The White Dragon

by Laura Resnick

  "I know that he hates Kiloran beyond reason," Najdan offered. "But I don't know why."

  "Hatred might not be enough to make him side with us against Kiloran," Tansen said pensively.

  "True. He and Kiloran have declared a truce several times in the past. Whenever they agreed that something mattered more than their private feud."

  "And what could matter more," Tansen said, "than the fate of Sileria?"

  "Tansen!" Someone Najdan didn't know, a man wearing the Guardian insignia, joined them and said, "We've got the fire under control. It'll be out shortly."

  "Good work." Tansen frowned. "Did you burn yourself?"

  "It happens," the Guardian said, dismissing his singed sleeve and reddening skin. He turned away to return to his task.

  Najdan had seen some of Mirabar's burns and knew that even Guardians were not always impervious to fire.

  "I will show you where I left the sirana," Najdan said, coming to a sudden decision. "I think a very large escort would be advisable for both of you on your way to Sanctuary for the night."

  Tansen glanced at Zarien, who was edging towards the main exit and looking as if he might vomit at any moment. "Yes, that's a good idea. The boy shouldn't stay..." He sighed and looked at Najdan again. "And you?"

  "I will question the assassin."

  "Are you sure—"

  "He is my kind," Najdan said. "If he can be made to talk, then it will take another assassin to get him to speak."

  Tansen accepted this without expression. "I'll leave some men here to make sure that you're not surprised the way I was just surprised. Just in case."

  Najdan glanced over the devastation all around them now in this previously immaculate shrine to foreign gods. "It's been a very interesting day."

  "You have a gift for understatement."

  "And you," Najdan observed, "are very lucky."

  "In more ways than one," Tansen agreed.

  "Indeed. I am beginning to lose count of the ways."

  "Yes, well," Tansen said dryly, "my grandfather always told me that it's wise to be lucky..."

  "Ah."

  "... but foolish to rely on luck."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  There's one sure way of winning an argument with a

  woman. Unfortunately, no one knows what it is.

  —Moorlander Proverb

  Ronall sat drinking in the library of his wife's palatial house in Shaljir. He drank heavily, with a terrible thirst, as if his life depended on it.

  Not wine, not ale. Not tonight. Tonight, nothing less than Kintish fire brandy would do. Tonight, the world was coming to an end, and he wanted to be blissfully unconscious by the time it happened.

  His head was reeling, but he was still alert enough to hear Elelar's slippered feet when she entered the library and, unaware of his presence, closed the doors behind her. She didn't see him. He was sitting in a big chair, with his back to the door.

  And living with my back to the wall.

  Only when Elelar came forward to stare into the flames still burning magically in the hearth—would Derlen never douse that damn fire?—did she notice him. She gave a startled gasp and flinched, a much bigger reaction than he'd expected, then relaxed.

  "Damn you," she snapped. "Don't sneak around this house like some... assassin."

  "An interesting choice of words." Ronall vaguely wondered about the bruises on her face and throat. He didn't remember putting them there. "Are we expecting your friend Searlon?"

  "He's not my friend." She glanced at him and added, "Or yours. He'd kill you just to spite me."

  "If he's as clever as you said, he'd leave me alive to continue tormenting you."

  "True enough. What are you doing here?" she demanded.

  "Waiting for my wife."

  She made no attempt to hide her impatience. "What do you want?"

  "Waiting for my heroic wife," he elaborated, "who stood by the Imperial Advisor's side while he announced Valdania's surrender to the Silerian rebels." The tale had quickly spread throughout the city. Naturally, Ronall had heard it from someone other than his dear wife. "Dare I ask how you convinced Kaynall to do it? Or would a husband find the answer too shocking?"

  "Searlon got him to do it," she replied tersely. "By killing Cyrill."

  That stunned Ronall into momentary silence.

  Elelar added, "Right in front of me and Kaynall."

  "Three Into one, you're a ruthless woman," he murmured.

  "It wasn't my plan, you fool! I had no idea—"

  "But you took advantage of the moment, all the same."

