The White Dragon

by Laura Resnick

  Still looking at Mirabar, Tansen said, "There were fifty zanareen with you when we parted company after Josarian's death, and I see none here now." Some of the zanareen had clung to Josarian like a shadow during the final months of his life.

  "Some of them returned to the Zilar River after dawn," she replied, "to do who knows what. Mourn Josarian, I suppose. Some said they were returning to Darshon. Others scattered to spread the word."

  "That Kiloran killed Josarian?"

  "Yes."

  "And Jalan?" Tansen prompted, asking about the wild-eyed mystic who was something of a leader among the zanareen.

  Mirabar's eyes widened. "Of course! I should have told you. He's gone east in search of Josarian's sister."

  "Jalilar."

  "He thought if Kiloran had gone to such effort to kill the Firebringer, then the Firebringer's sister might be in danger."

  Dar be praised, this was now one less task Tansen had to assign. He had realized the necessity of it soon after leaving Elelar's villa near Chandar, but he'd had no opportunity yet to send someone after Jalilar—and now he wouldn't have to. Upon learning that Josarian was dead, Jalilar's husband Emelen, a valuable rebel leader, would know what to do: get Jalilar safely to Sanctuary and then rally with Tansen.

  Neither he nor Mirabar alluded to why she hadn't mentioned this before now, since yesterday's quarrel was not a subject for the many ears around them. He could tell by the rigid coolness of her manner, though, that nothing was forgotten or forgiven.

  Focus on the task at hand.

  "Cheylan," he said to the Guardian, "you'll need to go east again, first thing tomorrow." Tansen sensed Cheylan's reluctance. He also caught the sudden flash in Mirabar's eyes. "I want you to take messages to the Lironi as soon as possible, assuring them of our support against Verlon and getting theirs against Kiloran."

  "As you wish," Cheylan replied.

  "Lann, you need to send a runner to Zilar to tell them I'm coming. Hundreds—possibly thousands—of rebels have been massing near there, awaiting Josarian's arrival. We can't let them panic over his death."

  "And you want a runner to precede you?"

  "Yes. We've got to get word to everyone around the town of Zilar, as soon as possible, that I'm coming in Josarian's place and they should wait for me."

  Lann nodded. "What else?"

  "We've got to establish more sentries and better vantage points between here and Chandar. I don't want any more assassins ambushing us in our own stronghold. And send someone down to Chandar to organize them there and send news through the mountains. Tell your runners—tell everyone—to see me for instructions before leaving."

  "Is that all?" Lann asked.

  "No. There'll be more before I leave today, but—"

  "You're leaving today?" Mirabar blurted.

  Cheylan glanced at her.

  "But for now, gather five of the best fighters we've got up here. I'll speak with them..." Tansen looked at Mirabar. "After I'm done speaking with the sirana."

  Lann nodded and rose to carry out his orders.

  "You're leaving today?" Mirabar repeated.

  "Before sundown," he replied. "You and I need to talk."

  "We—"

  "There's something I need to ask you about." He rose to his feet and, with a hand under her arm, forced her to do the same. Najdan, who could be very touchy about any disrespect to the sirana, didn't protest or even glare warningly at Tansen; his attention seemed fixed on Cheylan.

  Cheylan's news from the east was important enough to explain his unexpected arrival at Dalishar. But Tansen was glad it also ensured there was good reason to order him to return immediately to Liron. Even without the aristocratic Guardian's interest in Mirabar, Tansen had never much cared for Cheylan's company.

  And what's the point of being in charge, after all, if I can't indulge my petty dislikes?

  "What do you need to ask me about?" Mirabar's voice was cold as Tansen led her toward the cave where Sister Rahilar was tending Zarien.

  "I promise you'll find it interesting."

  The Sister was finishing wrapping Zarien's feet in clean linen bandages when Tansen and Mirabar entered the chamber. Guardian fires burned magically in several places on the stone walls, their dancing flames glinting on the surface of the bubbling spring that formed a pool in the center of the cave.

  "When that dye is ready," Tansen told Rahilar, "I'll need you to dye clothes for six men, including me. We're leaving before sundown, so they'll need to be ready by then."

