Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3)

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  slashed at the sleeve of his coat before he could pull away and bring his own weapon into play on that side. Arlian twisted, dodged, and countered, thrusting his sword at Black's chest.

  Black parried, sending Arlian's blade up to the left, to pass harmlessly over his shoulder. The momentum of the attack threw the two men up against each other, chest to chest, for an instant before both sprang backward.

  "Don't do this," Arlian said again.

  "Pour out the venom," Black replied.

  "Black, I can't" Arlian said. "I need it. It would take months to get more, even assuming I dared attempt it before next winter, and Brook's babe is due in mere weeks."

  "'Don't you say her name!" Black said, making a sudden two-handed whirlwind attack. Arlian fell back, too busy defending himself to speak.

  The two fought silently for a moment, the only sounds their breath and the whickering and clashing of steel. Their audience watched quietly, clearly unsure of what the fight was about; Arlian guessed half of them didn't even know who he and Black were.

  At last they stepped apart for a moment, eyeing each other, swords and swordbreakers raised.

  "Black," Arlian said, "I don't want to hurt you, and I certainly don't want to harm Brook or your child, but I need to test the effects of the elixir on an unborn babe if I am ever to have any hope of freeing this realm of the evil magic that haunts it. I need a pregnant woman as my subject, and your wife has volunteered. I did not ask her, Black—she volunteered. And where else am I to find a volunteer?"

  "She did not!" Black snarled, feinting. "You coerced her, as you coerce everyone. You have the heart of the dragon, Arlian, and you influence those around you without even knowing it, without intending it."

  " I . . . " Arlian realized he could not deny Black's charge; he honestly did not know whether there was any truth in it. Certainly a dragonheart had a charm, a charisma, that no ordinary man could attain. "Black, I'll find someone else," he said.

  "No," Black said. "Pour it out. If you keep it, I know that sooner or later you will feed it to her. You have her under your spell now."

  "Black, I promise you, I have not enchanted your wife."

  "Of course you have!" He lunged, then reversed swiftly; Arlian barely countered the second attack, and a slash appeared in his linen coat. "You have enchanted her as you enchanted me, all those years ago, when we met outside the Blood of the Grape." A third attack was less deft than the first two, and steel rang as Arlian's swordbreaker caught Black's sword—but the blade slipped free before Arlian could twist his hand and snap it. "You do not mean to enchant anyone, but how else can you explain it?"

  "I cannot," Arlian said. "Perhaps it is Fate, though, rather than enchantment. Perhaps I was meant to be here purely to bring this unborn child to its proper destiny."

  "If so, then I defy Fate," Black said, twisting around for an extraordinarily risky backhand attack. Arlian turned it easily, and circled to the left.

  "Perhaps it is neither Fate nor enchantment, but simply the vagaries of the human heart," Arlian said. "Perhaps you befriended me because your heart was big enough to encompass the needs of the desperate boy I was then. Perhaps Brook volunteered because her heart is big enough to take great risks for the good of all humanity."

  Black made a high slashing attack that Arlian blocked easily, but then brought his swordbreaker in for a jab at Ariian's belly; Arlian barely avoided it.

  "Her heart?" Black said. "The human heart, you said? But if she drinks your foul brew, her heart will be the heart of a dragon, not a woman. The love that fills it will be corrupted and eaten away—you told me so yourself. Even if she is not poisoned, she will no longer be the woman I love—and once transformed, she cannot love me, or our children. Would you rob them all of their mother?"

  Arlian's defenses faltered at that, and Black's swordbreaker cut his side before the two men pulled apart again.

  "For more than sixteen years I have resisted the temptation to buy myself a thousand years of extended life, largely because you told me how cold and loveless your own existence was," Black said. "I was never certain I believed you—until now. What you propose to do to my wife demonstrates that you are the heartless monster you have always claimed to be."

