The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (31 page)

Arlian would need to find some stratagem, some device that would give him an edge, if he was to win this fight.

There were no shadows to exploit, and Toribor had no old wounds other than his missing eye. There was nothing irregular about his style save the way he kept his bead turned to make up for his limited vision.

While heavy and far from young, be was not weak or sick. Arlian had not noticed any weaknesses in his swordsmanship.

He had to find
something,
though. Arlian ducked Toribor'

and triesd thig

a loh wit

w h that approach

attack—in Cork . Tree he had cut open

This time he had his sword knocked roughly out of line by the swordbreaker, while Toribor's own sword came overhand for a slash at Arlian's shoulder, drawing the first blood.

It was only the merest scratch, but it stung—and it was not a good sign. Arlian pivoted back, attempting to disengage, but Toribor pursued him, forcing him backward three steps before he was able to stand his ground once again.

This would not do.

Arlian told himself that he was in the right, that justice demanded Toribor's death; he remembered Rose and Silk and the others, and remembered how Toribor had tried to delay or kill him in Cork Tree ...

And he remembered how even when Toribor was at his mercy, he had begged not for his own life, but for Enziet's, to keep the dragons restrained. The man had courage—and he hated and feared the dragons. He had treated the slaves in the House of Carnal Society as tools rather than people, but he had not been deliberately cruel. Perhaps he had been under Enziet's thumb.

Enziet could be very persuasive.

All the same, he had been one of the Six Lords, and he constantly opposed Arlian. He must die for it. Arlian attacked again, moving first toward Toribor's left, as if to try for his blind side, then abruptly shifting direction and striking at Toribor's right.

That did catch Toribor off-guard—for perhaps half a second. Arlian was able to slash diagonally across his foe's right wrist, drawing a widening line of red blood across the tight white sleeve, but did not manage the crippling blow at the inside of the elbow that he had hoped for.

Toribor countered with a jab at Arlian's chest that speared through the silk scarf tucked into his breast When Arlian brought up his swordbreaker, hoping to snap the sword's blade before Toribor could free it from its silken entanglement, Toribor slashed upward, cutting free of the scarf and drawing a line of blood upward from Arlian's right eyebrow to his hairline.

Neither man could spare a single breath for speech now; they were much too busy with their blades. Steel clashed against steel as both moved in to the attack.

Arlian fought automatically, the long, hard training Black had given him returning now that his life depended on it; he sensed what Toribor intended and reacted before the blows could strike.

Unfortunately, Toribor could do the same, just as effectively.

Around them, the watching crowd cheered and whistled and applauded as the swordsmen fought; each attack, each retreat, elicited gasps and shouted comments and encouragement. Arlian and Toribor ignored it all, and focused only on each other.

The two men maneuvered around one another, and at one point, as Arlian ducked under a high attack and sent his own blade stabbing toward Toribor's sizeable belly, Arlian found himself looking directly over Toribor's shoulder at the archers atop the city wall.

Someone not in uniform was speaking to two of them, and each archer had an arrow in his hand, ready to nock and draw.

But then Toribor turned to dodge Arlian's lunge and brought his own sword down toward Arlian's neck, and Arlian was too busy bringing up his swordbreaker to turn the attack to see any more of whatever might be transpiring on the battlements.

Even in the midst of combat, Arlian found himself wondering once again who had sent the archers there, and why.

Perhaps that distraction was why he misjudged a parry—or perhaps Toribor's greater skill simply caught up with him. Toribor's sword slashed across the inside of Arlian's wrist, and Arlian's hand spasmed slightly—enough to loosen his grip on the hilt of his own sword, and cost him a fraction of a second of control. Toribor reversed his blade's motion abruptly and thrust, and the point jabbed into Arlian's arm.

Arlian's fingers twitched, and Toribor brought his swordbreaker slamming down on Arlian's blade.

The sword did not break, but flew from Arlian's grasp and bounced, ringing, on the stone pavement.

The audience suddenly fell still.

Arlian quickly brought up his swordbreaker and countered Toribor's first thrust, but he knew then that he was doomed. He would die with his vengeance in-complete; the dragons that had slaughtered his family would survive, and breed new dragons in the hearts of unsuspecting humans ...

Or perhaps not so unsuspecting.

"Belly," he said, as Toribor disengaged from the swordbreaker and prepared to strike again, "don't let them side with the dragons."

Toribor paused.

"What?"

"The others. The Society. Don't let them side with the dragons. Don't listen to Pulzera. You can destroy them if you'll just stay together, and use the obsidian weapons."

"Don't talk to me about that!"

"But it's important! You're going to kill me before I can deal with the dragons, so someone else has to do it, and only the Society ,.."

"Shut up!"
Toribor bellowed, thrusting the tip of his blade past the swordbreaker and up against Arlian's throat.

"But you mustn't let the dragons win! Don't you see..

"I
do
see!" Toribor shouted. "You let me live last year in Cork Tree because I was more concerned for Enziet than for myself, so now you're trying to save your
own
miserable life by pretending you care about the Society!"

"I care about the
dragons,
and what they may do to mankind if the Society sides with them! I know you're going to kill me..."

"Beg for your life, damn you!"

Arlian blinked at him, startled. "You know me better than that, don't you?"

Toribor's face was purple with rage, and the tip of the sword had pierced Arlian's scarf and dug into the skin of his throat; a drop of red appeared on the white silk.
"Damn
you, Obsidian!" Toribor said. "If I kill you now, in front of all these people—they
know
you spared my life last time we fought. If I kill you, you'll be the better man forever!"

