The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Since the members of the Society were all among the city's wealthy and powerful, gossip did circulate—

  Cricket and Stammer seemed to be the best sources, though Arlian could not imagine how Cricket, newly arrived and confined to the palace by her inability to walk, heard as much as she did.

  Arlian was interested to learn that Lord Drisheen had named no heir. This was hardly surprising in a man with no family who had intended to live forever, but it was interesting, nonetheless.

  Thus neglected, under ancient custom Lord Drisheen's estates had therefore fallen to the Duke of Manfort, and once a decent period was allowed for notice to be circulated, and for the Duke's representatives to sort through and remove anything that they thought the Duke would prefer to keep for himself, the residue was to be auctioned off at the Duke's convenience.

  That convenience happened to occur some nineteen days after Arlian's return to Manfort, when the novelty of Vanniari's presence was beginning to wear thin, but before Arlian was ready to return to the tedium of sort-ing through the remainder of Lord Enziet's belongings, or to venture out of the city to visit Deep Delving.

  While Drisheen's lack of an heir did not startle Arlian, this date struck him as a pleasant surprise; he had assumed, until learning otherwise, that Drisheen's estates had long since been dealt with, since Lord Toribor and the others had brought word of the man's death back to Manfort long ago. Drisheen's hired assassin had certainly known his employer was dead, so the news was hardly secret.

  Arlian supposed he had underestimated the time needed to prepare for the auction, but whatever the reason for the delay, it suited him. The discovery that matters were not settled meant he would have a chance to see whether Drisheen, who had been one of Enziet's closest companions, had left anything relevant to Arlian's own inheritance—perhaps Enziet had used one of his ciphers to send messages to Drisheen, and Drisheen had kept a key; or perhaps Drisheen had a diary recording observations about dragons, or about Enziet.

  Enziet had known where at least one nest of dragons lurked; perhaps Drisheen had known others. And Arlian admitted to a certain curiosity regarding any record Drisheen might have left of hiring an assassin.

  Accordingly, on the appropriate morning Arlian made his way through the cold gray streets to Drisheen's mansion to attend the first session of the auction; the quantity of goods involved meant that several days would be needed to dispose of everything, with each day's proceedings including a mix of personal effects, furnishings, and business property, and continuing until the auctioneer judged the buyers to be losing interest

  Arlian went alone; Black was busy with the household and took no interest in what he called ghoulish proceedings, and Arlian had no one else suitable to accompany him on such an errand. He had had no contact with Lady Rime since returning to Manfort, and his female houseguests could hardly manage an event where people were expected to stand while bidding, and to walk from room to room. Arlian realized he had no other friends in Manfort—a rather depressing discovery—so he walked down the hill to Drisheen's estate alone, his cloak wrapped about him.

  The gate and door stood open when he arrived, attended only by one harried footman. Arlian handed this fellow his cloak, and did not wait to be shown to the auction; he found it easily enough by following the sound of the auctioneer's chant. He made his way through the foyer, down a passage walled in white stone, into a good-sized but overcrowded parlor, where at least a dozen potential buyers clustered around the auctioneer.

  Other buyers were wandering through the various rooms, Arlian saw, and as he had no interest in parlor furniture he strolled on into a mirror-lined gallery where assorted lords and ladies were scattered, looking over die furnishings. No one acknowledged his presence, and he did not intrude, but studied the attendees.

  Most were unfamiliar. He knew all the members of the Dragon Society, and had met a good many of Manfort's wealthiest and most powerful residents at the ball he had held in the Old Palace, but the people here to lad were mostly a little lower on the social scale, looking to acquire cheaply things they could not properly afford.

  He moved through the gallery to the door of a salon, and stopped without entering.

  The Duke of Manfort was in the salon, chatting with a portion of his court Arlian thought better of intruding, and turned away.

  It made sense that the Duke himself would be here, since the auction was for his benefit; presumably he had come to oversee the sales and ensure that adequate prices were paid. It made sense, but Arlian had not really thought about it. He cursed himself for this oversight—this might have been a chance to sound out the Duke's attitude about aiding Arlian's planned war against the dragons. Simply walking in unprepared might well end in disaster if he said the wrong thing...

