Dragon Weather (59 page)

“I suspected as much,” Arlian said.

“Of course you did. However, don't raise your hopes too high; Enziet hasn't survived almost a thousand years by being foolish. I assume that he
will
answer the questions truthfully. It may be that he hasn't broken the rules at all, though I can't quite see how that would be so; it may be that he has, but that he will claim there were extenuating circumstances, and will beg the Society's pardon—which will, in all probability, be granted.”

Arlian gritted his teeth. “And we'll be back to a standoff.”

“Yes, you will. However, let me also bring up some other possibilities not covered by the official rules.” She glanced around to see if anyone else was listening, then said, “Enziet was one of the founders of the Dragon Society, with Sharrae, Wither, Nail, and Rehirrian. Wither, Nail, and Rehirrian were all a few years younger; that Enziet
looks
younger than Nail or Wither simply reflects their relative ages when they drank the elixir. Since Sharrae's death three hundred years ago Enziet has been our most senior surviving member, which means he holds the highest rank possible within the Society—all three of the surviving founders are held in high regard, and Enziet is by far the most vigorous of them, the most feared and respected. He is furthermore the chief adviser to the Duke of Manfort, and a sorcerer second only to Lord Drisheen. I am not at all sure that the Society as a whole has the courage to defy him, to expel him, exile him, or kill him. In fact, I think that merely calling a hearing may put an unbearable strain on the Society, and going through with it may shatter the Society—the entire system may break apart into squabbling factions.” She paused and looked Arlian in the eye. “Are you willing to risk that?”

Arlian looked back. “Yes,” he said.

He said no more aloud, but his thoughts were plain enough—he had no great love for the Dragon Society. He had not been a member long enough to grow dependent upon it; he saw no great virtue in it. He knew that the Society secretly dominated much of the governance of the Lands of Man, and that the members considered themselves a crucial force for stability, but he was by no means convinced of the validity of such a view.

In fact, he suspected that the destruction of the Society might be a very good thing. Could it really be best for humanity to let dragonhearts run the affairs of ordinary mortals? Dragonhearts, cold and detached, without family, unconcerned with age, barely aware of the passage of time—what did they know of the best way to order the everyday world from which they were so estranged?

Rime clearly considered the Society a beneficent institution, but Arlian disagreed.

Rime was still studying his face, as if unsatisfied with his single word of reply, so he elaborated, “If the Society can be so easily broken, can it be worthy of preservation?”

“Ah,” Rime said, sitting back. “You're young. Often the most delicate things are those most worth saving.”

“Lord Enziet is a criminal by any sane standard, including the rules of this Society he helped create,” Arlian said. “He must answer for his crimes.”

“Whatever the cost?”

Arlian started to speak, then stopped.

“No,” he said at last. “I won't go that far. There are costs that would not be worth paying. The Dragon Society, however, is not one of them.”

“Very well then,” Rime said, thumping her cane on the floor. She got to her feet, picked up her polished bone, and rapped the table.

“Your attention, my lords and ladies!” she called, in a clear, carrying voice.

The other members present in the room looked up at her with varying degrees of startlement.

“A grave accusation has been made,” Rime announced. “A member in good standing accuses Lord Enziet of a betrayal of our trust and a breaking of his oath. Let us summon Lord Enziet to a hearing, that these charges may be made and answered!”

“Enziet? Are you mad?” someone asked.

Rime looked intently at the speaker.

“The accusation has been made,” she said, “that Lord Enziet conspires with the dragons themselves.”

“That's insane!”

“We have a witness,” Arlian interjected.

“Who?”

“She's not a member, and cannot enter here,” Rime said. “Three of us heard her story, however, and have reason to believe it to be true.”

“If she's not a member, who's making the accusation?”

“I am,” Arlian said, rising.

Several voices spoke at once.

“But you've only just joined!”

“Aren't you already sworn to kill Enziet?”

“Why should we believe you?”

Rime raised her hands for silence.

