The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (51 page)

"Thank you," he said. He ate the rest of the meal in contemplative silence.

The winter dragged on, but at last the snow melted away and the breezes began to blow warm. Arlian began to hope for word from the south—from Arithei.

Even when the weather turned from warm to hot the days remained sunny and bright, not dragon weather, which he took as a good sign. Perhaps the dragons had exhausted themselves during the previous summer.

When it was clear that winter was truly gone for good, he reluctantly sent the fisherfolk home to the coast—though obviously not to their now-vanished villages of Tiapol and Kirial's Rocks—with money for two new boats. They seemed very glad to go.

That left the Grey House empty again, and Arlian reminded Coin that it was still for sale.

The days and weeks passed, and it was late spring, almost a new summer, when the caravan finally rolled into Manfort. The news ran well ahead of the wagons, and Arlian's coach hurried down through the streets at word of their approach. He met them scarcely a hundred yards inside the gates.

Only five of the six wagons had returned, he saw, all of them somewhat the worse for wear, but Quickhand was smiling from the driver's seat of the lead vehicle, and Arlian could see Isein and Qulu aboard the next two. Arlian called to Quickhand, "What word?"

"It went well, my lord," Quickhand replied. "For the most part, at any rate."

Arlian grinned.

At last the magicians had returned, and they had, he hoped, brought magic he could use to replace the tainted blood of a dragonheart, and magic that would help him drive a spear into a true dragon's heart.

He might yet prove himself to the Duke and the city.

"I'll meet you at the Old Palace," he called, as he climbed back into the coach and signaled the driver.

He allowed them time to eat and drink, and to bathe and dress in clean attire, so it was not until mid-evening that Arlian finally found himself face-to-face with Isein, Qulu, and Quickhand in the small salon.

"What became of the other wagon?" Arlian asked.

"Did you leave it in Arithei?"

"A wheel broke in the Desolation," Quickhand explained. "We loaded what we could into the other wagons and abandoned it."

"You had no spare wheels?"

"An unfortunate oversight, my lord. I am a driver and guard by profession, not a caravan master..."

"Of course," Arlian said hastily. "That's fine. Now, where are Thirif and Shibiel? Are they not well?"

"They chose to stay in Arithei, my lord," Isein explained. "As was their right."

Arlian blinked. "Oh," he said. "Of course." Thirif was not his employee, and had long since discharged any obligations; he and Shibiel had intended to return home more than a year before, when they pursued Lord Enziet into the Desolation.

"We have brought three young magicians with us,"

Qulu said, "to see the northern lands for themselves.

Naturally, they will be glad to earn their keep in your service."

"Very good," Arlian said. "And what else have you brought me?"

"A fine assortment of philtres and illusions," Isein said, "and various talismans. We noted what had sold well before, and bought accordingly."

A horrible suspicion was beginning to grow in the back of Arlian's mind. "I asked about two magicks in particular," he said. "Did you obtain them?"

Isein looked uncomfortably at Qulu, who bit his hp and said nothing. Finally, as the silence grew seriously uncomfortable, Isein said, "We did
try,
my lord. We brought you a physician who may be able to do what you asked, but as for the other—we could not find anything that would do it."

"But surely, that was the easier of the two!" Arlian protested. "Just something that would drive a spear..."

"I am sorry, my lord," Isein said, eyes downcast.

Arlian began to form another objection, but then caught a glimpse out the window, where the shadow of his spear-throwing device could be seen across the forecourt. His dismay faded.

The spear-throwing machine certainly still had problems, but now that the magicians were back, he thought they might be able to find some way to make it weak. That could wait.

"You did find a physician?" he said.

Isein nodded. "Her name is Oeshir," she said. "She has worked for many years to find a way to counteract the venom of the creatures of the Dreaming Mountains, and we think her methods may do what you want."

"Excellent! That's excellent"

"My lord, about the other... no magic we know would serve, and we could find no one ..."

Arlian glanced out the window at the machine again, and held up a hand to silence her. "It doesn't matter after all," he said. "I think I may have built my
own
magic."

Oeshir was a thin old woman who spoke only a few words of Man's Tongue, and who wasn't interested in wasting them. She listened to Arlian's questions and conversational remarks and answered diem all with, "Doesn't matter."

A few words from Isein, on the other hand, could elicit a twenty-minute speech in rapid Aritheian. Arlian had learned a few words of Aritheian—fewer than Oeshir had of Man's Tongue—but he could not make out anything at all in the torrents Oeshir spouted.

When Oeshir had finished one such tirade, Isein turned to Arlian and said simply, "She is ready at any time. Bring her the patient."

And that brought Arlian to a question he had given some thought, but had not completely decided. Who would be the subject of this experiment in magic?

He would have volunteered himself, but Black had argued strongly against the idea. "Suppose the process leaves you weak and sick," he said, "and that mob comes back—or a dragon—before you've recovered."

That had been persuasive, and Arlian's next step had been to ask the fisherfolk, who had been unenthusiastic about die idea—Arlian had never really told them what the dragon venom had done to them, so his request was of necessity vague. They saw nothing about their situation to justify meddling with dangerous magic.

And in any case, by the time the Aritheians arrived they were gone, having left for the coast a month before.

That left four other possibilities—Toribor, Rime, Spider, and Shard.

Somehow, Arlian did not think Toribor would yet trust him sufficiently to undergo the procedure. He still knew Rime far better than he knew Spider or Shard, and Rime alone had spoken of deliberately allowing her own death to prevent the birth of another dragon.

