The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (5 page)

"A curse? On the contrary," the steward said. "As Lord Enziet was preparing to depart, I asked him when we should expect his return, and he said he did not know, and explained the sorcery that would allow us to determine that he yet lived. I asked what we should do if he never returned, and he said these words: 'If I die and Obsidian lives, then let it be
his
problem."

Arlian frowned, but before he could speak the steward continued, "I asked him to explain that further, and he did. My lord Obsidian, Lord Enziet has named you his sole heir in all things."

"He ..." Arlian stopped after that single word, and his mouth snapped shut. He stared at the steward.

As he stared, though, he was thinking about what the man had said and realizing that it was very much the sort of thing Enziet might have done. Arlian had been his bitterest foe, certainly—at least, his bitterest human foe—but Enziet had not been inclined to anger or hatred. His passions were colder than that, cold and cunning as a dragon, any human warmth he might once have had long since dead.

Enziet could have had no natural heir, after all. His blood and heart tainted by the venom of a dragon, he had lived for nearly a thousand years; any family he might once have had was long dead. And while the venom bestowed long life and immunity to poison and disease, another effect was sterility—for the past several centuries Enziet had been unable to sire children.

Nor had he had any friends or colleagues he would have trusted to succeed him. The few comrades he viewed as anything near his equals had all been ancient dragonhearts like himself, cold and treacher-ous—his closest companion, Lord Drisheen, had accompanied him on his final journey, and had died on Arlian's blade at an inn in Cork Tree.

Arlian had slain Lord Horim, whom Enziet had used as his proxy in duels, in a duel outside Manfort's gates. Later he had severely wounded Lord Toribor, another of Enziet's sometime companions. Enziet could not have relied upon any of his friends surviving Arlian's thirst for revenge, save perhaps the Duke of Manfort, and Enziet was hardly foolish enough to rely on the Duke for anything at all.

And Arlian could easily imagine that Enziet would consider his killer his only equal. It was very much his way of thinking. Nor would Enziet have thought he was doing anyone any great favor by naming him his heir. He knew Arlian had all the wealth he wanted.

The real question here was just what else Enziet's legacy might contain, besides mere riches. Drisheen's legacy had been an assassin of limited competence; Enziet's, while seemingly far more benevolent, might well prove more troublesome.

"His heir in all things, you say," Arlian said.

"Indeed, my lord," the steward said with a bow.

"Do you know what he meant by that?"

The steward hesitated, then said, "I assumed that he meant precisely what he said, my lord—that you are now the master of all his enterprises, of whatever sort, and that his estates and all their contents are now yours, to do with as you please. It is with that understanding that I place myself at your service, my lord."

"I already have a steward," Arlian said, with a wave at Black. "Tell me, though—do you think Lord Enziet meant me to assume his obligations, as well?"

The steward, discomfited, glanced at Black before replying, "I am not aware that my former master had any significant obligations, my lord."

Arlian's mouth twisted wryly. "Oh, he had obligations, indeed. And vows, and secrets. And I'm not at all sure I know enough of those secrets to keep up with the obligations."

"I don't understand, my lord."

"Of course you don't," Arlian said. "I'm not sure I do." He gestured at the chairs. "Do sit down," he said.

"I need to think, and there's no need for us all to tire our feet while I do it."

Enziet's steward—Arlian realized he had no idea of the man's name—bowed, then obeyed, sinking into a chair of gilded oak and dark leather. Arlian took a seat on one of the blue silk couches for himself, and Black settled on the other.

Black cleared his throat, and Arlian glanced at him.

"My lord," he said, "do you intend to claim this legacy?"

"Of course," Arlian said, leaning back in his chair.

"Has it occurred to you that Lord Enziet might have prepared some elaborate vengeance? A deadfall tripped by entering his private chambers, perhaps, or some subtle poison on his personal papers?"

"An interesting suggestion," Arlian said, glancing at Enziet's steward, "especially in view of certain events last night."

"I can assure you, my lord, that..."

