The White Dragon

by Laura Resnick

  But she didn't. She merely said, her voice low and trembling with the effort to hold back more tears, "I will never forgive you."

  It hurt more than being hit.

  "Mirabar..." He laid a hand upon her arm.

  She jerked away. "Don't touch me!"

  Much more than being hit.

  "If you ever touch me again," she ground out, "I will tell Najdan to kill you."

  "Sirana?" Najdan was at her side now, frowning as he glanced from her to Tansen.

  "We're going to Sanctuary," Mirabar said to the assassin.

  "Wait," Tansen said, trying to fend off this blow. "We have to make plans f—"

  "No," she said coldly. "You've chosen your way. Now I choose mine."

  "We're in this together," he told her.

  "We were."

  "Mirabar, let's—"

  "I hope they kill you next time." Mirabar's fiery eyes were chilly with loathing. "You deserve to be dead."

  "Sirana..." Najdan said uneasily.

  "I never want to see you again," she told Tansen.

  She turned and walked away.

  That was the blow that nearly drove him to his knees.

  Chapter Nine

  Spilled blood calls for vengeance.

  —Silerian Proverb

  Torena Elelar mar Odilan yesh Ronall shah Hasnari was exhausted by the time she reached the great city of Shaljir.

  Elelar had roused her household in the ruined villa outside Chandar with her screams of rage and fury the night Tansen had slipped inside to awaken her, tell her of Josarian's death, and avenge her betrayal of the Firebringer. After Tansen had decided to spare her life—though she had not asked him to and was now almost sorry that he had—she immediately ordered her servants to begin packing while she wrote letters, issued instructions, and set her household on its ears with her sudden decision to travel halfway across Sileria. She had followed Tansen's orders and left at first light that very day. She had pushed herself, the servants who traveled with her, and their mounts to the limits of endurance in order to reach Shaljir as soon as possible. She hadn't even let that terrifying earthquake slow her down, though one of the servants had been injured. She'd left him in Sanctuary the following morning and continued her journey, anxious to reach Shaljir and carry out her duty.

  Now that she was here, arriving at sunset, exhausted, depressed, guilt-ridden, and afraid, all Elelar had to do was move mountains.

  Oh, Dar, as I have been faithful and true—in my way—I humbly beseech You to help me now, she prayed as she waited at the Lion's Gate for entry into the city.

  But the prayers were probably useless, as was the remorse, for she had betrayed Dar's Chosen One. The destroyer goddess forgave no slight, after all, and what Elelar had done was considerably worse than neglecting her devotions or denying offerings to Dar. Her punishment for betraying the Firebringer would surely be swift and terrible.

  It was bewildering to remember how pragmatic, how necessary, the decision had seemed at the time. The Valdani demanded Josarian's death in exchange for their final withdrawal from Sileria, for the surrender of Shaljir. Elelar's cohort Toren Varian reminded her that the zanar prophecies never said how the Firebringer would drive the foreign invaders out of Sileria. So, Varian suggested, perhaps he was destined to do so as a sacrificial offering rather than as a warrior. Josarian himself knew that the prophecies said nothing of his destiny beyond ridding Sileria of the Valdani; his ultimate future was as uncertain as any man's. And he was locked in a deadly bloodfeud with Kiloran, a wizard so invincible that few doubted he could destroy even the Firebringer. Kiloran wanted Josarian dead, and the Valdani wanted Josarian dead... and Elelar had believed that his death was the way to free Sileria.

  A hot wave of shame washed over her every time she thought of it. Kiloran had used her. Even worse, she had let him. She had been so obsessed with her lifelong goal, so focused on her hatred of the Valdani, that she had let Kiloran make her his tool in Josarian's destruction, every bit as much as Zimran had been Elelar's tool.

  The shallaheen had a word for someone like her: sriliah. It was the worst thing one Silerian could call another. Worse than liar, thief, cuckold, coward, murderer, or whore: traitor. Among Silerians, betrayal was the very worst crime a person could commit. The irony of their culture, the tragedy of their history, was that it was also perhaps their most common crime against one another. And it was always punished with blood vengeance.

  Who will punish me?

  She knew now that it would never be Tansen. Not because he loved her. Even if he had once loved her, even if he still could, she knew he would never want the woman who had betrayed his bloodbrother.