  She hesitated, as if remembering. "Yes. I did." She whirled on him, angry now. "And why shouldn't I? Cyrill spilled so much Silerian blood, like all the rest of them. What is his blood to me?"

  "And my father's blood?"

  "Your father?" she said blankly. "He wasn't there."

  He downed some more of the fire brandy, so named for its glowing orange-gold color, not to mention its effects. He felt the burn going all the way down, and he welcomed it. "He was killed this afternoon."

  He was pleased to see how stunned Elelar looked. "What?"

  "I gather you hadn't heard."

  "Your father was killed?"

  "By Silerians on a rampage. Looting, burning, and killing every Valdan in their path."

  "What about your mother?" she asked.

  "Dead, too, beside her Valdani husband."

  Elelar sank to her knees beside her pet Guardian's perpetual fire and whispered, "Dar have mercy."

  "The Silerian servants escaped alive," he continued. "Except for the one that tried to protect my mother. He's dead. Two of the servants who survived came here to tell me what had happened and to ask my help in getting out of Shaljir before things get worse."

  "I'll deal with it," she said absently.

  "Damn you, woman!" How useless did she think he was? "I already did!"

  "Oh." She seemed not to notice his flare of temper. "Good."

  "You heard nothing about this?" he demanded.

  "I heard there'd been violence, some attacks on Valdani civilians, a few people killed..." She shook her head. "That's all. I was busy all day..."

  "Celebrating?" he snarled.

  "Working. With the Alliance. We must consider... consider how to govern ourselves..." Her voice faltered.

  "After you're done killing all the remaining Valdani in Sileria, you mean?"

  "No!" She spoke sharply. "I had nothing to do with this!"

  "Didn't you?"

  "No. The Alliance has never condoned—"

  "They massacred my parents!"

  "An angry mob, Ronall! Not—"

  "My mother, Elelar! Silerians slaughtered my helpless mother like some—"

  "And how many of their mothers do you suppose the Valdani killed?" she asked furiously. "Ask Tansen, sometime, how his whole family died. His whole village! Ask Faradar how her parents d—"

  "I hope you're happy with the new nation you've brought into this world! Angry mobs and bloodthirsty killers—"

  "That is not the nation I helped free," she insisted. "It's just an enraged crowd who knew the Outlookers meant to sacrifice them, perhaps even kill them, if the city was besieged! A furious and resentful people suddenly free of restraint and—"

  "Dar help me, you're defending them!"

  "No!" She sat back on her heels and made an obvious effort to cool her temper. "I'm not defending them. I'm... trying to understand them."

  "So you can be understanding about what they did to my parents?" he snarled.

  Elelar met his gaze. "So I can understand how to stop them."

  That surprised him. "Do you really intend to?"

  "Of course. Enough incidents like this, and the Emperor might ignore the treaty and send—"

  "I see. Angry mobs attacking Valdani civilians could jeopardize Sileria's independence."

  She had the decency to look a little shamefaced. "I'm very sorry about your parents, Ronall."

 
; "Why?" He changed tactics. "You never cared about them."

  "I'm sorry for anyone who dies the way they did."

  "Even Cyrill?"

  She was silent.

  Ronall prodded, "They're all just... Valdani to you, aren't they?"

  "They are Val... were Valdani. What else—"

  "My father tried to save your life when you were in prison," he reminded her. "He petitioned the Imperial Council—"

  "Only because I was your wife."

  "My father cared about Silerians, Elelar," he insisted. "He married one."

  Her dark eyes were remarkably cold now. "Yet he opposed independence, and he supported a government whose laws didn't even nominally protect Silerians from rape, theft, assault, torture, or murder when the crime was committed by a Valdan."

  "So you're glad he's dead."

  "I'm not that glad a Silerian mob killed him."

  "And my mother?" he prodded.

  She looked away.

  "Answer me, Elelar."

  She finally said, "Your mother was what I pretended, for so long, to be. And I hated what I pretended to be."

  The brandy burned his belly and made his head reel. "So you hated them both."

  "Why do you want to talk about this now?"

