The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (45 page)

The dragons must have some way of causing it.

He had to communicate with them, stop them from attacking—if it was not too late.

With that in mind, upon reaching Deep Delving Arlian went directly to the inn and demanded three things: a room, a basin of water, and complete privacy.

The innkeeper grumbled, casting uneasy glances at fee ragged, dazed-looking miners who had followed Arlian to town, but when Arlian showed him gold he complied quickly enough.

"Do you want these men with you?" he asked, pointing at the miners.

"Of course not," Arlian said. "I told you, I want complete privacy."

The innkeeper bowed and retreated.

The room was on die ground floor, a small store-room at the back; Arlian closed die room's shutters and latched them, checked to be sure the door was securely bolted, then settled into a chair, the basin before him on the table. He drew his swordbreaker.

He had no assurance this would work, of course; he did not know how the sorcery actually operated, only that it was possible to speak to the dragons in this manner. All the same, he could see little choice. He took the swordbreaker in his right hand, pressed the tip of the blade against the inside of his left forearm, and drew a line erf blood on his flesh.

He remembered that before, when he had spoken with the dragon, he had washed blood from his hands into the bowl; further, when Sweet had seen Enziet conjure a dragon's image, he had just washed blood from his hands. Therefore, Arlian did not just drip blood into the water; instead he smeared it on his fingers, then spread the blood on both hands, rubbing palm on palm and twining his fingers together.

Only then did he wash his hands, soaking and scrubbing until his skin was clean and pink, die water dark and bloody.

That done, he stared at the water.

At first, nothing happened. Arlian was not much of a sorcerer, but he tried to re-create the calm focus that Rime had taught him was the beginning of controlling sorcery, and to direct his energies toward the polluted water.

The water stilled, becoming as fiat as a mirror, while the blood gathered below the surface. An image took shape—the same image he had seen before, the same dragon he had communicated with in Nail's home.

The dragon was amused. Arlian could sense that before anything that could be put into words was conveyed.

"Why do you trouble us? "

"I want to discuss an agreement," Arlian said.

"It is late for that."
Arlian noticed that it did not say
too
late.
"You have revealed our secrets."

"I know," Arlian said—though he had still hoped the dragons did not yet know. "But is there no bargain we can make?"

"Oh, there are no doubt many possible bargains. To
make a bargain, one party must state a desire, and the
other must set a price for its fulfillment—what do you
desire of us?"

"I want you to stay in your caverns, and harm no one."

The amusement was much clearer now.
"It is
much
too late for
that"

A cold sense of foreboding swept over Arlian.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because we are already a-wing,"
the dragon replied.
"A fishing village is aflame, and soon another
will be, as well."

"Another? A second, so soon? But I thought... you never before..

"We were bound,"
the dragon said, before Arlian could bring his thoughts to order.
"By our bargain
with the other."

Arlian knew it meant Enziet's bargain, the agreement that had ended the ancient Man-Dragon Wars and driven the dragons into the caverns. "Then you're on your way to Manfort? You mean to rule the Lands of Man, as you did long ago?"

"There is no hurry,"
the dragon replied.
"We are un-bound, but we are few and old. First we must rebuild
our strength, which you have depleted."

"Rebuild?" Arlian was baffled.

"We think one survived in the first village—perhaps
more than one. There will be more in time."

And then Arlian understood. "You're making more dragonhearts."

"Of course. You slew many, you and the other. We
must make many."

Arlian was too distraught to notice the confirmation that Enziet had, indeed, killed dragonhearts. "But they won't be dragons for a thousand years!"

"We are patient."

"And if I hunt down these new ones, and kill them?"

"We will make more. We are old, but we will yet outlive you, little one. We are few, but we will make more
than you can kill."

"Not if I kill
you.r

The amusement became even plainer and more derisive—the dragon was laughing at him.
"With your
black spears? Kill us all?"

"Do you think I can't?"

"We think you can't."

"I'll find a way! I'll make you tell me how."

"You cannot compel us."

"No? Then why are you talking to me?"

"Because it pleases us to do so. You are no sorcerer,
little one. We speak to you at our pleasure, not your
own—if you attempt another summoning, it will fail.

We have no more to say to each other."

"But you haven't heard what I have to say!"

"You can have nothing more to say that will matter
to us."

And with that, the image abruptly broke up into a swirl of blood.

"No!" Arlian shouted. "Come back!"

The dragon was gone.

Arlian stared at the bowl for a moment, his mind struggling with too many concerns at once. He thought of emptying the bowl and trying again, but he did not really doubt what the dragon had said, that the summoning was at the dragon's whim, and not his own—if a binding sorcery had been so simple as that, the real sorcerers in the Dragon Society would all have learned it long ago.

And even now, the dragons were out of their caves, and burning villages on the coast, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Or almost nothing. There would be survivors, their homes destroyed, their friends and families dead. If he could send help, bring them to Manfort, keep them under watch, maybe someday use Aritheian magic to cleanse their blood ...

But he didn't know
where
on the coast the dragons were attacking, which villages they were burning, where the survivors would be. Most would flee and take shelter elsewhere—he couldn't expect them to be trapped in cellars as he had been. By the time he could reach the coast and find the destroyed villages, the survivors would be long gone, scattered across the land.

Perhaps he could do
something
for them, though.

