That done, as Arlian rode back toward the Old Palace he could see little to do but wait—wait for the weapons to be back within the walls, wait for Black, wait for the Aritheians, and wait for the dragons. He did intend to arm those members of the Dragon Society who would stand against the dragons, but he was not ready to do that—not when word of the dragons'
emergence had not yet reached the city, not when his obsidian weapons were still in Westguard.
He wished he could arm the Duke's guards, but the Duke would not have it—not unless Arlian could first show him a dead dragon.
The oppressive hot weather—dragon weather—
continued unbroken, wearing on everyone's nerves.
Several times over the course of the next few days Arlian drew blood and washed his hands, attempting to communicate with the dragons and leam more of their plans, but as the dragon had promised in Deep Delving, his attempts failed.
He could only wait.
The first interruption of Arlian's wait was unexpec ted. He had been in the garden, meditating by the graves beneath the ash tree where Sweet and Dove lay buried, when Venlin appeared.
Venlin never set foot in the garden without good reason; Arlian turned and asked, "What is it?"
"Lady Marasa, my lord."
Arlian blinked. "What of her?"
"She awaits your pleasure in the small salon."
"She's here? She came here?" Arlian stared at Venlin. What did Opal want here? She hated him, and had made no secret of it; there could be no pretense of a mere social call.
"Yes, my lord."
"You let her in?"
"Yes, my lord. Lady Marasa can be very forceful."
That was true, Arlian knew—she did not have the supernatural presence of a dragonheart, but she was not shy about asking for what she wanted. Arlian suspected that that was why Wither had liked her. "Did you leave her unattended?"
"No, my lord. Wolt is with her."
An unpleasant thought struck Arlian. "She didn't see Dovliril, did she?" That was the footman who had witnessed Lord Wither's death; he had left Opal's employ some time ago, and been hired by Arlian to help transfer goods from the Grey House to die Old Palace.
Seeing him would not do anything to endear Arlian to Lady Opal.
"I do not believe so, my lord."
"See that she doesn't," Arlian said, as he brushed pollen from his breeches and strode toward the door.
A moment later he stepped into the small salon and bowed.
"Lady Opal," he said.
She was arrayed on one of the blue silk couches, the full skirt of her white dress tucked provocatively high on her hip, raising the hem to reveal a trim ankle. She leaned toward Arlian, displaying her low-cut bodice.
Her black hair was elaborately coiffed, ringlets fram-ing her face, and her eyes were dark with kohl.
"My lord," she said, her voice lower than Arlian had ever before heard it.
"Wolt," Arlian said, without taking his eyes off her,
"thank you. You may go."
Wolt bowed, and vanished through the other door.
Arlian heard the latch click behind him.
"My lord Obsidian," Opal said. "What a pleasure to see you!"
Arlian gazed silently at her for a moment, then said,
"Must you be so blatant, my lady?"
She stared at him for a moment, then forced a laugh.
"My informants have reported that you have not responded to less obvious overtures," she replied.
In the back of his mind Arlian wondered just who these informants might be, but he only said, "That would probably be because I do not care to respond, my lady, not because I was unaware of the possibilities."
Opal frowned slightly, an expression Arlian was sure was carefully cultivated to appear charming and girlish. "But I know you like women!" she said. The frown vanished, and she shrugged. "I suppose that your harem of half a dozen whores is enough for you."
Arlian had known for weeks that he and Opal were not friends, that they were on opposite sides of a dispute, but only now did he realize he actively disliked her on a personal level. "What brings you here, my lady?" he asked. "What is it you want from me?"
"Post told you," Opal said, straightening up. "And you knew, anyway. Poor Ilruth told you."
"And he agreed you should not have it," Arlian said.
"He made certain you would not be present at his death to ensure you would not attempt to drink his blood to obtain it"
Opal feigned shock—or perhaps it was not entirely feigned. "Was that why? I would never have drunk his blood!" Her expression turned thoughtful. "Would that have worked?"
