Dragon Weather (43 page)

There was no honor in killing an unconscious man; in fact, to strike now would be murder under the dueling laws. Arlian stepped back, and realized he was panting and trembling.

Footmen in maroon and gold were hurrying forward to attend to their master; Arlian stepped back again, giving them room. He glanced down at himself, at his own bloody chest and arms; he tugged at the tatters of his silk blouse with his thumb, then noticed the blood on his sword. He blinked.

Dazed. He was dazed, he realized. The duel had only lasted a few minutes, and hadn't really been so very strenuous, but still, he knew he was not thinking clearly anymore.

“Black!” he called, starting to tremble uncontrollably.

And then his steward, his friend, was there, handing him a cloth. Arlian dropped his swordbreaker to accept it, then wiped his sword carefully, struggling to keep his hands steady enough for the task. He sheathed the sword, then retrieved the swordbreaker and cleaned and sheathed that, as well.

Then he stood, still shaking, his mind momentarily a blank.

“I'm glad to see you have your priorities straight,” Black said, putting one arm around Arlian, “but we'll need to get you cleaned up, too.”

Arlian nodded. His thoughts were beginning to clear. “The women,” he said. “Get them in the coach. And the gold.”

“And you,” Black said. “Come on, now.”

Arlian allowed himself to be led away.

As he sat in the coach, still trembling, waiting for Hasty and Kitten to be carried over from the bench, he saw Kuruvan being carried inside. The gray-haired steward gave Arlian one last hate-filled look; then the mansion door slammed shut.

Arlian stared at that closed door, trying to think whether he hoped Kuruvan would live or die, and utterly unable to decide.

36

Tending to Wounds

Despite his battered condition, Arlian later remembered every detail of the ride home—the two naked women staring at him, Thirif sitting silently beside him, the worry in Black's voice as he called to the horses, the stinging when a cut on one arm brushed against the upholstery. He had wanted to speak to the women, to reassure them, but the shifting expressions on Hasty's face deterred him—she seemed angry as much as frightened, and as scared of him as of anything else. He couldn't find the words to speak to her over the creaking of the coach, the rattle of harness, the beating of the horses' hooves, and his own weary confusion.

Kitten's expression was closed and unreadable.

Arlian had never known Kitten well to begin with, but Hasty had been his friend, and her antagonism worried him.

The ride was a short one, in any case, and when they pulled up at the door of the Old Palace Arlian had still not said a thing.

He opened the coach door and climbed out before Black could dismount, then turned, with the idea of carrying one woman inside while Black fetched the other.

Thirif looked meaningfully at his chest, and pointed at the blood on his arms, and Arlian thought better of carrying anyone. Instead he stood aside as Thirif and Black brought Hasty and Kitten into the small salon.

“Where are we?” Kitten asked, craning her neck to look at the gilding, tapestries, and fretwork.

“Home,” Arlian said. “Welcome home!”

Hasty stared at him. “Triv, are you insane?”

Arlian, very much aware of his injuries, was in no mood to argue with anyone. He frowned at her. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

“Because you're
acting
like a madman!” Hasty squeaked. “What's going to happen to us when the owner of this place comes back?”

“I
am
the owner of this place,” Arlian said patiently. He gestured at Black and Thirif. “Ask them.”

“If he's mad, it's nothing as obvious as that,” Black said. “He's the true Lord Obsidian, all right, and he does own this palace.”

“But he's just Triv!” Hasty protested. “He's an … he's nobody!”

“Not anymore,” Black told her. He glanced at Arlian. “Someday you'll have to tell me why they call you Triv.”

Arlian shrugged. “It's not important.” He smiled to himself at this answer.

“I'll agree with that,” Black said. “What's important is cleaning and dressing those wounds before any of them turn poisonous.”

Arlian glanced down at himself.

“Black speaks wisely,” Thirif said.

Arlian yielded. “Get these two some clothes,” he told Thirif. “And food. Whatever they want.”

The Aritheian nodded, and Arlian allowed himself to be led away.

An hour later, heavily bandaged and attired in fresh new clothes, Arlian returned to the salon.