  "Call me whimsical," he said.

  "You're drunk, as always."

  "If you knew for certain that the Emperor wouldn't change his mind, the people of Valda wouldn't clamor for reprisals, some imperial army wouldn't swoop down on us... You wouldn't care if the people slaughtered every last Valdan in Sileria, would you?"

  "I refuse to argue with you." Elelar rose and started to leave.

  Rage burned inside him. It blocked out the sorrow and fed on the liquor. He surged unsteadily to his feet and stopped her departure. "And if they killed me... Me, most of all... That would send you dancing into the streets, wouldn't it?"

  Rage. Hot and sweet. So much better than pain.

  "Get out of my way," Elelar ordered.

  The rage bubbled over like lava erupting from Darshon. He grabbed his wife, feeling the way her soft flesh gave beneath his cruelly squeezing fingers. "Answer me!"

  "Let go of me!" She struggled to escape him

  Ronall shook her. Shook her hard. Whether he meant to shake the truth from her or to punish her for wounding him, he didn't know. He only knew that he, the husband sworn to cherish and protect this delicate female, enjoyed the way she flopped helplessly in his grip as he shouted into her face, "You would love it if they killed everyone with Valdani blood, wouldn't you?"

  "Stop it!"

  "You'll only be happy when they finally kill me, too!"

  Desperate to be free, she aimed a blow at his groin. He twisted just in time to avoid it, then let go of her shoulders so he could take a furious swing at her. His fist connected with her face, and she went reeling backwards and fell on the floor.

  Shock and shame flooded his veins. Liquor clouded his mind and made his balance unsteady. Rage and fear made his heart pound so loudly it deafened him. Yet above the roar of his own blood, he could hear her words clearly.

  "Yes," she hissed. "I pray to Dar every night that you'll die. If the mob kills you, I'll throw open the doors of the house and offer a reward!"

  Tears of sorrow, guilt, and fury misted his vision. He saw the blood gushing from her nose now. Saw what he had done to the only woman he had ever loved, the woman he had made hate him with such venomous loathing.

  "Elelar..." Ronall heard the whine in his own voice and hated it. He took an unsteady step forward, alternately hoping for her forgiveness and damning her for not wanting his.

  "Get away from me." She sounded like a growling dog. "If you ever touch me again, if you ever come near me again, I swear I'll go out into the street and beg the mob to come here and kill you!"

  "Don't—"

  "Get out of my house!" she screamed, flinching away from the hand he extended without thinking. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

  He stumbled out of the room, pursued by her hate-filled voice. When he found himself outside, he didn't even remember how he'd left the house. Her vicious screams still rang in his ears.

  The stables, he thought blearily. He could go farther if he had a horse. He could go very far away from his wife on a horse.

  Get out! Get out! Get out!

  Ronall wasn't sure how he found his way to the stables, staggering drunk and blinded by the dark. Habit, he supposed. Good thing no one had moved the stables.

  He shook awake a sleeping groom and ordered a horse to be saddled. Elelar's favorite horse, he decided. Yes, that was the one he'd take with him, away from his wife, far away, so far away she'd never see it again.

  Luckily, it was a patient gelding, because it took him a few tries before he awkwardly hauled himself into the saddle.

  "Toren," the groom ventured hesitantly. "May I ask where you're going? In case the torena inquires?"

  Get out! Get out! Get out!

  He thought it over for a moment, hoping for something crushingly witty to come to him. The best he could manage, though, was, "Tell the torena that I am going to embrace the mob."

  "But—"

  He kicked the horse and clung to its back, out of habit, as it trotted out of the stable yard and into the dark streets of Shaljir, where surely someone would oblige Elelar by killing him.

  Tansen stood in the rain, staring down at Armian's corpse. After a moment, he sank to his knees.

  "Forgive me, father," he whispered.

  The night rained down upon him in dark condemnation for what he had done. Dar would punish him terribly for this, he knew. How could She not?

