The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (23 page)

For a moment a stunned silence fell; a wisp of smoke curled up from the front of Wither's blouse where the blade had pierced it.

The maid screamed, breaking the silence and restoring the room to life.

"My lord," Horn called, leaping from his chair. Arlian and Black were close behind. As Wither crumpled to the floor Horn tried to catch him, but was only able to ease his fall; he found himself forced to his knees, his master's body sprawled face-down on his lap.

Black and Arlian knelt to either side, and Black rolled the dying man onto his back, off Horn's knees, the knife in Wither's chest protruding horribly as his hand fell away.

Blood bubbled up around the stone blade, thick and red, hissing and smoking and writhing in a thoroughly unnatural manner, but remaining merely blood; no other shape took form. Arlian saw that moving blood and knew that if the blade piercing Wither's chest had been anything but obsidian, a dragon would be rising from that wound even now.

That was why Wither had asked Arlian to bring the weapons, of course; if a steel blade would have served, he would probably have gotten the deed over with that much sooner.

And this was, of course, why he had asked about how sharp the blade was, and how painful its use would be.

"You were wrong," Wither gasped, even as Arlian thought that "It hurts. By the dead gods, it does."

Arlian marveled that the man could still speak at all with a knife in his heart "I'm sorry, my lord," he said.

"At least the dragon is dead," Wither said. "I can feel..." Then he choked, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, blood that smoked slightly but ran, liquid and bright red, like ordinary blood. His jaw fell open, and his eyes went blank.

Arlian looked at that trickle of blood, and the thought struck him that a few drops of that in a bowl of water would let him speak to the dragons again. He looked down at his hands and saw that one bore a smear of blood where he had held Lord Wither to turn him. But what would he say?

Would they hold this death of one of their offspring against him? Had Wither just initiated a new Man-Dragon War?

Or had he eliminated one of the problems that might cause such a war? His death meant one less witness to Nail's demise.

"I'm sorry," Arlian repeated—but Wither was dead, and Arlian was speaking to ears that would never hear again.

"He
killed
himself!" the maid said, in a squeaky little voice that seemed completely inappropriate to the somber moment.

"Yes," Arlian said.

"I had no
idea"
Shuffler murmured, his hands clasped over his breast. "He
never
said he intended anything of the sort!"

"Of course not," Black said. "If he had, you might have stopped him."

"You tried," Arlian said, as he reached down and closed Wither's staring eyes. "You and Horn."

"You didn't help," Black said.

Arlian started to say something; then he stopped. He looked Black in the eye and said, "No, I didn't. I wasn't sure whether I
wanted
to stop him."

"He
wasn't one of your six lords!" Black said angrily.

"No—but he had the heart of the dragon."

"So do you. Do
you
plan to thrust a glass knife into your heart someday?"

"Yes, I do," Arlian said.

Black stared silentiy at him for a moment, then said fiercely, "I won't help you do it, and I hope you'll have the courtesy to wait until I'm long dead."

Arlian's mouth turned up in an involuntary wry smile. "1'1 try," he replied. "I do have a good many other things I intend to do first"

"Im not sure I'll help you with those, either," Black said. "I'm beginning to have reservations about the entire matter."

"I don't blame you," Arlian said. He looked down at Wither's corpse. "I don't blame you at all."

They had laid the body out on the linen, legs straight and arms folded across the chest; Horn had pulled the knife out and cleaned it on a rag from his pocket. Arlian was just asking the footman where a more appropriate resting place might be when the door burst open and Lady Opal stormed in, an elderly man in Wither's livery trailing ineffectually behind.

"Wither!" she called, "what are you hiding from me? Why did you have ..."

Then she saw the five men clustered at the edge of the hearth—the maid had fled, but Shuffler and the footman had assisted Black, Horn, and Arlian in tending to Wither's remains. Opal stopped abruptly, the servant almost colliding with her, and turned to face them

"What are
you ..
." she began.

Then she saw the body, and fell silent, staring. The old servant gasped and stepped back, horrified, but Lady Opal simply stared.

Arlian watched her warily, expecting tears or hyste-ria, but when she finally broke die silence she merely asked. "He's dead?"

"I am afraid so, my lady," Arlian replied.

"Oh,
no
.. ." the old man murmured.

"You're sure?" Opal demanded.

"Quite sure, unfortunately. He was stabbed in the heart."

"By you?"

"By his own hand, my lady, as all here can attest."

She stared at the corpse for a moment, then raised her eyes to Arlian's face and said, "But it was you who drove him to this, Lord Obsidian. And it was you who snatched away my chance at a thousand-year lifespan.

Do not think I will forget that, nor forgive it."

Arlian spread his empty hands. "My lady, you surely know that such a life would mean the eventual birth of another dragon, a fate scarcely to be sought."

"After a
thousand years,"
Opal shouted, her calm finally breaking. "After a thousand years, and I could have done as he had when that end neared! Has
he
become a dragon?" She pointed a shaking finger at the corpse. "Were all his centuries worthless because they
might
have ended with the creation of a dragon? What harm would it do if they
had,
Obsidian? The dragons cower in their caves, troubling us not a whit!"

"The dragons killed my family and destroyed my village, my lady," Arlian said. "Furthermore, all the dragons now alive are old and tired; a young and vigorous one would not be content to sleep the years away in the caverns."

"You don't know that!"

Arlian started to answer, then bit off his reply. Opal was clearly not willing to listen to reason.

And she certainly wouldn't want to hear him talk about a dragon's image warning him of dire consequences if their wishes weren't heeded.