Hasty and Kitten were seated on two settees; Kitten wore a black silk tunic that reached just below her knees, while Hasty was wrapped in a velvet robe.

“We have no women's clothing on hand, my lord,” a footman explained before Arlian could remark on this garb.

“That's fine,” Arlian said. He crossed the room and stooped to kiss Hasty on the forehead. The scent of her hair filled his nostrils, and he smiled broadly. “It's good to see you again!” he said.

“It's good to see you, too, Triv,” Hasty said, looking up at him, “but why did you do it?”

“Do what?” Arlian asked.

“Fight that horrible duel! You could have been killed! You might have killed Vanni!”

Arlian stared at her, a puzzled frown upon his face. “He was holding you prisoner,” he said.

“Vanni? Oh, he was sweet,” Hasty protested. “He's a poor silly boy!”

“Lord Kuruvan, you mean,” Arlian said, baffled.

“Yes, Lord Kuruvan. Vanni.”

“Lord Kuruvan is a poor silly boy? He must be forty years old.”

Hasty shrugged. “He's still a boy,” she said.

“He was holding you in bondage,” Arlian pointed out.

“Well, but he wasn't
hurting
us!” Hasty replied.

“He was one of the owners of the House of Carnal Society,” Arlian said. “He was one of the six men who put you there and had your feet cut off.”

“But the House is gone!” Hasty protested. “That's all over!”

“It is
now,
” Arlian said grimly. “For you two, at any rate.”

“But it was over
years
ago! For two years we haven't had to please anyone but poor Vanni. And he was hardly ever rough, and when he was he'd feel bad afterward and give us candy and wine to apologize.”

Arlian stared silently at her for a moment. Hasty had always been prone to confusion and thoughtlessness—that was where her name had come from, after all—but this seemed more than Arlian could deal with.

“Hasty,” he said, “he ordered your feet chopped off! He agreed to have Rose and Silk murdered! He had to be punished for those crimes.”

Now it was Hasty's turn to stare in incomprehension.

“Murdered?” Kitten said. “Rose and Silk are dead?”

“When the House was closed,” Arlian told her. “Each of the six lords took two women, and then the guards cut the throats of the other four and burned down the house.”

Hasty's confusion turned to shock. For a moment she and Kitten sat motionless, staring at Arlian.

“We didn't know,” Kitten said. “And Kuruvan didn't abuse us. We … it wasn't a bad life there, really.”

“You were slaves,” Arlian said.

“Well, of course,” Kitten replied. “We always have been. We still are.”

“No, you aren't,” Arlian said. “Lord Kuruvan wagered your freedom on that duel. You're free.”

Hasty's eyes were suddenly full of tears. “But we
can't
be!” she wailed. “What will I do if I'm free? I'm a cripple, with no feet! I may be carrying Vanni's child, and I'm not married! I need to be a slave. I've
never
been free, I never
asked
to be free! I don't know how!” She flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around Arlian's waist and burying her face against his belly.

Arlian tried to comfort her, and looked at the other woman for guidance.

Kitten's expression was somber. “I'm glad to be free, Triv,” she said, “but Hasty has a good point. What will become of us? Neither of us knows a trade, and who would marry a cripple?”

“You're welcome to stay here for as long as you please,” Arlian said, as he patted Hasty comfortingly. “I made my fortune with money Rose gave me, money she said should have belonged to the women in that brothel—to me, that means that one-twelfth of my wealth is at your disposal, each of you. I took that money to avenge the injustices you and the others suffered.”

“So we'll be parasites instead of slaves?” Kitten asked.

The day's accumulated stresses finally broke Arlian's calm. “Would you rather be dog food when your Lord Kuruvan tired of you?” he demanded. “You earned that money! You paid for it be giving up the ability to walk! And if you don't think so, then go ahead and learn a trade—a seamstress doesn't need to walk, does she?”

Hasty snuffled miserably.

“You're right, Triv,” Kitten said. “I'm sorry. This was so unexpected! We had settled into our lives with Kuruvan, and we were comfortable there—though you're right that it probably wouldn't have lasted long. You meant well.”

