"He . . . he was at hand, my lord; no more than that. I needed someone in your camp to take me in, and he is comely, he eats well, and he has his own pavilion."
"And the flask of venom?"
"I suggested he do that as if I were teasing, my lord. I told him I could find a buyer."
"Why? Surely Lord Shatter has all he needs."
"If I had the venom, my lord, I would not need to return to Lord Shatter—but furthermore, I do not believe his masters are generous with their elixir. He said he would be glad of any I could fetch to him, and generous in recompense."
"Interesting." For the first time Arlian let the swordbreaker's blade drop slightly. He believed Wren's story, believed that she had indeed told him the truth. The Dragon Society boasted of their access to dragon venom, but in fact he had heard before, from reliable sources, that the dragons had refused to supply their servants with the vile fluid.
So Wren was telling the truth. Now the question remained of what he should do about it.
5
5
The Defense of Ethinior
The Defense of Ethinior
In the end, Arlian decided to do nothing.
He had Wren bound and placed under guard, of course, and put her in his own wagon under Black's supervision, but he made no other changes in his plans. He said nothing more to Rolinor, and resolved to do nothing about the waiting ambush. After all, he had no idea what forces Lord Shatter might have committed to his trap; even with the benefit of the element of surprise transferred from his opponents to himself, he could not be sure of victory should he march up and confront the foe. Better to let Shatter's men sit in the snow and mud, eating their rations and burning their fuel, waiting for an enemy who never came.
For himself, he would return to Manfort, as quickly as he reasonably could. If the Dragon Society was planning to ambush a company of over a hundred men in winter they were growing either ambitious or desperate, and either way, Arlian wanted to discuss it with the Duke in time to make plans for the summer campaign.
The shortest route back to Manfort was not the way Arlian and his warriors had come, nor in fact along any roads that Arlian had ever traveled before; the local camp followers assured him that the best way to reach the city was to take the logging road from Crackstone down to Ethinior, and then the trade road from Ethinior to Westguard.
From Westguard, of course, Arlian knew the way to Manfort very well indeed; he owned property in Westguard. He had no objection to a route that would allow him, purely for his own self-interest, to inspect it.
Accordingly, once the camp had been cleared away he led the long line of wagons down the trail to Crackstone, where an assortment of women and boys were restored to their families or turned out to fend for themselves. Since the expedition had been planned to last another few weeks there was no real need to resupply, but a portion of the remaining contents of Arlian's strongbox was spent in the local markets as much to maintain goodwill as to equip the journey home.
The company stayed the night in Crackstone, and in the morning headed southward down the logging road to Ethinior.
Arlian estimated that a lone rider could have made the trip in three or four days; it took his little army almost a fortnight before their wagons rolled onto the ancient cobbles of Ethinior's town square. Keeping Wren safely confined became first a nuisance, then a routine.
News of her presence, and that she was a Society spy, gradually spread through the company, and Arlian knew that his men were curious as to just what he intended to do with her.
He was curious about that himself; he had still not decided her fate when they reached Ethinior.
That arrival was interesting; naturally, the company was spotted well before arrival, and there could be no mistaking it for anything but soldiery. The spears and other weapons were plainly in evidence and far too numerous for a caravan, and no ordinary caravan would have approached down the logging road without hauling lumber.
The identity of the soldiers, and their intent, was far less obvious, and apparently no advance word had reached Ethinior from the three tiny villages Arlian's party had passed through on the way.
Accordingly the streets of Ethinior were deserted, the windows tightly shuttered, when the wagons rolled past the ancient and empty guard tower at the outskirts of town. Arlian was certain that dozens of eyes were watching, but at first he could neither see nor hear a single living soul other than his own party.
But then word of the Duke's arms and livery, the obsidian spearheads, and the general lack of signs of hostility must have circulated.
Hard-story shutters opened a crack; faces peered cautiously down.
Then upper-floor windows were flung wide, and the townspeople leaned out, calling and waving, and by the time the wagons rolled into the square and Black reined in the horses a heroes' welcome was under way. Crowds gathered in the side streets and children ran alongside the wagons, and the air echoed with singing and cheering.
Arlian adjusted his hat and sword, then climbed down from his wagon and looked about. As he had expected, an official emerged from the crowd to greet him—a plump man wearing a gray woolen cloak and a hat with the brim pinned up on one side, his breath clouding in the cold air.
The two exchanged bows and introductions, and Lord Obsidian
found himself discussing accommodations with Monifin, Lord Mayor of Ethinior. The men were tired of sleeping in tents and wagons, and Arlian inquired about finding rooms, or at least beds, for them in the town's houses and inns. Lord Monifin was optimistic that arrangements could be made.
Arlian also, however, discovered a misunderstanding about the nature of the new arrivals.
"We have three old stone towers that should be your initial construction sites," Monifin said. "Of course, we know that won't be sufficient. I understand catapults can be mounted on ordinary rooftops, though—are your men equipped for this?"
Arlian paused before replying, then said, "My lord, I fear you misjudge the situation. We are not here to build catapults. We are merely passing through on our way home."
Monifin cast a quick look at the wagons, then turned back to Arlian.
