The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (36 page)

Arlian gazed at him in silence for a moment, then said, I am honestly disappointed, my lord. I had hoped for better from you."

"Better?" I am attempting to shield all the Lands of Man from the consequences of your folly—what else would you have of me?"

"My lord Hardior, you told me not so very long ago that if I could slay a dragon, or better yet, exterminate their entire race, then I would be a great hero. You saw me slay the dragon that rose from Lord Stiam's heart, yet now you seem determined to reward that heroism with death, rather than aiding me in achieving the second. greater goal."

"You slew a newborn thing that was no more a true dragon than a newborn babe is a man. Yes, you killed it, and yes, it would have become a dragon, but you cannot kill a
dragon,
any more than a babe in arms can kill a trained warrior."

"You seem very certain of that."

1
am
certain of that! I have
seen
the dragons, Obsidian—I have
fought
the dragons. I was not a boy hiding in a cellar when they destroyed my hometown; I was a grown man, and I saw my sword shatter on a dragon's scales." He drew a shuddering breath, and said, "We thought they were gone, you know—they had not been seen in fifty years, not since my grandfather's day, when the wars mysteriously ended, when the dragons withdrew to their caves. We didn't realize they still lived. And then one day when the skies were hot and dark we saw them coming.

"We had heard the old stories about how warriors defied the dragons on the ramparts of Manfort, and how our weapons would be useless, but the dragons had
gone,
hadn't they? We thought they must be old and weak, that the weapons had hurt them and they had merely concealed their injuries. So we did not run and hide; instead we gathered, swords in our hands, to face them.

"At the last minute I was sent to chase a few children who had disobeyed their parents and come to watch the battle to what we thought was safety. I had done that, sent them into the guildhall, and had turned to rejoin the others, when the dragons arrived.

"That was how I survived. I saw what they did, saw it all—saw them spit flaming venom at the gathered warriors, then systematically tear apart each and every building and butcher the women and children hiding within. I heard the screams ..."

He shuddered. Arlian said nothing for a moment; then Hardior continued.

"There were four. When the biggest one came to the guildhall I ran at it with my sword, screaming with rage, trying to drive it away. It did not bother to kill me, or even knock me aside—it simply
ignored
me as it ripped away the roof. I was hit by falling stones and burning thatch, my head was cut and my face covered in blood, but the dragon itself never deigned to touch me as I hacked at it.

"My sword broke, and I picked up stones and flung them, and it looked at me, and a dribble of venom from its jaw struck the stone in my hand and burned my fingers. I dropped the stone and put my fingers in my mouth—which is why I am here today, instead of six hundred years dead.

"And then it turned away again, and set about burning out the interior of the guildhall, making certain it killed each of the children I had sent there, but it did not trouble itself any further with
me.

"And now you say you can kill these monsters with your magic glass spears?" Hardior snorted. "I say you are a madman. They can't be killed."

"So you propose to appease them, instead? To serve as a mere incubator? To become one of their servants?"

"I intend to communicate with them, if I can. Blood and water in a bowl is simple enough;
you
spoke to one, and you're no sorcerer. We will offer them peace—if they continue as they have, then the Society will keep silent about their young. After all, as Pulzera said, they want us to live—and we want to live."

"Pulzera," Arlian said. "You are siding with Pulzera?"

"Because she is
right,
my lord," Hardior said. "I did not like it at first, either—I remember the screams of my brothers, and those children in the guildhall. I remember the utter disdain on that dragon's face, and the savage cruelty they displayed. I hate the dragons as much as you, my lord—but I know better than to think we can defeat them. If there is war, there will be many, many more screaming children, slaughtered by the great beasts; if we bargain with them ..."

"Then there will be fewer at any one time," Arlian said, "but the dragons will survive forever, preying on our people. If we fight them, and kill them, yes, many will die, but in the end we will win, we will destroy them."

"We will not!" Hardior shouted. "You can't kill them! No one has ever killed a grown dragon, in all the thousands of years that men and dragons have existed."

"No one else ever thought to use obsidian!" Arlian shouted back. "Lord Enziet spent six hundred years studying the dragons and sorcery in order to learn what could harm them, and he
succeeded
! You have seen me kill a dragon—how can you deny it?"

"I saw you kill an animated cloud of blood,"

Hardior said. "Not a dragon! An ordinary sword could probably have done as well as your silly stone knives."

"No, I tried that," Arlian said. "In the cave beneath the Desolation, where Enziet died. My sword could not cut that newborn dragon any more than you could cut the one you fought. When I ran my blade down its throat, it simply bit it off."

Hardior stared at him.

"You lie," he said at last.

"I do not," Arlian said.

"So obsidian can cut where steel cannot—still, do you think you could
kill
a grown dragon?"

"Yes!"

"I do not," Hardior said, "and I believe that your schemes are going to enrage them all and bring them down upon us. Further, you have said that you considered killing all the dragonheads in Manfort—should I trust you? You showed what your vows are worth when you threw down your sword fighting Belly—so much for your oath to kill him or die trying! Should I put any more faith in your vows to the Society? You are a madman, and a danger to us all, and I had hoped the Duke would have you killed. He did not, and I cannot try again while you remain in Manfort, but by the dead gods, Obsidian, I will do what I can to keep you from antagonizing the dragons and endangering this city."

