The White Dragon (44 page)

Obedience was essential. Opposition was intolerable.

Yes, there was water out there. Some of it answered his will, his ensorcelled reach, even now. He pushed slightly and felt the course of a stream adjust to his desire. He grasped, and the level of a well lowered a bit. He willed it, and a fountain stopped flowing.

This was the power that made Silerians obey him. This was the mysterious glory of the waterlords, the only wizards of their kind in the three corners of the world.
 

You had to love water to command it. You had to understand it as more than just a substance. It had life, music, character, a will which must be coaxed, harnessed, bullied, beguiled. Water had a scent which that fill you from far away, a sound which could flood your whole being long before others heard it. It offered sensation, demanded focus, required discipline, and responded—to one who could access its deep, hidden, secret heart—with power beyond most men's understanding.

Kiloran knew now that his mother had suspected from his earliest childhood that he had the gift. But she had brought him to an Idalari waterlord for apprenticeship only after another waterlord's assassins killed her husband when she couldn't pay the ransom required after he'd been abducted during the long rains; like so many
toreni
, Kiloran's family had already been beggared by the Valdani. Typically Silerian, his mother wanted vengeance. Before she died, a few years later, Kiloran ensured that she had it. By then, of course, the rest of his family had disowned him for joining the Society. Few people now knew where he came from, though the legends about his origins were many.

So many of the people who had influenced his life were gone now. His mother, who died soon after satisfied vengeance emptied her of the fury that was the source of her strength. The old Idalari waterlord who had taught him the mysteries of water magic. Harlon, so reckless in his opposition to the Empire, so exhilarated by the long and bloody conflict in which the Outlookers had destroyed him.
Toren
Gaborian, weak in body but with a heart full of visionary enthusiasm; they had never been friends—Kiloran didn't have friends—but they had broken centuries of tradition, a waterlord and a
toren
, by becoming allies. Armian, perhaps the most ambitious man Kiloran had ever known, defeated by the ordinary things in life—most notably, fatherhood...

Yes, how Armian had struggled with that role, loving the boy but ignorant of how to manage him.
 

"Siran,
what do you do when your son disobeys you?"
Armian had once asked him. Srijan had been only three years younger than Tansen.

"I punish him."

"What if he disobeys you because he thinks you are wrong?"

"I teach him," said Kiloran.

"What if he doesn't accept what you teach him?"

"That has never happened
."

On another occasion, Armian had mused,
"Sometimes the boy seems like a stranger."

"He is a stranger. You've only known him a short time."

"His family is gone. He looks to me for guidance."

"Then give it to him," said Kiloran.

"I try, but... I often feel he wants to see someone else when he looks at me."

"His real father?"

"No. A different man."

"Different?" Kiloran repeated.

"Different from me. Perhaps... perhaps the man he expected me to be."

"Ah. Yes. Being a legend can be inconvenient."

"Very inconvenient for a father, anyhow," Armian agreed.

Armian had shown some talent for water magic, if not for fatherhood, during the brief time he'd spent with Kiloran. Armian's father, Harlon, would have been proud. Kiloran himself believed he had found his successor, since his own son was devoid of the gift and none of the other prospects appealed to Kiloran. Yes, Armian had flaws, but there had been much promise there... Not least of which was the possibility of Kiloran's complete and unopposed domination of Sileria if Armian's plan worked.

Kiloran cooled the rage which boiled inside him even now, ten years later, at the memory of all Tansen had taken from him by killing Armian. He forced himself to recall what Armian's shade, floating in Mirabar's strange Guardian fire, had said the night the girl had tumbled through the waters of Lake Kandahar in time to prevent Kiloran from killing Tansen upon his return to Sileria after nine years in exile.

"
Now is the time. We were wrong
. Now
is the time."

Ah, destiny was a strange thing. Would their plan really have failed ten years ago even if Armian had lived? And without Tansen's guidance, would Josarian's enthusiastic but unfocused bloodfeud against the Outlookers ever have grown into a national rebellion? There was no way of knowing.

Unfortunately, the orphaned
shallah
boy had grown into a dangerous and powerful enemy. Kiloran thought it unlikely that Tansen could convince Sileria to abandon the habits of centuries and rebel against the waterlords—at least, not for long—but any opposition was intolerable and must be prevented.

If Tansen had even one hundred men at his back—and Kiloran was sure he must—those were one hundred men whom one thousand others would watch with interest. If not crushed, they would gain new recruits. Perhaps not as rapidly as Josarian's rebellion had, since hatred of the Valdani was universal, whereas loyalty to the Society was an ingrained tradition throughout Sileria. But all opposition was dangerous, and none of it could ever be regarded with complacency.