  He picked up Armian's shir—which was his own now, by right of victorious combat... It came into his hand as if awaiting his touch, as if it knew it belonged to him now. Its previously unbearable cold fire was now a soothing coolness, and it seemed to extend its strange ensorcelled power to him, making him stronger, faster, deadlier...

  He thought he would be sick. Head reeling, stomach churning, whole body shaking in reaction to what he had just done, he stood upright again in the rain with Armian's shir in his hand.

  He stared down at the body of his slain bloodfather, his mind blank, his heart burning with sorrow and shame.

  Then Elelar's screams pierced the dark, rainy night, carried to him on the winds sweeping across the high cliffs of the southern coast overlooking the cove below.

  He felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away from Armian. He staggered back unresisting and watched her examining the body, shouting Armian's name as if she could raise him from the dead. Then she turned on Tansen.

  "What have you done? What have you done? Sweet Dar, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

  Rain pelted her, soaking her tangled, wind-whipped black hair, running down her smooth cheeks. It clung to her long lashes and made her blink as it crept into her eyes. The delicately painted silk scarf which had covered her hair earlier was now a soaked rag falling carelessly around her shoulders. Her clothes were wet and dirty, and she was panting with exertion and panic.

  "What have you done?" she kept screaming. "What have you done?"

  He pushed her away from Armian's body and, after taking one last look at his father, shoved the corpse off the cliff. Elelar screamed in horror as it bounced off the rocks below and plummeted to the beach. The wind, the rain, and Elelar all ensured that Tansen didn't hear it hit the ground, but he felt the final thud somewhere inside his heart.

  Elelar backed away from him, screaming in horror.

  "Torena..."

  "No, no, no!" She staggered backward, as if afraid of him, and fell down on the uneven ground. When he stepped forward to help her, she crawled away on unsteady limbs, still screaming.

  He backed away, hoping she would see he wouldn't hurt her, and waited. She was not a silly woman, and her screaming stopped as soon as she realized he meant her no harm. She lay there on the ground, wet and muddy, gaping at him as her body heaved with panting breaths.

/>   At last she said, "Have you gone mad?"

  "The Moorlanders will find the body," said Tansen. "They will take it as Kiloran's answer."

  "I know that!" she shouted. "What in the Fires can you possibly be think—"

  "Now the Moorlanders' plan will fall apart," he said, willing her to understand. "Now the Society will not rule Sileria."

  "You idiot!" she screamed. "Now the Valdani will continue to be our masters!"

  "We will find another way to fight them, to defeat them. We need not exchange this master for an even crueler—"

  "You are out of your mind, aren't you?"

  Tansen stared in dismay as she pushed herself to her feet and stalked toward him. He had thought that she, of all people, would understand.

  "How do you imagine," she shouted, "we can do this without the Moorlanders?"

  "But the Alliance—"

  "The Alliance needs Kiloran, and you've just made us his enemies with this insane—"

  "He is our enemy! You've told me so yourself!" Tansen shouted back. "'Who rules the mountains through bloodshed and terror?'" He quoted her own words back at her, things she had taught him during their flight from Shaljir, their journey through Sileria to find Kiloran, and their stay in the waterlord's camp. "Who controls the toreni with abductions, ransom demands, and murder? Who destroyed Sileria's last Yahrdan? Who has already killed more shallaheen than the Valdani ever will?"

  "And who just killed our best chance of freedom in centuries?" she raged.

  "You saw what kind of man Armian was. You know what kind of man Kiloran is," he insisted. "You heard them, just as I did, plan their future, our future, Sileria's future!"

  "I heard them plan armed resistance to the Val—"

  "There was no place in their new Sileria for you or me. No place for shallaheen, toreni, Guardians, or anyone else!"

  "We'd have made our place!"

  "How?" Tansen demanded. "The Moorlanders' plan only included the Society! Kiloran and Armian were going to take over the whole country with the Moorlanders' help, and rule the whole nation with terror, bloodshed, and drought. They'd have all the power in Sileria if the plan succeeded! How were you planning to take it away from them then?"

  "Nothing is as important as driving out the Valdani!" she screamed. "No other enemy matters!"