  "No, Black," Arlian answered. "I am damaged, beyond question, but I am not utterly heartless—perhaps because it was not my own blood I drank, but my grandfather's, so that the dragon growing inside me has consumed his soul rather than my own. I did love Sweet until she died—

  and I love you, my friend. Please, put up your sword."

  "Empty the bottle, and I will put up my sword. Not before."

  "Black, Beron, remember that Brook's heart will be cleansed once the child is born; she will be whole again, as Rime is. Surely, you cannot think Rime incapable of love!"

  "And what if she refuses to submit to the cleansing, as so many other dragonhearts have refused?"

  "Why should she refuse?" Arlian asked, genuinely puzzled.

  "A thousand years of life, Ari! Had you forgotten?"

  Arlian frowned, and almost missed turning a low jab. He had forgotten, for the moment.

  "And hours of agony as the magicians cut out her beating heart, Arlian—had you forgotten that, as well?"

  Arlian had no good answer to that; he knew that the cleansing operation was indeed excruciating. He hesitated, then said, "Black, loath as I am to do so, I will give you a dose of the elixir as well, if you allow Brook to take it; the two of you can, if you choose, live out a thousand years together."

  "Oh, now you offer me the poison, after all these years of preaching its evils to me?"

  There was a quick flurry of steel, and Arlian could not spare time or breath to reply immediately. When the two broke contact it was Black who spoke first.

  "A thousand loveless years, to end when a dragon bursts from my chest and devours my soul? Watching my children grow old and die, knowing I can never sire more?"

  "You have three fine children," Arlian said, "and a fourth on the way. Is that not enough?"

  "I don't know," Black snapped. "If I let you bring that bottle into Obsidian House, there may never be a fourth, and there will certainly never be a fifth."

  "You have a son," Arlian said, "and two fine daughters. Your fourth child may well be something far more than human, if all goes well..."

  "Something like a dragon, perhaps? Or a wizard, like the Blue Mage?"

  "No! Something like . . . like . . . " Arlian groped for words. "I do not know what, Black; if I knew, perhaps I would not even need to make my experiment."

  "You are not going to make your experiment!" Black closed for a fresh attack "I will not be the father of a monster!"

  Arlian defended himself, but did not counterattack; he was hoping that Black's fury would spend itself, and they would be able to talk the problem out and arrive at a solution. Black's rage, however, showed no sign of abating; in fact, Arlian found himself struggling to fend off the assault.

  Black was older, and lacked the superhuman stamina of a dragonheart, but he was the more skilled of the two; after all, he had been Arlian's sole teacher in the arts of swordsmanship. In the early stages of the duel Black had been holding back, trying to force Arlian to yield and dump out his supply of venom, but now he had worked himself up into a frenzy. He was fighting for blood—not necessarily to kill, not yet, but aiming to spill his opponent's blood and weaken him until he could fight no more.

  Arlian, on the other hand, was still fighting defensively, hoping for a chance to disarm his opponent without hurting him. That gave Black an additional advantage.

  And, Arlian realized, Black was winning. He had cut Arlian's side, and then his upper arm, and his shoulder—in time, if this continued, blood loss would more than make up for the heart of the dragon.

  He tried retreating, thinking Black would stay near the gate to block his path, but Black pursued him relentlessly. The gathering crowd of watchers stepped aside to make room for him as he backed away down
the avenue.

  Apparently, Black would no longer be satisfied with keeping him out of Obsidian House; he wanted a conclusion. He wanted the venom spilled. Arlian was glad that he had slung the bottle on his back, securely wrapped, where Black's blade could not smash it.

  The fight moved down the street, away from the gateposts, and Arlian considered his options.

  No ordinary citizen would intervene; tradesmen and workers would never interfere in a duel between lords, or between a lord and an underling. That was simply not done. Another nobleman might choose to join in, should he recognize that Black was not a lord but a mere employee—but that would not do; the lord would certainly do his best to kill Black for his effrontery, and while Black was a talented swordsman he could not hope to fight two skilled opponents at once for long.

  Guardsmen might be convinced to act, especially if they recognized their warlord; they could be ordered to restrain Black.

