Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) Read Free

destroyed the village of Obsidian would be among them! He would find them and slay them in time.
    And when those forty-six were slain, when the threat was ended forever—what then?
    Ah, but the threat would not be ended while any dragonheart still lived. The twenty-six surviving members of the Dragon Society would be hunted down, by the Duke's order, and offered a choice of death or magical cleansing. And the underlings they had fed the elixir of blood and venom would be offered the same choice—there were probably dozens of them by now, though of course Arlian had no accurate count.
    They would all be found and dealt with; dragonhearts could be recognized by anyone familiar with the signs.
    And then it would be done, the Lands of Man freed forever from the dragons' malign power, and Arlian could rest. He could choose a normal life, as Rime and Spider and Shard and Flute had, or he could choose death, as Lord Wither had.
    He sat slumped in his chair, fingertips resting lightly on the cold earthen floor of his tent, as he considered which alternative he would pick.
    He really ought to speak to Rime and the others, he thought; Black was right. And given how rapidly they seemed to be aging, he could not afford to put it off for very long.
    He reviewed his plans. The next reported cave was about eighty miles to the northwest, deep in the Brokenback Mountains, and despite the cold and die lingering snow the first scent of spring was already in the air; he would have to hurry if he wanted to get there before the dragons could wake. Rolinor would need to be watched closely . . .
    He stopped in midthought.
    No, he told himself. No.
    He had reached a decision. He had been on campaign constantly for more than four years this time, moving from one site to the next, tracking down reported sightings of dragons, searching out the caverns by means both mundane and magical. When the weather was cold enough to ensure the dragons would be asleep he had slaughtered his monstrous foes in their lairs; in warmer weather he had helped fortify and defend the towns he found himself in, and had sometimes found, fought, and slain dragonhearts who had refused the Duke's order to undergo the magical cleansing that Oeshir and her heirs offered—not to mention defending himself from the Dragon Society's attempts to kill him.
    While messengers had brought news, supplies, and troops from
    Manfort, as well as occasional nuisances like Lord Rolinor, he and his best men had remained afield—well, most of his best men; Black only rarely joined the campaign, and only for brief periods, preferring to spend as much time as possible in Manfort with his wife and children, overseeing Arlian's various business concerns.
    Arlian had not returned to Manfort, summers or winters, for more than four years. In all that time he had lived in inns and tents and guesthouses, and had not slept under his own roof. He had not seen Black's children grow, nor Hasty's, nor any of the others born to the women he had rescued from slavery. He had not properly reviewed his holdings, or spoken to his staff other than Black—he had no idea how most of his various businesses were doing.
    He glanced at the battered, plumeless hat he had set on a nearby chest. He had not seen a decent tailor in four years, either; he was unsure what the current fashions were. The damnable fad for wearing masks seemed to have spread to most of the Lands of Man now; might it have finally faded away in Manfort? Black had not mentioned it. Observant as Black might be, he could not tell Arlian everything as effectively as Arlian's own eyes could.
    Arlian had noticed that Lord Rolinor's coat was cut differently from his own, with sharply tapered lapels—was that the latest style, or merely an individual affectation?
    Arlian did not like being out of touch with events. Styles were not important in themselves, but what else might he be missing? Was the Duke of Manfort steadfast in his support for the war against