Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) (49 page)

"Yes, my lord." Venlin turned and trotted away. Arlian called after him, "Send Stammer out here to stay with Brook!" Then he turned to Brook and said, "I must go, but I'll return as quickly as I can." He managed a sickly smile. "I want to see this child of yours that has our foes so concerned!"

"Go find Black," Brook said. "And the midwife."

Arlian nodded, and then winced as the pain in his shoulder worsened. At least, he thought, he need not worry about infection; dragonhearts were immune. That did not lessen the discomfort, though.

He turned and hurried toward the nearest door to the gallery.

A moment later he was in the forecourt, where he headed for the gate. A step from the door he broke into a run—Black was sitting on the pavement, his back against the gatehouse.

Even as he ran, Arlian's ears registered the comparative silence—

no screams, no clashing blades, no rattle of arrows. The battle was clearly over.

Men were still shouting orders to one another, though.

"Lord Obsidian!" someone called.

"Just a moment," Arlian said, as he knelt at Black's side.

Black was still breathing, but that breath was shallow and unsteady.

Arlian frowned unhappily. He looked up through the bars.

The captain of the guard company was standing there looking worried. "My lord," he said, "what's happening?"

"The house is safe," Arlian said. He glanced at Hendal's body, still lying untended a few feet away, and the bodies of Lord Shatter and Hardior's two footmen. "Four men got through the gate, and all four were killed, as was one of my own men. My steward is grievously wounded."

"You're bleeding, too," the captain said.

"Lord Hardior's blade went through my shoulder," Arlian agreed.

"Your steward came out and asked our situation, but then he sat down..."

"He's unconscious," Arlian confirmed, as he tugged the bloody remains of Black's shirt away from the wounds and studied them. "And yourself and your men? What's happened?"

"Whoever those attackers were, they turned and ran," the captain said. "We killed a few, captured a few, and lost eleven of our own. Most of my men are out trying to apprehend the foe's archers as they come down from the rooftops."

"Good. Do you have a physician, perhaps? Bandages? Water?"

"I'll see. But my lord, you must open the gate."

Arlian looked up, startled.

For a moment he wondered whether this was a trick, whether the captain was in the pay of the Dragon Society, come to kill Brook—but no, he told himself, they were not that clever, to stage this entire battle and sacrifice Hardior and Shatter merely to get their man through the gate. In retrospect, it amazed him that they had been so careless with the lives of two senior dragonhearts.

The dragons clearly did not merely fear Brook's child; they were apparently in absolute terror of it, to risk so much.

"I want it heavily guarded," Arlian said. "And none of your men are to enter the house under any circumstances save my direct order."

"The physician cannot work through the bars; I have no need to allow anyone else beyond the gate."

"Good." Arlian rose, and with trembling fingers slid back the bolt.

He stepped back, opening the gate—and kept his sword ready in his hand.

The captain stepped in, took one look at Black, then turned and bellowed, "Leather, where's the physician? We've got a badly wounded man here!"

"Thank you," Arlian said, letting his sword drop. "Thank you, Captain."

Then, overcome by weariness, he sat down suddenly on the stone of the forecourt, staring at the blood on the pavement and realizing that some of it was his own.

That stirred him to a final effort. "Captain," he said, "the blood—

some of it is tainted."

The captain had been cleaning Black's wounds, but now he snatched his hands away. "Dragonhearts?"

Arlian nodded. "Myself, and that one," he said, pointing at Shatter.

"Not your steward?"

"No." Arlian smiled. "He's no dragonheart; he's about to be a father."

Then he closed his eyes and rested.

45

An Exceptional Birth

45

An Exceptional Birth

Despite Arlian's concerns and Brook's urgency, the next few hours were calm. The midwife arrived in good time, and while Lilsinir and the guards' physician attended to Black and Arlian, the midwife saw to Brook, getting her out of her chair and onto a bed.

