Dragon Weather (54 page)

It hadn't all been as harmless as carrying messages; he had thrown a rock through a lord's window, stolen a lady's dagger, spilled oil on pavement where a duel was to be fought, all at Parcel's direction. As he had grown he had been trusted with other jobs, and one day Parcel had told him, “Follow me,” and he had followed, and he had met Lord Dragon, Parcel's master, for the first time, in a rented room on the Street of the Roses.

“An impressive man,” Seek said. “Even now, and to the lad I was then … well, I was proud just to be there.”

“I can understand that,” Arlian said, remembering how impressive Lord Dragon could be.

“I met Tooth and Shamble that first time,” Seek continued. “They were already in Lord Dragon's employ. Dagger came later, and I recruited Stonehand myself, to replace Parcel. And I suggested Cover, but he only joined us on that one errand—he seemed a likely candidate, but did not work out.” He grimaced. “I regret that.”

He sounded sincere—but Arlian reserved judgment; as Seek himself had said, he made his living convincing people. “What happened to Parcel,” Arlian asked, “that you were called upon to replace him?”

Seek shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “One day he wasn't there, and Lord Dragon told me he was dead. I asked how, and Dragon said it was none of my concern, and I didn't dare press the matter further. He wasn't the only one to disappear—Tooth vanished later, though in that case Lord Dragon never said whether she was dead or alive, merely that she was gone and I was not to worry myself about it. Nor were those I've named so far the only ones I worked with in Lord Dragon's service; others came and went as the occasion arose.”

Arlian nodded. “Go on,” he said.

Lord Dragon had found plenty of work for Hide and the others, in Manfort and elsewhere. He rarely told them just what was going on, or why they were doing the tasks he had assigned them. Sometimes they were sent as a group, other times alone or in twos or threes; sometimes Lord Dragon would accompany them, and other times he would simply instruct them and leave it to them to carry out those instructions. Often months would pass in which Hide would not see Lord Dragon himself, but would only receive letters.

“Did you know who he was?” Arlian asked.

Seek shook his head. “Not then,” he said. “And he never told us. But I had my suspicions soon enough.”

“Why?”

“It wasn't so very difficult to see who benefited politically from a particular rock through a specific window, or a note passed to a given lady. When I began working for Lord Dragon the Duke was said to be bored with Lord Enziet, and displeased with the counsel he had received of late; not long after that Enziet's position was stronger than ever, and his rivals exiled, dead, or out of favor. And the descriptions matched—the rumor that Lord Enziet never appeared in public because his face was scarred certainly fit.”

“Tell me about the journey to the Smoking Mountain,” Arlian said.

It was one muggy afternoon late in a long, appallingly hot summer that Lord Dragon had summoned his employees and told them to be ready to travel at dawn the following day. Hide had not bothered to ask where they were going; Dagger, however, had wanted to know, saying she needed to know what provisions to pack, and Lord Dragon had told them they were bound for the Smoking Mountain, and that tools for digging would be appropriate.

“Weapons?” Stonehand had asked.

“I don't expect to find anyone alive,” Lord Dragon had said, “but please yourself. I suppose there might be hazards on the road.”

Hide had had that in mind later that evening, when he spoke with Cover in a tavern on Gate Street. He hadn't thought Cover would be much use in a fight, or for anything tricky or dangerous, but he seemed fit for digging—not that Hide had any idea what they would be digging for, or where. Cover had been complaining about his inability to find work, and Hide had suggested he join them at dawn, and see if Lord Dragon would take him on.

Lord Dragon had, and the party had set out for the Smoking Mountain.

The weather had been utterly miserable for most of that summer, and Dagger had complained about it on the road. Seek remembered hearing Lord Dragon's reply.

“Dragon weather,” he had said. And he had smiled as he spoke, a smile Hide hadn't liked at all.

Arlian shivered at the words, at the memories they evoked of his grandfather standing on the mountainside and staring at the sky.

When they were within sight of the Smoking Mountain, Seek remembered, they had actually seen dragons in the sky, far in the distance, and then, not long after, they had seen pillars of smoke pouring up from flames on the mountain. Dagger and Cover had wanted to turn back—Dagger had thought the mountain was erupting. “We can't dig through hot lava!” she had protested.

