Dragon Weather (67 page)

“Hiding behind sorcery,” Toribor called back. “Too afraid to show your own face?”

“And you're hiding behind a dozen guards,” Arlian shouted back. “Afraid to meet me honorably?”

“So you can butcher me as you did Drisheen and Shamble? Ha!”

“So I can fight you fairly, as I did Iron and Kuruvan,” Arlian retorted.

“Fair? You crippled Iron before you killed him!”

“I did nothing of the kind—he was
already
crippled. I merely removed the brace that hid it. And I remind you,
he
challenged
me,
and made no offer to yield!”

“Lies and half-truths!”

“No more than your own!”

Lord Toribor's one good eye glowered down at Arlian for a moment; then he turned and spoke to someone behind him. Arlian took the opportunity to see that Black had started the wagon forward, toward the stableyard gate. There were lights in the street beyond; Toribor's men were on their way.

“I don't suppose Thirif has any more of those spells…” Arlian said.

“He told me that was the only one he'd brought,” Black called back.

Then Toribor was back in the window.

“I'll give you a chance to surrender,” he called.

Arlian found himself smiling at that, though he was not entirely sure why. “And I'll return the favor, and allow
you
to surrender,” Arlian called. “You tell me your terms, and I'll tell you mine.”

“Give yourself up into my custody, disavow your oath to slay me and Lord Enziet, and I'll take you back to Manfort to stand trial before the Duke for Drisheen's murder, and make no further claim on you,” Toribor called. “Your friends would be free to go.”

Arlian almost laughed. “And the two women? Cricket and Brook?”

Toribor made a disgusted noise. “Oh, fine!” he said, exasperated. “Take them as part of the bargain, if that's what it takes to get you to give yourself up!”

“It's not enough,” Arlian called back. “Listen, Lord Belly, to
my
terms. You give me a horse, and your oath not to harm or molest in any way anyone in that wagon until they're safely back to the Old Palace in Manfort, and I'll forestall my vengeance on you—not forgo it entirely, but merely put it off. I'll give you a year before I seek you out to kill you, and you'll be free to try to make your peace with me in that time. I'll be busy hunting Lord Enziet for part of that time—and who knows, maybe he'll kill me and you'll be safe!”

“Are you
mad?
” Toribor roared. “Do you expect me to agree to that?”

“No more than you really expect me to agree to
your
terms!” Arlian shouted back cheerfully.

“Listen, you little fool, you have no idea what you're doing! I can't take any risk that you might kill Enziet!”

“Ari!” Black called, before Arlian could respond.

Arlian turned to find guardsmen with drawn swords standing in the stableyard gate, blocking the oxen. “Thirif! Stand ready!” he called, as he drew his own weapons. Then he bellowed, “Do you men want us to summon the demon anew?”

“There is no demon!” Toribor shouted. “It's all just illusion! Sorcerers can't summon demons!”

“Thirif is no mere sorcerer, Belly!” Arlian retorted. “He's an Arithein mage, from beyond the Dreaming Mountains.”

The swordsmen looked at one another uncertainly.

Just then Rime thrust her head out of the door; like Thirif, and unlike Black and Arlian, her glamour was gone. She clambered out and stood on the seat beside Black, unsteady on her wooden leg.

Toribor stopped shouting to stare at her, and Arlian turned to look.

“You there!” she said, pointing her trademark bone at the nearest guardsman. “Just what do you think you're doing?”

The guardsman lowered his sword. “Lady Rime?” he asked, baffled.

“Yes, Lady Rime!” she shouted. “Who told you to block my wagon?”

“Ah …
he
did,” the soldier replied, pointing up at Toribor.

“And who gave him that authority?”

“Lord Enziet, my lady. He said we were to obey Lord Drisheen and Lord Belly until his return.”

“And do you think Lord Enziet meant you to interfere with
me?
”

“No, my lady.”

“Then get out of the way!”

“No!” Toribor shouted. “Don't listen to her!”

Rime turned and glared up at him. “And why
not?
” she demanded. “
I
am an adviser to the Duke of Manfort, my Lord Toribor, as you are not!”