  "They'll still be damp," she warned.

  "As long as they're not soaking wet. We won't actually wear them for a couple of days."

  She nodded and left the cave to accomplish her task.

  Alone now with Mirabar and Zarien, Tansen said to the boy, "Tell her what you told me."

  "About..."

  "About why you're here," Tansen clarified.

  Now Mirabar's hostile gaze flashed with interest. "Yes," she said suddenly. "I need to know why you're here."

  "Ah." Zarien looked from her to Tansen, then back again. "You understand this sort of thing. This is your realm, isn't it?"

  "Go on," she urged, sitting down.

  It quickly became clear that Mirabar found his tale as astonishing as Tansen had. Her eyes widened when Zarien, at Tansen's request, showed her the scars left by the dragonfish attack, and her brow furrowed with thought as he described Sharifar's instructions. She looked stunned when Zarien announced that Tansen was the sea king he sought.

  Mirabar's reply to Zarien's urgent request that she agree with him was not quite what Tansen had hoped for: "It's possible."

  "You see?" Zarien said triumphantly to Tansen. "Now will you come w—"

  "However," Mirabar interrupted, to Tansen's relief, "it's certainly not what I've seen in my visions."

  Zarien faltered. "It's not?"

  "No. According to the Beckoner—"

  "Who's that?"

  "The one who brings my visions."

  "Oh."

  "According to the Beckoner, Tansen and I must prepare the way for the coming of the new Yahrdan."

  "What?" Tansen said.

  She looked a little sheepish. "I suppose I've neglected to mention that I've had more visions since... since Josarian died."

  "Yes, you've left that out entirely," he said with a snap in his voice.

  "But surely," Zarien said, "the sea kin—"

  "The new Yahrdan?" Tansen repeated, rather enjoying his irritation with Mirabar. It felt good to attack rather than defend, for a change.

  "Yes."

  "You didn't think this was important enough to mention to me?"

  "I just did mention it."

  "No." He pointed at Zarien. "It slipped out while you were talking to him."

  "I had other things on my mind," Mirabar snapped.

  "Such as castigating me for not committing a murder."

  "You can say that?" she cried. "After what she did?"

  "She is in Shaljir right now," he replied, enjoying the sudden release of his frustration in anger. "Convincing Kaynall to honor their treaty—"

  "How can you even use the word 'honor' in the same sentence with—"

  "—and surrender Shaljir to us!"

  "—that blood-soaked secret treaty?"

  "Who else could do that, Mirabar?" he demanded. "Who else could work with Searlon now? And Searlon is the key to convincing Kaynall—"

  "You can make all the excuses you want!" she raged. "But I know the truth. No one else—"

  "I'm tired of vengeance!"

  "—could have betrayed Josarian with impunity!"

  "Tired of killing in retribution for past killings!"

  "You would have forgiven no one else!" she accused.

  "I haven't forgiven her! I'll never forgive her! Fires of Dar, do you think it was easy to spare her?"

  The sudden silence between them was thunderous.

  Tansen was aware of Zarien's fascinated, open-mouthed stare. Mirabar's
sun-kissed complexion was flushed with anger. His own breath was coming fast in his agitation.

  "I think," Mirabar said at last, "that it was easier for you than killing her would have been."

  "Maybe it was," he admitted. "But neither thing is easy. You've never killed. You condemn me without knowing what it means to take a life."

  "True," she said. "But you've taken pl—"

  "The feel of the blade cutting into flesh, the spray of blood. You don't know how that f—"

  "How did she talk you out of it?" Mirabar challenged. "Or did she even need to?" Her tone bit into him.

  "By pointing out how similar our sins are," he admitted wearily. "She betrayed Josarian, and I..."

  Darfire, he didn't want to think about it now.

  "Elelar used that against you?" When he didn't deny it, Mirabar said, "How like her."

  They fell silent.

  Zarien finally ventured, "Used what?"

  Tansen shook off the weight of warring emotions. "Nothing. Never mind." He looked at the boy. "What we should be talking about is you."

  "Yes," Mirabar agreed quietly. "That would be better."

