The White Dragon

by Laura Resnick

  After a moment of companionable silence, Mirabar said, "I suppose you have new duties for me t—"

  "I do."

  "But there's something I need to do first."

  "Oh?"

  "I want to go to Mount Niran. To see Tashinar."

  He knew that Mirabar was very close to the old woman who had been her teacher ever since finding her wild in the mountains years ago. He also knew that Tashinar was sick and increasingly frail.

  "I don't know what's happened on Mount Niran since Josarian's death," Mirabar said. "And I'm worried, too, because of these earthquakes we've been having."

  "Of course you can go," he assured her.

  "I need to see her. Speak with her," she said. "I need... guidance."

  "I can understand that."

  "There's so much I can't tell the other Guardians."

  Not even Cheylan?

  Tansen wanted to say it, but he didn't. He didn't want to bring the other man into this garden with them.

  Mirabar continued, "But I can trust Tashinar to keep my confidence and listen to me without panicking or jumping to conclusions."

  "When do you want to leave?" He wouldn't keep her here. He could hear how much she wanted to see Tashinar. But he would be sorry to see her go.

  Insurrection, Tansen reflected wryly, hadn't left him much time for women since his return to Sileria. And he knew now that he had wasted too much of the time he had spent with this woman.

  "I want to go right away," she said.

  "After sunrise?" He tried to hide his disappointment. He probably succeeded. His life had made him good at that.

  "Yes. Unless I'm still needed here?"

  It was tempting to tell her she was, but he'd be lying. "No, if you need to go, you can go."

  "After Najdan gets back and rests a bit, we'll set out." She drew in a shaky breath. "I guess he's still in the temple. What a... a long interrogation that has been."

  "He may have saved my life tonight," Tansen told her. "I was alone in the temple with nothing but assassins who took me by surprise, and a few Guardians. Some of them died so fast I didn't even see it happen."

  "Guardians aren't trained as warriors."

  "No." Tansen had fought that many men before and survived, but the odds certainly weren't good; and his kaj had taught him the mortal danger of arrogance. "I was lucky Najdan recognized one of the assassins in the crowd and came to help me."

  "That attack was a bold move," she said.

  "We can count on more." Tansen didn't hesitate as he reached out to touch her again, because it was imperative that she understand. "I want you to be very careful at all times."

  "I will."

  "You must be vigilant. Najdan will be, but it's instinct to him after all these years. You must concentrate on it."

  "I will," she promised again.

  "It'll be a dangerous journey." He could feel fear for her rising inside him.

  "I know. But I need to do this." Then she asked, "What shall I do after Niran?"

  "Go to Sister Velikar's Sanctuary. When she returns from Belitar, find out what Baran's answer is to our offer of friendship. If it's favorable, we need to make immediate plans with him. And if it's unfavorable..."

  "Yes?"

  "Then I need you to change his mind." Tansen didn't like this, but he knew it was necessary. If Baran was recalcitrant, then only the strongest Guardian in Sileria was likely to find a way to influence such a powerful waterlord. "You're a great sorceress. Maybe you can—"

  "He's a waterlord and I'm a Guardian," she said doubtfully.

  "He respects you."

  "Perhaps," she conceded. "But not that much." Mirabar's gaze searched his face in the dark. "Are you afraid his answer might be unfavorable?"

  "I'm not sure." Tansen studied the night sky overhead. "Baran didn't join the rebellion for freedom. Not even for power. He joined it because the Outlookers were such a distraction. So long as the Valdani ruled Sileria, they interfered with his private war against Kiloran."

  "Does anyone know why he hates Kiloran so much?"

  "No. I used to think it was just a power struggle."

  She shook her head. "It's more than that. Najdan has said it's personal, though even he doesn't know why."

  "I suppose I realized that, too, when Baran stayed on our side, in defiance of the other waterlords, after Josarian killed Srijan. Baran went against the Society just because Josarian made Kiloran bleed by killing his son." Tansen had met Baran a few times and had always found him chilling, in a different way from Kiloran. "He's so strange and unpredictable. You'd think he'd join us now because we're Kiloran's enemies, but..."

