Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) (7 page)

Monifin hesitated, then began, "And should we expect..." He paused. Arlian waited politely. Monifin began again, "My lord, does this not make it even more pressing to defend Ethinior against retaliation?"

Arlian blinked. "Retaliation?" He glanced at his wagon, where Black sat on the driver's bench and Wren, he knew, was bound inside. "By whom?"

"By the surviving dragons, of course, or their human minions."

"The other dragons are all still asleep, my lord; unless the weather should warm in a truly astonishing manner, they will not wake for at least a fortnight and probably considerably longer. As for their servants..." He considered that, then said, "While I suppose they might be interested in avenging their masters' losses, why would they trouble Ethinior? They would far rather recruit you into their ranks than fight you."

"We have heard tales from the east, my lord, of how neighboring towns are destroyed in revenge for each lair of dragons you expunge."

"Do not put too much faith in travelers' tales, my lord." He sighed, and said, "We will speak of this at length later, but for the moment, we are tired and hungry..."

"Of course, of course! A thousand apologies, my lord!" Monifin spread his arms in an expansive gesture of welcome, and then turned to his townsfolk and began calling names, asking for families to host Arlian's men.

An hour later housing had been assigned to all; Black and Arlian were, of course, to be guests of the Lord Mayor and his wife.

The next question to be addressed was the disposition of the prisoner. Arlian had been considering this during the journey down from Crackstone, and had finally, as they entered the town, reached a conclusion. No good would be served by killing her, selling her into slavery violated his principles, and he doubted she posed any real threat to anyone's well-being. Simply turning her loose, however, would leave her prey to slavers and free to fall once again under the Dragon Society's sway. A place would have to be found for her—and Ethinior seemed as good as any.

To bring her into her new home as a bound prisoner would hardly enhance her chances for a decent life there. Accordingly, when the wagons had first rolled to a stop he had removed her bonds, after obtaining her promise that she would tell no one who she was or why she was there. He told her no more of his plans for her, preferring to observe her behavior for a time before saying anything he might later find it necessary to retract.

He also passed the word among the men to say nothing of Wren's history; should anyone inquire, they were merely to say that she was Lord Obsidian's business and not theirs.

On the second night of their stay a ball was held in their honor, despite the local disappointment that they had not come to establish the town's defenses against dragons. This seemed amazingly short notice to Arlian, but he was happy to attend; he had been to few social functions of any sort in recent years.

He observed that the fashion for wearing masks that had taken hold throughout much of the Lands of Man was still considered too extreme for ordinary pursuits in Ethinior, but entirely appropriate for a celebration of this sort—at least half the two dozen natives attending the dance covered their faces in one manner or another. While his own men had no masks, a few improvised with handkerchiefs or

watchcaps.

At one point he found himself dancing with Wren, who took the opportunity to ask, "Why have you freed me? Aren't you worried I might flee, and return to Lord Shatter?"

"I am relying on your common sense to prevent that," he replied.

She stared up at him for a moment as they progressed through the figure of the dance, then said, "Thank you."

As they were about to part, she whispered, "Don't trust Lord Rolinor."

He stared after her as she danced away, but then a local noble-woman was demanding his attention for the next figure, and he let the matter drop.

Late in the afternoon of the third day, as Arlian and Black took inventon- of their supplies in preparation for continuing to Manfort, Lord Monifin approached. He wore the city's seal on a chain around his neck to indicate that he was there on official business, rather than merely making conversation.

"Your pardon, my lord," Monifin elder said, bowing, "but it would appear you are preparing to depart."

"Indeed, I hope to leave at daybreak tomorrow," Arlian replied.

The mayor bowed again. "Can we not persuade you to stay? Our people are so honored by your presence . . . "

Arlian and Black exchanged glances.

"Is it still the dragons you fear, or the Dragon Society?" Arlian asked.

The man hesitated, and Arlian thought he could see a faint flush on his face. "Both, my lord. Even if there is no pattern of revenge or retaliation, certainly both have attacked undefended towns."