  In his present fury, though, Black might well kill one or two soldiers, and that would get him an arrow or two—or a dozen—in response.

  But there was another possibility. Black was so focused on the duel itself that he had neglected other concerns. Arlian stood his ground for a moment, fending off Black's attack, and then deliberately left an opening—a real one, as he knew Black would not be fooled by anything less.

  Black took the chance he was offered, and lunged, his sword slicing through the tattered remains of Arlian's coat, through the blouse beneath, and into Arlian's skin—but Arlian had expected this, and spun away so that the blade scraped at him but did not cut deeply. He turned, and suddenly' he and Black had changed positions and stood at right angles to their former line.

  And that meant that Black no longer stood between Arlian and the gateposts, nor between Arlian and Obsidian House. Arlian did not give his opponent time to realize his error, instead he broke and ran, full out, for the gateposts.

  Black gave a wordless bellow of rage and set out in pursuit.

  Arlian rounded the nearer gatepost and ran up the old path, then veered aside, heading across the gardens toward his new residence.

  Black was close on his heels, but Arlian was the younger, taller man; he stayed out of reach of his steward's sword.

  And then he was on the path leading up to the front door of Obsidian House, but there was an obstruction; he almost fell as he struggled to stop himself before running into it.

  Or rather, into her.

  Brook sat in her wheeled chair, her face grim, as Arlian staggered to avoid colliding with her. He veered to the side and stepped around her, then turned.

  Black had stopped, as well, and now the two men faced each other over Brook's head, panting, blades ready. Although they were within reach of one another, neither dared make any attack; while they could easily avoid striking Brook directly, they both knew that a parry might send a blade downward, momentarily out of control.

  "Alliri," Black said, "move aside and let me past."

  Arlian had never heard Brook's true name before; he hadn't even realized she had one. But of course she did; she had been fourteen before she was sold into slavery.

  "No, Beron," Brook replied.

  "Alliri, please."

  "No. Put down your sword. This is ridiculous."

  "I won't let him harm you," Black insisted.

  "Triv isn't going to hurt me," Brook replied.

  "I won't let him feed you that poison. I won't let him poison our child."

  "And do I have no say in this? The child is in my body, and we live in Lord Obsidian's house—I do not think the decision is entirely yours to make."

  "He's ensorcelled you, charmed you."

  "Or the dragons have seduced and deluded you—had you not considered that?"

  At that, for the first time, Black hesitated. Then he looked over Brook's head and called, "Let us settle this between us like gentlemen, my lord! Step out from behind the woman!"

  Arlian looked past Black and saw that a portion of the crowd that had gathered to watch their fight had followed them through the old gate and up the crooked path. He wondered whether Black had seen them and was now playing to the gallery, hoping Arlian would be unwilling to be seen hiding behind a pregnant cripple's skirts.

  Black should have known him better than that; Arlian had never cared what anyone thought of him. He had been called a coward in public before, and had survived it without being drawn into a pointless duel.

  "This is not between you," Brook announced loudly. "This is my decision."

  Black's frustration and fury were plain on his face—or at any rate, plain to Brook and Arlian, who both knew him well; a stranger might not have realized the depth of emotion indicated by his thinned lips and furrowed brow. "The child is mine, as well as yours," he said.

  "Can you prove that?" Brook retorted. "Do you have any evidence of that other than my word?"

  That shook Black more than anything previously said; he blanched.

  "Am I a free woman, or do you intend to keep me a prisoner until the child is born? Will you watch over me, day and night, to see that I obey your orders?"

  "I am not giving you orders," Black said, his voice unsteady.

  "If I am any man's slave, husband, I am Lord Arlian's. He took me from Lord Toribor at the risk of his own life—and then he set me free, and as a free woman I choose my own path."

  "I am not giving you orders," Black repeated. " I . . . I am concerned, Alliri, for your welfare and your child's."

  "Concern is addressed with words and welcomed actions, husband, not with threats and bared blades."

