She unfolded it, handed it to the Advisor, and said, "It requires only your signature and seal."
He looked at the document, then let his gaze travel over the celebrating crowd in Santorell Square. "Well," he said at last. "You thought of everything, didn't you?"
"I certainly hope so," she replied.
"Josarian! Josarian! Josarian!"
As the crowd took up the new chant, Elelar met Searlon's eyes again. Their moment of communion was already long past. He arched one brow as the betrayed Firebringer's name floated through the air. His killer's eyes glinted with mockery. Her own gaze, she knew, was hard and cold.
"Josarian! Josarian! Josarian!"
"This way, Eminence," Searlon said, re-entering the council hall.
Kaynall followed him inside.
A moment later, Elelar heard Searlon's voice behind her, prodding her to join him in witnessing Kaynall's signature. "Torena?"
"I've worked my whole life for this day," she said over her shoulder. "I'll be with you in a moment."
"As you wish, torena."
His insincere courtesy might have grated on her nerves if her head wasn't already reeling with a new, desperate plan.
"Josarian! Josarian! Josarian!"
Elelar had betrayed nearly everyone who had ever trusted her. Now it was time to betray Searlon.
She raised her arms, praying for the crowd to notice her and fall silent. Praying for Dar's help as she had never prayed before, because so much depended on the next few moments.
She heard voices below shouting as people took notice of the Silerian torena on Kaynall's balcony. The din slowly faded again as more and more people silenced those around them to find out what she wanted to say on this extraordinary occasion.
When she thought many of them could hear her, she announced, "I am Elelar mar Odilan shah Hasnari!" She prudently left out the portion of her name—yesh Ronall—which identified her as the wife of a Valdan.
She was famous throughout Shaljir, she knew, not only as the daughter of an old aristocratic family, but as a close ally of Josarian's, as a loyalist spy who had been beaten, imprisoned, and sentenced to death before making a daring escape and joining the rebel forces living in the mountains.
She thrust her palms outward in a gesture meant to silence the crowd's cries of welcome and approbation. She knew she had only moments before Searlon stopped her.
"Kiloran has killed Josarian!" she shouted. "Avenge the Firebringer! Josarian is dead! Kiloran killed Josarian! Tansen himself witnessed it and told me! Avenge the Firebringer! Kilor—" She lost her words in a breathless cry of pain as Searlon yanked her backwards by her hair, nearly breaking her neck.
"You'll die for that, torena!" His voice was so vicious she scarcely recognized it.
"It's too late," she said triumphantly as he dragged her off the balcony. "They know. They know, and nothing you can do will ever change—" The hard blow to her face stunned her.
Elelar didn't want to die. Not in her first moments of freedom. Not at the moment of the victory which she had worked her whole life to achieve.
She saw Searlon's coldly angry face. She felt his hand at her neck.
No, no, no!
"Guards! Guards!" Kaynall's voice. Seizing his opportunity. "Assassin! Help!"
Searlon's concentration slipped. Fueled by terror and the overpowering will to live, Elelar found the strength to break his hold, fell to the floor, and rolled away from him with more speed than dignity.
Two Outlookers rushed into the room. Searlon whirled to face them.
"Kill him!" Kaynall screamed. "Kill him!"
Searlon moved to fight—then stopped abruptly when four more Outlookers poured through the door, alerted by all the shouting.
Backing toward the balcony and keeping his eyes on the Outlookers, Searlon said, "This isn't over, torena."
Her voice was hoarse as she replied, "I know."
He disappeared through the balcony doors. The Outlookers pursued him, several of them hanging back briefly since they were unable to invade the tight space all at once. Elelar heard a shout, a thud, and some unpleasant noises. An Outlooker staggered backwards into the room and collapsed. A sword was sticking out of his belly.
Elelar gasped and looked away. She heard someone else on the balcony screaming instructions down to the square below, repeatedly urging the Outlookers on the ground outside to capture the fleeing Silerian.
He got away.
"Eminence," another gray-clad Outlooker announced breathlessly upon coming back inside. "He's escaping!"