"Probably not," Arlian said, disgusted. "Certainly it would not have worked before he thrust the knife into his heart and killed the dragon that was growing there, but after the thrust, who knows?"
"I know his blood was poison when he was still alive," Opal agreed. "He told me about that stupid Vo-rina he killed that way. It hadn't occurred to me that his death might alter it." She eyed Arlian curiously.
"My blood would not suffice," Arlian said, "no matter when or how you took it—I have not been tainted long enough."
"There are others who have," she said.
"Possibly. Or possibly you would simply poison yourself. My lady, why do you not abandon this perverse quest of yours, and live out the life the gods have given you?"
"Because the gods were miserly about it, and the dragons can be far more generous!" she said. "It's easy enough for you to speak of how horrible it is, to be be-holden to the dragons and to have one of their young spawning in your heart, but you face another thousand years of life, while I can expect perhaps half a century, much of it spent withered and gray."
"That's the natural lot of humanity, my lady."
"The natural lot of humanity—look about you, my lord. Is it natural to sit on silken cushions, beneath gilded fretwork? No, our natural lot is to huddle naked in caves, like the barbarians beyond the mountains. We have improved our surroundings in any number of ways; why should we not improve upon ourselves, as well?"
"Because in so doing, we unleash more dragons upon the future."
"Dragons can be killed, my lord, before they do any harm." She leaned eagerly over the arm of the couch toward him. "You showed us that yourself, with Stiam and Enziet!"
Arlian sighed.
"My lady," he said, "I have told you I will not help you. Why do you not accept my decision?"
"Because you know where they are!" she replied.
"None of the others do. I've asked them—Lady Pulzera went through the Society's records for me, and swears she cannot find the location of a single one of their lairs, but Enziet showed you where one is!"
"You have spoken with Pulzera?"
"Of course," Opal said. "She said you suggested it; that was why I thought you might have relented of your cruelty, and could be cozened into helping me."
"I spoke only to discourage her from killing you, my lady," Arlian said.
"Well, thank you for that much, at any rate. But Obsidian, you could have much more than that! I will do anything for you, if you will but show me where that cave is. I will give you all Wither's estate; I will do your bidding in every way I can. I am still young, but Wither taught me things he had learned over the years—I can please you in ways that your whores cannot, I am sure of it! And I will help you to kill the dragons, if that's really what you want—Pulzera may try to stop us, but I will betray her to you, so you can kill her, if you like. Anything, my lord!" She stared up at him pleadingly.
Arlian stared back, appalled.
"Lord Wither was more of a fool than I thought, to tell you what he sought," he said.
"He didn't know what you did!" she said. "He was lonely, and he thought he was immortal—where's the folly in seeking a companion? I can be your companion, my lord—I can be your slave, if you wish!"
"I wish no such tiling!" Arlian said, shaken. "I will not help you damn yourself, no matter how muc
h you want it!"
"Damn me, please!" she said.
When he did not reply, and the horrified expression on his face lingered, she straightened up again.
"Obsidian," she said, "if you do not want anything I can give you, then perhaps you will be more interested in what I can withhold. You know there are rumors abroad about you."
"I have heard so," Arlian admitted warily.
"I have helped spread those, at Pulzera's bidding,"
Opal said. "She and Lord Hardior have been waging a campaign to disgrace you, to convince the Duke to have you put to death, or at least to drive you from the city, and I have been helping them in this. Pulzera promised to help me—but now she says she cannot find the dragons' lairs. She says that the dragons will come back soon, and when they do she will give herself into their service and coax from them the venom I crave, but can I believe her? What if tide dragons refuse her service? So I would prefer to deal with you, my lord. I sent Post with you, to see whether you might lead him to the cave beneath the Desolation, but you and he came back without going farther than Deep Delving, and now you are warned, so I cannot hope to do better with another spy; I must have your willing aid. If you give it, then I will gladly betray Pulzera; my people will deny the rumors she spreads, contradict whatever she says. I could not seduce you, but perhaps I could seduce the Duke, and assure him of your loyalty, your courage, your importance to the city. I could counteract Hardior's lies. They call you a coward, and say you threw down your sword out of fear; I could tell him I know it was mercy. Please, my lord!"