“But you're a traitor!” Toribor shouted. “You've been helping Obsidian!”

Rime put her hands on her hips. “
You
dare to call
me
a traitor?
You
fled here and went through all this—setting up ambushes, chasing people about in the middle of the night—because you're too much of a coward to face Lord Obsidian in an honest duel!” She turned back to the soldier. “Did Lord Enziet tell you anything about setting up ambushes? Did he say you were to trap Lord Obsidian?”

“No, my lady; he just said to obey the other lords.”

“So you'll just blindly obey any order young Belly gives you?”

“My lady,” the guardsman said desperately, pointing at Arlian, “that man, whether he's Lord Obsidian or not,
did
murder Lord Drisheen.”

“And what happened before that? Might he have had cause to kill Drisheen in his own defense?”

“I … I don't really know,” the soldier admitted.

“He meant to murder us both in our beds!” Toribor shouted.

“I came to speak to you, and someone shot an arrow at me!” Arlian shouted back. He turned to the guard. “See for yourself—it's probably still stuck in the stairway wall!”

The guardsman looked helplessly from Rime to Toribor, saying nothing.

Toribor called, “Rime, stop this! You don't know what's at stake here!”

Rime stared up at him in disbelief. “I don't? Besides your miserable life, you mean?”

“No! It's far more than that!”

“What
is
at stake, then, that's so precious?”

“I … I can't tell you here!”

“And where
could
you tell me? And why haven't you done so before? I seem to recall an agreement to share secrets, Lord Belly.”

“I didn't know!”

“And did Lord Enziet? Is this some new lie he's told you, or some secret he's withheld?”

“Rime, you don't understand! Enziet had reasons…”

“I understand enough,” she retorted, turning away.

Arlian called up to Toribor, “Listen, Belly—once again, before witnesses, I challenge you to meet me in an honorable duel, to settle all matters between us!”

For a moment Toribor stared down at him in speechless fury; then words exploded from him. “Blast you, Obsidian!” he shouted. “Fine, then! I'll fight you, here and now!”

“In the street in front of the inn!” Arlian called back.

“Done!” Toribor's head vanished from the window.

Arlian smiled, and turned back toward the wagon.

“Good,” he said.

“I hope so,” Rime said. She looked up at the empty window thoughtfully. “I do hope so.”

56

Crossed Swords

The two opponents faced each other warily, about a dozen feet apart, swords and swordbreakers held ready. The sky was still overcast, the moon and stars hidden, so the only light came from a few windows and the lanterns hung to either side of the inn's signboard; the fighters' shadows stretched out across the street in an elongated tangle of gray and black, arms and blades crisscrossing. Despite the chill in the air Arlian saw sweat gleaming on Lord Toribor's bald head.

The audience consisted of two distinct groups—Toribor's party, clustered in and around the inn's front door or peering from the inn's windows, and Arlian's party, seated in the wagon fifty feet to the north, ready to move out on a moment's notice. The few townspeople who were awake, including all of the inn's staff, had joined Toribor's group, swelling its ranks to perhaps three dozen people.

Black had extinguished the lantern above the driver's seat of the wagon, and Arlian supposed that was to make it easier to slip away into the darkness unnoticed.

“Kill him!” the innkeeper shouted. “I'm
never
going to get all those bloodstains out, and that door upstairs is ruined!”

“We'll pay for the damages,” Lady Rime called in reply.

The innkeeper snorted in disbelief.

Arlian watched Toribor closely, looking for some hint of an impending attack, but could see none—perhaps Lord Belly thought that time was on his side, and he intended to wait Arlian out, fight defensively until his opponent tired.

Or perhaps he fought conservatively because of his missing eye—he was blind on his left side, and kept his head cocked at an odd angle to compensate, his right eye angled forward and focused on Arlian's blade.

Arlian tried a quick feint, just to see what would happen; Toribor's blade flashed up to parry, but he made no counter.

Arlian grinned; that suited him fine. He circled to the left, stepped in, feinted, then dodged right and attacked in earnest.