"How in the Three can he possibly escape?" Kaynall snapped.
"He jumped."
"And he hasn't broken a leg?" Kaynall demanded, striding to the balcony to see for himself.
"He's, uh, very athletic, Eminence."
The council hall surrendered to chaos now, with Outlookers running in and out, exclaiming over the two corpses Searlon had left behind, staring curiously at the battered Silerian woman nursing a bloody lip, and receiving orders about pursuit of the murderer.
Keeping her wits about her, Elelar seized the document she had prepared for this occasion and, after checking to make sure Kaynall had indeed signed and sealed it, she carefully folded it and tucked it back inside her sash. Then, drawn by the angry screams outside, she returned to the balcony to see what was happening now in Santorell Square.
There was, of course, no sign of Searlon below. If he had needed any help escaping, he would have received it. The crowd had no idea who he was; they'd have seen only a Silerian fleeing from the Valdani.
But Searlon already seemed forgotten, as did Kaynall. The crowd was wailing over Josarian's death, people shrieking with rage and grief. Others were shoving their way through the crowd and streaming into the side streets leading away from the square. Going to tell the rest of Shaljir the news: The Valdani had surrendered, Josarian was dead, and Kiloran was his murderer.
Who knew what would happen now? Not Elelar. She knew only that Searlon was right; it wasn't over.
"So," Kaynall said from behind her. "You and Searlon aren't as close as you've just tried to make me believe."
"Well," she said, turning away from the sight of the volatile, wildly emotional crowd and re-entering the council hall. "We do have our little differences."
Kaynall made his way to a chair and sank shakily into it. "I find it remarkable, Torena Elelar, that no one has yet murdered you."
Elelar rubbed her throat. "Searlon just came very close." She wanted to cry now in reaction, but she would not weep in front of a Valdan.
"Now that it's done..." The Advisor sighed. "I confess I'm personally rather relieved."
"Oh?"
"I will be glad to leave Sileria. You are a difficult people."
"Yes," she agreed. "We are."
He shook his head. "I only wish you had brought me Josarian's body. All of this..." He made a vague gesture, encompassing Cyrill's death and the surrender of Shaljir. "It would be easier to explain in Valda if I could parade Josarian's head before our insulted people."
"Oh, really, Eminence." She didn't bother to conceal her disdain. "How did such unimaginative fools as the Valdani ever manage to conquer so much of the world?"
"Unimaginative?" he repeated wearily, too tired to take offense at her rudeness.
"Sileria is full of dead shallaheen," Elelar's said bitterly. "Who in Valda could tell Josarian's corpse from another?"
His gaze sharpened. "Take someone else's corpse home with me and claim it's Josarian's?"
"Why not?"
"What about the tales here of Kiloran's White Dr—"
"How many people in Valda will believe that, if they even hear of it?"
Kaynall gazed at her for a long moment, a faint smile forming on his lips. "Ah, torena, if only you had been on our side..."
"Never," she said. "Not even if all the Fires of Dar froze over." Elelar took her leave of him for the last time. "Have a safe journey to the mainland, Eminence."
/> The Imperial Advisor didn't summon guards to arrest her for collusion in Cyrill's murder. No one tried to prevent her from leaving the palace, which was swarming with panic-stricken Valdani arguing hotly about Kaynall's announcement. Stunned Outlookers were everywhere, trying to organize pursuit of Searlon while worrying about the aggressive crowd just outside Santorell Palace. Built with Valdani confidence and arrogance, the palace had not been designed for defense against the city's populace.
Elelar was so overwhelmed by all that had just happened that she hadn't considered how the people of Shaljir would respond to her sudden appearance on the palace steps as she made her exit.
"The torena!" someone cried.
"Torena Elelar!"
"Elelar shah Hasnari!"
Many of them came surging toward her. Sixty, seventy... perhaps a hundred of them. Maybe more. People of all classes, all ages, all factions. Men and women, young and old, some dressed in rags, some dressed in garments as rich as her own. All of them Silerians.
"No," she said as they seized her. "No!" she shouted, confused and suddenly afraid.
"Elelar! Elelar! Elelar!"
