The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (15 page)

"And, being amputees, they cannot walk and therefore never left the wagon; what could
they
tell him?"

"You may misjudge Brook's abilities."

That struck Arlian as curious, that Black would single out Brook. Arlian remembered Brook as a clever and usually cheerful woman who liked to hum quietly or talk to herself when focused on some task; he remembered that she had been quick to help him out in Coik Tree, when he had rescued her from Toribor's party. On the long ride back from the Desolation to Manfort, Brook had helped tend Arlian's wounds and had been good company for them all.

But Arlian did not remember any indication that she would be any better at navigating the Desolation than anyone else, and how would Black know her any better than he did? Perhaps, since arriving at the Old Palace, the two had spoken when Arlian wasn't present.

Perhaps, it suddenly occurred to Arlian, they had done more than merely speak.

"And if I do misjudge, if Brook could somehow lead Wither to that cave, why would she?"

'For gold, Arlian."

"I give her whatever she needs here."

"But she might prefer to be entirely in command of her own destiny, and not dependent on you. You freed her from slavery, but she may want more freedom than you can give her."

"She may, at that," Arlian acknowledged. "And she has every right to earn her own way however she can.

If you would be so kind as to inform her that I would prefer she not sell that particular bit of information, I would appreciate it—but on the other hand, I will not slop her. If Lord Wither does find that cavern, he does so at his own risk. It's a two-month journey, more or less, and by then die weather will be much warmer, especially in the south; I would not care to venture into a dragon's cave in warm weather. It's not entirely coincidental that Enziet led us there in winter. You might mention that to Lord Wither."

"Indeed I might," Black agreed. "He's a patient man, and he may well decide to wait until autumn."

"By which time the matter may be moot."

Black hesitated, then asked, "And suppose, Ari, that Lord Wither does seek out a dragon's cave, either the one you know or another, and finds what he's after.

What will you do?"

"That depends what use he chooses to make of it,"

Arlian said.

"And would you provide him with some of the weapons you have Ferrezin and the others preparing?"

Arlian leaned back against the desk.

"Now,
that
is an interesting question," he said. "I think that if asked, I would sell him a few, yes. I have no great dislike for Lord Wither, even though I would prefer he not obtain what he seeks."

"You prefer him to the dragons, at any rate."

"Yes."

"And you're making obsidian weapons because you expect a need for them?"

"Rather, I think a need may arise; to say I
expect
it is to overstate the case. And I would prefer it if you did not mention any of this to others."

Black snorted. "They would probably think me as mad as you."

And with that, the conversation was at an end.

Days passed, each a little longer and a trifle wanner than the one before, and Arlian accumulated a sizeable arsenal of obsidian weapons—black-tipped spears, black glass daggers, and a few hybrid swords that had pieces of obsidian fitted into steel blades. These last were clumsy and fragile, but Arlian thought they might be useful even so.

He concentrated on spears, some of them of prodi-gious size—after all, dragons were
big,
and while obsidian could presumably cut them anywhere, it had taken a thrust to the heart to actually
kill
the one he had fought beneath the Desolation. Some of these spears were of a size that would require a giant, or at least two or three men working together, to wield—but the possibility that they would be needed could not be ignored.

Arlian wished that finding the giants to wield them was as easy as constructing the spears.

While his employees were making weapons Arlian also accumulated a great deal of knowledge about Lord Enziet's past and possessions, but little of it was any use. The enciphered notebooks remained largely mysterious.

And he began the serious study of sorcery, with the occasional assistance of Lady Rime, once she had returned from inspecting her nearer estates. Although she was centuries old, her own knowledge of the magical arts was still limited; Arlian knew it would be decades before he could accomplish anything beyond the most basic level.

At one session, when he had botched a simple ensorcellment, he remarked, "Sometimes I wonder, my lady, why you bother to help me."

She looked at him oddly.

"Sometimes I wonder the same," she said. "After all, you're but a twentieth of my age, and given your habits and obsessions it seems quite unlikely you'll survive your first century. If I become too involved with you, I may well not survive another century. In my saner moments I avoid you, Arlian. I am here today because my inexplicable fascination with you over-came my good sense." Then she turned her attention back to the crystals they had been working with.

"Shall we try it again?"

Arlian wondered, after that, whether or not she had been joking about avoiding him. He could never find a polite way to ask, and he could never decide whether the decreased frequency of their contacts was coincidental or intentional, the result of distractions or deliberation.

Caught up in his weapons and plans and sorcery, he did not take time to visit the hall of the Dragon Society again; he had no interest in another confrontation with Toribor, or perhaps the meddlesome Lord Zaner. There would be time to deal with his enemies there later; the dragons were more urgent. He did keep himself ap-prised of Lord Wither's whereabouts and activities; as yet Wither had not left the city, nor openly sent any hirelings southward, so Arlian did not feel particularly concerned. He also paid close attention to any reports that might indicate draconic activity of any sort, but otherwise did not trouble himself to stay current with the perpetual flow of news and gossip that swirled through Manfort.

He did continue to visit Hasty and Vanniari, and to take meals with his several houseguests and spend some time each evening chatting with them. He paid closer attention to Brook, and concluded that she and Black had indeed gotten to know each other well.

Cricket had taken an interest in cookery, and had taken a liking to Stammer, who was eager to defer to her. As a result Cricket was now unofficially in charge of the kitchen staff.

