The White Dragon (16 page)

Please Dar, shield Tashinar, shield her
.

She only realized that the terrible rumbling which filled her senses was finally fading away when she heard the rasping sound of Rahilar's breath. Mirabar cautiously lifted her head.

"It is over,
sirana?
" Rahilar asked, her voice high and thready with terror.

Mirabar waited another moment. "Yes, it's over."

"
Sirana! Sirana!"

She knew
that
voice. "I'm here!" she called. "I'm fine!"

Hard, callused hands hauled her off the ground a moment later. She saw the black clothes of an assassin, the yellow beads woven into the red
jashar
, the harshly lined face and long black hair—now showing some gray—of her protector. His
shir
trembled slightly, as it always did in response to her presence. She supposed Najdan had grown used to that by now.
 

He released her quickly, showing a
shallah's
respect for a woman's sanctity and a servant's respect for the
sirana's
dignity.

"You are not hurt?" Najdan asked, his gaze traveling over her with proprietary concern. She knew he regarded her safety as his destined duty. If she came to harm, it stained his honor. The habits and values absorbed during his twenty years as Kiloran's trusted assassin remained with him, and now he applied them to the young Guardian to whom he had pledged his loyalty, the prophetess for whom he had betrayed his master.
 

"I'm fine." She was shaking, but unhurt.

Najdan's breath was coming fast, and his face gleamed with the sweat of fear. He was a brave man, but no one liked earthquakes. Least of all
shallaheen
, whose villages were perched so precariously on Sileria's steep mountain slopes and high cliffs. Now Najdan would be worried, she knew, about his mistress, Haydar, whom he had left in the mountain Sanctuary of Sister Basimar. Haydar would be safe from Kiloran's vengeance there, but earthquakes didn't respect Sanctuary the way the Society did.

Mirabar was even more worried about Tansen. "He should have been here by now," she said, scarcely aware that she spoke aloud.

"He was wounded,
sirana
. He must be making the journey slowly," Najdan answered without needing to ask whom she meant. "He will surely be here tomorrow." He paused. "Today?" He shrugged and settled on, "After sunrise." He bent over and politely helped Sister Rahilar to her feet. She was shaking, too, but not, Dar be thanked, weeping or complaining.
 

"Sister!" A
shallah
rebel named Galian, known for always fighting with two
yahr
, came running over to where the three of them stood. "Sis—" He stopped when he saw Mirabar, crossed his fists over his chest and bowed his head respectfully. "You are unhurt,
sirana?
"

"Yes," she replied, still unaccustomed to how much her life had changed. Her fiery red hair and flame-bright eyes had once, not long ago, made the
shallaheen
shun her, fear her, even violently drive her from their villages. Now most of them treated her with the deference usually paid only to a
torena
. Or a waterlord. "Do you need the Sister for something?"
 

"Lann slept through the earthquake and—"

"He
what
?"

Galian grinned. "And he was hit by some falling rocks inside the cave. I don't think it's very serious, but that thick skull of his is bleeding."

"I will see to him," Rahilar said. "Bring any other wounded there, too, and I will tend them."

"Yes, Sister."

"We should remember not to leave Lann on sentry duty," Mirabar said to Najdan as the other two hurried away.

"It would perhaps be unwise," he agreed dryly.

Mirabar walked to the edge of the clearing and stood atop a sharp cliff left on Dalishar's craggy face long ago, presumably by a night even more violent than this one. She looked out across the dark expanse of Sileria and could see many mountains outlined by the rich light of the two full moons.

In the distance was Mount Darshon, so high and vast, its snow-capped peak so bold and bright, she could see it even from here on a twin-moon night like this. Lightning flashed around the mountain's snowy summit in uneven intervals. Mirabar fell back a step as flame shot into the night, piercing the clouds that shone palely in the harsh flashes of light flickering above Darshon.

"Dar is angry," Najdan guessed.

"Then Dar should have protected him," Mirabar replied bitterly.
 

"Josarian chose his way,
sirana
. As I have chosen mine. As you have chosen yours."

"Now we must wait only to see what Tansen's choice will be."

"He said he would execute the
torena
."

"So die all who betray Josarian," Mirabar quoted softly, remembering. It was the death sentence of anyone who betrayed the Firebringer, the Silerian peasant who had struck out from his humble mountain village to change the world.

"Yes, and
Torena
Elelar did betray him." Najdan paused and added, "As I betrayed Kiloran."

"Revenge is Kiloran's strength," Mirabar said, "whereas Elelar is Tansen's weakness." She hated the knowledge of that more than she should.

Najdan smiled. An assassin's smile. "Mercy is his weakness."

Mirabar turned away, chilled by him, as she sometimes was, despite trusting him with her life. "Then may he be ruthless where that woman is concerned."

"If he isn't,
sirana
, it would be a simple matter for me to assassinate her myself."
 

"No."

"I have never killed a woman," he said, tactfully avoiding mention of the time he had tried to kill Mirabar, "and I would rather not, as it is not honorable. But if you wish—"

"No," she repeated, in a tone that prohibited argument.
 

"Ah. Must it be done," Najdan asked, "or must
he
do it?"

"It must be done," she replied. "And he must do it."

"Then let us hope that he already has,
sirana
, as he vowed."

"Let us hope that he is still alive." She shivered, though the night was only pleasantly cool, and returned to the thought that had kept her wide awake before the start of the earthquake. "He should have been here by now."

"Give him another day,
sirana
," Najdan advised. "He is very hard to kill, you know."

"Yes," she agreed. "That much is true."