"So they are already your masters, even while they lurk in their caverns," Arlian said in disgust. "You will not help me in my campaign to destroy them?"

"Help
you? I will do my best to
stop
you!"

"Then I think we have no more to say to one another, my lord." Arlian gestured toward the door.

"Oh, no," Hardior said. "You brought me here to discuss what you will tell the Duke tomorrow, and we will discuss that before I depart."

"Will we? You have just reminded me that you are sworn not to harm me, so why should I not tell His Grace whatever I please, regardless of your wishes?"

"Two reasons, my lord. First, I doubt you intend to spend your entire life inside the ramparts of Manfort, and while I may not have your obsessive concern with revenge, I can hold a grudge as long as may be necessary. Second, I am not sworn to leave the Duke himself unharmed. The old warlords' blood of Roioch's line has grown very thin in these modern generations, my lord, and it would be little loss to the Lands of Man if the present line died out completely. His Grace has no heir, were he to die there would be an end to the Dukes of Manfort, and a new system of governance would arise—a council of lords, perhaps, as some towns have. And can you doubt who would control such a council? I do not kill the Duke because I prefer not to deal with the consequences, and because I like the old fool—but if I am confronted with the possibility of even
worse
consequences if I let him live, if he falls under your sway, listens to your tales about weapons that can kill dragons..."

He did not bother to complete the threat.

"Then you would have me keep silent on the manner of draconic reproduction, and on the uses of obsidian," Arlian said.

"Of course. I suppose you will have to discuss your silly spears with him, but I trust you will be discreet as to their actual purpose."

"I will not promise that, my lord."

Hardior sighed. "Obsidian, I probably won't be there tomorrow, but do not think that means I won't know what you say. I have eyes and ears in the Citadel besides my own, and there are sorcerous methods for hearing what is said elsewhere. I cannot prevent you from saying what you will—but I will know what you have said, and 1 will respond accordingly. Do not sign the Duke's death warrant with careless words—nor your own!"

Arlian stared at him for a moment, then said, "I thank you for your advice, Lord Hardior, and I think we have now said all that we need say."

"Indeed, I think we now have," Hardior said. He turned.

Arlian was scarcely in time to open the door for him.

On the morrow, after the midday meal, Arlian dressed in his best clothes and allowed Cricket and Lily to comb and trim his hair. He donned his best white silk shirt and a black linen coat, with a red silk scarf to add a touch of color—and hide the cut Toribor had made on his throat. The slash on his forehead was not so readily concealed, and remained visible.

When his preparations were complete he made his way up to the Citadel. He did not bother with the coach, but walked theone-mile distance and arrived perhaps a quarter-hour before the appointed time.

He used this extra time to look over those portions of the Citadel open to the public. Unlike most visitors, though, he looked not so much at the paintings, tapes-tries, gardens, and statuary, but at the defenses—after all, the original Citadel had once lived up to its name.

That time was long past. The moat had been mostly filled in, becoming a garden and a series of ornamental fishponds. The battlements had been widened into ve-randahs and terraces. Openings clearly originally intended for dumping large objects or hot liquids on unwelcome visitors now had glass-paned doors in them and opened on ornate balconies.

And that was the outer defenses. The inner structure had never been defensible at all.

The original Citadel had been built well after the end of the war against the dragons, during an unsettled period, and had been designed to fend off rioters and re-bellious lords, not dragons. When peace came the Citadel had been abandoned in favor of the Old Palace—then simply the Ducal Palace—but after a century or two the present Duke's grandfather had decided the palace was too much trouble to maintain and had had the ruins of the inner Citadel torn down and a new palace built on the site. The old walls, outerworks, and tunnels provided plenty of space for the bureaucracy necessary to run Manfort, and if that stone-walled space was less pleasant than the plaster and gilt rooms in the Old Palace, that bothered the Dukes not at all.

The new palace, the inner Citadel, was the Duke's home, and it was as luxurious as anyone could ask.

Arlian could not help thinking, though, that if the dragons ever did return the Citadel would be about the most unsafe place in the city. Most of Manfort was built of gray stone, unbroken by trees or gardens; every street and alley was paved. That was so the dragons would have little to burn; flaming venom would simply run harmlessly off the stone.

Of course, draconic talons could break stone if necessary, but at least the solid walls and pavements would slow them down.

The one part of the city that was
not
built of stone was the Upper City, where several great lords had, over the centuries, built themselves mansions and palaces, complete with broad windows, spacious gardens, and wooden structures as well as stone. For at least five hundred years now no one had thought the dragons would ever return to Manfort, and the architecture reflected that

And as long as Enziet had lived, the dragons would indeed not return—but Enziet was dead, and Arlian estimated that a dragon could reduce most of the Citadel to burning ruins in a matter of minutes.

Of course, his own home in the Old Palace was no better. The Grey House would be safe—but Arlian still intended to sell it If the dragons came he did not want to cower behind stone walls, but to face them openly.