The children were permitted to visit briefly with their parents, just to be reassured that both Brook and Black were still alive, and were then hustled off to the kitchens in Stammer's care, to await the arrival of their new sibling. Amberdine was clearly aghast at her father's condition and broke down in tears; Kerzia attempted to comfort her while fighting back her own tears, and Dirinan took one look, then buried his face in Stammer's shoulder and refused to hear or see anything more.

The household staff removed Hardior's remains and began the unwelcome task of cleaning up the salon and gallery. Venlin, with the aid of a few carefully chosen soldiers, removed the corpses from the yard, as well—Hendal, Shatter, and Hardior's two footmen. This labor, which would not have been pleasant under any circumstances, was made worse by the oppressive heat and heavy overcast; the lamps were lit half an hour before sunset, as the skies were already as dark as night.

More soldiers were cleaning up the surrounding streets, and questioning the prisoners they had taken—most of them rooftop archers.

Arlian was very interested in hearing what these interrogations produced, but could not participate, or even spare the time to hear reports; there were more immediate concerns occupying his attention.

His own injuries were inconvenient, but not life-threatening; as a dragonheart he had no fear of infection, of fever or gangrene. The wound in his shoulder was the only serious one, and even that would undoubtedly heal in a fortnight or so; for the present it limited the motion of his right arm, restricting any attempt to swing the arm above the horizontal and making any sort of lifting painful. Blood loss had left him hazy and weak; the physician had treated this by feeding him three pints of thin beer, to replenish the fluids he had lost, which undoubtedly helped his body but did not initially make his thoughts any clearer.

Black's condition was more serious; he had lost more blood than Arlian, and had no real protection against fever or decay. Further, he was not conscious and could not drink anything of his own volition; Lilsinir managed to force some water down his throat without choking him, and thoroughly cleaned the numerous wounds, but could do little more. After some debate among Brook, Arlian, Lilsinir, the guards'

physician, and the midwife, Black's unconscious body was arranged on a couch in Brook's bedroom, a few feet from his laboring wife's side.

"When he is past the worst, I have healing herbs, some minor magicks, that will help," Lilsinir told Arlian. "For now, we wait."

And Brook was definitely in labor, the baby descended into position, contractions coming at steadily narrowing intervals. She had been through this before, and knew what to do, but nonetheless she looked at Arlian with fear plain on her sweat-drenched face.

"What if it's a monster?" she said, when the midwife was out of the room fetching towels. "I lost two babies, and that was horrible, but they were just babies—what if this is something else? I'm not sure whether I'm more afraid that it will die or that it will live. Ari, what have we done?"

"We've terrified the dragons," he said, holding her hand.

"What?"

"We've frightened the dragons. Shatter and Hardior said as much."

"Shatter?" She snatched her hand away. "Lord Shatter, chairman of the Dragon Society? Was he here?"

Arlian nodded. "I cut his throat," he said. "He's dead."

"And that really was Lord Hardior? His face changed, and I didn't know which one was real."

"That was Lord Hardior. He used a glamour to disguise himself, so he could enter the city safely, much as I did when I rescued you in Cork Tree." He paused, then added, "He's dead, too. A thrust through the heart."

"But why were they here?"

"The dragons sent them. They didn't trust any mere hirelings or henchmen; they sent their own best men. We have the dragons terrified."

"But why? What am I bearing? What is so terrible . . . " She was interrupted by a contraction; she grimaced.

"Shatter said we have re-created the dragons' greatest foe," Arlian said.

"But what is it?"

The midwife returned just then; Arlian glanced at her, and said, "I cannot be certain—but I do not think we need fear it."

"Don't frighten her," the midwife said briskly. "She has quite enough to do without worrying about anything but herself for the next few hours."

"I know," Arlian replied. He patted Brook's hand. "All will be well, Brook. You do what you must, and let others deal with the rest."

The hours wore on, and Arlian remained nearby, ignoring the midwife's obvious disapproval. Lilsinir and the guards' physician stopped in to check on Black once or twice, but were too busy attending the other wounded from the battle outside the walls to stay.

Arlian listened uneasily to Black's breathing, which seemed to stay dangerously shallow.

