"I saw it," Cheylan whispered to her.
She frowned.
He elaborated, "The vision."
"Oh."
"The eyes in the night sky. He is coming."
"Yes."
"The glowing eyes," he said.
"Yes."
"Golden."
"Yes," she repeated.
He stroked her hair, his gaze bright with excitement. "Like yours and mine."
"Is that all you saw?" she asked, trying to move away from his caress without appearing to reject him.
"There was more?" he asked, his attention sharpening.
"Yes, much more." She frowned. "You didn't see?"
He took hold of her shoulders, ignoring the way she tried to evade his grasp. "Tell me."
"A place... A watery place with lava dripping into it, making steam rise. I don't know, maybe a cave or cavern... Perhaps underground... Glowing things..."
"Glowing things," he repeated, his voice soft yet urgent.
"Glowing plants and, ugh, crawly things."
"Ah." Cheylan nodded, his expression intense. "And this is where... What? You'll find him?"
She shrugged. "I don't even know if it's a real place."
"But—"
"Fire and water. Water and fire. A child of fire, a child of water..."
"And a place" There was something insistent in his tone. "Caverns of fire and water."
Memory flashed through her mind. "Protect what you most long to destroy," she murmured.
"What?" His grip on her arms was starting to hurt.
"That's what the Beckoner told me." She glanced around, looking at the core of rebels sworn to support Tansen against the Society. He hoped to bring thousands more to his cause at Zilar, she knew. "Could we be wrong?"
"About what?"
"The Society. Surely..." Her heart pounded as she tried to articulate a possibility she could never accept. "Did Dar let Josarian die so the Society would rule Sileria?"
"No. I don't believe that," Cheylan replied with certainty, slackening his hold on her.
Mirabar stepped back. "I can't believe it either, but..."
Why did You let him die, Dar?
"Protect what you most long to destroy," she repeated.
Fire and water, water and fire...
"Are we wrong to go against Kiloran?" she asked Cheylan. "To try to destroy the Society?"
"You think they could be part of the future?" he asked. "Part of this... this ruler you must shield?"
Hatred, vengeance, and panic all battled her attempts to consider this dispassionately. "If so, then it may already be too late."
Cheylan tried another approach. "What about Zarien? After what we saw in the fire today, surely he's not—"
"Zarien." Mirabar turned away from Cheylan to inspect the crowd of wakeful rebels. "Has anyone see Zarien?"
"Of course," Sister Rahilar said. "He was..." She looked around vaguely, then her expression went blank. "He..." She met Mirabar's gaze. "Now that you mention it..."
Pyron frowned. "I haven't seen him since... since, uh..."
"Where's Zarien?" Mirabar demanded.
Yorin looked at Lann. "Weren't you supposed to keep an eye on him?"
"In a general way," Lann said defensively. "But I didn't think that meant I was supposed to watch him like a virgin near Outlookers. And in case you haven't noticed, I've been very busy!"
"But where is he?" Rahilar asked.
"We can't have misplaced a whole boy," Pyron said.
Oh, no.
"We didn't misplace him," Mirabar said wearily. "He's run away."
"Should we send someone after him?" Rahilar asked.
"But who could we spare?" said Lann.
"It's the middle of the night!" said Pyron.
"He could get hurt," Rahilar warned.
"Or lost," said Yorin.
"I suspect that boy can take care of himself," Cheylan mused.
"I suspect," Lann said, stroking his beard nervously, "that Tansen's going to be very annoyed with me."
"Where do you suppose Zarien's gone?"
"Back to sea, maybe?"
"Good riddance."
"Oh, he seemed like a nice enough boy."
"But he didn't belong here."
Mirabar recalled what she had seen in the fire. "I'll bet he's following Tansen."
"Then he's in trouble. Even I can't follow Tansen when he's covering his trail," Yorin pointed out.
Pyron asked, "What should we do?"
"I'm not sure," Mirabar admitted.
"I wonder how long he's been missing?"
