Dragon Weather (41 page)

Kuruvan, his hands now motionless, stared at him. “You know the oddest details,” he said. “You know about Ril, and the letter, but you don't know Lord Enziet's name?”

“I do now,” Arlian said, his blood pounding. “I had heard the name, but did not know him by sight, and had not made the connection.”

Now he had, though, and pieces began to drop into place. Lord Enziet, chief adviser to the Duke of Manfort, was Lord Dragon. He was certainly a member of the Dragon Society, as well, scarred as most of the members of the Dragon Society were scarred, with that dragon's gaze that let him command others as he had commanded the looters so long ago in Obsidian—and that undoubtedly let him command the Duke and many of the other lords of Manfort.

That he had not told the looters his identity, nor revealed his true name in connection with the ownership of a brothel, now made perfect sense—someone so highly placed would naturally want to keep his distance from anything so sordid. And that no one in Westguard had recognized him also became understandable—Lord Enziet was known to be reclusive; he spoke with the Duke and the Duke's other advisers in private and was rarely seen in public.

Killing Lord Enziet would not be easy. He was said to keep largely to himself, staying within his own manse just to the east of the Citadel, behind dozens of guards, but he was no coward, no helpless fop—he just didn't want to be disturbed. He was said to have fought a dozen duels, invariably killing his opponent. He was rumored to be a sorcerer, as well. He was famous for his cold brilliance and ruthless efficiency, both in his advice to the Duke and his own affairs. He had no known family, and few real friends.

This, Arlian thought, would be a worthy challenge. “It is, I would say, your turn to ask a question,” he said.

Kuruvan considered him. “And I take it that I am not yet entitled to an explanation of this private matter you came to discuss?”

“Not until I have the other four names,” Arlian said. “True names, if possible, not just nicknames.”

“I have little patience for these games, O mysterious guest; I'll give you the names, and you'll tell me what this is about, and then you'll owe me three further answers on subjects of my choice.”

“Good enough,” Arlian said. “Though I have another question of my own, I'll want to ask, in time. The names?”

“Drisheen, Toribor, Stiam, and Horim.”

Arlian was disappointed to realize he knew only one of them by name—Lord Drisheen had visited the House on occasion during Arlian's residence in the attic, and was reputed to be a sorcerer and an adviser to the Duke, though one of the lesser ones. Except for an overindulgence in scents Drisheen had not been extravagantly unpleasant in his treatment of the women in Westguard, nor had he otherwise made the thought of killing him easier to handle—but the six lords were all enslavers and murderers, and Arlian
would
kill them all if he possibly could. He had sworn as much.

“Thank you,” he said.

“And the matter you wished to discuss?” Kuruvan demanded impatiently.

“Ah,” Arlian said. He considered asking his other important question, but decided he really did need to give something in return before he could expect a reply. “You own an inn called the Blood of the Grape, I believe.”

“Yes,” Kuruvan agreed. “What of it?”

“You stored a keg of gold there, long ago, against the eventuality that you might someday wish to flee Manfort.”

Kuruvan sat bolt upright. “Who told you that?”

“Someone who is now dead,” Arlian said. “You need not worry that any of your other secrets might escape.”

“You owe me three more answers, Obsidian, and that must be one of them—
who told you that?
”

“Rose,” Arlian said. He found himself trembling as he said her name, though he could not say whether he shook with grief or fury or something else entirely. “A crippled whore called Rose.”

“
She's
the mutual acquaintance you mentioned?” Kuruvan rose from his chair.

Arlian nodded.

Kuruvan took a step toward Arlian, fists clenched. “What else did she tell you?”

Arlian looked up at him and struggled to remain calm in the face of Kuruvan's rage. “I spent a considerable amount of time in Rose's company, and we spoke a great deal. Could you be more specific?”

“What else did she tell you about
me?
”

“That you were one of the owners of the House of the Six Lords,” Arlian said. “That you can't hold your liquor. That you had promised to take her with you if you ever fled Manfort.” He shrugged—which took a real effort in his tense condition; his shoulders were more inclined to shake than to rise and fall. “That's all, really. No more secrets.”

