Dragon Weather (71 page)

“I might kill
you,
instead.”

“You're welcome to try. Tell me the secret, then—if you kill me, it won't leave this cave.”

There was a long pause before Enziet replied thoughtfully, “I don't think I want to do that. The time may come when you learn for yourself, but I won't tell you.”

“Then I won't spare you.”

“And I'll do my best to kill you. No quarter asked nor given.”

And suddenly Arlian felt a rush of air and sidestepped. He brushed against cloth and swung his own sword, but hit nothing. He turned toward the sound of Enziet's breath, both his blades ready.

“I lived seven years in the mines of Deep Delving,” he said. “You won't find me frightened by the dark.”

“And I spent two years in the caverns with the dragons, long ago,” Enziet replied. “The darkness holds no terrors for me, either.”

“Why did you come here?” Arlian asked. “Did you think you could escape me?”

Enziet snorted. “I thought I could bribe Wither,” he said. “Bribe Wither, trust Drisheen, talk Nail around, terrify Belly into obedience, and keep my hold on the Dragon Society. I thought you would die on the way here—but I should have known better. Fate clearly has plans for you. I realized that long ago.”

“Bribe Wither with what?” Arlian, thinking he sensed movement, thrust even as he spoke, but struck only air. He knew what Wither had demanded of Enziet, but he wanted to keep his opponent talking.

“With venom, of course,” Enziet said. “This cave is an entrance to one of the dragons' lairs—five or six of them sleep in a chamber not far below us. Collecting venom that drips from their jaws as they sleep is simple enough; I've done it before, long, long ago.” His voice moved as he spoke; he was circling around. Arlian turned, tracking his opponent's movement.

“Wither's been seeking venom for years,” Arlian said. “Why are you only doing this now?”

“Because I didn't need Wither's support before, and did not care to see more clean blood tainted by the filth the dragons spew. You should appreciate that—you must have seen what happened to that whore you stole from me.”

Arlian leaped and slashed at that, and heard cloth tear, but again he failed to strike flesh, and again he heard footsteps retreating.

He pursued, but after a dozen paces the sound of his own steps and the clattering of the stones he dislodged had drowned out Enziet's, and he lost the trail. He paused, trying to locate Enziet, but once the stones had stopped sliding the cave went utterly silent.

“You
dare
speak of her?” Arlian bellowed.

“Of course,” Enziet replied, from somewhere far off to Arlian's left. “I dare anything. I am Lord Dragon, after all; I am he who makes the puppets dance. Human or dragon, free or slave, duke or whore, you all dance when I pull the strings.” He laughed bitterly. “Or so I thought; perhaps Fate is pulling
my
strings now. Or perhaps the dragons have all along played a deeper game than I knew.”

Light suddenly flared up; Enziet had struck sparks onto tinder. Arlian turned toward the light and hurried toward it, sword raised to strike, but Enziet stepped back and snatched up his own sword.

The tinder smoldered dimly, and clearly would not last long.

“I thought the time had come to get on with it, and settle matters between us,” Enziet said. “Let me light a lamp, and we'll have it out properly.”

Arlian stopped, and took a step back.

“Do it, then,” he said.

Enziet nodded, stepping forward into the fading orange glow. He reached for a pouch on his belt as he knelt.

A moment later Enziet stood, a brass lamp burning in his hand. He placed it upon a ledge on the wall of the cave, then turned to Arlian.

For the first time since climbing down into the cave Arlian could see his surroundings. He could see where he had stood, and where he had run blindly across the cave floor, and he realized how lucky he had been—he had run right by a huge stalactite, and narrowly missed slamming his head into it.

Enziet had undoubtedly known the stalactite was there—but however familiar he might be with this place, he could not have been here for long, and had not been here in years before this visit, so his knowledge of the cave would not be complete.

That was why he had made a light—the cave was almost as dangerous to him as to Arlian. Not only were there stalactites to hit, stalagmites to trip over, and loose stones to stumble on, but there was a black pit to one side that they might have fallen in. The ceiling varied from too low to stand under to too high to see.