And then, late in the night, when Arlian had lost track of time and dozed fitfully, the baby finally arrived.

Arlian had somehow expected something to go wrong, something

else to intervene, or at the very least signs and portents to accompany the birth, but none of that happened; instead Brook gave a final gasp, and the midwife held up a wrinkled, blood-smeared boy, so red he seemed to glow in the lamplight. She hastily toweled the babe off, and he let out a strong, healthy wail as the midwife handed him to Brook.

The child was small, but seemed well formed, with the appropriate number of fingers and toes. Arlian, standing by the bed, stared at mother and child, looking for any sign that the infant was something other than human; then he turned to the father.

Black was still sleeping, though he had stirred at the child's cry. The boy was silent now, nuzzling at his mother's breast, though he did not take the proffered nipple.

Brook looked up at Arlian. "His name is Ithar," she said. "Beron and I agreed."

"Ithar?" Arlian said. "That's fine."

"It's a good name," the midwife agreed, as she tidied up.

"He seems . . . I don't see anything... He's just a baby," Brook said. She looked down at her son, then back at Arlian. "What were the dragons afraid of?"

"I don't know," Arlian said. Then he turned at a sound behind him.

Black had awakened, and sat up on the couch; he was staring at Brook.

"Don't get up," Arlian warned.

"Wasn't planning to," Black mumbled.

Arlian turned back to Brook and held out his hands; smiling, she handed him the baby.

Ithar opened his eyes and looked up at Arlian, and for a moment Arlian was transfixed.

The baby's eyes were intensely blue, and gave off a soft, pale light.

This was no optical trick, no mere illusion; the boy's eyes were glowing.

Arlian blinked, and then remembered where he was and what he was doing; he turned and took two quick steps, then held the child out for Black to see. "You have another son," he said.

Ithar looked solemnly up at his father with those glowing blue eyes, then reached out one tiny, unsteady hand. Black smiled weakly and leaned forward, letting the little fingers brush his beard.

The weariness suddenly seemed to fall away from him; color rushed back into his cheeks. He swayed, then looked down. He and Arlian watched as the bandages fell from his wounds, and the flesh beneath healed as they watched. The glow from Ithar's eyes and hands was unmistakable, undeniable—the newborn infant was working powerful magic.

Healing magic. Benign magic.

Arlian's experiment, it would appear, was a success.

Ithar gurgled, then closed his eyes and fell asleep in Arlian's arms.

"By the dead gods," Black said, looking down at himself.

And Arlian remembered what Shatter and Hardior had said, how

the experiment was re-creating the dragons' greatest foe, and remembered also what the leech-thing in Tirikindaro had told him almost two years before about how the dragons had betrayed and murdered their greatest foes ten thousand years ago.

Black lifted his hands, and Arlian handed him his sleeping child.

"Not the dead gods, but the living," Arlian said.

Black looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Congratulations," Arlian said, grinning. "You're the father of a god."

B O O K

IV

The Gods

The Final Assault Begins

46

The Final Assault Begins

I t w a s o n t h e d a y f o l l o w i n g I t h a r ' s b i r t h t h a t t h e s e c o n d a n d f i n a l m a s s It was on the day following Ithar's birth that the second and final mass assault began.

The day had started quietly, with various people coming to admire the new baby, and with some exploration of the newborn's supernatural abilities. Ithar's touch, they found, could heal his father's wounds, or the injuries of soldiers and servants, but did nothing for Arlian's shoulder, nor for the aftereffects of his own birth—the midwife had tended to Brook unaided by divine magic.

"We're dragonhearts," Arlian explained to Brook later that morning—a morning as hot and sunless as any Arlian had ever seen. "His natural enemies. Tainted."

"But I'm his mother!"

"Tainted nonetheless."

"Then get Lilsinir in here and purify me!"

"When you have your strength back."

Brook reluctantly accepted that, then returned her attention to Ithar, asleep at her breast. "I have no milk," she said. "I suppose that's from the venom, too."

"Almost certainly."

"We'll need a wet nurse; I'm surprised he hasn't been crying about it."