  "But, what?"

  "Baran's very shrewd, despite his eccentricities," Tansen said, thinking out loud. "He'll realize how much we need him; and he may feel he has no need of us. After all, from his perspective, why shouldn't the Society rule Sileria?"

  "So the only thing that will interest him in our friendship..."

  "Is if he becomes convinced he needs us to destroy Kiloran."

  "And you, I hope," she said dryly, "have a long list of suggestions about how I can convince him of this?"

  "Just one," he admitted.

  "Which is?"

  "Do whatever you have to do."

  "Vague and demanding," she noted. "Rather like the Beckoner."

  Tansen smiled faintly. "If something better comes to me, I'll get a message to you at Sister Velikar's Sanctuary."

  "Where will you be?"

  "I have a lot more to do here," he said. "But when I can, I'll leave for Shaljir."

  "Ah. Shaljir... and its port." Mirabar nodded. "Perhaps it's time to do as Zarien wishes."

  He was as uneasy with the notion as he had been from the start, but he agreed. "If I don't want that damned stahra following me all over Sileria, I suppose I must."

  She cleared her throat. "There are better reasons, actually, than just—"

  "I know." He sighed. "Zarien's goddess wants him by my side, that much is clear." Tansen absently pressed a hand against the magically healed shir wound beneath his tunic. "And I still don't know who or what saved my life in that cave. Or why."

  "But you don't feel a calling," she guessed.

  "I truly don't." He shrugged and added, "I don't even like the sea, to be honest."

  He heard her soft puff of amusement.

  "Still," she said, "the boy is full of riddles, and you must find the answers."

  He believed it, too. "Oh, well. Whatever happens, at least it won't be a wasted journey. There's plenty to accomplish in Shaljir. Among other things, I need to speak with the leaders of the Alliance."

  "The Alliance?" Mirabar sounded appalled. After all, it was the Alliance which betrayed Josarian to the Valdani.

  Tansen pointed out, "Only a few of them even knew about that secret treaty, Mira."

  "But still—"

  "I don't like them much, either," he admitted. "They're probably already plotting and scheming about how to govern the nation and, more to the point, who'll have the power. But we need them as much as we ever did. They're part of us, just as we're part of them. We can only survive if we all remember that. So I mean to tell them that Sileria needs them to stand with us against the Society. And also that we're awaiting a new Yahrdan." He concluded with some pleasure, "One who probably won't be one of them."

  Mirabar was quiet for a long moment before saying, "So you'll see her."

  He didn't have to ask whom she meant. "Yes."

  Elelar was, in fact, the reason he didn't intend to bring Mirabar to Shaljir with him despite the strong impression she could make on the Alliance as she delivered fiery prophecy about their future.

  "In Shaljir, at this very moment," Mirabar said, "the torena is probably being hailed as a heroine of the rebellion." Her voice could have chilled wine.

  Tansen wondered if she had learned that tone from Najdan. "She did as I asked. As she promised. She got Searlon to help her secure Kaynall's compliance with the t
rea—"

  "You don't know that she had anything to do with it!"

  "Yes, I do," he said quietly. "And so do you."

  "What I know is that as long as she lives, Josarian goes unavenged—"

  "She didn't kill—"

  "Don't mince words! She betrayed him! And you," Mirabar said, "are a man without honor until you fulfill the vow you made to me and punish her for it."

  Deep down, it was what he believed, too, what he had been raised to understand and taught to accept. However, he was not an ignorant shallah boy anymore, even if that child still lived somewhere inside him. Mirabar could see visions, but he could envision the future. "We can't live like that anymore," he said. "Not if we're to—"

  "A convenient excuse," she snapped. "Especially coming from the man who today urged thousands to avenge Josarian by destroying Kiloran and the Society!"