"True enough. Still, a few dozen soldiers, even soldiers as valiant and experienced as the men I have the honor to command, would probably be of little use against a waking, airborne dragon. We kill them in their lairs while they sleep because it is only there and under those conditions that we can be assured of any success. In the open air, fighting an alert and angry enemy, even with our spears we would be hard-pressed to survive, let alone triumph. And despite all this, my lord, I doubt the dragons would attack a town as large as this—they would be wary of traps and treachery, and of the sheer number of foes."

"Lord Obsidian, last summer Sellas-at-the-Falls was burned to the ground. Ethinior is not much larger than Sellas was."

"Ethinior is built mostly of stone, where Sellas was largely of that fine dark wood that burns so well when struck by flaming venom. No, I don't think this is an ideal target for the dragons—but I have been wrong before, and that's with no mention of the Dragon Society." He glanced at Black. "We must return to Manfort, my steward and I, but I will see if any of my men would like to stay here, to show you how to build defenses and to train your own men to fight. We have none of the materials to build catapults, neither the old wooden ones nor the fireproof iron kind we now prefer, nor do we have experts in their construction and use, but we will leave at least a few of our obsidian blades, so you will have something that can pierce a dragon's hide."

"Thank you, my lord." Monifin bowed yet again, then retreated.

Arlian watched him go, then turned to Black. "What do you think?"

"I think you have made an excellent decision," Black said. "If the people of Ethinior feel they have your support, they won't be tempted to turn their coats should Lord Hardior or one of the others come riding up with an ultimatum. We certainly won't need the men or obsidian in Manfort."

"You think some will volunteer, then?"

"Oh, certainly! They're heroes here, and it's a long, boring journey to Manfort. I wouldn't be surprised if they all volunteer."

"That might be awkward," Arlian said with a smile.

"On the contrary. We can travel faster alone, and fortifying Ethinior is a worthwhile task to occupy the men for the summer. I would think the Duke will commend your enterprise and efficiency if you leave the entire company here. And you can retrieve them in the fall, before proceeding up into the mountains."

Arlian nodded thoughtfully.

"They can build the catapults," he said. "They have wood and iron and rope here. The obsidian spearheads, though ..

"Perhaps you should send a messenger to the Smoking Mountain, to direct a shipment this way."

"A fine suggestion." He glanced at the bundles of supplies that he and Black had been tallying, and said, "I'll speak to Quickhand; you find Stabber. We'll pass the word that we're looking for volunteers to stay in Ethinior for the summer."

6

A Wearisome Journey

The confusion of asking each soldier whether he preferred to stay or go, allowing them time to confer with their comrades, and making sure of their answers delayed Arlian's departure another full day—and in the end, almost all of them volunteered to stay, at least for a time. Several had hesitated, or initially chosen to go, but had in the end been swayed by the majority. Even the sorcerers, to Arlian's surprise, chose to remain in Ethinior—as much to avoid the strain of travel as for any other reason, as all three were elderly.

Of course, knowing that their campaigns would be long and dangerous, Arlian had deliberately recruited soldiers with few ties—not a one had a wife or children awaiting him in Manfort.

Not all would stay the summer, even so; the company was divided into two groups, one that would remain indefinitely, under Stabber's command, and the other, under Quickhand, that would linger until warmer weather, to aid in preparing Ethinior's defenses, before returning to Manfort. All the men seemed content to join one party or the other; even those with kin in the Duke's city were in no great rush.

The one exception was Lord Rolinor, who chose to continue di-

rectly to Manfort.

"I am not sure I would allow him to stay, had he asked," Arlian remarked to Black as they sat in his room in the mayor's house on their fourth and final night in Ethinior, reviewing their preparations. "I don't want him conspiring with Wren, or looking for a source of venom."

"I don't think you ever needed to worry about him staying here,"

Black replied. "He can get a hero's welcome anywhere, with his title and his looks, and he's eager to get back to the Citadel, where he can fawn on His Grace some more."

