Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) (16 page)

Arlian had never heard of Oginathi—but then, it had been destroyed five hundred years ago. Towns that the dragons chose were only rarely rebuilt; after all, whatever had drawn one attack might draw another.

"Go on," he said.

"I thought they were beasts," Zaner said. "Like cats playing with mice. When I found out they were intelligent, and could communicate with us—well, I was horrified, but it didn't really change anything." He gestured at the hanging chains. "By then I had seen what my fellow man could do. I didn't understand it, but I had seen it, and how could I blame the dragons for inhumanity when I had seen what Drisheen and Horim did for amusement?" He glanced at the chains. "I hadn't known Enziet did that sort of thing, though—he was a little more discreet."

"Lord Enziet had many secrets," Arlian said.

"Indeed he did! And you seem to have discovered most of them."

Arlian nodded an acknowledgment. uHe named me his heir."

Zaner grimaced. "I was shaken, you know, when you told us all how dragons reproduce—but at the same time, it seemed to explain a great deal. I thought that explained why they attacked villages, and killed all those poor people—they were trying to impregnate a few."

"If that were it, they were hardly efficient," Arlian remarked.

"Yes, I know, I realize that now, but I didn't see it then. I don't think I wanted to see it. And Pulzera had her theories about how all we dragonhearts by rights should be on the dragons' side, and how we weren't really even going to die, how we would be transformed into dragons, and it all seemed to make sense at the time, and you weren't being very convincing. Killing Horim and Enziet and Drisheen and the rest, and saying right out in the open that you wanted to kill all of us—how was I supposed to work with you?"

"I may have been excessively blunt," Arlian agreed. "I was young and foolish." He grimaced. "I am still young and foolish, but not quite as young, and perhaps not quite as foolish."

"We can hope, eh, Arlian? A little less foolish every year, perhaps."

He leaned against the table, a foot or so from his host. "Well, I went with the others to Sarkan-Mendoth, and I used my ships and coaches and warehouses to do my part in the war, and when Hardior and Shatter and Pulzera finally managed to talk to the dragons with that sorcery of yours I thought that we would be able to settle everything peacefully—

make a deal, the way Enziet did seven hundred years ago."

"What sort of a deal?" Arlian asked, honestly puzzled. "The secrets are out, and cannot be called back—everyone knows now how dragons are born, and what a dragonheart is, and the names of the lords of the Dragon Society. What could you offer?"

"That's simple enough; we could offer their lives. We could find you and stop you, and agree that humans would kill no more dragons, and in exchange the dragons would promise to kill no more humans.

What could be easier?"

"Indeed," Arlian agreed. "And if you had offered such a bargain after those first massacres, after Bentbridge and Kandarag and Upper Toniva, I believe the Duke would have taken it. I might have agreed myself, and if I did not, the Duke could have had me killed easily enough. The carnage that first summer . . . "

"I know," Zaner said. "I was sick about it. I think we all were. But the dragons were adamant. Even when we said that if they agreed to a truce we would use their venom to make more dragonhearts for them, all the dragonhearts they wanted, they wouldn't have it. Oh, they wanted us to use the venom, if only sparingly, and they wanted us to kill you—you know about that..."

"All too well," Arlian agreed dryly. "I know of about thirty assassins; were there others who failed without my knowledge?"

Zaner shrugged. "I don't know; that wasn't my concern. Hardior was the enthusiast for assassins. But my point is that no matter what terms we offered, the dragons would not agree to stop the killing. Ever."

"What?"

"Arlian, they didn't want a deal. They wouldn't hear of it. They wouldn't agree."

"But that's . . . but we've killed more than half of them since then.

Why would they refuse a truce that could have prevented that?" He suddenly remembered the day's audience at the Citadel. "And why would they accept one now?"

"They were hungry. And now they aren't."

Arlian stared at him; then he reached down and shifted the candle to better illuminate his guest's face. "Hungry for what?" he asked. "What do dragons eat? There is no food in their lairs. When they emerge they burn their victims to death, or tear them to pieces, but they do not eat them—I know that, whatever the folktales may say. And what else could you mean? I had assumed they did not need to eat, that that was a part of their magic."