“That leads down to the dragons,” Enziet said, pointing to the pit. “If you kill me, you might want to go down there to see if you can kill
them.
” He smiled unpleasantly, twisting his scarred cheek.

“Are the three that destroyed my home down there?” Arlian asked.

“I don't know,” Enziet said. “Quite possibly.”

“You know so many secrets—do you know why they chose my village?”

Enziet laughed. “
They
didn't choose it,” he said. “
I
did. I had an interest in obtaining a supply of obsidian, and the dragons were eager for a little entertainment—you must remember that summer. The weather had their blood boiling. They told me they were going to strike, but allowed me to name the place, and I thought I would save myself a little expense.” He laughed again. “I cost myself far more than I expected. Had I known
you
were there, and what would come of it, I'd have directed them elsewhere and paid for my obsidian in gold.” He raised his sword and stepped forward, between Arlian and the lamp, casting an immense shadow across the cave.

Arlian dodged sideways, then ran and lunged; Enziet dodged, and counter-thrust. Arlian parried, riposted, then broke away.

Enziet stepped down, away from the light, into the shadow of a stone pillar. Arlian circled to the other side of the pillar.

For several minutes the two men maneuvered about the cave, stalking one another, looking for advantageous positions, occasionally exchanging a flurry of blows. Their shadows surged and shrank, twisted and dodged as they moved.

At one point Arlian slipped on a loose sloping stone and went down on one side; before Enziet could take advantage of this Arlian snatched up a handful of dust and pebbles and flung it at his foe's eyes. As Arlian regained his feet Enziet stepped back, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, knocking his hat off and recovering just in time to meet Arlian's attack.

Swords clashed, and Arlian tried to snag Enziet's blade with his swordbreaker. Enziet dodged, and slashed, drawing a bloody line across Arlian's left forearm.

Arlian gasped and fell back—and Enziet fell into his trap, stepping forward to take advantage of a feigned weakness. Arlian's sword flashed orange in the lamplight as he struck; Enziet parried at the last moment, swinging his swordbreaker up, but the tip of Arlian's blade punched through Enziet's left shoulder, a far more serious wound than the scratch Enziet had inflicted.

Both men retreated, pulling apart; they stood facing one another, swords gleaming. Arlian's blade was tipped with red; Enziet's had a smear of blood diagonally across it.

“The dragons down below,” Arlian said, hoping to disrupt Enziet's concentration. “Are they black? Or green?”

“Black,” Enziet said. “All the surviving dragons are black.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because they're
old,
Arlian. A newborn dragon is red as blood, but by the time it's a year old that fades to gold. A few decades and it's green as grass, and a few centuries darken that to a black as black as their hearts.”

“And are their hearts any blacker than yours, Lord Dragon? Is that why you called yourself that?”

Arlian had expected Enziet to laugh and make some sardonic reply at that, but instead he looked as if he had been struck.

“I have the heart of a dragon,” he said bitterly, “as do you, and all the rest of that foolish little society. Yours may still be red, or at least gold, but mine is old and weary and black, just as you say—and as yours will be, one day, if you live that long.”

“Never,” Arlian said, lowering his sword and launching a fresh assault.

60

The Final Duel

The fight dragged on; the lamp burned low, and the two men called a brief truce to refill it before resuming their combat. Arlian received a gash across his ribs and another just above one hip, while Enziet's left shoulder was pierced again, and a long gouge cut into his right leg. Blood was smeared across the rocks, on the stalagmites and along the walls. Both men grew tired, but fought on. Neither wasted breath on further speech; the time for talk was past, and both men knew it.

Arlian had no idea how long the fight lasted; in the cave there was no sun moving across the sky to tell him how much time had passed. He could only judge by how tired he was, by how heavy his sword had become.

Finally, though, as they maneuvered around a pillar, Enziet made a thrust, Arlian's parry slammed both swords against the pillar, and Enziet's blade snapped, no more than five inches from the guard.

Enziet reacted quickly, flinging the broken, useless stump at Arlian and running backward, away from his foe, before Arlian could strike him down.

Arlian recovered quickly from his surprise; the hilt of Enziet's sword glanced harmlessly from one ear as he dodged, and then he was in pursuit.

