The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (43 page)

There was a disturbance in the street; he turned again, and saw men struggling. One man was holding another, trying to keep him from fleeing; others were standing close by, watching. The light all came from the inn behind them, so he could not see anything but black outlines; still, he thought the captor might be Quickhand, which would mean the other was probably Post. He could hear shuffling and grunting. Someone called, "Give me a hand!"

Arlian reached down and picked up his sword from its place behind die seat. He laid the scabbard across his lap, then loosened the blade in its sheath.

Three men were holding the one now, dragging him forward.

Arlian found his firekit and lit the lantern as the men approached. Then he stood up and called, "Post, I'm not going to hurt you. Come and talk to me."

The captive looked up, and his struggles weakened.

He allowed himself to be led, rather than dragged, the rest of the way, until he stood beside the wagon. Arlian could finally see his face in the light of the lantern, and see that yes, this was Post, held by Quickhand, Stabber, and two guards Arlian didn't know by name.

"Climb up here," Arlian said, sliding over to make room. He kept the sword on his lap, his hand on the hilt.

Reluctantly, Post obeyed.

"Thank you, Quickhand," Arlian called. "You can go" Quickhand gave Post a doubtful look. "You're sure, Lord Ari?"

"I'm sure," Arlian said, shifting the sword.

The guards departed, leaving Arlian and Post alone.

Arlian looked at Post thoughtfully. He was a fair-sized man but not really large, and appeared to be getting rather old to work as a caravan guard.

But then, he wasn't really there as a guard.

"You know," Arlian said, "if you hadn't resisted coming here, you might yet have convinced me your peculiar questions were just harmless curiosity. Now, though, I'm afraid it's too late."

"What questions?" Post blustered.

"Your questions about dragons, and sorcery, and my age," Arlian said. "I take it someone's sent you to accompany me in hopes of learning something about the sorcerous uses of dragon venom."

"No one sent me," Post said resentfully.

His right hand remained on the sword hilt, but Arlian's left hand flashed out and closed on Post's throat.

He rammed the man's head back against the wagon's frame.

"I told you it's too late for that," Arlian growled. "I am not in a forgiving mood tonight, sir—my trip to the mine was unsettling, and I don't like this weather, so the discovery of your deceit, which I will generously not yet call treachery, has aggravated me a great deal.

Do not lie to me again."

He released the pressure on Post's throat.

"I didn't lie!" Post protested, when he could breathe again. "Not really." He rubbed at his neck and looked resentfully at Arlian.

"You claim no one sent you—then why are you here? Don't tell me you just wanted honest caravan work."

"No," Post said, still rubbing his neck. "You were right that I wanted to find out where you got your dragon venom, and how to use it."

"And why are you interested in dragon venom? It's poisonous stuff, you know."

"Lady Opal told me that you use it to make yourself young again."

"Lady Opal sent you?"

"Not exactly. She agreed to pay me if I bring back a sample, or even just knowledge of where you get it, but she didn't
send
me. I volunteered."

"Lady Opal." Arlian relaxed somewhat.

"Yes, Lady Opal," Post said. "She had wanted to send Horn, but you would have recognized him, so he suggested me."

That was nowhere near as bad a piece of news as Arlian had feared. He had worried that Post might have been a hired assassin in Lord Hardior's employ, waiting until he knew where to find the dragons before he struck, or that he might have been spying for the Duke as part of some court intrigue. He had thought that Lady Pulzera might have sent Post as her emissary to the dragons, using Arlian to find them, or that some other faction in the Dragon Society might have hired him for some esoteric reason.

It had even occurred to Arlian that someone within his own household might have betrayed him, and planted this spy among his hirelings. He had also considered the possibility that the dragons themselves had sent this man.

All in all, Lady Opal was perhaps the least frighten-ing explanation that made sense—though of course, she might be working in concert with Pulzera or Hardior.

"And did she want you to kill me when you had learned my secrets?" Arlian asked.

"No," Post said. "I know better than to fight
you,
my lord, or to try to ambush a sorcerer. Even if you were no sorcerer, and not a famous swordsman, just killing a caravan master surrounded by a score of honest guards—well, I wouldn't live to see my family again if I tried that. If Lady Opal wants you dead she'll have to hire someone else; I wouldn't attempt it for all the gold in Manfort."

"You show
some
sense, I see," Arlian said.

Post made a wordless noise.

"She lied to you, you know," Arlian said conversa-tionally. "Or at least misled you. Dragon venom doesn't make one younger. I really
am
as young as I appear."

"Then why does Opal want it so badly?" Post asked, apparently over the worst of his fear.

"Because it extends life," Arlian explained. "I'm only in my early twenties, yes, but there are men and women in Manfort who have lived for centuries, thanks to the dragon elixir. They age only very, very slowly—

but they do age, they never grow any younger."

"Centuries?"
Post's eyes widened.

Arlian nodded. "Lord Enziet was the oldest," he said. "And Lord Wither was almost as old. Lady Opal learned about it from him."

"Lord Wither? I heard ... well, I heard you killed him, but I also heard he killed himself."

"Lord Wither took his own life," Arlian said. "The elixir has other effects besides extending life, and he feared the consequences were catching up with him."

Post did not appear convinced. "How often do you take it?" he asked. "I mean, if you're still so young, but you're going to get more ..

"I'm not," Arlian interrupted. "I told you she lied to you. This journey has nothing to do with fetching dragon venom Drink the elixir
once,
and the damage is done—I will never need it again. Though I'm not sure Opal believes that."

