Obsidian Chronicles #01 - Dragon Weather by Lawrence Watt-Evans

Author:Lawrence Watt-Evans [Watt-Evans, Lawrence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Epic, Fiction, General, Fantasy Fiction, Revenge, Dragons, Fantasy Fiction; American, Orphans
ISBN: 9780812589559
Google: A54w-VAb74IC
Amazon: 0812589556
Publisher: Tor Fantasy
Published: 1999-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

32

The festivities Continue

Lord Kuruvan was there—a tall, thin man with thick black hair and a nervous smile, elegantly clad in maroon and buff and smelling ever so faintly of musk. As with Jerial, Arlian managed to avoid shaking his hand or making the usual polite proclamations of pleasure while still establishing friendly relations and insisting that they must meet again.

“I believe I heard your name mentioned in Westguard,” Arlian said. “Something about a building you owned there having burned down?”

“I don’t know what that would be about,” Kuruvan said, but his expression, while remaining nervous, ceased to be a smile. “I own an inn outside the city walls, but it isn’t in Westguard.”

“Oh, this wasn’t an inn, and was definitely in Westguard,” Arlian said. “Perhaps you only owned a share in it?”

Kuruvan turned up his hands. “I’ve invested in a good many ventures,” he said.

“Ah! Well, perhaps we might compare notes one day,” Arlian said. “I might know of a few enterprises where another partner would be welcome—if not yourself, then perhaps one of your friends.”

“Perhaps,” Kuruvan said uneasily. “I can’t speak for them.”

“Of course,” Arlian agreed. He studied the man’s face, trying not to be obvious about it.

Lord Kuruvan was by no means the vapid fool the Duke appeared to be, but he scarcely seemed a mastermind, either. He had been clever enough to buy that inn, clever enough to put aside a keg of gold coins against some future emergency—and careless or stupid enough to tell a slave who hated him where that money was hidden. Surely, there was some way to get the names of the other five owners of the House of Carnal Society out of him.

Not here, though, amid the crowd and the festivities.

Arlian leaned close. “Seriously, my lord,” he said, “there is a matter I would discuss with you in private, a matter concerning a mutual acquaintance and a large sum of money. Might I perhaps call on you at your home—soon?”

Kuruvan frowned. “How soon?”

“Tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “Impossible—and surely, you’ll scarcely want to conduct business the day after hosting such an affair as this!”

Arlian laughed. “A very good point, my lord. When would you be available, then?”

Kuruvan studied Arlian’s face just as Arlian had studied his, then shrugged. “Not tomorrow, but the day after I will be home—in the afternoon, of course, not the morning.”

“Then I will do my best to see you then,” Arlian said. “Ah… but I am new to Manfort, and as yet unfamiliar with the Upper City; could you perhaps see that my steward knows where your home is to be found?” He beckoned to Black, who had been standing unobtrusively nearby.

Kuruvan glanced at Black and his drab black livery with distaste: “My coachman is outside,” he said. “He wears maroon and gold.”

Black bowed, and hurried away.

“You are kindness itself, my lord,” Arlian said. “I look forward to spending more time with you.”

Kuruvan frowned again. “I hope you do not mistake me, Lord Obsidian,” he said. “I am an ordinary man.

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