"That was what we all thought," Zaner agreed. "But it's not true.

They eat souls."

"What?" Arlian said again.

"I only found out about six weeks ago. Hardior said something, and I asked, and I..

"They eat souls?"

Zaner nodded. "That's why they would never give up their attacks entirely, in all those years since Enziet bargained with them. They would have starved. They devour the souls of everyone they kill, and that sustains them. They fasted for a very long time during the Years of Man, waiting for Enziet to die, only emerging at long intervals, when they could stand no more, and even then restricting themselves to small, obscure villages—such as Oginathi or Obsidian. But then Enziet did die, and they came out to feast. First Kirial's Rocks and Tiapol, and then the next year, after you slew that first one, they went to Bentbridge, and . . .

well, you know the rest as well as I do."

"But they told me . . . They offered to continue Enziet's bargain with me! They said they would stay in their caves if I agreed!"

"They lied, Arlian. They move slowly, and had not yet decided what to do about you, but they wanted you to keep their secrets secret until they were ready, so they told you what they thought might achieve that."

"And they let me destroy so many of their comrades?"

"Oh, they tried to stop you often enough! Those thirty assassins weren't all just friends of Lord Drisheen or Lord Hardior, you know.

And after that first year you never spent a single warm day more than fifty yards from a dozen obsidian-tipped spears and heavy catapults, so they didn't want to go after you themselves. Not after what happened at the Old Palace."

"Yes, but to allow me to kill so m a n y . . . "

"Arlian, you had the old records, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"How often did they say there were more dragons than you found?"

"Often," Arlian admitted. "The last lair had four where I expected six, the one before that three where four were reported."

"They had moved. The younger ones. They left the old and tired ones, the ones who scarcely wake at all anymore, while the youngest and strongest moved to new lairs, safer lairs that aren't in your lists and maps."

"Still, to give up so many . . . " Then he stopped, and stared at Lord Zaner. "Those counts were accurate?"

"Probably. Most of them, anyway."

"But we were assuming that if the count was off, those others did not exist. That means . . . " He stopped again.

That meant that his estimate of forty-six remaining was horribly short of the truth. He had believed he had slain at least three-fifths of the world's dragons, but the actual fraction might be no more than half—perhaps less than half!

And the ones he had slain had been the old and feeble?

"Go on with your tale," he said.

"They never expected you to do so well," Zaner said. "You should be proud of that."

"Go on," Arlian repeated.

"They knew about the powers beyond the borders," Zaner said.

They knew all of it. They didn't tell us much, but things gradually leaked out. They didn't want peace until they could make it on their terms. They feasted and feasted and feasted, and let you kill their old and sick until the decline in their numbers let the border magic decay, and then they sent us all here to Manfort."

"All?"

"The messenger—she's called Wing, and once she's safely back in Sarkan-Mendoth she'll be paid for this with a dose of blood and venom.

Assuming, of course, that any venom is to be had. And Lady Tiria, of course..."

"Another assassin."

"Yes, but not for you," Zaner said. "She's been sent to kill as many of the Aritheian magicians as she can, to earn her dose of elixir. That's part of the dragons' price—not for you or the Duke, but for us, the Dragon Society. We are to bear their young to term, whether we like it or not, and anyone who might prevent that must die. All your Aritheian magicians are targets."

Arlian stood up straight. "And did you come here to the Grey House to kill Lilsinir, then?"

"Who?" Zaner looked baffled. "Oh, no, I'm no assassin. I'm just in Manfort as an overseer. We never trust anyone with anything this important without a dragonheart along to keep an eye on things.

"So you're distracting me, while your Tiria seduces Asaf or Tiviesh and stabs him in the back?"

"I hope not," Zaner said. "When you showed up in the waiting room we changed our plans—or, well, I had already been hoping to meet you somewhere and arrange to speak with you. When you came to the Citadel, it was the perfect opportunity. I thought I would have to ask Tiria to set up a meeting, but then you invited me, as well, and here we are."

