The Dragon Society (Obsidian Chronicles Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Lawrence Watt-Evans
for now, and at least against men and women.
But then there were the dragons—not merely the three who had burned Obsidian and slaughtered Arlian's family, but all the dragons that still lived deep beneath the earth, and ventured forth to kill and burn when the whim struck them. Arlian wanted them all dead.
No man, it was said, had ever slain a dragon, in all of human history—not in the old days when the dragons ruled the world, nor in modern times when the dragons had retired to their caverns and left humanity to mind its own affairs.
So it was said—but it wasn't true.
Arlian had killed a dragon.
Admittedly it had been only a newborn dragon, a mere infant, and even so he had almost died fighting it, but he had killed a dragon.
Save for the venom scar on his face, his injuries from that battle were healed now—or at least, the injuries to his flesh; he was not sure just how much damage had been done to his spirit. He had learned things in that conflict that troubled him deeply.
He had also learned secrets that he thought might enable him to someday slay the dragons that had destroyed his home and family, as he had slain the infant—secrets that might eventually allow the complete extermination of dragons—but there were complications, very severe complications.
Arlian wanted to think everything out very carefully before continuing his quest for vengeance—and he definitely intended to continue.
He could do that thinking anywhere, but he preferred to do it in Manfort, heart of the Lands of Man, in his home the Old Palace, a rambling monstrosity that the current Duke of Manfort's grandfather had abandoned as too expensive to maintain, but which Lord Obsidian had bought and restored.
It was in Manfort that Lord Toribor and Lord Nail lived. It was in Manfort that Lord Enziet had served as chief adviser to the Duke. It was in Manfort that the Dragon Society, the sorcerous secret masters of the Lands of Man, met—and it was inside Manfort's walls that the members were sworn not to kill one another. If Arlian stayed elsewhere, his enemies in the Society could send assassins after him, but here, they could not.
It was in Manfort that his potential allies dwelt, as well. If he hoped to wipe out the dragons, he would almost certainly need a great deal of assistance, and the Dragon Society—at least, those members, like Lord Wither or Lady Rime, who had no reason to hate or fear him—seemed a likely source for that aid.
Though there were complications.
And it was in Manfort that he had a household awaiting him—his hired servants, and four of the women he had saved from the House of the Six Lords.
He held no slaves, of course; after his years in the mines Arlian could hardly allow slavery in his own home. His four guests had been brothel slaves for years, their feet amputated to prevent any attempt at flight, but he had freed them.
He had freed those four—but it should have been more. Arlian's gut knotted at the memory of poor Sweet, who had died in his arms; of Sweet's friend Dove, whose bones still lay in Lord Enziet's house; and of Sparkle and Ferret, whom Lord Drisheen had hanged out of spite rather than permit Arlian to rescue them.
There were the two in the wagon, Cricket and Brook, which made six in all, but still, the House of the Six Lords had had sixteen unwilling occupants.
Arlian had been unable to save ten of them.
He sat, silently remembering, as the wagon moved slowly up the street, and then dozed briefly and unhappily, the faces of dead women drifting through fragmented dreams.
He jerked awake again as the wagon bumped across a gutter as it crossed an intersection. He glimpsed the familiar outline of the Old Palace ahead, a black shape barely distinguishable from the black night sky behind it. The windows were dark, and no lantern hung at the gate or in the forecourt.
"We're almost there," he remarked.
"Almost," Black agreed.
"I hope someone's awake to admit us."
"I have the keys,"
But then there were the dragons—not merely the three who had burned Obsidian and slaughtered Arlian's family, but all the dragons that still lived deep beneath the earth, and ventured forth to kill and burn when the whim struck them. Arlian wanted them all dead.
No man, it was said, had ever slain a dragon, in all of human history—not in the old days when the dragons ruled the world, nor in modern times when the dragons had retired to their caverns and left humanity to mind its own affairs.
So it was said—but it wasn't true.
Arlian had killed a dragon.
Admittedly it had been only a newborn dragon, a mere infant, and even so he had almost died fighting it, but he had killed a dragon.
Save for the venom scar on his face, his injuries from that battle were healed now—or at least, the injuries to his flesh; he was not sure just how much damage had been done to his spirit. He had learned things in that conflict that troubled him deeply.
He had also learned secrets that he thought might enable him to someday slay the dragons that had destroyed his home and family, as he had slain the infant—secrets that might eventually allow the complete extermination of dragons—but there were complications, very severe complications.
Arlian wanted to think everything out very carefully before continuing his quest for vengeance—and he definitely intended to continue.
He could do that thinking anywhere, but he preferred to do it in Manfort, heart of the Lands of Man, in his home the Old Palace, a rambling monstrosity that the current Duke of Manfort's grandfather had abandoned as too expensive to maintain, but which Lord Obsidian had bought and restored.
It was in Manfort that Lord Toribor and Lord Nail lived. It was in Manfort that Lord Enziet had served as chief adviser to the Duke. It was in Manfort that the Dragon Society, the sorcerous secret masters of the Lands of Man, met—and it was inside Manfort's walls that the members were sworn not to kill one another. If Arlian stayed elsewhere, his enemies in the Society could send assassins after him, but here, they could not.
It was in Manfort that his potential allies dwelt, as well. If he hoped to wipe out the dragons, he would almost certainly need a great deal of assistance, and the Dragon Society—at least, those members, like Lord Wither or Lady Rime, who had no reason to hate or fear him—seemed a likely source for that aid.
Though there were complications.
And it was in Manfort that he had a household awaiting him—his hired servants, and four of the women he had saved from the House of the Six Lords.
He held no slaves, of course; after his years in the mines Arlian could hardly allow slavery in his own home. His four guests had been brothel slaves for years, their feet amputated to prevent any attempt at flight, but he had freed them.
He had freed those four—but it should have been more. Arlian's gut knotted at the memory of poor Sweet, who had died in his arms; of Sweet's friend Dove, whose bones still lay in Lord Enziet's house; and of Sparkle and Ferret, whom Lord Drisheen had hanged out of spite rather than permit Arlian to rescue them.
There were the two in the wagon, Cricket and Brook, which made six in all, but still, the House of the Six Lords had had sixteen unwilling occupants.
Arlian had been unable to save ten of them.
He sat, silently remembering, as the wagon moved slowly up the street, and then dozed briefly and unhappily, the faces of dead women drifting through fragmented dreams.
He jerked awake again as the wagon bumped across a gutter as it crossed an intersection. He glimpsed the familiar outline of the Old Palace ahead, a black shape barely distinguishable from the black night sky behind it. The windows were dark, and no lantern hung at the gate or in the forecourt.
"We're almost there," he remarked.
"Almost," Black agreed.
"I hope someone's awake to admit us."
"I have the keys,"
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