The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) (38 page)

"I do not require that
you
leave the city, my lord,"

the Duke said, startled. "Only that you remove the weapons."

"Of course, Your Grace—but in fact, I do have business to attend to outside Manfort, and this will permit me to make absolutely certain that the weapons are not stolen or mishandled."

"I see. And you know, I think you are wise in this,"

the Duke said. "Your presence has unsettled Manfort, and I think the city needs a rest For that matter,
I
need a rest. Very good, then. I would suggest you depart as soon as possible."

Arlian said again, "As you wish. Your Grace."

It began to appear as if the Duke had said all he intended to say, but Arlian was not content to stop here; before the Duke could conclude the audience, Arlian quickly said, "Your Grace, if I might ask a question?"

"Yes?"

"Your Grace, let us suppose that I discovered a means of killing dragons. The Aritheians have much astonishing magic, and I think there may be such a possibility."

"I thought dragons couldn't be killed," the Duke said, cocking his head to the side.

"So it has long been believed," Arlian said. "But you know I am Lord Enziet's heir, and Enziet had spent much time and effort studying dragons, in hopes of finding a way to kill them. I believe he might have been on the right path."

"That would be
wonderful,
of course—but do you really think such a thing exists?"

"I do, Your Grace."

"Ah, you fascinate me. Do tell me more!"

"Alas, I cannot—I am bound not to. You understand that magic has certain peculiar properties. I am taking a very considerable risk even mentioning it."

"Then why do you bring it up at all?" The Duke was visibly annoyed.

'To ask, Your Grace, whether your aid might be forthcoming in attempts to use Enziet's knowledge."

The Duke frowned.

"It might be," he said. "But I think that I would first need
proof that
dragons can indeed be killed."

Arlian blinked. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but what would constitute such proof?"

"A dead dragon, of course. You show me that your magic can kill a dragon, and by the dead gods and the spirits of my ancestors, Obsidian, I promise you you shall have all the assistance you need in killing more."

"But... Your Grace, what if I need your help to kill even one?"

"Then I am afraid that you are on your own, my lord. I am not going to help you stir up those monsters unless I am
certain
of success. You know, they destroyed a village just ten or twelve years ago, burnt it all to the ground..." He paused, and blinked stupidly.

"In fact, I believe the village was called Obsidian.

How curious!"

"Very curious, my lord. As it happens, I own that village, and it is because of that attack that I had drought to seek a way to kill dragons."

"Oh, really? How very interesting! You are very fortunate, my lord, that you were not in the village at the time!"

"Very fortunate, Your Grace," Arlian said dryly.

"At any rate, my lord, I would not have you provoke the dragons into burning any
other
villages. Show me that you can kill them, and you can have whatever you need—but until then, I will not help. Now, I am tired—

you go off to Arithei, or wherever you're going, and let me rest"

Then he signaled that the audience was at an end, and Arlian was escorted from the room.

It took several days to prepare Lord Obsidian's caravan for departure. Arlian realized that this gave Lord Hardior, and anyone else who thought the world might be improved by Arlian's death, plenty of time to hire assassins, but he saw no alternative. This was not a simple pursuit, but a full-fledged trading mission to Arithei.

During those days Arlian, with Black's extensive aid, gathered eight wagons and hired appropriate per-sonnel, including twenty guards. No ordinary caravan that size would have hired so many guards, since they would eat into the profits to a level a serious trader would never allow, but Arlian wanted to be absolutely sure that the bandits on the southern slopes of the Desolation would not bother his Mends and employees.

And besides, ordinary caravans did not cross the magic-haunted, monster-infested Dreaming Mountains.

Arlian had not decided yet whether
he
would be crossing the mountains. The caravan would initially be bound not for Arithei, but for Deep Delving, to collect silver and amethysts, and Arlian thought he might well turn back to Manfort there, and let the Aritheians and the rest of the caravan proceed on their own. It would depend on what the exact situation was at Deep Delving, and what news he heard along the way. He thought that such an absence would be sufficient to give the Duke the rest he wanted—especially since Arlian had no plans to stir up further trouble upon his return.

He had had quite enough trouble, in fact. It seemed as if everything he had done lately had made matters worse—now not only Toribor, but Pulzera, Hardior, and perhaps others in the Dragon Society were his foes. The Duke had spared his life, but then sent him into exile, at least briefly.

And nobody wanted to help him fight the dragons. If and when they did come, Manfort would be defense-less, and he himself, while properly armed, would be almost alone.

It seemed to him that the best thing he could do would be to stay out of the way, prepare himself for the worst, and see what happened. Taking this trip to Deep Delving was as good a way to do that as any-but going all the way to Arithei would probably leave Manfort undefended for too long.

He would be back, if he thought he could return without creating any more difficulties for himself, and when he returned he intended to focus entirely on the practicalities of dragon-slaying, not on antagonizing anyone further.

Disposing of anything that might complicate his life and distract him from the tasks he faced seemed advis-able; accordingly, when not directly involved with preparing the caravan, he spoke with the broker known as Coin, who had sold him the Old Palace. Coin had agreed to sell the Grey House, and had begun to adver-tise it, but there were no immediate takers.