"But surely, my lord . . . "
Arlian held up a hand.
"My lord," he said, "while the Duke most certainly does send troops and equipment to fortify towns against the dragons, such work is generally not undertaken in winter, when most towns have enough difficulty in feeding their own without being asked to supply hundreds of soldiers.
No, this is a company of dragon-hunters—we have rid the world of three lairs this season, for a total of nine dragons slain. This task can only be accomplished in safety when the weather is cold and the dragons are sound asleep, and thus, unlike the Duke's other armies, we are abroad in the snow."
Monifin blinked in surprise. "You have slain dragons?" he said.
"A good many of them, yes. Most recently we disposed of four dwelling in the ridge a dozen miles above Crackstone. However, we are done for the season, and on our way home to Manfort. Ethinior is not our destination, but merely a pleasant stop along the way. My sincere apologies for my failure to make this clear immediately; I plead fatigue from the journey."
Monifin hesitated, then began, "And should we expect..." He paused. Arlian waited politely. Monifin began again, "My lord, does this not make it even more pressing to defend Ethinior against retaliation?"
Arlian blinked. "Retaliation?" He glanced at his wagon, where Black sat on the driver's bench and Wren, he knew, was bound inside. "By whom?"
"By the surviving dragons, of course, or their human minions."
"The other dragons are all still asleep, my lord; unless the weather should warm in a truly astonishing manner, they will not wake for at least a fortnight and probably considerably longer. As for their servants..." He considered that, then said, "While I suppose they might be interested in avenging their masters' losses, why would they trouble Ethinior? They would far rather recruit you into their ran
ks than fight you."
"We have heard tales from the east, my lord, of how neighboring towns are destroyed in revenge for each lair of dragons you expunge."
"Do not put too much faith in travelers' tales, my lord." He sighed, and said, "We will speak of this at length later, but for the moment, we are tired and hungry..."
"Of course, of course! A thousand apologies, my lord!" Monifin spread his arms in an expansive gesture of welcome, and then turned to his townsfolk and began calling names, asking for families to host Arlian's men.
An hour later housing had been assigned to all; Black and Arlian were, of course, to be guests of the Lord Mayor and his wife.
The next question to be addressed was the disposition of the prisoner. Arlian had been considering this during the journey down from Crackstone, and had finally, as they entered the town, reached a conclusion. No good would be served by killing her, selling her into slavery violated his principles, and he doubted she posed any real threat to anyone's well-being. Simply turning her loose, however, would leave her prey to slavers and free to fall once again under the Dragon Society's sway. A place would have to be found for her—and Ethinior seemed as good as any.
To bring her into her new home as a bound prisoner would hardly enhance her chances for a decent life there. Accordingly, when the wagons had first rolled to a stop he had removed her bonds, after obtaining her promise that she would tell no one who she was or why she was there. He told her no more of his plans for her, preferring to observe her behavior for a time before saying anything he might later find it necessary to retract.
He also passed the word among the men to say nothing of Wren's history; should anyone inquire, they were merely to say that she was Lord Obsidian's business and not theirs.
On the second night of their stay a ball was held in their honor, despite the local disappointment that they had not come to establish the town's defenses against dragons. This seemed amazingly short notice to Arlian, but he was happy to attend; he had been to few social functions of any sort in recent years.
He observed that the fashion for wearing masks that had taken hold throughout much of the Lands of Man was still considered too extreme for ordinary pursuits in Ethinior, but entirely appropriate for a celebration of this sort—at least half the two dozen natives attending the dance covered their faces in one manner or another. While his own men had no masks, a few improvised with handkerchiefs or
watchcaps.
At one point he found himself dancing with Wren, who took the opportunity to ask, "Why have you freed me? Aren't you worried I might flee, and return to Lord Shatter?"
"I am relying on your common sense to prevent that," he replied.
She stared up at him for a moment as they progressed through the figure of the dance, then said, "Thank you."
As they were about to part, she whispered, "Don't trust Lord Rolinor."
He stared after her as she danced away, but then a local noble-woman was demanding his attention for the next figure, and he let the matter drop.
Late in the afternoon of the third day, as Arlian and Black took inventon- of their supplies in preparation for continuing to Manfort, Lord Monifin approached. He wore the city's seal on a chain around his neck to indicate that he was there on official business, rather than merely making conversation.
"Your pardon, my lord," Monifin elder said, bowing, "but it would appear you are preparing to depart."
"Indeed, I hope to leave at daybreak tomorrow," Arlian replied.
The mayor bowed again. "Can we not persuade you to stay? Our people are so honored by your presence . . . "
Arlian and Black exchanged glances.
"Is it still the dragons you fear, or the Dragon Society?" Arlian asked.
The man hesitated, and Arlian thought he could see a faint flush on his face. "Both, my lord. Even if there is no pattern of revenge or retaliation, certainly both have attacked undefended towns."