"Why do
you
care so much?" Opal demanded.

"What harm would it do
you
to let one more woman join your secret society?"

From the corner of his eye Arlian saw Black looking at Horn, at the footman, the clerk, and the old man—

this last, who Arlian thought was Wither's steward, had retreated to the door. They were hearing discussion of matters that should theoretically be kept secret—but really, how much could stay secret anymore? And were the secrets justified at all?

If it was truly too late to renew Enziet's bargain, then what further harm would it do for the truth to be known throughout Manfort and the Lands of Man? In fact, in open warfare, that knowledge should be spread as widely as possible, so that the dragons could not stamp it out

But if open warfare could still be avoided, then the secrets might yet be better kept quiet—but Opal was clearly not concerned with that.

"The dragons destroyed my home, my lady," Arlian said. "I want them exterminated, not increased."

"So are you going to hunt down and slay every dragonheart in the
world?"

Arlian quietly replied, "Such is my intention, my lady, yes."

That caught Opal off-guard; for a moment she stared silently at him; then she said, in a voice dripping disdain, "You're mad."

"So I'm told "

She turned away from Arlian and demanded, "Horn, is he truly dead?"

Horn glanced at Arlian, then replied, "By his own hand, as Lord Obsidian said. Yes, he is."

"He had you here to witness it, I suppose?" She poked a thumb at the old man. "He had this fool keep me away, but he had
you
here to see?"

"Yes, my lady. I was here at his request, without explanation—you know how he liked to have me on hand in case he wanted some errand run on short notice. He had summoned Shuffler to complete his will, and to attend to some other matters—and as a witness. He summoned Lord Obsidian and his man here to provide the weapon, and required them and Dovliril..." he gestured at the footman "... to stay on as witnesses. She's gone now, but he had also asked Orlietta to dress his hair, as he wanted to look his best—he said to impress Lord Obsidian, but I think now he was concerned with his funeral, instead. She was also a witness."

"And I was not."

"No, my lady. I said you should be here, and he refused."

"And you did not see fit to ignore that refusal?"

"There was no time, my lady. He acted very suddenly. I knew he thought he would die soon, my lady, but by all the dead gods I did not guess he intended
this!
I'm so very sorry."

"He
chose
this, Horn. He got what he wanted. I won't cry for him."

"Cold," Black murmured in Arlian's ear. "She'd have been right at home with your Mends in the Street of the Black Spire."

"Indeed," Horn said to Opal, his voice curiously strained. "As you say."

"I must inform the staff," the old man said, and Arlian thought he saw tears in the servant's eyes. "Your pardon, gentlemen and lady." He turned and vanished.

Opal ignored his departure; her attention turned to Shuffler.

"You drew up his will?"

"Yes, my lady."

"And I suppose he's left everything to Obsidian, to use in his grand crusade against the dragons?" she said.

"Oh, no, my lady!" Shuffler said. "He left a few little bequests here and there, and freed all his slaves, but the bulk of the estate goes to
you."

For a moment Opal stared silently at the clerk, who stared uneasily back. Black, Arlian, and the others

"You mean I own this house?" Opal said at last.

Shuffler nodded vigorously. "Yes, my lady!"

Opal considered that for a moment, then turned her attention back to Arlian. He met her gaze.

"You're trespassing," she said. "Get out of my house!"

He bowed. "As you please, my lady."

"Shall I get the spears?" Black asked, pointing at the door to the study. As he did the footman was looking from face to face, clearly confused.

"Yes, please," Arlian said. He asked the footman,

"Would you be so kind as to see us out, sir?"

" I . . T h e footman looked at Opal as Black slipped away toward the study.

"Do it," she said. "Make sure he and his lackey are off my property as soon as humanly possible, and that they take nothing with them they didn't bring!"

"Lord Wither did leave Lord Obsidian certain papers ..." Shuffler began.

"He can get them later!
I want him out of here
now.r
She stamped her foot and pointed at the exit.

"And you will not be welcome at my lord's funeral—

do not trouble yourself to attempt to attend!"

That last hurt Arlian bowed again, and strode toward the door. "For anything I have done that troubled you, my lady, I do apologize," he said. "I have but acted in accord with the dictates of my conscience."

The footman stumbled, then snatched up his lamp and headed after Arlian.

"I can't afford a conscience," Opal retorted, as Black emerged from the study with the bundle of weapons. "I don't have time."

"You have a lifetime, my lady," Arlian said.

"And you have a dozen! Get out!"

With that, Arlian left the room, die footman close behind, and Black a step behind the footman, leaving Horn and Shuffler with Lady Opal. Silently they made their way along the corridor and down the grand staircase. They saw no sign of the steward or anyone else as they made their way through the vast dark rooms; Arlian had half expected the house to be bustling already with news of the master's death.

When they reached the echoing entry way, as he was fetching Arlian's hat, the footman hesitated and then asked, "My lord, are there perhaps any openings on your staff?"

It was the first complete sentence Arlian had heard the man speak, and it caught him by surprise.

"Black?" he said. "Are there?"

"Not as such, my lord," Black said, "not unless you intend to restore the Grey House to a full establishment. But with the baby an extra hand could be of use."

Arlian absorbed that, remembering that he had been planning to sell one house and dismiss several servants. He had hardly intended to hire anyone new.

Then he looked at the footman, who stood awaiting a reply, still holding Arlian's hat. "I take it you do not expect to stay on in Lady Marasa's employ?"

"I would prefer not to, my lord, even if she would have me."

Arlian nodded. "Black, even if we cannot use him, surely we could find this man a position more to his liking?"