  "Can you help him find this sea king?" Tansen asked her.

  She looked surprised by the question. "I don't know. It's certainly a whole new—"

  "I have found him," Zarien said stubbornly.

  "I'm sorry, Zarien," Tansen said, "but I just don't think—"

  "You didn't think Josarian was the Firebringer, either," Zarien interrupted. "So why sh—"

  "How do you know that?" Tansen asked.

  "Everyone knows that. You went to Darshon to stop him from jumping." Zarien nodded. "People talk."

  "They certainly do," Tansen said. "However, I really don't believe I'm your—"

  "And Josarian? Did he know he was the Firebringer?" Zarien challenged. "Before he jumped into the volcano, I mean."

  Tansen searched his memories. "No, but he did have dreams. Portents. And there were believers." Long before Josarian went to Darshon, Tansen had started fearing he would go.

  "And there were signs in the circle of fire, too," Mirabar said. "In the Calling I did for him the night he decided to go to Darshon."

  Tansen noticed that Mirabar didn't mention that she, too, had tried to stop Josarian, terrified he would die at Darshon despite what she had seen in her Guardian fires. They had both failed, though, and Josarian had fulfilled prophecy.

  By all the gods above and below, Tansen suddenly thought. Could I possibly be this sea king?

  Nothing in him felt that it was true, but he had been wrong about such things before—convinced that Armian was the Firebringer, certain that Josarian wasn't.

  "But surely you've had signs of your destiny, too," Zarien said to him. "The brand on your chest was carved by the gods of Kinto, showing you their fav—"

  "No, it wasn't."

  Zarien looked disconcerted. "It wasn't?"

  Mirabar blinked. "Is that what people say?"

  "Yes," replied Zarien.

  "I'm afraid not, son," Tansen said. "I got it the old-fashioned way. My kaj used—"

  "Your what?"

  "My teacher, the one who trained me to be a shatai—a Kintish swordmaster. He gave me this brand with a red hot poker. All shatai have one. It's nothing magical."

  Zarien looked deflated. "No?"

  "No."

  "And your swords?" Zarien asked. "They... they aren't enchanted?"

  "No." He hadn't known that people said so.

  "They don't jump out of their sheathes by themselves?"

  "I wouldn't have had to spend five years learning to use them if that were the case," Tansen pointed out.

  Zarien looked very disappointed in him.

  Mention of magical weapons brought to mind the boy's quivering stahra. Tansen was going to ask him about it when Zarien's face brightened as he said, "But what about your healed wound?"

  "Actually, that's among my questions," Tansen replied.

  "Mine, too," Mirabar added. "Who healed it?"

  "He did," Tansen said.

  Zarien shook his head.

  "Did a waterlord find you?" Mirabar asked sharply.

  Tansen's gaze snapped to hers. "A waterlord?"

  She nodded. "Najdan says that healing a shir wound like that is water magic."

  They both looked at the boy. He shook his head. "No one came." His expression was confused as he returned Tansen's equally puzzled regard.

  "Tell me exactly what happened," said Mirabar.

  "I prayed," said Zarien. "To Dar, to Sharifar, to all the gods of the wind and sea."

  "That's all?" Mirabar asked. "You just prayed?"

  "So did Tansen."

  Tansen shook his head. "I was unconscious."

  "You were feverish, but speaking," Zarien explained.

  "I prayed?" he said skeptically. He never prayed. Not since the night he had killed Armian.

  "Yes. To Dar. To the Firebringer. You asked for mercy. You called out to your father... Is he dead, too?"

  "Yes." Both of Tansen's fathers were dead, but he remembered only one of them. He had called only one of them "father." Only one of them haunted his dreams.

  "As you prayed to them," Zarien said, "as we prayed together..." He shrugged. "There was, I don't know, heat or something. Mist rose from the wound, silvery and glowing. And it healed."

  Mirabar answered Tansen's questioning gaze with a frown. "It could be water magic," she said. "But that would mean one of you..."

  They both looked at Zarien, who immediately said, "Don't look at me."

  "I thought it might be the place," Mirabar admitted. "But I investigated it on the way here today." She shook her head. "Nothing."