"He's probably been gone for hours." Rahilar glanced at Lann. "That's a little embarrassing."
Lann sighed. "Pass the wine."
Elelar awoke to the sensation of cold fire pressed against her throat. She opened her eyes and saw a man's shape hovering over her, faintly outlined in the shadowy moonlight streaming through the window.
Assassin!
Panic filled her chest and flooded her mind... Until she realized who this must be.
"Searlon?" she whispered.
The tip of the shir blade left her throat and traveled down the length of the bedclothes. She held her breath and clenched her teeth, still afraid.
Then he reached down to slip his shir into his boot. "You wanted to see me, torena?" he asked politely.
Elelar sagged with relief, glad he was as shrewd as she had believed. "Yes." Her voice was breathless. "But I had hoped you would call at a more conventional hour."
"I cannot escape Santorell Palace unnoticed at a more conventional hour," he replied. "My humble apologies, torena."
She had encountered Searlon's smooth courtesy many times. The more outrageous the circumstances, the more absurdly polite he was. It seemed to amuse him.
"You heard about my husband's visit to Advisor Kaynall?" she ventured, waiting for her heartbeat to resume a more normal pace.
"Yes," he said. "And I would not dream of disturbing your conjugal chamber in the middle of the night, had I not already seen Toren Ronall downstairs in deep communion with some cloud syrup."
It had been years since she'd felt the slightest interest in what Ronall did with his nights, let alone expected any husbandly protection from him, so she ignored the comment and proceeded to business. "Kaynall didn't realize it was a message from me to you?"
"No. The Advisor evinced little interest in your husband's comments, beyond briefly wondering if you did indeed know I was here. Other than that... he seemed to believe it was even possible that Toren Ronall had completely imagined your return to Shaljir." Searlon paused before adding, "I gather the toren saw many imaginary things while he was in prison."
"Imaginary things?" she repeated blankly.
"To one who is used to a surfeit of pleasures, their sudden and complete absence can unbalance the mind."
She had no trouble believing that anything could unbalance Ronall's mind, and there was no question that he loved his liquor and dreamweed, so she dismissed this allusion with disinterest. Slipping out of the far side of the bed, she donned a dressing gown, then lighted a few candles so they wouldn't have to continue this conversation in the dark.
Elelar came directly to the point. "What was Advisor Kaynall's reaction to the Outlooker's story about the White Dragon killing Josarian?"
"Ah. Then you do know. When I recognized your message to me, naturally I wondered."
Searlon was a big, well-muscled man in the prime of life who wore his coal-black hair short—which gave credence to the rumors that he originally came from a family of wealthy city-dwelling merchants. In the mountains, he usually wore the black clothing and red jashar of an assassin. Here in Shaljir, where no assassins were allowed, he was dressed in dark leggings that hugged his muscular thighs and a neatly tailored tunic of wild gossamer that was dyed deep blue. His face was notoriously handsome, despite the long scar running down one cheek. Legend said he'd acquired that scar while making his first kill, the murder which
had earned him a place in the Honored Society and brought him to Kiloran's attention.
"Yes, I know about the White Dragon," Elelar said coldly. "So does Tansen. So does Mirabar. So do the shallaheen and the zanareen who were with Josarian when it happened. And soon—"
"Yes, I understand." Searlon looked a little disappointed. "Soon everyone will know."
"Surely Kiloran didn't think he could murder the Firebringer in secret?"
"Why not?" He smiled, his scar flowing into a long dimple which should have looked out of place on that menacing face, but somehow didn't. "After all, you thought you could."
Elelar gasped as if he'd hit her. Tears of rage and shame threatened to cloud her eyes, but she willed them back. Yes, Searlon was right. She had tried to lead Josarian to his death and keep her part in his murder a secret by letting Zimran commit the betrayal and the Outlookers wield the blade.
She was guilty. The Firebringer's blood was on her hands, though she had never touched a weapon. His screams of agony were in her ears, though she had never actually heard them. His fate was her burden, and she would carry it until she died—when Mirabar killed her, if the Olvar was right.