It would have to be Rime—but he had not yet actually
asked
her. He had not wanted to raise false hopes, in case the Aritheians had returned empty-handed.

They had not. They had brought Oeshir.

Accordingly, the moment Oeshir and Isein were gone, he sent Rime a message asking if he could call upon her at her earliest convenience. The reply arrived a little over an hour later, assuring him that Lady Rime would be at home by mid-morning.

He debated bringing Oeshir and her magical apparatus with him, but quickly decided that would be im-politic. He went to bed early, so as to be well rested for his meeting with Rime, but the excitement of finally being able to
do
something about the dragons growing within himself and his friends kept him awake and staring at the canopy over his bed until almost midnight.

Naturally, he slept late; since he had retired early he had left no instructions to wake him. That meant a later start than he hoped, but at last, clad in a black velvet coat and a silver-gray blouse trimmed with the finest white lace, be clambered into his coach and waved to Black, who held the reins.

He had considered just slipping out the postern in working man's attire, but had dismissed the idea; for a proposal as momentous as the one he was making today, some formality was appropriate.

He had also considered walking openly as himself, but he had not dared show his face on the streets un-guarded in more than half a year. The last of the mobs had been driven away when the snows began and they had not yet returned, but Arlian still did not think it wise to offer them too tempting a target.

That meant the coach, even though the distance hardly justified it.

Walking would have been faster, he thought, as he jounced impatiently through the streets of the Upper City. When the vehicle finally came to a stop at the entry to Rime's elegant little mansion he did not wait for Black to climb down from the driver's seat, but flung the door open for himself and leapt to the ground.

He left Black to tend to the coach and hurried to the door, where Rime's doorman bowed deeply to welcome him. The servant led him without comment to the sitting room where his hostess waited, sprawled comfortably on a pink silk divan, her wooden leg nowhere in sight, her ancient bone resting on an end table. She wore a lavender gown that complemented the divan nicely, and her grey streaked hair, usually pulled back in a tight ponytail, hung loose.

"Lord Obsidian," she said. "What brings you to my humble home on such a fine morning?"

"My lady," he said, bowing. He could not quite bring himself to answer her question directly; the matter needed some preparation, and he had not yet thought about the ideal phrasing. "I trust you are well?"

"Quite well, my lord. As you know, I am not given to fevers or fatigues." The note of sarcasm was faint, but definitely there.

"Of course, but one can suffer discomforts of the mind, as well as the body ..."

"Arlian," she interrupted, "get on with it. You do not request my earliest convenience for a mere social call.

I did not want to be bothered with it last night, but curiosity has been eating at me all morning, and I am now thoroughly impatient. Why are you here?"

"My caravan has returned from Arithei," Arlian replied.

She shifted on the divan. "While this is doubtless very welcome news, I do not see how it involves
me.

Is there news of dragon attacks in the Borderlands, perhaps?"

Arlian shook his head. "No, nothing like that," he said. "Listen, Rime, you remember that Enziet held off his transformation for some time—months at the very least, perhaps years—with drugs and sorcery. It occurred to me that if sorcery, subtle but weak, could do that, then perhaps other magic could do even more."

She tilted her head and stared at him silently for a moment. "Go on," she said at last.

"My employees have brought back an Aritheian physician—a magician trained in healing. She has brought all the devices and spells she uses in treating taints and corruptions of the blood, of the sort caused by magical poisons and venoms."

'Taints and corruptions," Rime said slowly. "And why are you telling
me
this?"

"Months ago, you said that if I ever tried to kill you, you would try not to resist," Arlian said. "Suppose instead I try to
cure
you?"

"Have you tried it yourself?"

"No," Arlian admitted. "I admit it, I would prefer the first trial be made on someone else, so that I might observe the effects before undergoing them myself."

"And you chose me as your subject?"

"Well, I can scarcely expect Lady Pulzera to volunteer."

Rime smiled wryly.

"Will you do it?" Arlian asked.

"Have you any idea what the method is, or what the exact result will be?"

'To be honest, no," Arlian said. "Will you retain your extended lifespan? I doubt it. But you would presumably be restored to a full and normal humanity, and live out the remainder of your natural life."

"Or I might die horribly, if your Aritheian witch doctor has overestimated her skills."

"Yes," Arlian admitted, "you might."

"So you're asking me to give up perhaps five hundred years of life, and that supernatural charm that has allowed all of us who possess the heart of the dragon to become wealthy and powerful, in order to prevent the birth of a dragon centuries from now."

"Yes."

"Do you think I'm enough of a fool to do that?"

"I hope so," Arlian said. "I believe / am, once I know it works."

She smiled again, a crooked, uneven smile. "And do you know," she said, "it's possible your hope will be met. But not today, Ari. I need time to think about this.

Surely, there's no need to rush into it—we have centuries, you and I."

"Indeed," Arlian agreed, "but our Aritheian physician does not She is an old woman, and I cannot say whether there will be another, when she is gone, who can do as well."

Rime nodded. "Not centuries, then—but surely, you can give me hours."

"Of course."

"Despite the possible cost," Rime remarked, "it does sound preferable to someday having my throat cut, or allowing a monstrous worm to tear its way out of my bosom."

"I would think so," Arlian said, encouraged.

"Should I agree, I will want some time to put my affairs in order, in case this experiment of yours does prove fatal. When will your Aritheian magician be ready?"

"Whenever you please," Arlian said.

"Then let us speak of other matters for now, and you will have my decision when I have made it."

Arlian could scarcely object to that. The remainder of the visit was passed in idle discussion of gossip and trivia.