“You won't need to,” Lord Dragon had told her.

“I don't remember his exact words after that,” Seek said, “but he made it clear that we were seeing a burning village, not the mountain's own flame, and that we would be looting the ruins. ‘And it will be cooler then,' he said, ‘so the digging won't be too arduous.'”

Arlian stared. “He
knew
that?”

“Yes,” Seek said. “He knew.”

For a moment neither man spoke; then Arlian said “Go on.”

The remainder of the tale held no surprises; the weather had broken that night, and in the morning Lord Dragon had led his crew up the mountain, where they had systematically looted the smoldering wreckage of the village, gathering up the meager valuables the townspeople had owned, the cache of obsidian, the sorcerer's talismans and devices—his papers had burned, which had irked Lord Dragon greatly.

And they had found Arlian, of course, and carried him away.

“He knew,” Arlian said. “He
knew
the dragons were coming. And he knew about the
weather
—but how could he?”

Seek shrugged. “Sorcery, I would assume. Lord Enziet is known to dabble in the hermetic arts.”

Arlian started to reply, then stopped. “Of course,” he said.

“And have I earned my life and freedom, my lord?” Seek asked.

“Conditionally,” Arlian said. “I may require that you repeat this tale, under oath, to certain acquaintances of mine.”

“I would have no difficulty in accommodating such a requirement,” Seek said.

“Are you aware that in telling me this, you may have endangered your life anew?” Arlian asked.

Seek cocked his had. “How is that?”

“I suspect you have just told me certain things that Lord Dragon very much wished to remain unrevealed.”

“I have said nothing I undertook to keep secret,” Seek protested. “I swore no oaths, made no promises.”

“I would suppose that Lord Dragon did not feel such artificial restraints to be necessary. Surely, it was understood that certain things were not to be spoken of?”

“Of course! But…” Seek frowned. “I had not thought any of this to be of great significance to Lord Enziet, but perhaps you know more than I of his concerns.”

“Perhaps I do,” Arlian said. “Indeed, I think so.”

“Then I may have forfeited to him what I gained from you?”

“I hope not,” Arlian said. “I sincerely hope not.”

“Fate is fond of these little jokes.”

“Indeed.”

And with that, Arlian took his leave and set out for the hall of the Dragon Society.

45

The Truth in Flames

Arlian found Rime and Wither in conversation in one corner of the Society's candlelit main hall and joined them there, taking a seat at the table beside Rime, across from Wither, under the gaze of a small stuffed crocodile.

It was a moment before they deigned to notice his presence; Arlian did not rush matters. He did not want to be seen as an overeager youngster, hurrying his elders, so he restrained his impatience.

Eventually Rime turned and greeted him, and he was included in the conversation. Then it took only a few minutes to bring the discussion around to Arlian's investigations, and after some prefatory comments Arlian said, “I have now learned, beyond doubt, that Lord Enziet knew beforehand that dragons would destroy my village.”

Wither stared at him, frowning. “How could he have known?” he asked.

“I don't know,” Arlian said, “but I have a witness who is willing to swear to the truth of it—one of the people who aided Lord Dragon in looting the ruins.”

Rime and Wither exchanged glances.

“It's not possible to predict the future,” Wither said.

“Not reliably,” Rime agreed. “Knowledge of the future gives one the power to change it. That puts it outside the realm of sorcery.”

“I've heard of prophetic dreams,” Arlian objected. “In Arithei they seemed to be fairly common.”

“But that's wild magic,” Rime said. “The Aritheians don't
control
these dreams, do they?”

“No,” Arlian said. “They just happen, when the winds carry magic down from the Dreaming Mountains.”

“Sorcery's different,” Wither said.

“Besides, are these dreams always accurate?” Rime asked.

“No,” Arlian admitted. “They're … well, they're unpredictable. Sometimes they're true, sometimes they're not, and even when they are, they're sometimes too vague or obscure to be of any use.”

“So even if Enziet had somehow had such a dream, which is scarcely possible in Manfort to begin with, could he rely on it sufficiently to launch his expedition to the Smoking Mountain?” Rime asked.