“And my gold?”

“It's gone,” Arlian said. “Taken by the youth who called himself Lord Lanair.”

“Him! The one at the inn down the street?” Kuruvan started to turn away, to pace the floor, then stopped. He turned back. “You're Lanair, aren't you? You made yourself rich with
my gold?
”

“I was Lanair,” Arlian agreed. “And I invested your gold in a caravan to Arithei, which was one element in how I became wealthy enough to be here, your fellow lord, today.”

“Have you come to pay it back, then, as if I'd made you a loan? Or are you here to taunt me for my foolishness in telling that faithless bitch where I hid it?”

Arlian rose and faced Kuruvan from mere inches away, looking up into Kuruvan's bright brown eyes.

“I am here to avenge her death, Kuruvan,” he said. “I needed the names of the other owners, and you've been kind enough to provide that; now, will you tell me where the two women you took from the House are, or will I need to search for them after I've killed you?”

“You mean to kill me?” Kuruvan stared. “Over a whore? A slave?”

“Over a woman you wronged, and for a dozen other crimes.”

“You, a thief, call
me
a criminal?”

“And you, who had women enslaved for your pleasure, and mutilated and murdered them at whim, dare deny it?”

“Of
course
I deny it! Those women were bought openly, and what we did with them was entirely within our legal rights!” Both men were shouting now, standing nose to nose, Arlian's head tipped up and Kuruvan's tipped down.

“Within your power, perhaps, but no law can make it right,” Arlian replied.

“You think you're above the law, then?”

“I think
you
have abused the very concept of law!”

Kuruvan stepped back, making a visible effort to calm himself. Holding his voice to a normal conversational level he asked, “And you intend to kill me? Have you a knife tucked in your boot, then, or were you planning to use your Borderlands magic?”

Arlian lowered his own voice to match Kuruvan's. “I intend to meet you fairly, sword in hand, at a time and place of your choosing, and convenient to us both.”

“A duel?” Kuruvan sneered. “You think yourself a nobleman, and not a mere assassin?”

“I am no assassin,” Arlian replied. “I own businesses that are run for me by others—does that not entitle me to the rank I claim?”

“You bought them with stolen money!”

“Nonetheless, I own them. Choose where and when we shall meet, Lord Kuruvan, and I'll take my leave until the appointed time.”

“You're an unarmed thief, here in my home—why should I meet you honorably? Why should I not have you slain on the spot?”

Arlian smiled a tight little smile. “I see at least two reasons,” he said. “Firstly, if we do meet fairly, I will bring with me a keg of gold equal to what I took from you at Rose's behest—and in return I ask that you bring the two women, the survivor to claim all.”

“And…?”

“And secondly, I have friends and retainers awaiting my safe return, including half a dozen of Arithei's most powerful magicians, who do not consider me a thief; do you really want to risk their vengeance?”

Kuruvan stared at him.

“Were I the assassin you think me, you would already be dead,” Arlian said. “You may have heard what happened to Sahasin.”

Kuruvan considered that before replying slowly. “You intend to fight me fairly? And you think you can kill me?”

“Indeed I do,” Arlian said.

“I'm twice your age. I have trained with the sword since I was a beardless child.”

“Then perhaps
you
will kill
me,
” Arlian said. “Either way, my need for vengeance will be at an end, either satisfied or destroyed.”

“You must be mad,” Kuruvan said. “You seek me out, confess to robbing me, then challenge me to fight to the death over a dead slave. You boast of complicity in the assassination of the Aritheian ambassador…”

Arlian interrupted. “On the contrary, I do not even know whether Sahasin is truly dead. Otherwise, yes, you've stated the case accurately—and perhaps I
am
mad. You're not the first to suggest it.”

Kuruvan stared at him a moment longer, then said, “Very well, I will face you. Tomorrow, at my own gate at midday.”