As he fled, Enziet had transferred his swordbreaker from his left hand to his right; now he turned, standing just below the ledge where the lamp sat, and faced Arlian.

Arlian paused. “No quarter, you said,” he reminded Lord Dragon breathlessly.

“And I expect none,” Enziet replied, gasping. “But on another point, I've reconsidered.”

“Oh?”

“You wanted to know the secret of how the dragons reproduce,” Enziet said. “I've decided to show you.”

“What, you'd play for more time? Lead me down into a trap?” Arlian shook his head. “I don't think so. You'll die right here.”

“Indeed I will,” Enziet said, “and it's here that you'll see a dragon born.” He turned the point of his swordbreaker toward his own chest. “I've felt it coming for months,” he said. “I knew it would come in time, however I fought, but I've denied just how close it was.”

“What are you talking about?” Arlian asked.

Enziet smiled crookedly. “You thought that when we spoke of dragons in our hearts, we were speaking figuratively. You're about to see just how literal we were.”

With that, he plunged the swordbreaker into his own heart, and cut downward convulsively with his dying breath.

Arlian gasped and stepped back in shock.

Blood gushed from Enziet's chest—but it did not spill to the ground as it should have. Instead it expanded and writhed like a snake, curling upward in a solidifying stream. Enziet's chest rippled as Drisheen's had, but the movement did not subside; instead it burst Enziet apart, and a creature, born of Enziet's heart's blood, stepped forth from the ruined corpse and stood upon four crooked, unsteady legs. It raised its blood-red head, opened golden eyes, and glared at Arlian; a mouth appeared and opened, and Arlian saw needle-sharp, gleaming-white teeth spring forth from its jaw. Wings unfolded from the monster's back, and it was a dragon, a bright red dragon, standing man-high, with a twelve-foot wingspan and extending perhaps fifteen feet from its newly formed nose to the tip of the soft red tail it had uncoiled from Enziet's belly.

Arlian stared at it open-mouthed, the sword drooping, forgotten, in his hand.

The dragon stepped toward him, and he scrambled backward, bumping heedlessly against rocks and stalagmites. He dared not take his eyes off the dragon for even an instant. He raised the sword to high guard.

He was suddenly struck by a thought that sent terror through him—what if that thing that had emerged from Enziet's body were to knock the lamp from the ledge, and plunge the cave into darkness? He doubted it needed the light; it could probably
smell
him. Even the slight chance of survival he had would be gone if the light died—unless he could get out, into daylight, before it caught him.

Could it fit up the stairs? Would it pursue him?

It had somehow fit
inside
Enziet, like a chick in an egg; he had to assume that yes, it could fit anywhere it chose to. As Enziet had told him, dragons were magic made flesh.

And there were at least five more dragons asleep in the cavern below, if Enziet had told the truth—and Enziet had certainly proven part of his story to be accurate. What if this newborn monster were to tumble down the pit and wake them?

Enziet had also said that while a mature dragon might be indestructible, he knew how to kill the dragons' unborn young. It was clear to Arlian that he had meant by killing their hosts—and Arlian suddenly realized that in his quest for vengeance he had already slain unborn dragons in Drisheen and Horim—but perhaps a newborn, like this one, was also vulnerable.

If he could kill this dragon he might yet be saved. And every second he waited might be making the thing harder to kill.

With a yell, he raised his sword and charged the thing.

The dragon lowered its head and spat venom at him, but it was a feeble gesture; the spray of venom was thin and weak, falling harmlessly to the stone, and it utterly failed to ignite. A faint wisp of smoke appeared, no more.

Then Arlian jabbed at the dragon's chest, striking as hard as he could—and the sword slipped off, wrenching sideways in his hands. The blood-red hide still looked soft and smooth, but he might as well have tried to pierce an anvil. Cold iron might have power against magic in the Borderlands, but good steel could not cut a dragon's hide.

Before he could recover his balance the dragon struck out with a foreclaw, swatting Arlian aside as if he were a mouse; he slammed against the cave wall, the breath knocked out of him, his back severely bruised.