Arlian stared at her for a moment.

Meant
well?

He had risked his life to see that justice was done for these women. He had fought down his fears and misgivings and had crossed blades with an experienced swordsman, he had shed his own blood, and still faced the very real possibility of wound fever. The duel with Kuruvan had been no elegant display of skill, but an ugly, awkward, messy brawl that ended not in a clean death for one that left the other unscathed, but in numerous wounds and great pain on both sides. Arlian had gone through all that not for himself, but to have justice for these women, and he had carried away Hasty and Kitten, not to keep them, but to give them their freedom.

He had thought they would be grateful.

He hadn't fought for their gratitude; he had fought because it was the right thing to do, because it would serve the cause of justice. Still, Hasty and Kitten were the immediate beneficiaries, and he had thought they
would
be grateful.

He hadn't expected to be told he had
meant
well.

He should have known better, he told himself. He remembered Bloody Hand, back in the mine, shouting at him for having dared to save him from the falling ore.

He had done what was right. He had saved Bloody Hand's life—and he had tried to take Kuruvan's. He had tried to make a little justice in the world.

He frowned as he stroked Hasty's hair. Why was it right to save Bloody Hand, and to kill Kuruvan?

Because it
was.
Bloody Hand had killed Dinian, yes, but by accident. He had not been a sadist like Lampspiller. He had been trying to survive as best he could, to do the job he had been given.

Kuruvan had maimed and killed women because he
wanted
to, because it was convenient and profitable.

That was wrong. No matter how pleasant he had been to Kitten and Hasty afterward, it was wrong, and Kuruvan had done nothing to make amends.

Perhaps now he would—assuming he survived his wounds. Arlian resolved to check on Lord Kuruvan, if he recovered, to see whether he still considered himself free to kill slaves.

But first, there were five more lords to deal with—Stiam, Horim, Toribor, Drisheen …

And Lord Dragon. Lord Enziet. The man who had looted Arlian's home and sold Arlian into slavery, the man who had killed Madam Ril and ordered the House of Carnal Society burned, the man who had carried Sweet and Dove away with him.

Arlian would deal with them all, including Lord Dragon, and would rescue Sweet and the other women—and from now on he would not expect gratitude.

He disentangled himself from Hasty and set her back on the settee. “I'll have someone show you your rooms,” he said. “If you want anything, my servants will get it for you.”

Then he turned and headed for his own chambers, to rest—and to plan. He knew now who all his enemies were—the six lords, the looters, the dragons. He had wounded Kuruvan, forgiven Cover …

He paused on the stairs. Was he finished with Kuruvan, then? Should he go back and finish him off?

And that offer he had made, to let Kuruvan go unscathed if he forswore all future connection with slavery—where had that come from? Was that truly what he sought? Did he think that the institution of slavery was something that must be abolished? That was not any task he had consciously set himself. He had been seeking justice; was slavery then inherently unjust? Was it any more unjust than the rest of the world?

Would Hasty be happier free than she had been as Kuruvan's slave? Certainly
he
was happier free. And Rose would still be alive had she been free.

He was not ready to say that slavery was always wrong. He
was
convinced that it was abused, that Lord Dragon—Lord Enziet!—had been wrong to sell him to the mine, that the six lords had been wrong to maim their whores and kill four of them.

They had demonstrated that they could not be trusted with slaves—
that
was why he had made his offer to Lord Kuruvan. The question of whether
anyone
could be trusted with slaves he would leave open for now.

That decided, he continued up the steps.

As for whether Kuruvan had paid sufficiently for the evil he had done—well, perhaps he should leave that to Fate. If Kuruvan recovered from his wounds, and committed no more atrocities, then Arlian would let him live.

After all, he had the others to deal with.

Lord Enziet would be next, of course. He was the one Arlian was most determined to see punished, now that he knew who Lord Dragon was; the others could wait. Enziet was also the one who held Sweet. Arlian dared not risk getting himself killed fighting one of the others, leaving Lord Dragon untouched and Sweet still in his possession.