Mirabar rubbed her forehead. Now that the thundering chaos of the earthquake was fading into memory, the ever-present song of Dalishar was returning to haunt her. The six caves up here were sacred to the Guardians of the Otherworld, claimed by the sect centuries ago. Guardian power here remained so strong that the waterlords had never challenged their supremacy at Dalishar. Sacred fires, blown into life long ago and left burning ever since—woodless, enchanted, mystically linked to the Otherworld—kept the caves perpetually bright, day and night.
 

Fresh springs kept Dalishar well supplied with water year round, even at the height of the dry season. The caves were decorated with strange paintings, older than memory, left by a race of peaceful water wizards called the Beyah-Olvari, the first inhabitants of Sileria. Most people thought they were extinct, but Mirabar knew otherwise. She had never seen one, but she knew the well-guarded secret, as did Tansen: Though few in number, the Beyah-Olvari still existed, small blue-skinned beings, a dying race living in ancient tunnels below Shaljir. This mountaintop, like all of Sileria, had once belonged to them.

The Otherworld was very close up here, separated from this world only by a thin veil eternally pierced by the sacred fires of Dalishar. Shades of the dead called through the night to Mirabar now, their silent voices echoing around her, making her head ache. After a few days at Dalishar, she became so exhausted from the twin realities of this world and the Other one that it was hard to function, difficult to concentrate.

But she was safe from Kiloran at Dalishar, and so Tansen had insisted she come and await him here. It was not far from Chandar and the ruined villa where Elelar had been living in recent months, ever since Tansen and Zimran risked their lives to break her out of prison in Shaljir.
Torena
Elelar had been caught spying on her Valdani lover, Imperial Advisor Borell, and giving information to the Silerian rebels; she had been beaten, raped, imprisoned, and condemned to death by that same man.
 

Mirabar hated Elelar, but even she had to admit that the woman was no coward. The
torena
was part of the Alliance, a rebel group which had existed since long before Josarian's birth, and she had devoted her whole life to ridding Sileria of the Valdani. Unfortunately, she was also willing to betray anyone—Josarian, Tansen,
anyone
—to achieve this goal. Long ago, she had betrayed Tansen to Kiloran. Now that Josarian was dead, Mirabar was the only other person left alive who knew why: Tansen killed Armian, and Elelar told Kiloran to ensure that he would not blame the Alliance for his comrade's death.

When the Valdani finally realized they were losing the war against Josarian in Sileria, they met in secret with the aristocratic leaders of the Alliance—which had been largely ineffectual before Josarian commenced the rebellion and united Sileria against its conquerors—and demanded Josarian's death in exchange for Valdani withdrawal from Sileria. For reasons which Mirabar would never ever understand, Elelar had not only agreed, she had personally plotted Josarian's murder. She seduced his cousin Zimran—who always thought with an organ very distant from his brain—and convinced him to lead Josarian into an Outlooker ambush.
 

As much as Mirabar loathed Elelar, she also knew the
torena
wasn't stupid, so it bewildered her that she hadn't suspected what any fool should have guessed—that Kiloran was behind the plan all along. He had alerted the Valdani that the Alliance could be convinced to betray Josarian, and he had convinced the Alliance that his own enmity ensured that Josarian ought to be sacrificed to save Sileria. The shrewd old waterlord had undoubtedly counted on Elelar's mingled arrogance and fanaticism to lead her straight to the well of betrayal which he had secretly chosen for her.

But Kiloran, who valued and richly rewarded loyalty, hadn't suspected that, during the course of the costly war with Valdania,
 
Najdan's loyalty had switched from him to Mirabar. Najdan abandoned his master and betrayed Kiloran's plans to Tansen and Mirabar, who were Josarian's sword and shield, thus condemning himself to a bloodvow from the waterlord.
 

Thanks to Najdan's warning, they had found Josarian in time to save him from the Outlooker ambush. Although letting Josarian be murdered by the Valdani would have been the tidiest solution for Kiloran, the waterlord had foreseen the possibility of failure, and so he had another plan, a far more horrible scheme, in reserve: the White Dragon.

So Elelar hadn't really killed Josarian. But she had tried. She had betrayed him. Had she not done so....

Would he be alive now?

Probably not, for Kiloran had set his final trap well. But that changed nothing. Vengeance must now be swift and merciless. This was Sileria, where mercy was indeed a weakness, compassion was dangerous, and forgiveness was a fool's delusion. Elelar must pay for what she had done.

If Tansen hasn't killed her, as he promised that night, then I will do it,
Mirabar vowed.
And I will never forgive him.

As for Kiloran.... Mirabar shuddered as she remembered the White Dragon rising out of the Zilar River. Unstoppable. Unkillable. Kiloran's hideous, voracious offspring, its water-born form dripping death in icy droplets that burned the flesh. The memory of Josarian's dying screams filled Mirabar's head, competing with the clamoring music of the Otherworld. How Tansen had wept afterwards. Covered in blood—including that of Zimran, whom he had killed that night—covered in bruises, in burns, in cuts and abrasions, swaying from the re-opened
shir
wound at his side, panting from his fruitless battle against the White Dragon... Tansen had wept like a child for the bloodbrother he couldn't save.

"Are you cold,
sirana?"

Mirabar flinched, having forgotten that Najdan was there. "What?"

"You're shivering."

"Oh. I..."

"I believe it is safe to return to your cave now," he said.

"No, I don't..."

"I will move any fallen rocks, and then you will lie down."
 

Mirabar knew that tone. The assassin could bicker like an overprotective mother if she resisted once he had decided what was best for her. So she said, "As you wish."