  But he would have time to consider, while the auction continued. Perhaps he could work out a sound approach.

  For now, he decided to join the main body of bid-ders. He returned to the parlor, only to find that they were moving on to the drawing room beyond.

  Arlian followed, joining the crowd for the next hour, but for the most part he made only a few desul-tory bids, and those only on books and certain personal effects, in hopes of acquiring information about Drisheen's sorcerous pursuits. He had no use for second-hand furnishings, and nothing with any discernable connection to Enziet was offered.

  He purchased nothing in the drawing room but a bundle of papers that, upon investigation, proved to be household accounts, all utterly useless.

  From there the auctioneer moved on into Lord Drisheen's large and elegant library, and Arlian followed—

  but the transition made him acutely uncomfortable. He found his gaze drifting from the auctioneer to the comer where Sparkle and Ferret had been hanged. The bodies had been removed months ago, but to Arlian the image was still painfully clear:

  He forced himself to focus on the auctioneer, and a moment later on the Duke's own little party. The Duke said his half dozen courtiers had climbed up a concealed stair to the balcony behind the auctioneer and now stood there, looking out at the crowd, the better to observe the bidding.

  That brought the memory of the hanged women back even more forcefully. A lordling in pale green satin, the farthest of the party from the Duke, stood with his elbow not six inches from where the noose that killed Ferret had been looped across the balcony rail. Arlian tried not to think about that as he looked over the Duke's party.

  About half of the Duke's companions were dragonhearts, Arlian saw. The crowd of potential buyers on the floor below included a handful more of these. The Dragon Society controlled most of the wealth and power in Manfort, after all; Arlian had suspected at least a few of them would attend.

  As in the gallery, none of them acknowledged his presence, even though the dragonhearts, unlike those others, unquestionably knew who he was. He was unsure whether they were caught up in the bidding and had honestly not noticed him, or whether they were deliberately ignoring him. Snubbing the man who had killed four prominent lords, three of them dragonhearts, was not unreasonable, Arlian supposed—but it might be that his presence had truly been unobserved, as he was not making himself obvious and had come without retinue.

  In any case, Arlian found himself with an opportunity to observe the dynamics of the city's elite, the Duke's entourage and the Dragon Society, that was probably more use than any chance to buy anything.

  What he immediately saw was that Lord Hardior, who had been out of favor not long before, had obviously taken up the role of chief adviser now that both Enziet and Drisheen were gone.

  Lady Rime, once also a senior adviser, was not present, and the other courtiers in attendance were clearly not significant. Hardior alone stood at the Duke's side, rather than a respectful step back.

  Ariian had first met Lord Hardior at the elaborate ball held to introduce Lord Obsidian to Manfort's rulers, but had not dealt with him much after that. Lord Hardior was a member of the Dragon Society, of course—the Society, working b
ehind the scenes, held almost all real power in Manfort—but had not been present for Ariian's initiation, and had therefore not participated in the ritual questioning there. Ariian thought he might have exchanged a few polite words with Hardior on various other occasions, though.

  He remembered that Lord Hardior had reportedly been cast out of the Duke's inner circle a year or two back, and that Lord Enziet had been rumored to be responsible. Now, though, Enziet was dead, and here was Lord Hardior, impeccably dressed in white lace and brown velvet, pressed close up beside the Duke, whispering jokes into the Duke's ear, unobtrusively pointing out the prettiest women in the crowd, while the other advisers maintained a respectful distance and the Duke smiled and chuckled in response; clearly, Lord Hardior had seized on the opportunity presented by Enziet's absence.

  At that moment, as the auctioneer droned on about a tedious volume of genealogy, Hardior happened to glance out at the crowd and notice Ariian looking up at him.

  Their eyes met, and Hardior smiled.

  Ariian wondered what that smile meant; it seemed friendly enough, but he knew better than to trust any dragonheart to be what he appeared. This was not the cold smile of an enemy sighting his prey, or the ironic disdain Ariian had often seen Enziet display ; it seemed a sincere display of warmth.