“Lord Obsidian is a member in good standing,” she said. “He has the right to call Lord Enziet to a hearing—and if the Society deems the accusation to be frivolous or made solely from personal malice, why, then we can call Obsidian to a hearing in reply.”

Arlian looked at her, startled; she hadn't mentioned that possibility.

“I ask that Lord Enziet be summoned before this gathering!” Rime called.

Lord Shatter said, “Door, that's your job, isn't it?”

“If no one else volunteers,” Door replied uneasily.

“He shouldn't go alone,” Lady Flute called. “Not for
Enziet.
”

“I'll go,” Shatter said.

Several voices joined in. Arlian looked at Rime.

“You're the accuser,” she said. “You stay here. And by calling the hearing, I've appointed myself overseer of the event, so I stay here, too. If you're worried that they'll help him escape, though, you can ask someone you trust to go.”

Arlian looked around, then shook his head. “I don't see anyone I wish to send,” he said.

Rime shrugged. “As you please.” She turned to see that Door was organizing a party to go collect Enziet from his home, and sat down. “Our part's done for now; now we wait.”

Arlian was restless, eager to be active, to be doing something—but there was nothing to be done; he had only to wait until Enziet was brought in. He watched Door's gang of a dozen or so depart, then sat, trying to stay calm—but he couldn't manage it. Almost involuntarily, he got to his feet and looked for something to do, somewhere to go.

“You mustn't leave the room,” Rime said. “It's set in the rules. In theory, this restriction is to prevent you from arranging an ambush.”

“I could have set one up beforehand, if that was my intent,” Arlian pointed out.

“That's true enough,” Rime agreed. “I never said the theory was sound.”

Arlian stared at her for a moment, then turned away. He thought about sending a message to the Old Palace, to check on Sweet and the others—what if Enziet tried to reclaim his “property”? After all, Arlian had stolen a legally indentured slave.

There were no messengers at hand, though, so instead he moved about the room, looking at the dozens of peculiar artifacts gathered there, asking Rime and the other members questions about some of them.

The minutes dragged by and added up, little by little, until Arlian was certain that hours had passed, if not entire days; then suddenly the door slammed in, and a babble of excited voices drew the attention of everyone present. The party that had gone to fetch Enziet spilled in—but Arlian saw no sign of Enziet, or Toribor, or Drisheen.

Wither was there, though, and Nail.

“He's gone,” Door announced as he stepped into the room. “He and several of his guards and servants and hirelings, together with Lords Drisheen and Belly and parts of their households. They gathered at the Enziet's manse at dawn this morning and left the city.”

“But we found these two arguing at the gate of Enziet's home,” someone added, pointing at Wither and Nail.

“Then question
them,
” someone else called. “I want to know what the truth is here!”

Wither turned and glared at the speaker.

“By what right?”
he bellowed.

The chatter of the others stopped instantly.

“By what right do you dare to suggest I be questioned?” Wither continued. “Am I, too, accused of withholding information I am sworn to share? If so, show me my accuser!”

“No one accused you of anything,” Door said wearily.

“Then speak not of questioning me, as if I were a peculating servant or a naughty child!” Wither shouted, gesturing. “I am older than you all; I stood on this city's ramparts and fought dragons before you were born!”

Nail cleared his throat. Rime smiled crookedly at that, and whispered to Arlian, “No one's sure which of those two is older.”

“My lord,” someone called, “we
demand
nothing of you, but we would
ask
that you grant us the favor of telling us what you know of the case at hand—in your own way, and as you will.”

A murmur of agreement ran through the gathering.

“Fair enough,” Wither said with a nod. “Sit down and be still, and I'll speak.”

The various members, Arlian among them, found seats—all in all, more than a score of the Society's members sat listening to Wither's words. Nail sat close by Wither's side; Door took a place behind him, blocking the doorway.