Arlian could think of no intelligent reply to that, and stared silently at Toribor.

"I'd almost think you dropped your sword on purpose!"

The corner of Arlian's mouth quirked upward.

"Unless I thought you as good a man as myself, that would simply be suicide," Arlian said. "And if I thought you as good as myself, why would we be fighting?"

"A sword at your throat, and still you chatter and argue and bait me? You're
mad,
Obsidian!" The sword moved half an inch to the left, cutting the skin of Arlian's throat.

'Then go ahead and rid the world of a madman, Belly, but just remember that mad or not, I do know I'm a man and not yet a dragon or the slave of dragons.

You make certain that the others all know it!"

For a moment Toribor stared silently at him; then he said through gritted teeth, "Pick up your sword."

Arlian stared back.

Toribor was not going to simply kill him. By ancient tradition, Toribor had every right to finish him off here and now—but Toribor was not doing it

Enziet wouldn't have hesitated for an instant He wouldn't have cared what anyone thought of him. Drisheen would have relished every second, and found a way to kill Arlian slowly. But Toribor was giving him another chance.

Arlian was not at all sure whether he would have done as much were the roles reversed. After all, he had killed Drisheen in cold blood, and Shamble—he had had Shamble at swordspoint, as Toribor now had him, and he had cut open the man's throat

But Toribor was not going to kill him. Toribor did not even want to march back into the city and leave matters unsettled—he wanted a resolution.

"If you care so much about your reputation, my lord," Arlian said, "you could withdraw your blade for a moment and then strike me down and say I'd lunged with my swordbreaker. I might even do it I'm not de-fenseless, not unarmed."

'1 care about my
honor
, Obsidian, not my reputation."

"And if there were no audience here, would you still tell me to pick up my sword?"

Toribor hesitated, his anger fading.

"I
hope
so," he said at last

"An honest and honorable answer," Arlian said.

'Tell me, then, what will you do if I choose not to retrieve my blade?"

"I don't know. I might yet kill you. Why should you risk it?"

"Because if I do retrieve my weapon, and we resume our duel, one of us will die, and I think the odds better than even that it would be me. If I do not and we speak, either I will die, or neither of us will—and I think I've come to prefer the latter. I tried to make peace with you once before, and you refused—but I wish I had tried again, rather than challenged you.

Now I
do
try again. Can we not end this without a death?"

"And what of your famous oath, to kill me or die trying?"

"I think the time may have come to withdraw that oath, my lord. I made that vow to myself, and I can therefore release myself from it."

"And you'd do this to save your own life? You think so little of your own promise to die rather than forgo your vengeance?"

"I would do this to spare
your
life, my lord. You have
mine
in your hand, and can take it if you choose."

"I will take it
honorably,
Obsidian, if at all. Pick up your sword. You spared my life, I have spared yours—

we are even. Now let us conclude the matter properly."

"I will oblige you if you insist, but I would be far more willing to conclude our quarrel peaceably. You have shown yourself to be a better man than I thought you."

"And
you
have ... I don't know what you've done.

Pick up your sword!"

Reluctantly, Arlian stepped back, away from Toribor's sword, and stooped, keeping his eyes always on his opponent's right hand as he groped for his own blade.

The crowd, which had been cheering and chattering so constantly until Arlian lost his sword, watched in utter silence.

Toribor stood back as Arlian picked up his sword; he waited until Arlian was upright once more, sword ready, before he attacked.

Arlian defended himself, but did not attempt a ri-poste; he no longer felt any desire to kill Toribor. He would do it if he had to to defend his own life, but he no longer believed that justice required it.

Toribor had been one of the men who owned the brothel in Westguard; he had allowed the mutilation of the sixteen slaves imprisoned there, and the murder of four of them. He had taken two of the women as his share of the business when Lord Enziet shut it down.

But he had not harmed the two he took. He had not harmed anyone else, so far as Arlian knew. He had allied himself with Enziet and Dri sheen and the others, but he had not instigated their evil.

And he had argued, in Cork Tree, not for his own life but for the greater good of humanity. He had spared Arlian's life here and now. He was prone to anger and thoughtlessness, but he also maintained a sense of honor, something Enziet, Drisheen, and Horim had considered unnecessary.

And he opposed the dragons. That was certainly a point in his favor. At one time Arlian would have taken that for granted, but now he knew better—Lady Pulzera had shown him that much.

Toribor deserved punishment for his crimes, certainly. He owed the surviving maimed women a debt he could never pay. Arlian no longer believed, though, that he deserved death.

Around them the crowd was cheering again, but with less enthusiasm than before; they seemed sub-dued. Steel clashed, and Arlian saw an opening, but he did not strike; instead he stepped back, his blades on guard. It might be that there was no way to end this fight short of death, but Arlian was not yet convinced of that

Of course, Toribor was a dragonhead, his blood toxic, a monster growing in his heart. He might still be human enough for mercy and honor now, but he was centuries younger than Enziet had been. What would he be like in time, if Arlian let him live?

And what would become of that dragon in his heart?

Perhaps it was best if Toribor died, after all. Arlian parried a thrust, and this time he struck back, catching Toribor off-guard and scraping the tip of his sword across Toribor's right shoulder before Toribor could turn the attack.

But there were dragons in so many hearts—thirty-eight, counting Arlian's own.

And killing them would not end the threat; the drag-cms would pollute more, unless the dragons were destroyed
first.

And the people best equipped to destroy the dragons were the dragonhearts. Killing Toribor would not help-Killing Toribor would make it that much more likely that the other dragonhearts would distrust Arlian, and would listen to Pulzera and side with the dragons against him.