  That warmth could be false, of course, intended to deceive Ariian into thinking he had an ally until the jaws of a trap closed around him. It might well be that Hardior was preparing to arrest Ariian for the murder of Lord Drisheen, and found it ironically satisfying to see Arlian here in Drisheen's home.

  If he were to be charged with any crime it would probably be Drisheen's death, since Arlian's other significant killings had all been in fair and honorable combat. He had slain Drisheen in cold blood, Drisheen's sword undrawn, before witnesses; if Hardior wanted to destroy Arlian, that would be the best accusation to bring to bear.

  On the other hand, it could be that Lord Hardior did indeed feel some appreciation for Arlian's actions in removing Enziet and Drisheen permanently, and taking Rime out of the city for several months, leaving the Duke virtually unattended by those he trusted.

  That could be useful. A political ally might be very helpful indeed in making preparations to destroy the dragons and the Dragon Society. Arlian cocked his head and smiled back.

  For a moment the two men stood smiling at one another; then Hardior leaned over and whispered in the Duke's ear. He pointed at Arlian.

  The Duke's gaze followed Hardior's finger until it found Arlian, whereupon the Duke smiled and waved.

  Arlian made a small bow in response. A few heads turned his direction at this, but no one commented. He thought he saw a few surprised faces among the dragonheads, but any such expression was quickly suppressed.

  Then all of them returned their attention to the auction as the genealogy sold for a mere seven ducats, and a volume of Lady Arinia's infamous erotic tales, the cause of much scandal three centuries before, was put up for bid.

  The Duke had seemed favorably disposed toward him, and Arlian wondered whether there was any way to take advantage of this—but he was down here, pretending to bid, and the Duke was up on the balcony, watching, and he could not see any way to get close enough to speak without violating the etiquette of the occasion.

  Besides, there was no chance of speaking with the Duke here without Lord Hardior being a party to the conversation, and Arlian did not know enough of Hardior's intentions and attitudes to risk that.

  He frowned, and tried to politely ignore the men on the balcony—and the unwanted image of Ferret, dangling there...

  Not long after that Arlian grew bored, and turned to leave. Nothing of interest was for sale, so far as he could determine, and he had seen what he came to see in other matters—the elite of Manfort seemed to have accepted the loss of Lord Enziet and Lord Drisheen without any great disruption, and it was plain that the Duke of Manfort remained an easily guided fool securely in the grip of die Dragon Society.

  And no one had been openly hostile toward him; in fact, Hardior and the Duke had seemed quite friendly.

  If anyone intended to avenge the men Arlian had slain, they were not being obvious about it That would make his life easier; there would be no distractions as he prepared his campaign against the dragons. He had half expected to find that Lord Toribor, perhaps with the aid of Lord Nail, had stirred up the Society against him, making him an outcast—but there was no sign of any such thing.

  Neither Toribor nor Nail had been present at the auction, however, nor had most of the other dragonhearts.

  Arlian reminded himself that he could not allow himself to be too confident of his own safety. They might well still have plans to deal with the man who had sworn to slay them. Wither wanted him alive, but no one else had sent anyone to stop Drisheen's assassin.

  He paused in die doorway to pull his cloak about him; the sky outside was leaden gray, as gray as the stone streets beyond the gate, and the air was chill, as the dying winter managed one last gasp. He was about to step out and let the footman close the door when he heard a footstep and a polite cough behind him.

  He turned to find Lord Hardior standing at the far side of the little foyer, one arm draped gracefully against the doorframe.

  "My lord Hardior," Arlian said. "A pleasure to see you!"

  "Lord Obsidian," Hardior said, stepping forward, out of the doorway. "I had hoped to catch you."

  Arlian glanced at the waiting footman, and said, "I was just leaving; shall I stay, then?"

  "Oh, pray don't let me keep you—but might I walk with you as far as the gate, perhaps? A few words make any journey more pleasant, no matter how brief, don't you think?"

  "Indeed," Arlian said. "I would be glad of your company." He bowed slightly, then turned and stepped outside. He took two paces down the path toward the gate, then paused until Lord Hardior appeared at his side.