They hoisted her on their shoulders, high above their heads, handling her roughly but with love. Palms were reaching up to her, fingers seeking to touch her. They carried her away from the palace and paraded her through the dense, wild, passionate crowd.
"Dar bless the torena!"
"Dar shield Elelar!"
They were jubilant about their freedom. Filled with sorrow over Josarian's death. Caught between fear and rage at Kiloran's betrayal of the Firebringer.
"Elelar! Elelar! Elelar!"
They were delirious, she realized, with imagined love for her. She, who had betrayed Josarian. She, whom Mirabar so badly wanted dead.
Elelar wanted to hide, go home, be alone. She wanted to weep.
She glanced around desperately, convinced she couldn't escape them. The sun gleamed off the golden monument to the Three. Silerians climbed agilely all over it—a mark of disrespect never before permitted. Now no Outlookers interfered. The gray-clad Valdani forces huddled in fear, their backs to the walls of Santorell Palace, while the people of Shaljir abused the Sign of the Three.
A laborer dressed in humble clothing climbed atop the monument and took a sledgehammer to it. He waved briefly in acknowledgement of the crowd's noisy encouragement, then returned to his task of destroying this famous symbol of Valdani might and power in Sileria.
Elelar felt a hot thrill rush through her, her personal shame and sorrows forgotten as she suddenly remembered something Mirabar had said once said about her visions.
"I have seen Daurion's sword smash the Sign of the Three, a great structure made of marble and gold..."
It was happening. It was really happening! Elelar scarcely noticed the way she was roughly passed from shoulder to shoulder, pushed, shoved, tugged, and tossed among the crowd like a trophy. She barely felt the hands grabbing her, clutching at her, reaching out to claim, seize, bless, and bruise the normally sacrosanct person of a torena. She hardly heard the way they cheered and chanted her name.
Elelar's gaze was fixed on the gold and marble Sign of the Three, which her people had just started tearing down.
She would tell Mirabar when they met. It was true. It was exactly as the Guardian had seen in her visions.
Yes. I must tell her... when she comes to kill me.
Chapter Twenty-One
In Valda, men love power.
In the Moorlands, they love horses.
And in Sileria, they love to hate.
—Kintish Proverb
The news spread across Sileria like wildfire.
By the time Tansen arrived in Zilar, where Mirabar awaited him, the town was already celebrating.
It was a stranger who first told him the news when he, leading a footsore sea-born boy and five men dressed again as ordinary shallaheen, arrived on the outskirts of this, one of Sileria's most beautiful towns.
"A rider arrived from Shaljir this morning to spread the word!" the stranger replied in response to his question about the raucously festive celebration in progress. Considering that Josarian was dead, this was the last thing Tansen had expected to find happening here. "The Valdani have declared unconditional surrender!"
Tansen thought he felt his heart stop. Then it resumed beating, thundering in his chest with joy, relief, and victory.
"They are turning Sileria over to native rule!" the man cried. "They are leaving Shaljir. Leaving Sileria!"
The stranger was so overcome that he impulsively embraced Tansen. Normally reserved, Tansen returned the embrace.
We've won!
"The Valdani have surrendered?" Radyan demanded in a high voice.
"They've surrendered!"
"We've won!"
Tansen staggered away from the stranger's bear hug and grinned at his companions. Galian whooped wildly and started slapping everyone on the back, even people he'd never seen before.
"No battle for the port of Shaljir?" Zarien asked. "No... no sea-born slain?"
"Without a fight!" the stranger confirmed in exultation. "The Imperial Advisor simply gathered the people in Santorell Square and announced surrender!"
Tansen grasped Zarien's shoulder. "Your family is safe," he assured him.
Radyan shouted, "We're free!" He slung his arms around both their necks and hugged them fiercely as he spun in a circle. The other men in their group joined in, jumping on top of them, slapping their backs, shouting, whirling them around.
It's done!
"We've won!"
"Dar be praised!"
"Blessed be Josarian's memory!"
Tansen heard that and wanted to sink to his knees, suddenly swamped with sorrow that his brother hadn't lived to see this moment, the achievement to which he had dedicated his life and consecrated his death.