Arlian began to pity her, but he still despised her, as well. This woman dared call his guests whores, yet spoke openly of giving herself to Arlian or the Duke to get the elixir she craved.
"No," he said
"Please!"
"Lady Opal, you embarrass yourself," he said.
"Please, go home, reconsider your situation. You have a long life ahead of you without this corruption you seek."
"Not long enough!" she said. "Nowhere near long enough!"
"I will not help you."
She stared at him silently for a moment, then said,
"I will not accept that as final. You may reconsider someday. Until you do, I will do what I can to help Pulzera and Hardior, and maybe someday they will find me the venom I need. If you change your mind, you know I will give you anything you ask for it—but only until the others find a source."
"I do not think I will change my mind," Arlian said.
"Then you're.. " She caught herself. "You may,"
she said. "We will see."
"Indeed we will. Now, is there anything else, or shall I have Wolt see you to the door?"
"I'll go" she said, rising to her feet. Arlian opened the door for her.
As she stepped through she turned and spoke over her shoulder.
"I hope to hear from you soon, my lord."
"May you always have hope, my lady," he replied.
Opal's visit nagged at Arlian; he did not like the idea that she, Pulzera, and Hardior were conspiring against him. Pulzera and Hardior could not try to kill him, but there was no such restriction on Opal; Arlian knew that the only thing restraining her was the hope that he would one day change his mind and give her a drop of venom. As long as he was the only man in Manfort who knew where to find a dragon's lair, she would not seek his death—but if anyone else ever revealed such knowledge, or obtained dragon venom anywhere else, then Arlian suspected Opal would be quite happy to hire an assassin to dispose of the inconvenient Lord Obsidian.
And with no need to hurry, and Lord Hardior advis-ing her, she would probably do a better job of it than Drisheen had.
He wished Black were back, so that he might have someone he could talk to freely, but there was no sign of his steward's imminent return.
To distract himself, and to learn a little of what current sentiment among the other dragonhearts might be, Arlian visited Lady Rime a few days after Opal's visit.
He had thought that perhaps he could speak openly with her, as he might with Black, but he found her oddly detached, not her usual frank ami friendly self at all, and he held back, growing steadily more uneasy.
Finally, at supper, he asked her directly, "Have I of-fended you in some way, my lady? I had thought we were friends, but you have not spoken to me today as a friend."
She looked at him, then put down her fork and reached for the familiar legbone.
"Why are you back here?" she asked.
He blinked at her in surprise. "Where else should I be?" he replied.
"Arithei, perhaps. Or the Desolation. Or the caves beneath it Or lurking in the streets, hoping to waylay Hardior or Belly. Or in the Citadel, seducing the Duke into aiding you in your schemes."
'1 do not understand your point, my lady. Would you do me the favor of explaining this?"
She sighed. "Arlian," she said, "I thought you were sworn to vengeance, dedicated to destroying the drag-cms once and for all. You came back from disposing of Enziet and Drisheen and set about elaborate preparations, you slew the dragon Nail became and showed us all what fate awaits us, you not merely allowed that knowledge to destroy the Dragon Society but encouraged it, you witnessed Wither's suicide and dueled Toribor and went to speak to the Duke himself.
"And then you threw aside your preparations and fled the city, and I thought it was to further your vengeance, that you would be gone for months or years and return carrying a dragon's head, or at the head of an army, to proceed to the next step in your campaign.