When one Silerian saw another rise up, refuse to obey, and get away with it—even thrive—then he was likely to try it himself.
 

One hundred men could easily be defeated. But one thousand? Perhaps not. Ten thousand men? That was civil war. And all of Sileria? That might be the end of the Society. However, Kiloran knew it needn't come to that.

The waterlords and their assassins were not Valdani, not
roshaheen
, not hated conquerors from the mainland. They were as Silerian as the mountains themselves. They were the weft in the tapestry of Sileria's culture, the pillars that supported its bleeding sky, the discipline which held its inherent chaos in check. The Society traced its origins back a thousand years. There would always be water magic in Sileria. Only a fool could think otherwise. And so there would always be waterlords.

Silerians knew and accepted this. Those who had forgotten must be reminded. Those who opposed Kiloran must be destroyed.

They knew his power, his inexorable will, his relentless strength. They were his children and would obey.
 

What could Tansen offer them, in the end, to embolden them to challenge their masters? With Josarian gone, who was left for the nation to follow?

This was Kiloran's destiny. His time had come. He would triumph. Truly, what could Tansen promise Silerians beyond chaos, drought, bloodshed, and sorrow?

Nothing.

Who was left for Sileria to follow?

There is only me.

Chapter Seventeen

Keeps your friends close,
 

but keep your enemies closer.

      
      
      
      
      
—Silerian Proverb

A child of fire...

Mirabar reeled in the eddy of stars swimming around her...

A child of water...

In the divine liquid fire of history and destiny, of past, present, and future...

A child of sorrow....

In the bitter longing of a broken heart, in the vengeful dreams of a wasted life...

"Where am I?" she asked the Beckoner.

It was a dark place full of light, a bright place shadowed by darkness. A vast cavern, heavy yet airy, immense yet encroaching.

"It seems like a big prison."

Fire and water were all around her. The churning lava of the restless volcano extended its reach to this forgotten place, dripping into the water that flowed through strange tunnels illuminated by unfamiliar glowing shapes. Each time lava touched water, angry hissing filled the air and steam rose to obscure her vision.

"Why do I feel imprisoned?" Mirabar asked.

A child of fire...

She thought the phosphorescent lumps on the walls and ceilings were plants, but now one moved.

Mirabar uttered a choked shriek, inspired by a purely prosaic fear of strange crawling things.

Now she noticed other glowing shapes moving, too. Some had long spindly legs, some had no legs at all... And some had what appeared to be a thousand tiny legs.

"Blegh," she said with feeling.

However, they all scurried away, as frightened as she was disgusted, so there was no threat from them.

A child of water...

"Are they one and the same?"

It was not a pleasing prospect, but she had learned to expect almost anything by now.

Protect what you most long to destroy.

"What?"

The strange surroundings evaporated in hissing steam, then a breath of wind blew the vision away. Or so she thought, until she looked up at the night sky overhead and saw two golden, glowing eyes gazing down at her.

"Daurion?" Mirabar crossed her fists and lowered her head. "
Siran
."

He is coming.

"How will I know him?"

The eyes faded, and only the night remained.

"All right," said Pyron, a
shallah
rebel who had lost his brothers in the mines of Alizar. His voice was startlingly loud behind her. "Did anyone else see that?"

Mirabar glanced over her shoulder. Since there'd been two earthquakes so recently, no one at Dalishar slept inside the caves tonight. Everyone was outside, sleeping on open ground. Whatever noise Mirabar had made in the throes of her visions had evidently woken many of them in time to see what she had seen in the night sky.

"Because," Pyron continued, "I really don't want to be the only one who saw that."

"Welcome to my world," Mirabar said sourly.

Yorin stood staring up at the sky with his sole eye, his stolen Outlooker sword drawn and ready for battle. "That was... That was... That was..."

"Very interesting." Lann's voice was unusually thin and high.

Sister Rahilar, who sat hugging her knees, glanced at Mirabar. "Did you do that?"

"I don't think so," she replied.

"He is coming?" Lann ventured.

Mirabar brightened. "You heard it, too?"

"Well, no, I didn't hear anything. I just..." He shrugged. "I don't know. Those words just came into my head."

"Yes." Pyron sat down suddenly. "He is coming."

Mirabar looked at her protector, who lay at a respectful distance from her and ensured that everyone but Rahilar—the only other woman here—did the same. "Najdan?"

"Yes, I saw." His voice was stony. He sat up slowly and repeated with concentrated calm, "I saw."

She knew he didn't like contact with anything Otherworldly, but she was pleased. "This could be good."

"Sure, that was my first reaction," Pyron said shakily. "This could be good."