Arlian smiled broadly and bowed. “I will be there,” he promised.

Then he turned and marched out.

35

A Meeting at Swordpoint

“Remember, you'll have raw speed and strength on your side,” Black said, leaning down from the driver's seat of the coach, “but he's far more experienced than you are, as he said. He'll probably react faster simply because he won't need to think about it.”

Arlian nodded, then opened the door of the coach. He felt cold and stiff, as if the blood were cooling and thickening in his veins. He had fought before, and he had killed beasts, monsters, and even a man—creatures in the Dreaming Mountains had perished on his sword, and the bandit on the southernmost edge of the Desolation had died at his feet.

But despite all his plans and dreams of vengeance, he had never before deliberately set himself in front of another human being with the intention of killing him in cold blood. It felt different. It felt
wrong.

He glanced at Thirif, who sat silently in the coach, but the Aritheian said nothing.

“He's taller than you,” Black said, as he climbed down. “He'll have a longer reach. Don't let him use it; stay in close or get clear, don't fight at full extension.”

“You told me that,” Arlian said.

“I know I did—I want you to remember it!” Black retorted. “I want you to live through this.”

Arlian didn't answer as he stepped out of the coach. He stretched, straightened his jacket, straightened his sword belt, and faced his enemy's home.

The air was warmer than it had been in days, but still cool and redolent of spring; vines twined up the gateposts, and blue flowers bloomed splendidly on one side, catching the bright light of midday. The gate of Lord Kuruvan's mansion was closed, as it had not been when Arlian arrived the day before; guards wearing the maroon and gold of Kuruvan's household, including gold-trimmed breastplates, stood on either side outside the fence. They held pikes.

There was no sign of Lord Kuruvan, or of the two women he had carried away from the brothel in Westguard. Arlian glanced up; the sun was straight overhead, so far as he could tell.

Had he put too much faith in Kuruvan's honor and respect for tradition? Had the man perhaps fled, rather than face him? After all, Kuruvan had once made preparations to flee Manfort on short notice.

The guards were still there, though. Why would they stay if Kuruvan had fled?

Then the grand front door swung open, and Kuruvan's gray-haired steward emerged. He strode to the gate with smooth assurance, then bowed, his head almost scraping the black iron bars.

“Lord Obsidian,” he said.

“Sir,” Arlian replied. He stepped forward and stopped a yard from the gate. “I believe I have an appointment with your employer.”

“Indeed,” the steward said, straightening. “However, Lord Kuruvan has asked me to speak with you briefly first.”

“Has he? Why?” Arlian placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, not so much as a threat as simply to indicate his impatience.

“In hopes, my lord, of preventing unnecessary bloodshed. While he has no fear for his own safety, he hesitates to deprive Manfort of a man of your own obvious intelligence and courage, and therefore hopes that this quarrel can be composed by more peaceful means.”

“And has he some proposal for atoning for his crimes?”

“Indeed,” the steward said. “He proposes to give you the two slaves you sought, in exchange for the gold you took from him. He will lay no claim to any interest or profit upon the stolen funds.”

“And what about the four women he helped murder—Rose, and Silk, and the others? What about mutilating a dozen women for the sake of pleasure and profit?”

The stewart frowned. “I know nothing of that, nor do my instructions cover it. Lord Kuruvan assures me that he broke no law in the matters you accuse him of.”

“The women were slaves—but they were still women, not beasts.” Arlian hesitated. He did not want to kill anyone, not really—but Kuruvan was a murderer. Slaves were human beings, and no one, owner or not, had the right to maim and kill them with impunity.

Still, if he could be made to pay some other way …

“I propose a counter-offer,” Arlian said. “If Lord Kuruvan frees every slave in his possession, and swears never again to hold a person in bondage, I will consider our quarrel settled and justice done. He cannot give those four women back their lives, nor the others their feet, but if he grants life and freedom to others, perhaps the scales will be balanced.”

The steward hesitated. “I must consult with my lord,” he said. He bowed and turned.