  She knew that Tansen had still wanted her when he had returned to Sileria after his nine years in exile. Elelar had seen it in his eyes, had felt it in the sharp tension that ran through him like pain when she touched him. She had smelled desire on his skin more than once and had believed he could be hers if she chose. But she always chose duty, and Tansen always chose loyalty to Josarian.

  Elelar had betrayed Tansen to Kiloran years ago for murdering Armian. She had sacrificed Tansen's young life to protect the Alliance, and yet he had continued to want her. Nine years in exile, nine years of wandering foreign lands and knowing other women, and yet he was not indifferent to her upon his return to Sileria. If Tansen had not precisely forgiven her, he had nonetheless never forgotten her.

  However, while a man of honor might overlook a woman's sins against him, if he desired her enough, he could never ignore what she had done to his brother or his nation. Elelar's betrayal of Josarian had damaged more than Tansen's dreams; it had stained his honor and bloodied his heart. Tansen had introduced his bloodbrother to Elelar and had brought the mountain rebel into association with the Alliance. If not for Tansen, Josarian and Zimran would never even have known Elelar, let alone been vulnerable to her.

  This was Sileria, where spilled blood called for vengeance. Josarian had killed Kiloran's only son, Srijan, in vengeance for betrayal. That act had incited Josarian's bloodfeud with Kiloran, had splintered the rebellion, and had turned most of the Society into his enemies overnight. Yet even Elelar, who had tried to stop Josarian from killing Srijan, understood why he had done it: Kiloran's offense against him must be avenged, swiftly and ruthlessly, or the shallaheen would never again respect and follow Josarian, even though he was the Firebringer.

  No matter how worldly Tansen had become, he had been born and raised a shallah, so Elelar knew that his honor now depended on avenging his brother. He had killed Zimran and he certainly intended to kill Kiloran, but he hadn't taken his vengeance against Elelar. She knew the shallah in him would hereafter see his dishonor every time he looked at her. And no matter how strong he was, he had loved Josarian and was devastated by his death. He would be reminded of this pain every time he saw her.

  Nor could he ever forgive her betrayal of Sileria, even knowing that she did it in ignorance. Tansen had loved Armian and had killed him even so, committing an unforgivable sin by murdering a bloodpact relative and offending Dar by slaying the man he thought was the Firebringer, all to save their nation from the Society. Now, by betraying Josarian, Elelar had paved the way for Kiloran to seize power and, a thousand years after Marjan first envisioned it, condemn Sileria to the absolute rule of the Society.

  Tansen should have killed me.

  It was she, after all, who had convinced Zimran, Josarian's beloved cousin, to betray him. Zimran had possessed many of the virtues most prized among the shallaheen—reckless courage, wily shrewdness, and blood loyalty—but none of the virtues needed by a rebel in a war-torn land, none of the virtues Josarian needed in his followers. Zimran had lacked vision, imagination, or dreams. He was too selfish to be a leader, too cynical to believe in freedom, too jealous to share Josarian with others, and too short-sighted to understand that his boyhood playmate was no longer the simple mountain peasant he had always known. In the midst of world-changing events and fire-born p
rophecy, Zimran had stubbornly continued to long for nothing more glorious than a return to the simple life of a shallah smuggler in Valdani-occupied Sileria.

  Elelar had seduced Zimran, letting him believe he had seduced her. Although Tansen hid his pain and his jealousy behind the schooled mask of a shatai, Elelar sensed how he hated her relationship with Zimran. It was his own fault, she'd told herself more than once. Had Tansen been willing, as Zimran ultimately was, to switch his loyalty from Josarian to Elelar, then he could have been her lover. But Tansen always chose loyalty to Josarian.

  She used Zimran as a conduit to Josarian when the Firebringer quarreled with the Society and turned his back on the Alliance. And she used him as her weapon against Josarian in the end, convincing Zimran to betray Josarian to the Valdani—Zimran, who had once daily risked his life to protect Josarian from them, back in the days when Josarian had been merely an outlaw on the run, rather than a rebel leader or the Firebringer.

  It was happenstance that Elelar's plan failed, that Tansen discovered the plot, executed Zimran, and stopped the Valdani. Nonetheless, the Firebringer was dead, and she doubted Kiloran would have known enough about Josarian's movements to kill him that fateful night if Elelar had not betrayed him to Advisor Kaynall.

