Dragon Venom (Obsidian Chronicles Book 3) by Lawrence Watt-Evans Read Free Book Online Page B

stand and wait while Black found the right key and unlocked the forbidding iron gate.
    Arlian looked around, puzzled.
    "I thought there would be a guardsman here," he said.
    The lock clicked, and Black looked up. "Why?" he asked.
    "To let the Duke know we've arrived. Rolinor must have told him we were coming; I had half expected to find an escort waiting for us at the city gate, to fetch us to the Citadel."
    Black held the gate open as Arlian stepped through. "Why would the Duke be in such a hurry as that?"
    "I would think he would be eager for the latest news of our campaign."
    "He has undoubtedly heard the latest news of our campaign," Black pointed out. "Rolinor has an active tongue."
    "A good point," Arlian conceded. "Still, I am the Duke's warlord, and I would have thought that my arrival would command a certain level of ceremony."
    "And I expect you'll have it—just not immediately."
    They had reached the door of the house itself, and Black had found the appropriate key, but before he could apply it to the lock the door swung inward.
    A thin, white-haired figure in Obsidian's black-and-white livery stood there, bowing deeply. "Welcome home, my lord," he said.
    "Thank you, Ferrezin," Arlian replied, removing his hat. "It's good to be here."
    Ferrezin started, then blinked. "Ah, Lord Obsidian," he said. "Do you know, for a moment I took you for Lord Enziet?"
    Arlian froze in midstride and stared at the old man.
    "Enziet's dead," he said at last. "Dead these what, sixteen years?
    Seventeen?"
    "Of course, my lord, of course. I know that. But I served him twenty years as his steward, and lived forty years before that as his slave, like my mother before me, and in all those sixty years Lord Enziet never aged a day, and I did not see him die, nor did I see his body. I know in my mind that he died long ago in a cave beneath the Desolation, as you and Black and Lord Enziet's own sorcery told me as much, but my heart is not yet convinced, and I often find myself expecting to see him around the next corner, or stepping through the gate."
    "He's dead," Arlian said sharply.
    Ferrezin bowed again, but said no more. Arlian looked at the chamberlain, at his snow-white hair and bony face, and wondered whether it might be past time to retire him, give him a pension and find him somewhere quiet to live, some family to care for him. By Ferrezin's own reck-oning, as just stated, he had lived over three-quarters of a century, without benefit of sorcery or dragon venom; he could scarcely be expected to simply labor on until he fell dead in his tracks.
    Arlian wondered why the old fool's fancy had bothered him so much.
    He and Enziet were both tall, dark-haired, well-built men, scarred on the right cheek, and both habitually wore black—mistaking one for the other was not really so unreasonable.
    But Enziet had trimmed his garb in gold, while Arlian used white; Enziet's face had been beardless and badly marred, while Arlian's scar was a single streak of red and he wore a neatly trimmed beard. Anyone with a working eye could surely see as much at a glance. Even with the white plume removed from his hat, the difference was obvious.
    Perhaps Ferrezin's eyesight was failing. Yes, definitely time to consider a pension.
    "Is my wife at home?" Black asked, interrupting Arlian's thoughts—
    and reminding him of yet another obvious difference between Enziet and himself; Enziet had had no companion who resembled Black in the slightest.
    "I believe so, sir," Ferrezin replied, taking Arlian's cloak. "Shall I have the wagon emptied?"
    "Please do," Arlian said. "We will be staying for some time, I hope."
    Ferrezin bowed, and turned down a stone passage that led from the entry-way to the kitchens, hurrying as best he could to find a footman or two. He carried Arlian's cloak draped across one arm; he had apparently forgotten its presence, as he had passed the entrance to the cloakroom without pausing.
    The man was overdue for retirement; Arlian had no doubt