Arlian held up a hand to silence him.

"I am quite sure that you are not aware of any such traps," Arlian said. "Furthermore, I think it very unlikely that any exist. Lord Enziet intended to dispose of me far more directly, and was far too pragmatic to concern himself with any elaborate revenge—at least, any revenge so lacking in subtlety as killing me outright; he was not as simple as Lord Drisheen. I think Enziet might well have taken some aesthetic pleasure in leaving me heir to his own problems, though."

"Ari ..." Black began, but Arlian cut him off.

"There may be traps. There may even be assassins.

We will check for them carefully. However, I think them unlikely. Enziet expected me to die, and himself to live, and disarming such traps or paying off hired killers upon his return would be a nuisance I'm sure he would have preferred to avoid. Furthermore, dear Black, if you'll recall, Lord Enziet left quite hastily; I don't think he would have taken the time to devise and implement such a thing."

"He was in quite a hurry," Enziet's steward confirmed.

Arlian nodded, and for a moment the three men were silent as they contemplated the situation. Then Arlian said, "Tell me, does Lord Enziet's legacy include slaves?"

"Of course," the steward said. "I believe there are eight here in the city, and hundreds on his country estates."

"They're all to be freed immediately."

The steward's mouth opened, then snapped shut.

"As you say," he said.

"Are you one of them?" Black asked.

The steward hesitated, then said, "Lord Enziet gave me my freedom some time ago."

"Ah. You
were
a slave once," Black said.

"Then perhaps you understand my distaste for that institution," Arlian said.

The steward replied with an ambiguous gesture, not quite a nod, not quite a shrug.

"Whether you understand or not, as Enziet's heir, I am now your employer, am I not?"

"If you'll have me, my lord."

"You wish to remain? You understand that I have a steward in whom I am well pleased, and that you will serve merely as chamberlain of certain properties."

"I do, my lord."

"Then do as I say. Every slave is to be freed
immediately.
Furthermore, they are to be offered employment as free men and women, but are by no means to be co-erced in their decision to accept or reject that employment. I cannot emphasize this strongly enough."

"As you say, my lord," the steward said, bowing his head.

Arlian did not think the man looked entirely convinced that the order was a good idea, but at least he seemed to accept that Arlian was serious.

"What's your name?" Arlian asked.

"Ferrezin, my lord."

"Good. Once the slaves have been dealt with, I will need an inventory of my legacy."

"I will see to it."

A thought struck Arlian. "When time permits, I wish to know who is heir to Lord Drisheen, as well."

Ferrezin looked up. "Then Lord Drisheen ..."

"... is dead, as well," Arlian concluded. "I slew him myself." There was no point in trying to conceal the fact since there had been several witnesses. "He did not see me as kindly as your late master; we have already met and disposed of an assassin he had hired before his departure."

Ferrezin nodded. "I had heard rumors. I will inquire as to his heirs, my lord."

"Excellent. Is there anything more you wish to tell me, then?"

Ferrezin thought for a moment. "I have no further instructions," he said. "I would ask, though, when we might expect Lord Obsidian to visit his new holdings, in Manfort and elsewhere."

"I will come by Lord Enziet's manor tomorrow afternoon, I believe, by which time I trust a preliminary outline of that inventory will be ready."

"Very good, my lord." Ferrezin rose and bowed.

"Black will see you to the door," Arlian said, rising as well. That would give the two men a chance to exchange any steward-to-steward remarks that were inappropriate for the master's ear—and it would give him time to think.

Ferrezin bowed again, then snapped upright and wheeled on one heel. He and Black left the salon, and Arlian stood, looking after them.

So he was Lord Enziet's heir—and in more ways than Ferrezin could possibly know.

In that cave beneath the Desolation, far south of the walls of Manfort, he had learned a secret that Enziet had guarded for centuries—and other secrets, as well.

That first great secret was a burden and a power, and on the long journey north, as his wounds had healed and he and his companions had made their slow way back to Manfort, he had thought about it often. Now, though, the news that he had become heir to Enziet's goods as well as his knowledge seemed to bring a new clarity.