  Black hesitated.

  Arlian, too, hesitated. The possibility of making a gesture, of sheathing his blades and exposing himself to Black's mercy, occurred to him—

  but he rejected it.

  There had been times when he had made such gestures, times when he happily risked his life, but this time the stakes were too high. His research had shown him that magic could take new forms; he had a chance to destroy the dragons and shut away the chaos beyond the borders, and if he died, who would continue that research? When he had risked his life before, it had been either at times when his goals appeared so hopeless that he had little to lose, or at times when others were ready and willing to take up his campaign against the dragons; this was not such a time. His blades stayed ready.

  "We will discuss it," Arlian said. "I did not mean to exclude you from my counsels, old friend, but you had drawn away, avoiding contact with my efforts."

  "And you could not allow that, could you, my lord?" Black said.

  "No, I must ever be involved in your madness."

  "You are always free to leave my employ, Black."

  "Am I?" He shook his head. "I have been caught up in your fate since we first met." In a sudden movement he sheathed his swordbreaker. "We will discuss it," he said. "And in all probability you will convince me to allow you to pursue whatever insanity you choose, just as you always do. I will fall under your spell again." He lifted his sword and pointed it at Arlian's throat. "But let me tell you now, Ari, that whatever I may say, whatever I may agree to, if you harm my wife or child, if you have misjudged your experiment and kill or maim either of them, then I will kill you. The Dragon Society has tried to do that for sixteen years now, but they do not know you as I do. You understand revenge, Ari—you have lived your entire life for little else. If you harm Brook or our baby, you will find that I, too, understand revenge."

  "I know," Arlian said quietly.

  Black stared at him for a moment, and then looked down. With the sword still directed at Arlian, Black addressed his wife.

  "We will need to discuss a great deal as well, Alliri. I am not your master, but I am your husband and the father of your children, and you are putting everything that exists between us at risk."

  "All the world is at risk, my husband," Brook replied. "That is the nature of life."

  "Some risks are greater than others," Black said, dropping his blade.

 
; "Let us hope we have not misjudged the ones we have chosen today."

  He sheathed the sword.

  Arlian sheathed his own weapons, as well—and heard someone

  weeping. He shifted his gaze as Black turned.

  Kerzia, Amberdine, and Dirinan were standing at the front of the little crowd of watchers, staring somberly at their parents, and Amberdine was weeping miserably.

  40

  The Final Experiment

  The Final Experiment

  As he stumbled through the central passage of Obsidian House Arlian tried not to think about the rumors that would be spreading through Manfort like mold through damp bread. He did not remember either Black or himself saying anything really detailed about the nature of their dispute, and the crowds had stood far enough back that they could not have heard everything clearly in any case, so the stories would probably bear only the vaguest resemblance to the truth of the situation.

  Whether that imprecision was good or bad, Arlian was uncertain.

  Whatever their nature might be, the one fact beyond question was that there would be rumors. There was nothing he could do to prevent that. He could not even think of anything he could say to turn the tales to his advantage, and therefore he said nothing to the servants who stared in silent horror at his bloody clothes as he found his way to the scullery sink.

  After cleaning and bandaging his half-dozen worst wounds, Arlian waited in the kitchen while Brook and Black calmed and comforted their children and sent them upstairs with some of the servants. He used the rime to unwrap the blue bottle of venom, and to find a sturdy wooden cup and a good sharp knife. He wanted to be ready if an agreement was reached.

  If they could not come to terms, if Black was able to persuade Brook to rescind her agreement, it was not the end; he still had the venom, and there were certainly other expectant mothers in Manfort. Surely, one could be found who would agree to the experiment—yesterday he would have thought that impossible, but hearing Brook's words had convinced him otherwise.

  In the absolute worst case, he thought, he could buy a pregnant slave.

  He had never bought a slave; he had freed every slave he had ever acquired through other means. He would certainly free any slave he purchased for this purpose, as well—but only after feeding her the elixir.