the dragons? Might the Dragon Society's careful lies have undermined his determination, or fourteen years of war sapped his courage? Was Lord Rolinor typical of the attitudes of the younger nobility? If the Duke's support was to weaken or vanish, the campaign to exterminate the dragons might never reach a successful conclusion.
The remaining forty-six dragons, or whatever the actual number might be, could wait until next winter, or subsequent winters, to die.
Arlian had had enough for this season. He resolved to spread the word this evening, as soon as he had eaten—they would break camp first thing in the morning, as expected, but not to travel farther into the northern wilderness. Instead he and his soldiers and sorcerers would be marching back to the Duke's Citadel in Manfort, and the camp followers, whether servants, whores, beggars, or entrepreneurs, would be turned out to find their own way home.
He would return to Manfort, report his progress to the Duke, and then pay a call on Lady Rime to discuss his future.
He looked up as Black reappeared at the flap, supper in hand. Arlian rose and took the platter, glanced at the unappetizing slices of boiled salt beef, and remarked, "At least it's warm."
4
A Bird in the Hand
Arlian came awake suddenly, muscles tensed, but did not move
beyond a slight twitch. He lay on one side on his cot, wrapped in blankets, as he opened his eyes carefully and peered into the cold darkness, trying to make out what had awakened him.
The last carefully banked coals of the evening's fire still glowed on the crude stone hearth, and the distant glow of the sentry's lanterns seeped through the tent's canvas, so the darkness was not absolute; Arlian could see the slim figure standing at the tent's entry flap. Arlian realized that he had awakened because he had heard the flap opening, and had heard a footstep.
That was not Black, come to carry out some late-night errand; Black was twice the size of this person. The intruder lowered the flap and looked around, and as she turned, revealing her outline in silhouette, Arlian was left in no doubt that this was a woman, and one not dressed suitably for the wintry weather.
That was interesting. She could hardly have any legitimate business slipping into his pavilion in the middle of the night, but that did not mean her intent was hostile. Arlian did not consider himself a great beauty, but he knew many women found him attractive, and of course he was wealthy and powerful, and had the unnatural charisma of the heart of the dragon—the possibility that she had come seeking a harmless tryst did exist.
Also, in recent years a superstition had arisen that a dragonhearts seed conveyed longevity, that the life-giving potency that could no longer engender children had been transformed rather than destroyed.
Arlian did not think there was any truth to the rumor, certainly members of the Dragon Society who had married ordinary mortals had always outlived them, and he could not recall any mention of extended lifespan among those spouses. Still, the belief persisted in some quarters, and some women therefore sought out dragonhearts as lovers.
On the other hand, most of the people sneaking into his tent or bedroom at night over the past several years had been would-be assassins sent by the Dragon Society.
His sword and two lesser blades were hanging from the pavilion's frame just a foot or so above him, but he was facing the wrong way and was too wrapped in his blankets to grab them quickly. He began easing his right hand upward, out of the bedclothes, as he watched the intruder.
She seemed unsure of herself—or perhaps she simply could not see much in the gloomy interior of the tent. She stood by the entrance, hands slightly raised from her sides, and stared into the darkness for a long moment. Then she apparently found her bearings, and moved slowly forward, circling around the table and chairs in the center of the pavilion.
He could see that her
The remaining forty-six dragons, or whatever the actual number might be, could wait until next winter, or subsequent winters, to die.
Arlian had had enough for this season. He resolved to spread the word this evening, as soon as he had eaten—they would break camp first thing in the morning, as expected, but not to travel farther into the northern wilderness. Instead he and his soldiers and sorcerers would be marching back to the Duke's Citadel in Manfort, and the camp followers, whether servants, whores, beggars, or entrepreneurs, would be turned out to find their own way home.
He would return to Manfort, report his progress to the Duke, and then pay a call on Lady Rime to discuss his future.
He looked up as Black reappeared at the flap, supper in hand. Arlian rose and took the platter, glanced at the unappetizing slices of boiled salt beef, and remarked, "At least it's warm."
4
A Bird in the Hand
Arlian came awake suddenly, muscles tensed, but did not move
beyond a slight twitch. He lay on one side on his cot, wrapped in blankets, as he opened his eyes carefully and peered into the cold darkness, trying to make out what had awakened him.
The last carefully banked coals of the evening's fire still glowed on the crude stone hearth, and the distant glow of the sentry's lanterns seeped through the tent's canvas, so the darkness was not absolute; Arlian could see the slim figure standing at the tent's entry flap. Arlian realized that he had awakened because he had heard the flap opening, and had heard a footstep.
That was not Black, come to carry out some late-night errand; Black was twice the size of this person. The intruder lowered the flap and looked around, and as she turned, revealing her outline in silhouette, Arlian was left in no doubt that this was a woman, and one not dressed suitably for the wintry weather.
That was interesting. She could hardly have any legitimate business slipping into his pavilion in the middle of the night, but that did not mean her intent was hostile. Arlian did not consider himself a great beauty, but he knew many women found him attractive, and of course he was wealthy and powerful, and had the unnatural charisma of the heart of the dragon—the possibility that she had come seeking a harmless tryst did exist.
Also, in recent years a superstition had arisen that a dragonhearts seed conveyed longevity, that the life-giving potency that could no longer engender children had been transformed rather than destroyed.
Arlian did not think there was any truth to the rumor, certainly members of the Dragon Society who had married ordinary mortals had always outlived them, and he could not recall any mention of extended lifespan among those spouses. Still, the belief persisted in some quarters, and some women therefore sought out dragonhearts as lovers.
On the other hand, most of the people sneaking into his tent or bedroom at night over the past several years had been would-be assassins sent by the Dragon Society.
His sword and two lesser blades were hanging from the pavilion's frame just a foot or so above him, but he was facing the wrong way and was too wrapped in his blankets to grab them quickly. He began easing his right hand upward, out of the bedclothes, as he watched the intruder.
She seemed unsure of herself—or perhaps she simply could not see much in the gloomy interior of the tent. She stood by the entrance, hands slightly raised from her sides, and stared into the darkness for a long moment. Then she apparently found her bearings, and moved slowly forward, circling around the table and chairs in the center of the pavilion.
He could see that her
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