanied him from the mine—stopped and stared at him as he passed; Arlian ignored them.

  At the sound of his voice the Aritheians emerged from their wagons to stare at him, as well.

  When all four of the magicians—Thirif, Shibiel, Isein, and Qulu—had gathered, he announced, "You have the amethysts and silver now. I have business elsewhere and cannot accompany you, but you must head for Arithei at all possible speed, and you must bring me back the two things I asked for—physicians who can keep a man alive with his blood drained away, and a way to drive a spear into a dragon's heart."

  "We will try," Isein said.

  "You must find them," Arlian said. "The weapon against the dragons most of all. And you must hurry.

  The dragons have come out of their caverns. Waste no time! Leave at once!"

  "I..." Thirif began.

  "Go!" Arlian shouted, turning away.

  Half an hour later Arlian's caravan had been split in two. Six wagons were headed south, toward the Desolation, the Borderlands, and Arithei, under the command of Quickhand, since none of the Aritheians was qualified to lead. Two wagons, loaded with obsidian weapons, were bound north, toward Manfort, driven by Stabber and a man named Firiol.

  Two of the freed miners had begged to ride with one group or the other, to get away from Deep Delving, but Arlian refused them; he did not trust them. After so long in the mines, they would need time before they were again aWe to function normally in the outside world.

  Three of the men who had accompanied the wagons from Manfort did not accompany either party. Post, like the miners, had been sent to find his own way, while at Deep Delving's only livery stable Arlian stood impatiently aside and let Black negotiate for mounts.

  "I keep mares for breeding stock," the proprietor explained, "not to sell. I sell mules."

  "Can your mares be ridden?" Black asked.

  "Oh, they're broken to the saddle, of course—they earn their keep between foals. But I don't want to sell them."

  Arlian poured gold on a barrelhead; at the sound of rattling coins both Black and the stableman turned.

  "How much?" Arlian asked. "You can buy more horses elsewhere with this."

  "Ah.. r

  "Eight ducats," Black suggested.

  "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly take less than fifty!"

  Black could have driven a harder bargain had not Arlian been there, visibly impatient and willing to overspend; Black said as much as the pair rode north-ward under thick clouds and oppressive heat.

  Arlian shrugged.

  "And why is it so urgent that we return to Manfort?"

  he asked. "Why could we not ride the wagons?"

  "Because you aren't going to Manfort," Arlian said.

  "You're turning east at the next crossroads, and heading for the coast to see what's happened there."

  "Ami?"

  "Well, I hope so," Arlian said. "It's your own choice, of course." He explained what the dragon had told him.

  Black absorbed it; by the time Arlian had finished they had caught up with the two northbound wagons.

  Stabber waved at them as they passed; Black waved back, then said, "You're right, I'll turn east And what about you?"

  "I don't know," Arlian admitted. "I'll come with you, if you think it best, if you think two men would serve better than one at the job."

  "If the job is merely to see what the dragons have done, I think one should be sufficient
."

  "You must also find as many of the new dragonhearts as you can, and bring them to Manfort."

  "I can do that, as well."

  "Then I'll return to Manfort and try to rally the Dragon Society to prepare to fight." He did not mention that most of the Society would almost certainly refuse.

  "Then the dragons are now on their way to Manfort?" Black asked.

  "Yes," Arlian said.

  But then he remembered what he had actually been told. Yes, the dragons intended to restore their interrupted rale—but only when their depleted ranks had been restored.

  In a thousand years.

  "Eventually," he added.

  Black cast him a sideways glance.

  "Keeping secrets again?"

  Arlian hesitated in replying, and Black waved the matter away. "You'll have to explain that when next I see you," he said.

  Then he spurred his mount to a trot, and Arlian watched as he turned at the signpost ahead, bound for the coast.

  Arlian's entrance into Manfort, alone and on horseback, was hurried and without ceremony.

  He rode through the stony streets without stopping, weaving through the crowds of everyday pedestrians.