The secret was simple enough—the method by which the dragons, once rulers of much of the world but now sleeping in their caverns beneath the earth, reproduced themselves.

Enziet had known that secret, and with it he had, centuries ago, compelled the dragons to leave the Lands of Man. He had put an end to the Man-Dragon Wars by exchanging oaths with the dragons—if they departed from the Lands of Man and allowed him to live, then he would permit them to live and breed, and would keep their secret safe.

Enziet had kept his end of the bargain up to the very instant of his death, when all had become clear to Arlian.

Dragons reproduced by contaminating humans with their venom, mixed with human blood. The elixir that bestowed the "heart of the dragon" upon any ordinary mortal who drank it—as Arlian had, when he lay trapped beneath his grandfather's bleeding, venom-drenched corpse—did more than anyone else had known.

Every member of the Dragon Society knew that a dragonheart was immune to disease and lived for centuries—and during that extended lifespan a dragonheart became ever more detached from humanity, ever more like a dragon. A dragonhearts blood was inhuman, toxic to normal humans, and became more so over time. They knew that, too.

What they did not know was that at the end of a thousand years, more or less, that poisoned blood became a dragon, and burst forth from its human shell.

Arlian had seen the dragon that sprang from Enziet's heart, had seen Enziet's mind behind its eyes—

and had slain it, there in the caves beneath the Desolation.

That was the second great secret, the one Enziet had guessed at but never known for certain. All his life Arlian had heard that no man had ever slain a dragon; he did not know whether it had been true before Enziet's death, but it was true no longer. He had done what even Enziet had never managed.

Dragons were an incarnation of fire and darkness, immune to all weapons of wood or steel—but obsidian, the volcanic glass for which Arlian's home had been named, was fire and darkness made stone, and could cut a dragon's flesh. Enziet had made an obsidian dagger, and Arlian had found it and with it killed the dragon Enziet had become.

These were the two great secrets Arlian knew about the dragons—how they were born, and how they could die. These were Enziet's true legacy, far more precious than his house or lands.

When the dragons destroyed the village of Obsidian and slaughtered Arlian's family, he had sworn to destroy the dragons or die in the attempt. For years, everyone who learned of this oath told him he was mad.

Arlian thought it was entirely possible that he
was
mad—there could be no question that he had lived through experiences that could drive a man mad—but he also saw that thanks to Enziet, he did indeed have a chance to destroy the dragons, once and for all. In theory, he could hunt them down in their caverns, deep beneath the earth, and kill them while they slept—obsidian weapons should, he hoped, be sufficient.

He could not be
certain
of that until he tried it, but an obsidian blade thrust into its heart had been enough to kill a newborn dragon, and he could only hope that this vulnerability was not something dragons outgrew.

Finding their underground lairs would be a challenge, but he thought it could be done—by following rumors, by using sorcery,
somehow
he was sure he could find the dragons.

Furthermore, once he found and slew the existing dragons, he could end the entire race of dragons forever, free humanity of any threat of their resurgence, by destroying all the dragonhearts in the Lands of Man.

Of course,
he
was one of those dragonhearts, as was his friend Rime, as were all the other members of the Dragon Society.

There might be some way to cure them of the draconic taint, by sorcery or other means, to turn them back to mere mortal men and women again so that they would not undergo the hideous transformation Enziet had—but there might not be any such possibility, and if Arlian could not find a cure he would have to kill them all, and then end his campaign by destroying himself, as well.

Slaughtering the entire Society would take careful planning, and probably some treachery, since he was sworn not to kill any of the Society's members inside the walls of Manfort. He would therefore leave that until later; he would start by hunting down the dragons. That would be a daunting challenge in itself, certainly.

If he survived it and completed the hunt, only then, when the dragons were gone, would he turn his attention to the Society. And only when he was certain that he had exterminated all the others would he take his own life.

This would take a very long time, but after all, there was no hurry. He had a thousand years or so.