  Tansen was right. She was such a fool. How could she never have suspected that Kiloran was behind the secret treaty all along? Searlon himself, Kiloran's most favored assassin, had escorted Elelar to the meeting between the Alliance and Advisor Kaynall! Yet she had never guessed. Her hatred for the Valdani and all they had done to Sileria had made her blind to the terrible danger of her own allies. What had Josarian himself often said? I can take care of my enemies, but Dar shield me from my friends. She should have listened. He was much wiser than she had ever realized.

  But Elelar had been so certain that she knew better than an illiterate mountain peasant, even one chosen by Dar. She saw the arrogance that overcame Josarian after his transformation at Darshon and was afraid. She was so accustomed to fearing the power of the Society that she had wanted the Firebringer himself to placate them rather than challenge them. She was so terrified that the Valdani, the only enemies she knew how to hate, would take advantage of the division among the Silerian rebels that she had agreed to eliminate...

  Dar, how could I have done it? What madness was in my mind?

  Her own actions may have destroyed the only dream she had ever lived for: freedom in Sileria.

  Whatever Dar did to her now, it couldn't be punishment enough. Elelar, who did not believe in forgiveness, would never seek salvation for helping Kiloran destroy Josarian. But she knew that Tansen had let her live because he counted on her to accomplish something that mattered much more than her life or death: She must ensure that the Valdani honored their treaty and withdrew from Sileria. Then she must help ensure that the Society did not dominate Sileria in their wake. Once that was done, she could at least die with honor. Regardless of her terrible sin against Dar, her life's work would be fulfilled and her dream realized. Her people—Dar's people—would finally be free.

  Tansen, who had been the one to teach Josarian to think like a leader, knew this. He had held a sword to Elelar's throat, burning with vengeance, craving her blood, yet he had let her live. With the strength of will that had driven him to kill the bloodfather he loved, he spared the woman who had betrayed his brother—and sent her to Shaljir to do her duty.

  Unfortunately, he was right about something else, too: She had to seek Searlon's help. The thought of facing the assassin again galled her. Searlon had duped her and used her. He had made her not only a traitor, but also a fool. And he had done it all on behalf of his master. Elelar had made the fatal mistake of underestimating Kiloran and the inexcusable blunder of taking Searlon at face value. Now she trembled with shame and rage when she thought of seeking Searlon's help, but she knew she must.

  Freedom from the Valdani was her life's work. Freedom from the Society was Tansen's. She must earn the life he had granted her at swordpoint by helping him defeat them both.

  The secret treaty with the Valdani called for the Alliance to bring Josarian's body, or at least indisputable proof of the Firebringer's death, to Advisor Kaynall. Some sort of trophy, Elelar supposed, for the Outlookers to parade through the streets of Valda, the great city which was noisy with horrified gossip about the mountain rebel's crimes against the Valdani in Sileria. But Josarian's death in the magical jaws of the White Dragon left no evidence whatsoever. Fortunately, an Outlooker prisoner had witnessed the event. Tansen had released him and sent him back to Shaljir to report Josarian's death to Kaynall. Nonetheless, Sileria couldn't rely on one scared Outlooker to convince the Imperial Advisor that Josarian was truly dead and the Valdani should honor their treaty.

  Tansen had learned from the Outlooker prisoner that Searlon was in Shaljir with Advisor Kaynall. The assassin was supposed to identify Josarian's body when the Outlookers brought it back from the ambush that Zimran led his cousin into. Since there was no body now, Tansen had ordered Elelar to get Searlon to help her convince Kaynall that Josarian was indeed dead and the secret treaty must now be honored. The rebels had one thing left in common with the Society, after all: They all still wanted the Valdani to surrender and withdraw from Sileria.

  Elelar would do whatever she had to. Once again, she chose duty—and did not shrink from its dictates.

  "Torena."

  Derlen, a member of her household, interrupted her thoughts.

  "Yes?" she replied.

  "We are next at the gate, torena."