Arlian grimaced. He let the matter lie, and set about hiring a messenger to carry instructions to the Smoking Mountain.

That done, he then spoke to the Lord Mayor.

"My lord," he said, "we have with us a woman named Wren whose home was destroyed by the dragons; I would esteem it a personal favor if a home could be found for her here in Ethinior."

"Of course," Monifin said.

And Wren's future was decided.

It still remained to inform Wren of this; he found her chattering happily with some of the women she had met at the ball, and drew her aside, where he explained that he was freeing her, and leaving her in Ethinior.

For a moment she was silent. Then she asked, "Did you tell them I was a spy?"

"I saw no point in doing so," he replied. "I would rather have you made welcome here, so that you face no temptation to aid Lord Shatter further. I suppose most of my own men know, but I have asked them not to mention it to the townsfolk."

"I suppose your men will be watching me, to make sure I behave."

"I suppose they will. Is that so great a burden?"

"No." She reached up with both hands, catching him by surprise, and pulled his face down to her own, kissing him on the cheek. "Again, my lord, I thank you."

Then she released him, and they parted.

The following morning three men and a single wagon continued

down the trade road toward Westguard. Rolinor had previously ridden with the lieutenants, but Arlian had appointed Quickhand and Stabber to the command of Ethinior's temporary garrison, so Rolinor's belongings had been transferred to Arlian's wagon.

They rolled out of Ethinior's town square to the sound of cheering and shouted farewells, but by the time they passed the ancient guard tower that marked the town's nominal boundary the only sounds they heard were made by the wagon, the horses, and the wind. The chill air carried a dampness that soaked through their cloaks and devoured the lingering warmth of the mayor's hearthfire, and for a long time they huddled in cold silence as they rode.

At last, though, as Black drove and the others rode in the open area behind the driver's bench, Rolinor leaned over the side and stared back at the fog-softened outline of Ethinior vanishing behind them, then sat up and said, "So, my lord Obsidian, I understand your ancestors hail from Blackwater?"

Arlian blinked in surprise, and turned to look at the younger man.

"No," he said. "My family lived on the Smoking Mountain, where the obsidian workshops now stand."

"But there have never been any prominent families from the Smoking Mountain! I had heard you claimed to be from there, but I assumed it was merely a pretext to justify your nickname."

Arlian turned away again. "No. My family was not prominent. I was born in Obsidian, on the Smoking Mountain, and took my name from my origin."

"And you have no ancestors among the nobility of Blackwater?"

"None."

"Then perhaps your fathers served the Dukes of Manfort in some noteworthy capacity?"

Arlian was becoming annoyed at Rolinor's determination to find some trace of noble blood in him, though he supposed it was intended as a compliment. "No. My fathers never set foot in Manfort."

"But you owned the Old Palace."

"I bought it from the Duke."

"And you own the Grey House."

"Lord Enziet bequeathed it to me in a momentary fit of perversity.

"Surely, it was more than that! He must have recognized some spark in you."

"He recognized that I was as stubborn and as damned as he was himself." He did not mention that he thought Enziet had intended the inheritance more as a burden than a reward; he doubted Rolinor would believe it.

"But you were a great lord before Enziet died, were you not?"

"I was wealthy, certainly."

"From your family's holdings?"

"From trading with Arithei."

"But you must have started with something . . . "

"I stole a keg of gold from a man named Kuruvan."

"Stole?" Rolinor appeared shaken.

"Of course. His favorite whore told me where to find it; she was one of the ones who taught me my courtly manners. I was an escaped slave, and the women of a brothel took me in." He glanced at Rolinor. "Had you never heard this tale? I thought it common gossip."

" I . . . There are many rumors, my lord. Most of them are lies."

"Never be too quick to dismiss the unlikely as lies. Fate plays strange tricks, and a good many unlikely things are absolutely true."

"Then . . . is it true that you have sworn to exterminate the dragons?"

"Yes."

"But if your family had no estates—why?"