"True enough. Still, a few dozen soldiers, even soldiers as valiant and experienced as the men I have the honor to command, would probably be of little use against a waking, airborne dragon. We kill them in their lairs while they sleep because it is only there and under those conditions that we can be assured of any success. In the open air, fighting an alert and angry enemy, even with our spears we would be hard-pressed to survive, let alone triumph. And despite all this, my lord, I doubt the dragons would attack a town as large as this—they would be wary of traps and treachery, and of the sheer number of foes."
"Lord Obsidian, last summer Sellas-at-the-Falls was burned to the ground. Ethinior is not much larger than Sellas was."
"Ethinior is built mostly of stone, where Sellas was largely of that fine dark wood that burns so well when struck by flaming venom. No, I don't think this is an ideal target for the dragons—but I have been wrong before, and that's with no mention of the Dragon Society." He glanced at Black. "We must return to Manfort, my steward and I, but I will see if any of my men would like to stay here, to show you how to build defenses and to train your own men to fight. We have none of the materials to build catapults, neither the old wooden ones nor the fireproof iron kind we now prefer, nor do we have experts in their construction and use, but we will leave at least a few of our obsidian blades, so you will have something that can pierce a dragon's hide."
"Thank you, my lord." Monifin bowed yet again, then retreated.
Arlian watched him go, then turned to Black. "What do you think?"
"I think you have made an excellent decision," Black said. "If the people of Ethinior feel they have your support, they won't be tempted to turn their coats should Lord Hardior or one of the others come riding up with an ultimatum. We certainly won't need the men or obsidian in Manfort."
"You think some will volunteer, then?"
"Oh, certainly! They're heroes here, and it's a long, boring journey to Manfort. I wouldn't be surprised if they all volunteer."
"That might be awkward," Arlian said with a smile.
"On the contrary. We can travel faster alone, and fortifying Ethinior is a worthwhile task to occupy the men for the summer. I would think the Duke will commend your enterprise and efficiency if you leave the entire company here. And you can retrieve them in the fall, before proceeding up into the mountains."
Arlian nodded thoughtfully.
"They can build the catapults," he said. "They have wood and iron and rope here. The obsidian spearheads, though ..
"Perhaps you should send a messenger to the Smoking Mountain, to direct a shipment this way."
"A fine suggestion." He glanced at the bundles of supplies that he and Black had been tallying, and said, "I'll speak to Quickhand; you find Stabber. We'll pass the word that we're looking for volunteers to stay in Ethinior for the summer."
6
A Wearisome Journey
The confusion of asking each soldier whether he preferred to stay or go, allowing them time to confer with their comrades, and making sure of their answers delayed Arlian's departure another full day—and in the end, almost all of them volunteered to stay, at least for a time. Several had hesitated, or initially chosen to go, but had in the end been swayed by the majority. Even the sorcerers, to Arlian's surprise, chose to remain in Ethinior—as much to avoid the strain of travel as for any other reason, as all three were elderly.
Of course, knowing that their campaigns would be long and dangerous, Arlian had deliberately recruited soldiers with few ties—not a one had a wife or children awaiting him in Manfort.
Not all would stay the summer, even so; the company was divided into two groups, one that would remain indefinitely, under Stabber's command, and the other, under Quickhand, that would linger until warmer weather, to aid in preparing Ethinior's defenses, before returning to Manfort. All the men seemed content to join one party or the other; even those with kin in the Duke's city were in no great rush.
The one exception was Lord Rolinor, who chose to continue di-
rectly to Manfort.
/> "I am not sure I would allow him to stay, had he asked," Arlian remarked to Black as they sat in his room in the mayor's house on their fourth and final night in Ethinior, reviewing their preparations. "I don't want him conspiring with Wren, or looking for a source of venom."
"I don't think you ever needed to worry about him staying here,"
Black replied. "He can get a hero's welcome anywhere, with his title and his looks, and he's eager to get back to the Citadel, where he can fawn on His Grace some more."
Arlian grimaced. He let the matter lie, and set about hiring a messenger to carry instructions to the Smoking Mountain.
That done, he then spoke to the Lord Mayor.
"My lord," he said, "we have with us a woman named Wren whose home was destroyed by the dragons; I would esteem it a personal favor if a home could be found for her here in Ethinior."
"Of course," Monifin said.
And Wren's future was decided.
It still remained to inform Wren of this; he found her chattering happily with some of the women she had met at the ball, and drew her aside, where he explained that he was freeing her, and leaving her in Ethinior.
For a moment she was silent. Then she asked, "Did you tell them I was a spy?"
"I saw no point in doing so," he replied. "I would rather have you made welcome here, so that you face no temptation to aid Lord Shatter further. I suppose most of my own men know, but I have asked them not to mention it to the townsfolk."
"I suppose your men will be watching me, to make sure I behave."
"I suppose they will. Is that so great a burden?"
"No." She reached up with both hands, catching him by surprise, and pulled his face down to her own, kissing him on the cheek. "Again, my lord, I thank you."
Then she released him, and they parted.
The following morning three men and a single wagon continued
down the trade road toward Westguard. Rolinor had previously ridden with the lieutenants, but Arlian had appointed Quickhand and Stabber to the command of Ethinior's temporary garrison, so Rolinor's belongings had been transferred to Arlian's wagon.
Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) Page 5