  "What other possibilities can you think of?" Tansen asked.

  "It could be related to the magic that healed his dragonfish wounds. In which case..."

  "We should go down to the sea right away," Zarien urged.

  "And who do you think will lead us against the Society?" Mirabar asked Zarien.

  The boy rose to his feet, stepping gingerly. "I don't care," he declared. "That is a dryland quarrel and doesn't concern me."

  "Oh, yes, it does," Tansen said. "Sea-born clans have been in the Alliance since it was founded."

  "Not the sea-bound Las—"

  "All the sea-born swore loyalty to Josarian." He studied the boy's resentful expression and pressed his point. "Do you take your vows so lightly at sea?"

  "We take nothing lightly," Zarien protested angrily. "But if you were the sea king, then the sea-born would go wherever you led. Have you thought of that?" And then the boy stormed—well, limped with offended dignity—out of the cave.

  "He has a point," Mirabar said.

  "He does at that," Tansen admitted. "But I can't abandon everything here to venture out to sea in search of a goddess's embrace based on the strange tale—"

  "Josarian long resisted going to Darshon," she reminded him.

  "So did Armian."

  "And he..." She nodded, understanding. "He wasn't the Firebringer."

  "Not even though one ignorant boy was utterly convinced he was."

  "More than one boy."

  "Well, yes," he agreed. "Half the shallaheen in Sileria probably believed it. But Armian never did."

  "What about your healed wound?" she asked.

  "I think it's more about Zarien than about me. There's too much about that boy that's... unusual."

  "Those scars," Mirabar mused. "No one should have lived through that."

  "And his stahra." Tansen told her about what he'd seen in the cave where he'd been healed.

  "You think the weapon responds if Zarien is threatened?" she guessed.

  "He says the sea goddess gave it to him." Tansen shrugged. "It looks like any other stahra to me, but... I didn't imagine what I saw. I wasn't still feverish. He doesn't seem to know about its magic, but I'm sure it's not an ordinary weapon."

  "He is not an ordinary boy." Mirabar thought it over. "If Zar
ien remains convinced you're the man he seeks, the one this goddess wants, then you may have to return to the sea with him. Sooner or later."

  "I saw what being loved by a goddess did for Josarian." Tansen could admit this to her. She would understand. "It's not what I want."

  Her expression was sympathetic for the first time since coming here. The memories glowed in her fire-rich eyes. "There were many ways in which he would have preferred to remain an ordinary man." She was quiet for a moment before adding, "But then, he had been a happy man."

  Tansen looked away. "A wife he loved. A quiet life in his native village. A clan and a family... And no memories that haunted him."

  "You may even find peace as the consort of a goddess," Mirabar suggested quietly.

  "Do you want me to go to her?" he whispered.

  "This isn't about what I want." Her voice was equally soft.

  "Isn't it?" He met her gaze again, drowning in its exotic heat. "If I go to another's embrace..."

  Tansen put his hand on hers. He felt her startled reflex, but she neither withdrew nor protested. Her skin was warm, her bones as fine as an aristocrat's. He explored further and found the remembered feel of her work-hardened palm.

  He asked, "It will mean nothing to you?"

  To be alone with her now, to see her look at him without anger, to smell her skin and feel its warmth...

  Mirabar's fire-tipped lashes fluttered over lava-rich eyes. "You've already gone..."

  "No." He leaned closer, his gaze drifting down to her mouth, to those soft lips.

  "Gone to..." Her breath was shallow, her voice vague... until it settled on a word full of hurt: "Her."

  "No." He shook his head. "Never."

  "Only because she—"

  "Don't bring her in here with us." Tansen heard the pleading in his voice and didn't care. "Not now."

  She jerked away from him, startling him. "She is always here with us."

  "Mira..."

  "And it's not my fault. You're the one who carries her image with you." Mirabar rose to her feet with the swift agility of a mountain girl. "You're the one who will have to banish it."

  Tansen watched her go, knowing no way to stop her, no way to reap what he wanted from what he had sown with this woman.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Why should we hate Silerians when

  they're so good at hating each other?