"We've had several properties come on the market of late," Coin said slyly, when Arlian stopped in to discuss the matter. "Lord Drisheen's estate, and Lord Horim's, and Lord Stiam's."

"I see," Arlian said. "Well, do your best."

He set Ferrezin to overseeing the transfer of the contents of the Grey House to the Old Palace, while he and Black concentrated on the caravan.

These preparations for departure occupied most of his time, but Arlian did hear some of the news and gossip that was making the rounds of Manfort. While all the servants picked up the occasional tidbit of information and shared it with the guests, Arlian discovered, when talking to Cricket and Hasty one morning, that Stammer had an extensive network of informants. She had developed this from her old contacts among the city's poor and displaced, as well as the servants on other estates, largely to please Cricket and Lily, who were eager to keep up with the goings-on elsewhere.

Hasty, both Cricket and Hasty herself told him, was too busy with her baby to worry about what anyone was doing elsewhere.

That afternoon Arlian found Stammer in the kitchen, and called her aside.

"I understand you keep up with the news of the city," he said.

She stared at him in terror. "I... I..."

Arlian held up a reassuring hand. "Calm down, please, my dear! This is not an accusation. I don't own you, and you're free to do as you please when your work is done. I'm pleased to know you take an interest in the world; my guests find it most generous of you to share with them, since they cannot go out and about freely themselves."

Stammer curtsied awkwardly in response, unable to speak. She had not been given her name lightly.

"It's come to my attention that there are rumors about me abroad in Manfort, and I wondered whether you had heard any of them."

"My lord, I... I... don't know .. " She seemed to stick at that point, unable to continue.

"Would it be easier to write them down, perhaps?"

Arlian suggested.

Stammer shook her head violently, and it occurred to Arlian that she might be illiterate. His mother and grandfather had taught him to read and write when he was a child, but Stammer might not have been so fortunate.

"I would be glad to hear anything that's being said,"

Arlian said, "no matter how dreadful. I assure you, no harm will come to you if you speak freely."

"I... I cannot, my lord." She looked down at her hands, her fingers rubbing at the front of her apron.

Arlian was curious about what rumors might be circulating, but it was not an urgent matter. "Very well, then," he said. "If you change your mind, let me know"

He dismissed her with a wave, and watched as she hurried back to the table where she had been kneading dough for tomorrow's bread. She returned to her work, but glanced up nervously every so often, seeing he was still there but not meeting his eyes. At last Arlian took pity on her, and left.

That evening he was alone in his study, going over the costs of assembling his caravan, when someone knocked timidly on the door.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and Stammer stepped in. She closed the door behind her, took a deep breath, and then said, "They say you're a madman, my lord, that you meant to slaughter all who would oppose you and then overthrow the Duke himself, but that when Toribor challenged you to prevent you from taking over all the Lands of Man you lost your nerve, and when he offered you a last chance you flung down your weapons and abandoned your schemes, at least for now, and now you're said to be hiding here in the palace, and when word got out that you were preparing to travel everyone said you were fleeing in disgrace, that you spoke to the Duke and were so frightened by him that you're leaving the city forever. It's all over the streets, my lord, and when I tell anyone it's not true they don't believe me, they think you've put a spell on me or seduced me or tricked me somehow, but it's
not
true, is it?"

Arlian stared at her for a moment, absorbing what she had just said, then said calmly, "It's not true. None of it."

She gasped, hands clutched over her heart, then said, "I knew it."

"What else?" Arlian asked.

"Wha... what..."

She had clearly reached the end of her prepared speech.

"Are there any other rumors abroad in the city?" he asked.

She nodded, gulped, composed herself for a moment, then said, "They say you poisoned Lord Stiam or put him under a curse you learned from Lord Drisheen before you killed him, or from the books in Lord Enziet's house, and you went to his deathbed to make sure it worked, and the sorcery went wrong and became visible and you had to dispel it to hide the evidence of your crime, and Lord Wither found some trace you had missed and told you so at the funeral, so you went to his house and stabbed him to death and bribed his servants and his clerk to say he had died by his own hand, but after all, it was your black stone knife that killed him, and ... and... and..." She took another deep, gasping breath, blinking helplessly at him.

The long, fast sentences were obviously a way to avoid stammering, so Arlian did not suggest she slow down and speak clearly, or ask her to untangle the pro-nouns; instead he said, 'Take your time."

She stared silently at him.

"Do you know who's been spreading these tales?"

he asked.

That drew a burst of stammered names Arlian didn't recognize—Thumb and Trot and Korri and Werrin and several she couldn't get out clearly. Attempts at explaining who they were quickly became hopelessly garbled, but Arlian thought he puzzled out part of it.

"They work for Lady Pulzera?" he asked. "Or Lady Opal?'

"And... and... and..." She swallowed hard, and said, "Har... Hardior. And Zaner. Or T . . . Ticker."

All
of them.

For a moment Arlian considered canceling his expedition to stay and refute these calumnies, but he quickly discarded the idea. His denials would mean nothing, and he needed to attend to matters in Deep Delving so he could send his Aritheian employees for more magic—in particular, magic that might be useful against dragons.