  "That was different." Tansen forced himself to remain calm and reasonable.

  That was probably a mistake, since it only seemed to enrage her. "Of course it's different! Kiloran isn't a beautiful woman who knows how to make a fool of every man—especially you!"

  He really didn't want to have this argument again. He tried to end it by saying flatly, "I'm not going to kill her, Mirabar."

  Her eyes glowed with hot fire as she said slowly, "If you won't..."

  "Don't," he warned. "Don't make vows you'll regret."

  "Then I will."

  "I know you understand violence," he said. "Who in this damned country doesn't? But killing another person isn't something you should... should take... take...."

  Tansen lost track of his words as the dog howled and the rumbling started. The sound was distant at first, then suddenly all around them.

  "Earthquake!" Mirabar jumped off the bench.

  "Open ground!" Tansen shouted, taking her arm and guiding her away from the looming fig tree.

  They tripped over the dog, who cowered at their feet, yowling and begging for comfort. Tansen shoved it out of the way and dragged Mirabar beyond the reach of the tree's sagging branches. Then they fell down as the ground shook violently beneath their feet.

  Tansen ordered Mirabar, "Stay here!"

  "But everyone inside—"

  "I'll get them out!"

  "I'm coming with you!"

  He shoved her back down as she rose, and he repeated, "Stay here!" He grabbed the dog by the neck. "And keep this damned dog out of my way!"

  Mirabar nodded and took hold of the dog. Tansen ran toward the rambling building where their companions were sleeping. Inside, crockery was tumbling off of walls and tables, the furniture was shaking, the cat was having strong hysterics—and so was Sister Norimar.

  It all ceased a moment later, stopping as suddenly as it had started. Knowing that it might be just the beginning, rather than the whole event, Tansen got everyone out of the building, a task that included shoving a frightened and sleepy sea-born boy out of his bedchamber window.

  Once everyone was outside, Tansen determined that no one was hurt. They were all shaken though. And, not surprisingly, they soon got irritable.

  "How long is this going to keep happening?" Sister Shannibar demanded, cuddling the panting, whining dog. "How many more times will—"

  "I just want to go back to sea," Zarien said. "I'd really, really like to go back to sea."

  "They don't have earthquakes at sea?" Pyron asked.

  Zarien squinted at him. "How could there be an earthquake at sea?"

  "I mean—"

  "All this activity," Tansen mused. "We've never had three earthquakes so close together. Not in my lifetime."

  "And none this bad," Shannibar added. "Not that I can remember."

  "We hadn't had one at all in years," Pyron said. "Not until that first one that hit the night we were at Dalishar and Tansen was missing." He looked at Zarien. "So I guess it began soon after you decided to come ashore. I wonder if it's got something to do with you?"

  "You can't blame this on me," Zarien protested. "And besides, I didn't decide to come ashore, I was—"

  "No one's blaming you," Tansen interrupted, thinking it might be wiser if Zarien didn't, in a fit of irritation, blurt out his strange personal history to the assembled group.

  Pyron apologized by saying, "It was just an idle thought."

  "Extremely idle," Tansen agreed.

  The dog started barking.

  "Oh, no!" Sister Norimar cried. "I'm going to be sick if it happens again!"

  "No, no," Sister Shannibar assured her. "She just hears someone coming."

  "At this time of night?" Norimar said.

  "Maybe it's Najdan," Pyron suggested.

  "He shouldn't be coming here alone in the dark," Mirabar said, rising to her feet.

  It was indeed Najdan. As he pointed out, in response to Mirabar's scolding, a soft-footed man in black clothing wasn't all that easy a target when traveling alone in the empty hours before dawn. He accepted Shannibar's offer to draw some water from the well for him so he could wash off "all that disgusting blood and soot" before entering her Sanctuary.

  Moving away from the group, Tansen asked him, "Did the assassin tell you anything?"

  Najdan looked very tired. "Only that Kiloran is calling for unity and cooperation among the waterlords."