  He did not think anyone would have set assassins in wait for him, but he kept moving and breathed a sigh of relief once he was inside the walls.

  The people he passed seemed to stare at him a little more than usual, but Arlian assumed that this was merely because he was riding a single horse, without entourage. The great lords usually traveled on foot or in coaches.

  He found his way to the Upper City, and made his way to the Old Palace without incident. It was odd to be returning there without Black there to see that everything was made ready, but the rest of the staff was still in place, and they were quick to take care of his mount and see that food and water were waiting by the time Arlian had changed out of his sweat-stained and dusty clothes.

  The footman who admitted him had seemed startled to see him, but tried not to show it; Arlian attributed that to his unexpectedly quick return, without the Venlin took over Arlian's care the moment he learned that his master had returned, appearing at his dressing room door while Arlian was still stripping off his blouse, but Arlian thought there was something odd in his manner, as well. The possibility that something had gone wrong in his absence could not be ignored, but he put the thought aside until he was dressed and had made his way down to the small dining room.

  When he had eaten enough to take the edge off his appetite and drunk enough to wet his throat properly, Arlian leaned back in his chair, trying to soothe the aches his ride had produced, and asked, "What troubles you, Venlin? Is everyone well?"

  "I would ask you the same, my lord," Venlin said.

  "Is everything in order? You have returned without your steward, without any of the wagons with which you departed, riding an unfamiliar and wholly unsuitable mare—has there been some disaster?"

  Arlian started to say no, then caught himself. The people of those seaside villages undoubtedly would say there had been a disaster, could any of them still speak.

  "I am well enough," Arlian said. "The caravan is on its way to Arithei, save two wagons I have sent to Westguard, whence their contents will be properly disposed." He did not mention just what that contents might be; he trusted Venlin well enough, but the possibility that someone less reliable was eavesdropping could not be ignored. His encounter with Post had made him cautious. "I have sent Black on an errand to the east, and hope he will return here safely in a month or so."

  "And all are safe?"

  "So far as I am aware, they are," Arlian replied.

  "Why do you ask? While I can understand that my return may have come as a surprise, surely I have surprised you in the past without evoking such concern."

  "There is word in the streets, my lord, that you are involved in treason and vile sorcery, and that your caravan was merely an excuse to flee the city. We have heard threats. Some have taken action to express their distaste for you—or at least, for what you are rumored to be."

  "Action?" Arlian was puzzled. "What sort of action?"

  "Stones have been flung at the gate and house, my lord. Stones and dung."

  "Oh," Arlian said. He grimaced. "How very unpleasant. I hope no one has been injured?"

  "No one, my lord. A window was broken, and has been repaired."

  Arlian waved that away. "A window is nothing. I am pleased to hear that no one was hurt."

  "I had feared, my lord, that Black had been hurt."

  "No, he was in fin* health when last I saw him, and I have no reason to believe that has changed. I simply asked him to make certain investigations for me. I'm sure that when he returns he will be gratified by your concern."

  Venlin hesitated, then asked a further question—an action that astonished Arlian, as the old man had never before been so inquisitive. Venlin had always made plain that he thought a servant should be as unobtrusive as possible, and not trouble his employer with unnecessary comments or inquiries; this exchange was, Arlian realized, the longest conversation he and Venlin had ever had.

  "May I ask the nature of those investigations, my lord? I believe the household would find your steward's presence reassuring; might his return be expedited?"

  Arlian stared at his chief footman for a moment, then decided there was no point in hiding the truth.

  "The dragons have come out of their caverns," Arlian said. "Sorcery told me this, and told me that they have destroyed a fishing village on the coast I have sent Black to see if he can locate and aid any survivors."

  "Survivors of a dragon attack, my lord?" There was pained disbelief in Venlin's tone.

  Arlian sighed. "My sorcery indicates there is at least one," he said.

  Venlin's expression was still troubled.