  Elelar looked around in the golden glow of early evening and realized this was his polite way of suggesting that she urge her mount forward. She did so, then ensured that the woven cords of her headdress modestly concealed her face from the Outlookers at the gate. They would not be able to interpret the way its knotted, braided strands and shiny aquamarine beads identified her name, family, and rank, but even Outlookers knew that such an elaborate headdress signified she was a torena. The headdress she wore today was relatively new, having been made recently by her personal maid, Faradar, to replace the one Elelar had lost here, at the Lion's Gate, when she'd been arrested months ago for spying.

  Inside the gatehouse, Imperial Advisor Borell had raped her while the guards outside listened to her painful humiliation. It was here that the servants escorting her that day had died—except for Faradar, who had managed to escape to the mountains to alert the rebels. It was here that Elelar had been placed in chains and hauled off to prison to await execution.

  It was not a memory she cared to dwell on. Her stomach churned now as she dismounted and identified herself to the Outlookers manning the Lion's Gate. She saw by their expressions that they had heard her name before. Well, her arrest hadn't exactly been secret. And after Tansen and Zimran had succeeded in their insanely dangerous rescue of her and she had escaped the city, the Valdani had hunted her far and wide.

  Now that two Outlookers unsheathed their swords and ordered her to surrender, she realized that news of her pardon had not been nearly as widespread as news of her arrest and her escape. However, since her pardon was a minor addition she had made to the Alliance's entirely secret treaty with Kaynall, this was hardly surprising. Maintaining her dignity at the point of the Outlookers' short Valdani swords, Elelar ordered Derlen to present her pardon, an official document written in Valdan and signed by Imperial Advisor Kaynall himself.

  After one of the guards read it aloud, Derlen said in his punctilious way, "You will now sheathe your swords and treat the torena with the respect which is her due."

  It was an impetuous comment for a Silerian to make. Although some fighting continued throughout Sileria, the Valdani had essentially withdrawn all the way back to Shaljir. Most of the country was already under rebel control. Outlookers were surrendering their remaining outposts throughout rural Sileria and fleeing to the dubious safety of Shaljir. This was their final stronghold, the site of their last stand in the island nation they had conq
uered two hundred years ago. They were awaiting Josarian's siege of the city, bracing themselves for the ultimate battle in this bloody war, and they were clearly not in a humor to tolerate anything from their enemies.

  The city walls were gruesomely decorated with the heads of slain rebels. Dispossessed Silerians were leaving Shaljir in a steady stream. Most Silerians trying to enter the city had been turned away from this gate while Elelar had been awaiting her turn. Anyone who made it past the initial examination, as Elelar now did, was required to submit to a lengthy search. Elelar had anticipated that her baggage and her male servants would be searched, but she was appalled to discover that she and her maid, Faradar, must now submit to the pawing hands of two Outlookers if they wanted to reach their destination inside the city walls.

  "I am a torena of the Hasnari clan," she snapped with regal anger. "I am also the wife of a Valdan. And I have already shown you my imperial pardon. How dare—"

  "Body search or back to the mountains," a tall Outlooker interrupted with open rudeness. "The choice is yours, torena." He made her title sound like an insult.

  Some more Silerians were being turned away from the gate. Elelar suspected it was only her status as a Valdan's wife—a situation made clear in her written pardon—that had let her get this far.

  "My husband, Toren Ronall, will hear about this," she bluffed, still hoping to avoid the indignity of a search. Silerian women, even a Silerian woman with morals as flexible as Elelar's, did not submit to the touch of strangers.

  "He will doubtless understand that we're doing this for his safety," the Outlooker replied, moving toward her with purpose. "No weapons enter Shaljir except those which will be used in defense of the Empire."

  "Oh, for the love of Dar."

  Elelar had to get into the city, and there was no other way. So she instructed Derlen and her other two male servants to cooperate, and she kept Faradar close to her as they submitted to the disgusting intrusion of the Outlookers' search. It was humiliating, particularly when the tall one felt between her legs without any warning or apology. She had to grind her teeth together to control her fury. However, she knew that Faradar had smuggled Tansen's swords into Shaljir by strapping them to her legs, when he had come here to rescue Elelar, so she realized the Outlookers weren't doing this for pleasure. They had simply stopped being careless. Besides, this man gave the impression of being bored beyond measure as his hands roamed freely over the two well-dressed women before him. Elelar supposed it was a small blessing that he had evidently done this so often that any prurience had by now faded into indifference.