His head was spinning when his men released him. Zarien looked disheveled and happy. Radyan glowed with triumph. Galian bayed to the tiled rooftops.
There was music, buoyant laughter, singing. People shared their wineskins with each other, as well as with Tansen and his men. They raised the skins high to pour wine over each other's heads in gleeful abandon. The people of Zilar danced in the streets, in their fountains, even on their roofs. So did the strangers among them, the rebels who had come from all over Sileria to join Josarian in the siege of Shaljir—a battle which now would never be necessary.
"Blessed be Josarian's memory," Tansen repeated quietly.
Mirabar knew he was in Zilar before she saw him. He'd been recognized and, without ever glimpsing him, she heard the people of Zilar chanting his name.
"Tansen! Tansen! Tansen!"
Mirabar's traveling party had not made good time coming here from Dalishar, since Najdan had deemed it wise not only to avoid Kiloran's territory, but to also avoid the river valley that was the most direct route. They had arrived last night and slept in the Sanctuary just beyond the edge of town, surrounded by countless rebels who were mourning Josarian's death—and who were also, as requested by the runner he had sent ahead of him, awaiting Tansen's arrival.
Mirabar's vague notion of inspiring the mourning masses with visionary hope until Tansen got here had been swept away in a torrent of rejoicing when the news arrived from Shaljir.
Freedom in Sileria.
Her eyes kept misting over. Even Najdan was moved by the extraordinary event. There was no one in Sileria who had not risked or lost or suffered because of the rebellion; but Najdan's life, like Mirabar's, had changed beyond recognition since the day they had met. He, like she, had given everything to their cause.
"Sirana!" Pyron, who had come to Zilar with her and Najdan, came bounding up to her, as buoyant as a child. Stinking of the wine someone had poured all over him, he proffered the last thing she would have expected.
"Thank you, I don't need a hammer," she said. "Where is Tansen?"
"Coming, sirana. The crowd is slowing him down." He grinned and ext
ended the rejected hammer to her again. "We wanted to offer you the honor of the first blow."
She eyed the hammer. "Blow?"
"The Sign of the Three! We're going to tear it down!"
"Oh!" She took the hammer in her hand, caught Najdan's eye, and said, "Yes. Thank you. It would be my pleasure."
Zilar was known for its relative wealth, its fabulous views, its lush foliage, and for the vast gold-tiled Kintish temple which dominated its main square. Not even the repairs that were obviously needed could detract from the beauty of this exquisite structure, which Kintish craftsmen, now dead for centuries, had made a thing of eternal grace. One hundred years ago, the Valdani had erected a garish Sign of the Three in front of the temple and reconsecrated the building to their trinity.
From this day forward, though, the Three would never again hold sway in Sileria. It would indeed be a pleasure to demolish the symbol of foreign gods which had, for a century, marred the beauty of Zilar's main square. Mirabar followed Pyron as he pushed through the crowd, creating a path for her.
She was famous throughout Sileria now: the fire-eyed, flame-haired prophetess whom Josarian had trusted and Kiloran had respected. People cheered her as she passed, chanting her name noisily enough to compete with the praises being heaped upon Tansen. Only a year ago, it had been dangerous for her to travel anywhere in Sileria, where she was still sometimes taken for a demon. Now the people of Zilar and all the rebels who had come to join them, reached out to touch her, sang her praises, applauded her very presence, and pressed forward to help her, with more enthusiasm than deftness, as she clambered up onto the Sign of the Three. Having grown up wild in the mountains, though, she needed no assistance and progressed faster after shaking off the helping hands.
When she reached the top of the gaudy monument to Valdania's dominant religion, she saw hundreds upon hundreds of faces looking at her expectantly. She realized she ought to say something suited to the occasion.
"Today, as promised in prophecy for centuries, we are finally free!" Mirabar called out. "And Dar will no longer tolerate the gods of the roshaheen profaning Her land!"
Their approbation was thunderous. Mirabar raised the hammer high and brought it down with all her might on the gold and granite monument.
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