"I don't think she does," Post said. His expression seemed to add,
And neither do I.

Arlian gazed at him for a moment, then asked,

"Have you spoken with the men who accompanied me to the mine today?"

"I..." Post stopped, but Arlian could read the answer in his face.

"Did they tell you what I wanted from the mine?

Did they say anything about dragons?"

"They said you offered the slaves their freedom in exchange for amethysts," Post admitted. "No one said anything about dragons." He hesitated, then added,

"They said the miners ate an overseer."

Arlian sighed. He hadn't told the guards to keep anything secret from their fellows, since he had assumed that they would all be traveling through the Dreaming Mountains together, and would see for themselves what the amethysts were for. Now, though, he feared that this fool would carry word back to Manfort that Lord Obsidian prized amethysts even more than his glassy namesake, and new rumors would spread.

"Did the slaves really eat him, or did they feed him to the dragons?" Post asked.

"There aren't any dragons in the mine," Arlian said wearily.

Again, Post's disbelief was obvious. The man really was a fool.

"Why do you want the amethysts? Do you need them for the elixir?"

"No. We need them to ..." In midsentence, Arlian decided against telling the exact truth. .. trade with the Aritheians. They prize the amethysts highly." A sudden spirit of mischief caught him, and he added,

"They believe amethysts keep dragons away, and that that's why the dragons have never ventured into Arithei—they think they're guarded by their jewelry."

He smiled as if deriding this silly fantasy. "The stones are the only thing they'll accept in trade for their magic—what else could we have that they need, after all, when half of them are wizards? And for myself, I don't care
why
they want them—if that's what they want, that's what they'll get."

"Do
amethysts keep dragons away?" Post asked, marveling.

Arlian shrugged. "How would I know?" Then, in another burst of whimsy, he added, "But no one's ever seen any sign of dragons in the mine, even though it goes deep enough to reach their caverns."

Post's eyes were wide as he absorbed this nonsense.

Arlian sat back and slapped his thighs. "So, you came here because Lady Opal thought I was fetching dragon venom. I'm not. I'd suggest you go on home to Manfort and tell her so."

"Um," Post said.

"I'm afraid that under the circumstances, I cannot employ you as a caravan guard," Arlian said. "I'm sure you understand. I'll tell Quickhand to settle your pay. You can take your belongings and leave in the morning."

"Um," Post said again. "You aren't going..." His voice trailed off.

"I'm not going to punish you, or withhold your pay," Arlian said wearily. "You have committed a deception, but no actual crime, and you have carried out your duties heretofore. You are free to go." He had a horrible thought, and added, "But I would really very strongly recommend that you not attempt to follow the caravan to Arithei. I don't think you could make it across the Desolation."

"Then you really are going to Arithei again?" Post asked, startled.

"No," Arlian said, the matter suddenly settled beyond question. Up until this very moment he had still thought it might be possible, but now he was sure he could not afford to be away from Manfort for so long.

"My caravan will be going to Arithei, but I will be staying a few days here in Deep Delving, settling matters."

"Of course," Post said—-but his now familiar look of disbelief was back, more obvious than ever, and more than Arlian's fraying temper could bear.

"Go, sir," Arlian said, his hand closing on the hilt of his sword. "I have had a bellyful of you. Go back to Opal, and may both of you be damned!"

Post hastily backed away, and almost fell as he quickly clambered out of the wagon.

Arlian arose the next morning just after dawn, so that he might reach the mine before the shift change without undue hurry. When he first opened his eyes he thought that he had awoken
before
dawn, so dark was the sky, but then he realized that was due to thick, low-hanging clouds, and the sun was indeed up.

And the air was sweltering hot.

At least, he thought, this gloomy weather would be easy on the miners' eyes if they had collected the hundred amethysts he had demanded, and earned their freedom. He remembered well how he had been blinded by the sun when he first fled the mine.

He rose from his bed, dressed himself, and gathered together the various things he needed to cany out his promises.

Just over an hour later he stood at the mouth of the pitshaft, leaning against the heavy framework, lowering the promised bucket down to the waiting miners.

He could hear them muttering, talking among themselves. He supposed they were exchanging suspicions, wondering how their masters would betray and abuse them this time.

The others at his own level—Black, Qulu, half the caravan's guards, and the drivers of the ore wagons—

were utterly silent; the guards stood half-hidden in the shadows. The waiting day-shift overseer, a young man who had said the miners called him Whip, was standing back, as well; the night-shift overseer was still down in the pit Arlian had interrupted the regular loading of ore into the big hopper.

The bucket reached the bottom and the line went slack as Arlian paid out a little extra. Then he called,

"All the amethysts, in the bucket, right now."

The muttering grew louder, and he heard feet stamping and shuffling; then came a rattle, and a voice called up, "They're in."

Almost trembling with anticipation, Ariian began hauling the line up, hand over hand. A moment later he had the bucket in his hands. He tipped it toward the light

Purple stones glittered in the bottom

He took the bucket to where Qulu waited, and the two squatted down on the stone and began inspecting and counting his haul.

"What now?" Whip called.

"You might as well go on loading the ore," Arlian called back "This will take a moment." The possibility that the miners might have tried to pass off bits of purple glass or other detritus as amethysts had occured to him—but of course, such things would be almost impossible to obtain down here.

And in fact, so far as he could tell by lamplight the stones in the bucket were indeed amethysts, ranging from chips the size of an ant to a hexagonal chunk the size of a pigeon's egg.

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