  "Is your coach waiting?" Hardior asked.

  "I walked," Arlian said. "And yourself?"

  "I rode with His Grace," Hardior replied. "Since I have forgone the pleasure of his company for the remainder of the afternoon, 1, too, am on foot."

  Then if you like, our stroll need not end at the gate I take it that if you abandoned His Grace in my favor, there was some fairly urgent matter you wished to speak of With me?" Arlian set out down the path at a leisurely pace as he spoke, and Hardior accompanied him.

  This was a perfect opportunity to sound out Lord Hardior, to learn a little of how he was viewed in the Duke's court and in the Dragon Society. Arlian tried not to grin, limiting himself instead to a polite little smile.

  Hardior smiled as well. "Perhaps not urgent, my lord, but of some importance, yes."

  'Then tell me of it, I pray."

  "It's simple enough. I wish to know your intentions."

  Arlian glanced sideways at him. This was a more direct approach than he had expected. "My intentions?"

  "Indeed. You have deprived His Grace of two trusted advisers, and while he does not doubt your honor or question your justification, he is concerned lest you remove more. He wonders whether perhaps it is your intent to gain power in Manfort by thus removing rivals."

  The two had reached the gate, where a gatekeeper stood by watching silently as they passed. He had not been there when Arlian arrived, and Arlian would have preferred it had he not been there now.

  Arlian said, "My dear Hardior, I am not interested in gaining power at all, by any means. I know you were not present at my .. . arrival on the Street of the Black Spire, but surely you heard some of what was said there?" He did not think it wise to mention the Dragon Society by name while the gatekeeper was still within earshot, but he was sure Hardior would recognize the reference.

  "One hears so many tales, Obsidian, that one scarcely knows what to believe. I would prefer you tell me directly why you came to Manfort, and what you hope to accomplish."

  "I came in pursuit of vengeance, my lord," Arlian said. He could see no reason to evade the qu
estion; his purposes were hardly secret within the Society, and they were now too far down the street for the gatekeeper to overhear. The street was not utterly deserted, but the other citizens abroad on this gloomy day were few, and all seemed more concerned with getting home out of the damp chill than with listening to the conversation of the two lords. "As a child I was wrongly sold into slavery in the mines of Deep Delving, and I swore to find and slay the seven people who participated in that shameful act. Later I befriended women who were maimed and then murdered at the whim of six lords, and further swore to avenge those poor dead souls, as well as my own enslavement"

  Thirteen men, then," Hardior said.

  Arlian shook his head. "No," he said. 'Ten men, and two women, for one of the six lords was Lord Enziet, who was also the man who sold me into slavery."

  "And have you disposed of them all, then?"

  "I have found all the ten men," Arlian said, "and eight of them are dead. Two of the lords, Nail and Belly, still live, and I have been unable to locate the two women—one is thought to have died years ago, and die other fled Manfort and has never returned."

  He belatedly remembered Lampspiller—his envoys to Deep Delving had not been instructed to inquire after the overseer, so he had no idea whether Lampspiller still lived.

  If he did... well, it was a minor matter compared to the dragons, and he was unsure whether he would pursue it or not He decided not to mention it

  "And where does this leave you, then?" Hardior asked. "As a member of the Dragon Society you are sworn not to kill Nail and Belly within the city walls; do you propose to hunt down these two women?"

  "I have had enough of vengeance against men and women, my lord. It may well happen someday that I will kill Nail and Belly—Nail has agreed to meet me outside the wall when I have dealt with Belly, and I may take him up on that or I may not. Belly and I have fought before, and I think we have each other's measure; at this point I think it might be possible to let the matter end there, but it may be that we will fight again at some point." The memory of that duel in the night-dark streets of Cork Tree, which had ended with Toribor lying bleeding in the dirt, rushed back, and Arlian found himself thinking that he should pay Lord Toribor a visit, and discuss matters left unresolved between them. He should have done so sooner, in fact, but since his return to Manfort he had been distracted—by Enziet's legacy, by Isein's news about the dearth of magic, by Wither's visit, by Vanniari's birth.