"And where is Tiria?"

"Probably on her way here, after getting some last-minute instructions. I told her that talking to you was more important, and lolling the magicians could wait. Frankly, I don't think she has what it takes to be an assassin, in any case; I doubt she could have killed any of them even if I weren't working to make it more difficult."

"Let us hope you judge her correctly," Arlian said coldly. The Aritheians came here at my behest, and I do not want my guests murdered"

"Don't worry" Zaner said, slapping Arlian on the back. "They'll be fine. She won't dare do anything tonight—the whole Citadel is in an uproar about the news from the Borderlands."

"And that uproar might provide excellent cover."

"But it won't. I told you, Arlian, I'm here because I want the magicians to cure me, and they can't do that if they're dead. I've done everything I can to slow Tiria down and make her job difficult without giving myself away, and I really don't think she'll try anything tonight. She may be waiting downstairs right now."

"And where is the last member of your party, this Wing? Is she an assassin, too?"

"No, she's a messenger, and she probably has a dozen guards watching her every move. But who said she's the last? There were five of us."

Arlian closed his eyes and put his fingertips to his forehead."Five,"

he said. "You, Wing, Tiria—who else?"

"Lady Opal," Zaner said. "She was chosen to oversee this expedition, and I had to speak fast and well to have myself included. I pointed out that a party of three women and a mere boy might draw unwelcome attention, and a mature man would look well..."

"That's four," Arlian interrupted.

"Ferret," Zaner said. "You don't know him; he's a boy from Lorigol, just turned seventeen. He's to spy on ... well, on anyone he can. Get a feel for the mood in the city."

"So the Dragon Society, at the behest of their unspeakable inhuman masters, sent the five of you here to negotiate a peace with the Duke, and incidentally to assassinate the Aritheian magicians who know how to cleanse dragonhearts of their taint, and to spy out whatever you can about the city's morale."

"And the defenses," Zaner added. "And Opal seems to have some other plans of her own, but I don't know what they are."

uAnd you managed to have yourself included in this party—why?"

"Because I have seen and heard enough, Lord Obsidian. The dragons are the monsters you have always said they are; they kill so that they can eat the souls of their victims, and they deliberately prolonged this war to provide themselves with a banquet, even at the cost of their own elder brethren. When I found this out, on top of all these years of unnecessary bloodshed, it was too much for me. I could not continue in their service."

"But you've known this . . . "

"Just six weeks. And did I say that when a new dragon is born, it is not its human parent transformed? What you see in its eyes is not its own identity, but its first meal." He shuddered. "I do not want my soul to be eaten by some horrible parasite that's nourished itself on my heart and blood. I want my soul to go wherever souls should go when I die, whether that's to the realm of the dead gods or somewhere else. I'll give up half my thousand years for that."

"And you are doing this now, rather than waiting, because our fellow dragonhearts are endeavoring to eliminate the magicians capable of the operation."

"Yes, exactly. I certainly hope the Aritheians will survive, but the Society does have its resources, and I prefer not to take chances."

"Of course."

"Can you arrange it, then?"

"You'll need somewhere safe to stay for some weeks after the operation; where are you staying?"

"Ferret and I share a room at the Flapping Crow."

"That won't do. Perhaps I can find a room for you here—but I think I know an old friend who might help, if you would prefer."

"Either would be fine."

It was Arlian's turn to clap Zaner on the back. "I'll see to it, then.

Now, let us go downstairs and see what my staff has prepared for us."

He opened the door while Zaner retrieved the candle, and the two walked out side by side.

An Awkward Supper

1 4

An Awkward Supper

Wolt was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs.

"A lady has arrived, my lord, and we have seated her in the dining hall," he said. "Dinner will be served momentarily."

"Excellent," Arlian said. He glanced at Zaner. "This way, my lord."

"I can't let her see me here, with my face exposed in your presence!"

Zaner said, tugging his mask back into position.