“Yesterday,” Wither said, “Lord Obsidian came into possession of a slave who had been in Lord Enziet's house. This slave, who Lord Obsidian knew years ago and believes to be truthful, told Obsidian, Rime, and myself that Lord Enziet had boasted to her of certain sorcerous powers unlike any known to the rest of us, and had demonstrated these powers for her. While Rime and Obsidian saw fit to make this the basis of their accusations against Lord Enziet, I chose instead to go to him yesterday evening, present the facts as I understood them, and demand an explanation.” He paused for breath, and looked around at roughly two dozen rapt faces.

“He had no explanation,” Wither said. “He told me that there were extenuating circumstances involved, circumstances unknown to me or to any of you, that had prevented him from telling any of us the truth—that an oath sworn prior to the founding of the Dragon Society had prevented him from telling us every little detail of his sorcerous knowledge, and continued to prevent him from revealing what was asked.

“I told him that was insufficient, and he said that all he could do to appease me was to travel to a certain place and ask to be released from his ancient oath—that if I would allow him to do so, he would go, and would return promptly, and would then answer to the Society. I agreed, and he gathered his household, invited certain friends to join him, and early this morning he departed.”

“Where is he going?” Flute asked.

“I don't know,” Wither said. “I asked, but he would not tell me. He said he would be gone for a considerable time, but would return—by spring, most likely, and certainly within a year.”

“But he's left Manfort,” a woman called Glass said, looking at Arlian.

“Yes, he has,” Wither agreed.

Nail snorted and rose. “It's a trap, of course,” he said. “Enziet told me as much, and invited me to join him and the others. Oh, he's off on some mysterious errand to satisfy Wither, that's true enough, and I don't know a thing more about that than Wither's told you, but it's no coincidence that this is a chance for Arlian and
all
his sworn foes but me to meet outside the city walls.” He looked directly at Arlian. “You can go after him if you like,” he said. “He expects you to—and he'll be waiting.”

Arlian stood and asked Wither, “Is this true?”

“I suppose it is,” Wither admitted. “And the best thing all around is to get all of you out of here, so you can settle your disagreements once and for all and leave the rest of us undisturbed. Yes, I expect him to kill you, but if you go after him and
you
kill
him,
I won't weep—I'll be surprised, but I won't weep.” He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You've been stirring up trouble ever since you arrived, Obsidian, and I don't like it. One way or the other, I want it settled, so that the Society can go on in harmony as it always has.”

“Spoilsport,” Rime muttered.

Arlian glanced at her, then turned to Nail. “And why didn't you accept Enziet's invitation? Why didn't you go with him? I've sworn vengeance against you as much as the others.”

“I'd prefer that you forsake that oath,” Nail replied calmly. “I'd much rather have your forgiveness than your blood; I have apologized for my crimes before, and I will do so again, if you so desire. I have made what amends I can, and will make what further amends may be reasonably required of me. If after that you still insist on slaying me, well, I won't make it easy for you—I'll stay within these walls as long as I can. Enziet may be determined to see you destroyed, and Wither may wish an end to this stalemate, but I would much prefer to continue as we are.”

Arlian stared at him for a moment, then at Wither.

“Why did you do it?” he asked. “Why did you warn him, and let him escape?”

The old man leaned over to him and whispered, “Listen, Obsidian—you were right. Enziet speaks with the dragons. He admitted it to me. But don't you see what that means?”

“No,” Arlian said angrily. “Other than that he's deceived us all.”

“It means he knows where they are!” Wither hissed. “He can go to them, and they won't kill him on sight, and he can fetch out venom!”

Arlian stared at him. “For your woman,” he said.

“Yes!” Wither slapped the table. “For Marasa! And for
your
woman, if you have one! For anyone you choose! We can
all
be immortal!”

“And in exchange for his promise to fetch you venom, you let him go free,” Arlian said bitterly.

“Yes.” Wither sighed. “I didn't want to see this opportunity thrown away. I didn't want to see the Dragon Society destroyed by the feud between the two of you. So yes, I let him go, and when he returns, if he has the venom I intend to support him wholeheartedly.”