“Um … not if it were like the Aritheian dreams, no. But couldn't he have found some sorcerous method to produce reliable prophecies?”

Rime and Wither looked at one another.

“It shouldn't be possible,” Rime said, “but if anyone could make it work, it would be Enziet.”

“If he has,” Wither said, “then he's honor-bound to share it with the rest of us.”

“He's had nine years to do so, and he hasn't said a word of this,” Rime said.

“Maybe that's why he wants me dead,” Arlian suggested. “So you won't find out that he's kept it secret. It could be very useful in controlling the Duke and the rest of Manfort, couldn't it?”

“It certainly could,” Wither growled.

“But if that's what he's up to, then wouldn't he have seen that you were a danger to him much sooner, through these very prophecies you think him capable of, and killed you long ago?” Rime asked.

Arlian shrugged. “Maybe it's not
that
reliable.”

Rime grabbed her cane and pushed back her chair. “I want to meet this witness of yours,” she said.

“As do I,” Wither agreed, rising.

“Gladly,” Arlian said, getting to his feet. “He calls himself Seek now, and has a shop on the Street of the Jewelers.”

“Lead the way, boy,” Wither said.

Arlian led the way—but even before they turned the corner onto the Street of the Jewelers he began to fear that something had gone wrong; he smelled smoke more strongly than usual. This was not merely Manfort's perpetual background odor, but something sharp and fresh. He broke into a trot; Wither accompanied him, but Rime, hobbling along, could not.

“You go ahead,” she called, with a wave of her cane.

Arlian broke into a run when he saw the billowing smoke lit orange from beneath, and heard the crackle of flame. A crowd had gathered, blocking the street, and buckets were being passed, so that he had to stop and could only stare helplessly as Seek's shop burned.

“Did Seek escape?” he asked a man in the crowd.

The man turned and glanced up at Arlian.

“No,” he said. “He's dead on the floor in there. Someone said his heart gave out, and he knocked over a lamp when he fell.”

Arlian stared helplessly at the flames. The buckets of water being flung upon the blaze were having an effect; Arlian could hear the hissing as the fire was fought back. Through the smoke and the shattered remains of the storefront he could make out a dark lump on the floor.

That was undoubtedly Seek; the fire might soon be under control, but it would be too late for him.

Wither came up beside Arlian and asked, “That's your witness?”

“I'm afraid so,” Arlian admitted.

“Quite a coincidence, his death.”

“It's no coincidence,” Arlian said. “Lord Enziet killed him, I'm sure of it. He must have overheard somehow—more sorcery…”

“More likely, if it's as you say, he had men spying on
you,
boy, and saw you talking to this merchant. Wouldn't need sorcery for that.”

“Oh,” Arlian said, swallowing.

In a way, then, he had himself killed Hide after all, even after deciding not to.

He should have thought of the possibility that he was being spied upon, Arlian told himself. He bit his lower lip in angry frustration as he watched the flames. He had failed Seek and himself.

His eyes began to tear—from the smoke, Arlian told himself.

“That's assuming, of course, that you're telling the truth,” Wither said, interrupting Arlian's thoughts. “And that you didn't kill him yourself before you came to fetch us. It wouldn't have been much of a trick to spill a lamp and set a candle in the puddle as a fuse.”

“What?”
Arlian whirled to stare at Wither.

“Well, you said yourself that this was one of the looters you wanted revenge on,” Wither said conversationally. “And we have nothing but your word, now, that Lord Enziet's done anything out of line, and we all know you want vengeance on
him.
So why should we take your word that it's he, and not yourself, behind it all?”

“But … but why would I kill my witness?”

“Why, because he
wasn't
your witness,” Wither said. “Supposing that it's you, and not Enziet, who's plotting and planning here, then this man Seek might have called you the liar you are, and thrown your whole scheme awry. Now you needn't worry about that; a dead witness can't change his tale. And if we believe you, then we condemn Lord Enziet as a murderer trying to cover his tracks, and cast him out of the Society when he won't reveal the secret of sorcerous prophecy—a secret that, assuming this is all the true situation, has never existed. Then you've broken his power and freed yourself of your oath not to kill him, and can pursue your revenge further.”