Missing eye or no, Toribor was ready for him and warded off the assault easily—but he still made no riposte, no attack of his own. After a few seconds of clashing steel, Arlian stepped back.

All the light came from the same direction, from the inn; it wasn't bright enough to blind anyone who looked directly at the lanterns, though, so the old sun-in-the-eye trick was no real use. Getting in front of the light might make it harder for his one-eyed foe to see what he was doing, however, so Arlian moved in that direction.

Toribor didn't cooperate; he moved back and to the side, keeping Arlian and the light at an angle.

Arlian considered that. If Toribor kept that up he could be maneuvered pretty much wherever Arlian wanted him; all Arlian had to do was decide where that would be. He looked at Toribor's tilted face, at how he was concentrating on Arlian, staring at him, and he thought he knew.

Toribor had adjusted to his missing eye, but he wasn't comfortable with the darkness; he had probably spent almost his entire waking life in daylight or firelight, and he could not close one eye to keep it adapted for darkness, while the other adjusted to light, as Arlian could. Arlian had both his eyes, and had spent seven years in the mines, with limited supplies of lamp oil; darkness did not trouble him, and he knew a dozen tricks to compensate for low light.

If Toribor would not allow Arlian to block the light, perhaps Arlian could still drive him away from the light entirely. He charged, and in a flurry of steel Toribor retreated.

They were moving away from the inn—and from the observers. As their blades slashed and clanged Toribor said urgently, “Listen, Obsidian—Arlian, Lanair, whatever your name is. You don't know what you're doing!”

“Really?” Arlian laughed. “I thought I was trying to kill you.”

“Beyond that!” Toribor said angrily, as he knocked aside another blow and stabbed his swordbreaker blindly at Arlian's midsection.

“I'm trying to kill Enziet, too,” Arlian said, as his own swordbreaker blocked the thrust. “Is that what you mean?”

“Yes, blast you!” Toribor said, breaking free. “You can't kill him! You mustn't!”

“Because he's the Duke's chief adviser and the real ruler of Manfort?” Arlian asked, as he waved his sword threateningly. “Because the whole city will be plunged into chaos by his death?” He laughed again. “I think not. The city will survive without him, as it would without any man.” He lunged.

Toribor parried and sidestepped and made a tidy riposte, which Arlian turned scarcely an inch from his own sleeve. For a moment the two fought without words, the clash of steel and the mutter of the now-distant crowd the only sound.

“It's not that,” Toribor said, as the two men separated and he caught his breath. “You're right, that's nothing; the Duke could have a hundred advisers anytime he called for them, and the Dragon Society has a dozen members who might rival Enziet's abilities. But my lord, none of them know—if Enziet dies, the dragons will return.”

Arlian had been preparing a fresh attack, but he paused, astonished. “
What?
” he demanded.

Toribor attacked, and Arlian turned it and countered; it had not been a particularly skillful attack, and that, more than anything else, convinced him that Toribor was serious. Had he meant his outrageous claim as a mere distraction he would have followed it with his best, not a halfhearted overhand lunge.

“It's true,” Toribor said. “Or at least Enziet swears it is, and showed me evidence. Have you never wondered why the dragons gave up their hegemony seven hundred years ago, when all the fighting to that point only demonstrated that we could not harm them?”

“Of course I've wondered,” Arlian said, with a quick little feint.

“It was a bargain they made,” Toribor said, barely even bothering to parry. “Humans learned a great secret, and threatened to reveal it, and use it, if the dragons did not depart.”

“What secret?” Arlian said, listening.

“I don't know,” Toribor admitted. “But
Enziet
does—and he says he's the last man alive who does. When he dies, the pact will be worthless, the secret will be lost, and the dragons will be free to return!”

“And you believe him?” Arlian made a thrust at Toribor's side; he dodged.

“Yes, I do,” Toribor said. “He swore to me, by all the gods and by the dragons themselves, that he and he alone knows the secret that drove the dragons into their caverns.”

Arlian considered that.