"But instead you have returned alone, far too soon to have visited Arithei in pursuit of new magic, too soon to have reached the dragons' cave beneath the Desolation, too soon to have done anything of importance, and you have not spoken to the Duke, nor to the Society, though Opal visited you, and gossip would have it she wore her most attractive gown on that occasion. True, you sent her home soon enough, but you did nothing to stop her from spreading lies. Instead you come here and waste the day in polite small talk, telling me nothing of importance, saying not a word about revenge or dragons. I look at you from the corner of my eye, wondering whether you have decided that I should be the next dragonheart to die to prevent a dragon's birth, wondering whether I'm ready to die when I would otherwise face another five hundred years of life in my present form—and wondering whether something has happened to put out die fire in your heart and extinguish lhat flame of vengeance. Has the venom in your blood acted more swiftly than usual, to turn your heart cold? Or do you have some deep and subtle scheme in progress that you're hiding from me?"
"Ah," Arlian said. He sat back in his chair and considered her, then continued, "I have no intention of killing you any time soon, my lady; rest assured on that point. Nor have I abandoned my plans to destroy the dragons. I did not flee the city; I had matters to attend to in Deep Delving, and having dealt with them, I have returned to my home. I was not on my way to the caves beneath the Desolation. I had thought perhaps I might accompany my friends and employees to Arithei, but reconsidered. They are on their way now, and should return in the spring with magic I need for my planned revenge."
"You didn't go with them? You came back here?"
"That's right"
"Why?"
Arlian stared blankly at her for a second, at a loss for words.
"You sent Black and the Aritheians southward without you? Arlian, you have always, in the brief time I have known you, been one to attend to your own affairs, and not to leave them to others. Why did you not accompany the caravan to Arithei?"
"I didn't send Black south," Arlian said. "He's on another errand entirely."
"But you did not attend to that yourself, whatever it might be?"
"He thought he could do better without me," Arlian said. "And I thought I might be of more use here. I did not feel I could afford the time for the journey to Arithei."
"What use? Why couldn't you afford the time?"
Arlian hesitated, then said, "It has sometimes seemed to me, my l
ady, that since Enziet's death everything I have done in attempting to further my campaign against the dragons has made matters worse. It almost seems as if I would be best advised to simply do nothing—yet now, when it appears that I am doing just that, you take me to task."
"Of course I do! I want you to finish the job you started, and to clean up the mess you've made."
Arlian met her gaze. She was telling the truth, he was certain—she did want him to destroy the dragons, and wanted to know why he was doing nothing toward that end. She deserved the truth in return.
"The mess is worse than you know," he said. "The dragons are out of their caves."
Rime stared at him for a moment, then demanded,
"What, all of them?"
"I don't know how many," he admitted. "Some of them, certainly."
"How do you know? Why haven't we heard anything?"
"I learned Enziet's sorcerous trick for talking to them, as you'll recall..."
"You told us," Rime interrupted. "Half the sorcerers in the Society have attempted it, but if any have succeeded, they have kept that success to themselves."
"Nonetheless, I have used it successfully twice—
and attempted it unsuccessfully several times, as well.
It works only when the dragons deign to allow it. I used it in Deep Delving, and one of the dragons spoke to me so that it might taunt me with their freedom.
They are destroying villages on the coast, and deliberately attempting to leave envenomed survivors to replace the dragonhearts I've slain. The news has not yet reached Manfort—but I expect it will soon."
"And when it does, you want to be here?" Rime asked. "Why? If the dragons are raiding the coast, shouldn't you be there, in Lorigol or Sarkan-Mendoth, to meet them?"
"And what would I do, even with an obsidian spear?" Arlian demanded. "One man against a dragon, in a burning city? But Manfort was built to be proof against dragonfire ..."
"Seven hundred years ago," Rime interrupted.
"How much of it cannot bum now? Look around you—are these walls stone?"
Her dining hall was paneled in rich dark wood, the ceiling crossed by carved and gilded wooden beams.
The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) Page 33