Kitten was still reading her way through the palace library, and expressed an interest in continuing on to Enziet's bookshelves when the volumes at the Old Palace were exhausted. Lily and Musk had not yet found lasting interests, but seemed content with their lot. The weather grew warm, trees blossomed and tamed green, spring flowers bloomed and faded, but Arlian did not devote much time to appreciating the progress of the seasons; he was too concerned with what a bout of dragon weather might bring.

No dragon sightings were reported. No villages ceased to communicate with their neighbors. But, Arlian told himself, the weather was not yet as hot as it would become. Toribor's dire prediction could still come true.

He heard nothing more from Lord Hardior for some time. At last, however, as spring gave way to summer, the Duke's chief adviser paid a call on Lord Obsidian.

Nominally, this was just a casual visit between friends—but Arlian knew better than to treat it as such.

When he received word that Hardior hoped to find him at home the following day he dropped everything else and began preparations for a proper reception for the Duke's representative.

A year ago he wouldn't have bothered—but a year ago he had seen the Duke and his entourage as irrelevant to his own needs. He had been intent on finding and killing Lord Dragon and other human foes.

Now, though, he was preparing to fight dragons, and then to destroy the entire Dragon Society, and that was, he now realized, not something he could reasonably hope to do single-handed—or even with the help of his comrades, Black and Rime and the Aritheians. At the very least, he did not want to find himself fighting the Duke's guards at the same time as he fought the dragons.

Accordingly, he consulted the kitchen staff to make sure a variety of delicacies were on hand, and Cricket assured him, from the high stool where she directed all matters culinary, that she would personally guarantee a fine table would be set. He arranged with Thirif for a few little illusions to create the proper atmosphere, and Black undertook, on his own initiative, to ensure that the appropriate rooms were spotless and the six palace footmen on their very best behavior.

And then they waited for Lord Hardior to arrive.

It was a good two hours past midday when Lord Hardior's coach rolled to a stop at the gate, timing that clearly meant Hardior did not care to stay for an entire meal—it was very unlikely that Arlian could stretch the visit until suppertime, and of course luncheon was past and done.

That might mean any number of things—that

Hardior was too busy to spare the time, that the Duke wanted him at the Citadel for meals, that he did not yet want to bestow the consequent social status on Arlian that dining with the Duke's chief adviser would bring, or merely that he did not want to impose on Arlian's hospitality. Black suggested that Hardior was probably just wary of being poisoned, and Arlian murmured amused agreement, but in fact he knew better, Lord Hardior possessed the heart of the dragon, and those who had the heart of the dragon were immune to virtually all poisons.

Arlian, in his finest black velvet coat with layers of white lace at throat and cuffs, met Lord Hardior at the front door, and personally ushered him in. A footman stood by, ready to serve, but Hardior had not worn cloak or sword; he was attired in a light brown linen jacket, cut short in the latest fashion, over a fawn-colored silk vest and cream-colored shirt. The warmth of these colors contrasted sharply with the stark black and white of Arlian's own costume, and Obsidian's household livery.

Hardior smelled faintly of powder and perfume; Arlian had never gotten in the habit of using cosmetics, and suspected that any odor he might have was the scent of sweat. Despite the training he had received in the House of the Six Lords, he was still not entirely at home in the role of a wealthy gentleman of Manfort.

The two exchanged polite greetings and inquired after one another's health; Arlian introduced his steward, and told his guest to consider Arlian's home his own.

The formalities thus completed, Arlian showed Hardior to the small salon, where a flurry of illusory butterflies danced in the sunlight before vanishing, and where Cricket's underlings had set out assorted pas-tries and candied fruits. Hardior accepted a few of these, along with a glass of pear wine.

At last, though, Hardior settled into an oak-and-leather armchair, and Arlian closed the doors, leaving the two men alone in the room in apparent privacy.

"While your presence is a delight, my lord," he said, turning his back to the door, "I suspect that there is a purpose behind this visit beyond simple fellowship."

Of course there is," Hardior acknowledged. "And I would be pleased to come directly to the point. A few words should do. You know, I had hoped to catch you somewhere else, so that we might have this conversation without putting you to any trouble, but you have been something of a recluse of late, and given me no opportunity."

"Had I known you were seeking me out, my lord, I would have been a veritable social butterfly. Could you not have invited me to one of the Duke's gatherings, rather than interrupt your busy schedule to attend me personally?"

"The problem with that, Obsidian, is that I could not be certain that you would accept, and further, that I did not know just who you do not care to share a room with. Would it have been graceless to put you in the same party as Lord Belly, for example?"

"It might, my lord, though I think I could behave myself on my host's behalf even so. Whatever the circumstances, the pleasure of your company is now mine, and I pray that you feel free to tell me whatever you sought to tell me."

"I have come not so much to tell you anything, my lord, as to ask a question—and its nature is such as to add further hesitation to any discussion of it less private than this."

"You intrigue me, my lord. Ask your question, then."

" Tis simple enough. Why, my lord, are you stockpiling strange weapons?"

"Ah." Arlian nodded. "I thought that might be it.

You refer to the obsidian blades and spearheads?"

"I do indeed. I understand you have had dozens, perhaps hundreds, of these bizarre weapons manufactured and stored."

"I have," Arlian said. "And my intention is to offer them to the Duke's soldiers, should the need for them arise."

Hardior cocked his head to one side. "Indeed," he said. "And what occasion could possibly call for blades of volcanic glass, rather than good steel?"

Arlian seated himself on a silk couch before replying, "You know I am Lord Enziet's heir."