  "My lord," he said, "one among the rumors in the streets is an accusation that you have somehow, presumably by sorcerous means, disturbed the dragons, and that they may emerge from their underground lairs. What you tell me is dismayingly similar to these tales, and will undoubtedly lead to further speculation and further hostility ..."

  Tm afraid that one's true," Arlian interrupted, toy-ing with his goblet "I did disturb the dragons, albeit unintentionally"

  Venlin swallowed, more ruffled than Arlian had ever before seen him. Arlian studied him silently for a moment, then added, "That's why I made those obsidian weapons. Because I knew I might have disturbed the dragons."

  "My lord," Venlin said.

  "It's taken them some time to emerge," Arlian said.

  "In all likelihood it will take them considerably more time to reach Manfort I hurried home, though, in part because I feared they might be here soon, and I did not want to leave you to face them without me."

  Venlin said nothing, but his stricken expression was not suppressed quickly enough—Arlian saw it clearly.

  What could he say, though, to undo the harm his words had caused? All he could do was try to find something else to speak of.

  "Are my guests well?" he asked. "Vanniari?"

  "Oh. mother and babe continue to thrive, my lord; all your guests are well, though I believe the rumors and unrest have troubled them."

  That was not the cheerful subject Arlian had hoped for. "And is there any word from Coin regarding the sale of the Grey House?"

  "Ah, my lord, there have been messages sent, but Ferrezin has been responsible for that, and I have not inquired into the matter. Shall I summon Ferrezin, or Coin?"

  Arlian waved wearily. "Let it wait until morning."

  He suddenly realized that he was exhausted—he was not much of a horseman, and the ride had been long and strenuous. "Let it all wait until morning." He set his goblet back on the table, then settled back in his chair and folded his hands upon his chest. He closed his eyes, just for a moment's rest.

  He was only vaguely aware of Venlin helping him to bed, but once he realized where he was, he sighed gratefully and settled to sleep for the night.

>   In the morning Arlian looked in on Hasty and Vanniari, breakfasted with Lily and Brook, and made sure that Kitten, Cricket, Musk, and Stammer were all well and had no urgent news to relay. Lily complained of the hot, cloudy, rainless weather at length, but had nothing more to report; Hasty had numerous details of Vanniari's accomplishments; the others had only minor items of gossip.

  No word of any draconic activity had reached Manfort as yet, and Stammer did not offer any detailed reports on just what new rumors were drifting through the city, though she acknowledged that Venlin's account had been accurate, so far as it went. Arlian did not press her on the matter, not yet, nor did he tell any of the women that the dragons were out of their subter-ranean refuge.

  That done, he met with Ferrezin to discuss both the Grey House and methods for smuggling the obsidian weapons from Westguard back into Manfort—he was fairly certain that Ferrezin had had some experience of such things while in Enziet's employ, and Ferrezin did nothing to convince him otherwise.

  Coin had indeed received offers for Enziet's home, but none that he and Ferrezin considered serious. Arlian accepted their counsel and sent a polite note to Coin to the effect that he was dismayed Coin had even bothered to inform him of such absurd offers; Coin could then show this letter, as if betraying a confidence, to the prospective buyers, who might be encouraged to reconsider and offer more.

  That afternoon Arlian and Ferrezin set out for Westguard, to make preparations for the returning wagons.

  Halfway from die Old Palace to the city gate Arlian was startled by the thump of a rock striking the side of his coach. He looked out quickly, and saw a fist-sized paving stone tumbling down the steeply sloping street, but he could not see who had thrown it. After a quick look at the hostile faces of passing pedestrians he urged the coachman to move on.

  That encounter dismayed him; clearly, the rumors of his alleged treason were having an effect on the people of Manfort. Later, when he disembarked in Westguard, he discovered that the stone had chipped the gilding on the door; it had clearly been flung with some force.

  Events in Westguard proceeded as planned, however, and no one there seemed to notice him particularly; Stabber and Fixiol arrived on schedule, and the process of smuggling the obsidian weapons back into the city piecemeal was begun.