And most importantly, perhaps he could find a way to kill the dragons and stop the killing before it spread much further. The truce he had hoped for was out of the question now.

He rose from his chair, opened the shutters to let in the dim light of the overcast day, and poured the bloody water out the window; then he crossed to the door and left the private room.

A few minutes later he was in the street, calling

"Thirif! Isein!" as he strode purposefully toward the caravan. The freed mine slaves who were still milling around the street—perhaps half the party that had accompanied him from the mine—stopped and stared at him as he passed; Arlian ignored them.

At the sound of his voice the Aritheians emerged from their wagons to stare at him, as well.

When all four of the magicians—Thirif, Shibiel, Isein, and Qulu—had gathered, he announced, "You have the amethysts and silver now. I have business elsewhere and cannot accompany you, but you must head for Arithei at all possible speed, and you must bring me back the two things I asked for—physicians who can keep a man alive with his blood drained away, and a way to drive a spear into a dragon's heart."

"We will try," Isein said.

"You
must
find them," Arlian said. "The weapon against the dragons most of all. And you must
hurry.

The dragons have come out of their caverns. Waste no time! Leave at once!"

"I..." Thirif began.

"Go!"
Arlian shouted, turning away.

Half an hour later Arlian's caravan had been split in two. Six wagons were headed south, toward the Desolation, the Borderlands, and Arithei, under the command of Quickhand, since none of the Aritheians was qualified to lead. Two wagons, loaded with obsidian weapons, were bound north, toward Manfort, driven by Stabber and a man named Firiol.

Two of the freed miners had begged to ride with one group or the other, to get away from Deep Delving, but Arlian refused them; he did not trust them. After so long in the mines, they would need time before they were again aWe to function normally in the outside world.

Three of the men who had accompanied the wagons from Manfort did not accompany either party. Post, like the miners, had been sent to find his own way, while at Deep Delving's only livery stable Arlian stood impatiently aside and let Black negotiate for mounts.

"I keep mares for breeding stock," the proprietor explained, "not to sell. I sell mules."

"Can your mares be ridden?" Black asked.

"Oh, they're broken to the saddle, of course—they earn their keep between foals. But I don't want to sell them."

Arlian poured gold on a barrelhead; at the sound of rattling coins both Black and the stableman turned.

"How much?" Arlian asked. "You can buy more horses elsewhere with this."

"Ah.. r

"Eight ducats," Black suggested.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly take less than fifty!"

Black could have driven a harder bargain had not Arlian been there, visibly impatient and willing to overspend; Black said as much as the pair rode north-ward under thick clouds and oppressive heat.

Arlian shrugged.

"And why is it so urgent that we return to Manfort?"

he asked. "Why could we not ride the wagons?"

"Because
you
aren't going to Manfort," Arlian said.

"You're turning east at the next crossroads, and heading for the coast to see what's happened there."

"Ami?"

"Well, I hope so," Arlian said. "It's your own choice, of course." He explained what the dragon had told him.

Black absorbed it; by the time Arlian had finished they had caught up with the two northbound wagons.

Stabber waved at them as they passed; Black waved back, then said, "You're right, I'll turn east And what about you?"

"I don't know," Arlian admitted. "I'll come with you, if you think it best, if you think two men would serve better than one at the job."

"If the job is merely to see what the dragons have done, I think one should be sufficient."

"You must also find as many of the new dragonhearts as you can, and bring them to Manfort."

"I can do that, as well."

"Then I'll return to Manfort and try to rally the Dragon Society to prepare to fight." He did not mention that most of the Society would almost certainly refuse.

"Then the dragons are now on their way to Manfort?" Black asked.

"Yes," Arlian said.

But then he remembered what he had actually been told. Yes, the dragons intended to restore their interrupted rale—but only when their depleted ranks had been restored.

In a thousand years.

"Eventually," he added.

Black cast him a sideways glance.

"Keeping secrets again?"

Arlian hesitated in replying, and Black waved the matter away. "You'll have to explain that when next I see you," he said.

Then he spurred his mount to a trot, and Arlian watched as he turned at the signpost ahead, bound for the coast.

Arlian's entrance into Manfort, alone and on horseback, was hurried and without ceremony.

He rode through the stony streets without stopping, weaving through the crowds of everyday pedestrians.

He did not think anyone would have set assassins in wait for him, but he kept moving and breathed a sigh of relief once he was inside the walls.

The people he passed seemed to stare at him a little more than usual, but Arlian assumed that this was merely because he was riding a single horse, without entourage. The great lords usually traveled on foot or in coaches.

He found his way to the Upper City, and made his way to the Old Palace without incident. It was odd to be returning there without Black there to see that everything was made ready, but the rest of the staff was still in place, and they were quick to take care of his mount and see that food and water were waiting by the time Arlian had changed out of his sweat-stained and dusty clothes.

The footman who admitted him had seemed startled to see him, but tried not to show it; Arlian attributed that to his unexpectedly quick return, without the Venlin took over Arlian's care the moment he learned that his master had returned, appearing at his dressing room door while Arlian was still stripping off his blouse, but Arlian thought there was something odd in his manner, as well. The possibility that something had gone wrong in his absence could not be ignored, but he put the thought aside until he was dressed and had made his way down to the small dining room.