It wasn't a good idea to dwell on that now. But if her days were indeed numbered, then she must make each one count.
Hot emotion still flushed her skin, and Elelar realized what a mistake it would be to exchange further insults with Searlon. Their crimes were inextricably linked together; but he had already realized that, unlike him, she was ashamed of her part in what they had done—and he would enjoy using that knowledge against her every time she gave him the chance.
"Dare I ask what went wrong?" Searlon asked.
"What?"
"With your plan. The Outlooker ambush," he clarified. "I thought it was all—"
"Tansen learned about the ambush."
"And spoiled your plans?"
"Yes." Shame flooded her again. She had been so sure, so certain...
Don't dwell on it. Not now.
"How did Tansen find out?" Searlon asked.
"Ah. Of course. You haven't heard yet." Elelar enjoyed saying, "Najdan betrayed Kiloran."
She had the pleasure of seeing surprise flash across Searlon's face, followed by consternation. He quickly collected himself, though, and said only, "Then it will be my pleasure to assassinate the sriliah."
"I've seen him," she said, still enjoying the moment. "He does not look so easy to kill."
"Fortunately," Searlon replied, "I enjoy a challenge."
His expression chilled her. Then again, she'd found Najdan chilling, too, the few times she'd encountered him. Assassination was usually business among the assassins, but Elelar thought there would be a personal element this time. Najdan and Searlon had served the same waterlord together for years, after all. The fact that Searlon had betrayed any reaction at all indicated how shocked he was by the news. Maybe Najdan's defection hurt. Maybe it wounded.
She certainly hoped so.
"In any event," Elelar said, "you and I have a more immediate concern."
"Agreed, torena. There is no body to prove Josarian's death to the satisfaction of the Valdani."
"So I ask again: What was Kaynall's reaction to the Outlooker's tale?"
"Unfortunately, the Outlooker who witnessed Josarian's death was less than perfectly coherent when he arrived at Santorell Palace."
"Less than perfectly coherent," she repeated, sensing this was a remarkable understatement. It shouldn't surprise her. She'd never seen a White Dragon, but she remembered the haunted look on Tansen's face when he'd described it to her that night in Chandar. The sight must have left the Outlooker, who didn't even know what that water-born creature was, with a large hole in his powers of reason. "But if he told Kaynall that the White Dragon—"
"The Outlooker didn't know what it was called. He only knew that some terrible monster of glowing ice and crystal had risen from the water to devour Josarian, and that the Silerians wanted Kaynall to know Josarian was dead, though there was no body to prove it."
"And?"
"As you may imagine, Kaynall was interested but skeptical. He ordered the man to eat and rest, then return for a more detailed report when he had calmed down."
"Well?"
"Alas, the Outlooker seems to have gone straight to the docks and boarded the very first vessel leaving Sileria that he could find. No one had seen him since."
She sighed in frustration. "Just our luck."
"Indeed."
"And you? Have you tried to convince Kaynall that the White Dragon k—"
"In the absence of any instructions from my master or any explanation other than one hand-fed to an Outlooker by Josarian's friends? No."
"That's all you have to say?" she asked sharply. "'No'?"
"While it's true that the White Dragon leaves no corpse, there were other possible explanations," Searlon pointed out. "I had to consider that Josarian might still be alive and the Outlooker fooled—or even convinced to lie."
"The story is true," she said bitterly.
"Yes, that much is clear to me now."
"And you made no attempt to—"
"I'm a patient man, torena, and it hasn't been long. You will soon learn, if you have not already, that it's hard to get messages in and out of Shaljir these days." The assassin shrugged. "I knew that, one way or another, something would happen to show me what to do next." He smiled beguilingly. "And then today, Toren Ronall came to Santorell Palace."
"I see." She frowned. "The absence of a corpse... It's very inconvenient."
"Yes."
"But not irreparable."
"Oh?" Searlon's gaze sharpened for a moment, and then he smiled, already understanding. "Ah, torena. I'm so glad you've returned to Shaljir."
"I'm flattered," she said dryly.
"Perhaps we can prevail, now that you're here to speak for the Alliance with regard to the secret treaty."
He grinned at her icy stare, obviously realizing that she'd learned—due to his master's murder of Josarian—that he knew exactly what was in that treaty, including the final accord: Josarian's life in exchange for Shaljir. That damned treaty had been Kiloran's creature all along. And now that she knew it, Searlon clearly enjoyed the boiling, betrayed rage it created inside of her.
"I suggest, torena," he said, "that you and I meet with Advisor Kaynall and Commander Cyrill at the earliest opportunity."
"Cyrill," she repeated without enthusiasm. He was the nephew of her oft-betrayed Valdani lover, the late Advisor Borell. Cyrill had briefly been Commander of Cavasar, before the city fell to the rebels and came under Kiloran's control.
"Yes. He's preparing for the siege of Shaljir." Searlon lifted one brow. "But we are all eager to see these roshaheen finally gone from our land without further cost to us, are we not?"
"That is the objective," she agreed.
Yes, they all wanted the Valdani gone. There was nothing the Silerians wanted more than to be rid of their foreign conquerors... so that they could all set about slaughtering each other without further distractions.
Searlon's smile made Elelar's bones feel cold. "Only think, torena. If you and I succeed here in Shaljir... Then the Guardians and the Society, after a thousand years of enmity, will finally have the opportunity to prove, once and for all, who is the strongest."
She wanted to shake with the chill he caused, but she was a Hasnari and would not tremble before an assassin. So she lifted her chin and said, "But if we fail here, then all your posturing will have been rather pointless, won't it?"
She expected anger, but she should have known better. Searlon was not a man of heat, not a man of rash passions or tender spots.
His scar dimpled again and he replied, "How true, torena. How very true."
Chapter Eighteen
If you look for trouble, you will surely find it.
—Silerian Proverb
Zarien's stahra quivered slightly, letting him know which way to go when he came to a new intersection on the s
teep, rocky, narrow mountain path.
Every time it did that, he practically jumped out of his skin. Yes, the metal-tipped oar was given to him by Sharifar herself and had led him into the current which carried him to safety after she had ordered him to go ashore... But he'd had no idea! It was enchanted—indeed, there were moments when it almost seemed alive.
Sneaking away from the throng of people at the caves of Dalishar hadn't been easy, and he'd had to wait until long after Tansen's departure to make his escape unnoticed. That meant that he'd soon realized he had no idea which way Tansen had gone. As the sky grew dark, Zarien recalled Sharifar's words—follow him until you cannot—and began to fear he'd been hasty in his decision and foolish in his actions. He certainly seemed to have reached the "cannot" moment of his quest, and so he decided to return to Dalishar's caves.
It was when he tried to turn back that the stahra suddenly quivered with life for the first time, trembling like an animal and pulling like a strong wind against taut sails. Startled, he'd yelped and dropped it.
It lay absolutely still on the ground, looking quite ordinary while he stared at it for so long that his eyes started to ache. When he finally found the courage to pick it up again... nothing happened.
Until, that is, he once again tried to turn back.
This time, when it trembled and tugged, he realized what it meant. This time he understood.
Stay in the current you have found.
He'd been right, after all! He was indeed meant to follow Tansen when the warrior left Dalishar. The gods were helping him. Just as well, considering how difficult Tansen was being.
Let it carry you.
So he did. Zarien continued his pursuit, confident now. Each time he chose the wrong direction, the stahra led him the right way. He had no idea where Tansen was or how long it would take to catch up to him—shallaheen walked a lot faster than he did—but he had no doubt that he would eventually find him.
Are all stahra enchanted? Tansen had asked him.
It had seemed a strange question at the time. Now he wondered how Tansen knew. Did the sea king have instincts that he hadn't yet recognized as a sign of his destiny, or had Tansen simply seen the stahra do something which Zarien hadn't?
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