  "Which we expected."

  "Other than that..." Najdan gazed absently at the assassin's shir, which he now held in his hand. "He was not a talker."

  "We had to try." Realizing that Najdan had probably done things tonight which even he didn't want to think about, Tansen amended, "You had to try."

  Najdan nodded, then set the shir aside as he prepared to wash. "I will find a use for this. Your idea is a good one—planting stray shir among the waterlords. Even after they realize what we're doing, they'll continue to suspect each other."

  "That's what's good about having enemies who don't trust each other."

  "Indeed," Najdan agreed dryly.

  Sister Norimar called, "Najdan, would you like some food?"

  "No, thank you," he replied.

  "Food?" Sitting slumped on the ground, Zarien suddenly perked up. "Did you mention food? Because if you're getting some, anyhow..."

  Tansen smiled as he heard the Sister assure Zarien it would be no trouble.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Good judgment usually comes from experience;

  and experience usually comes from bad judgment.

  —Silerian Proverb

  The blinding sunlight was the first sensation to pierce the black void of Ronall's senses. When it caused him enough discomfort to inspire a voluntary response, he squeezed his eyes more shut.

  This action produced an agonizing pounding of blood at his temples, each thud-thud more piercing than the last. He clenched his jaw against the pain.

  Mistake.

  The act of jaw-clenching awoke his throat, which worked convulsively to alert his chest that another glorious day in Sileria had begun. Without thinking, he drew in a deep breath... And immediately felt nauseated beyond belief.

  Three have mercy.

  Ronall rolled over and vomited.

  "Ohhh. D... Dar help..."

  It was too much trouble to finish the thought. He scrubbed feebly at his sticky mouth and rolled back away from the mess he had just made.

  One of the servants would clean it up. They were used to it by now. He pitied them sometimes... but that's what the poor clods got for being born hungry peasants rather than wealthy toreni.

  Someone has to do the puking, and someone has to do the cleaning up. That's the way of the world.

  He pressed his face into the mattress... and spat out dirt. Three Into One, what in the Fires had happened to his bed? It was filled with soil and was as hard as...

  Rocks?

  Yes, he realized, pulling his reluctant senses together. Dirt and rocks. He wasn't in bed. He wasn't at home. He was lying on the ground. Outside. Under the open sky.

  With the Dar-cursed sun in my eyes.


  Very cautiously... he turned his head to the side and opened one eye. The world reeled and the sunlight made his eye water.

  Where am I?

  Panic filled him. It made his heart pound. This, in turn, made his temples pound. With a groan of pain, he closed his eye again and willed the world to stop whirling. Willed himself to remember where he was.

  It was no good. Nothing was coming to him. His mind was blank.

  After all the mornings—all the countless times—he had awoken with no recognition of where he was and no memories of the night before, you'd think he'd be used to it by now. But no. It still sent his mind reeling in horrified panic every time, throwing him into a desperate confusion which, to his shame, had produced tears on more than one occasion.

  By all the gods above and below, he was a puny, pathetic, disgusting excuse of a man. No wonder his wife hated him so...

  His wife.

  A memory started to stir. He could tell by the way his heart seemed to curl inward that it was a bad one.

  Get out! Get out! Get out!

  Ronall was pretty sure he didn't want to remember any more right now. In fact, he was pretty sure that slipping back into an unconscious stupor was far and away his best alternative. But he wouldn't be able to do that now. He was too uncomfortable, lying on the hard ground with the sun in his face.

  Damn.

  His skin was crawling... Were there insects scurrying across him? He brushed at them, but the crawling continued. Nausea rolled over him again. The rhythmic pounding in his skull threatened to break it wide open.

  With a great deal of effort, he opened his aching eyes again. They watered in response to the sun. He groaned and pushed himself away from the dirt on shaking arms, clumsily working himself into a sitting position. The effort left him sweating and breathing in short, hard pants.

  Ronall looked around. He appeared to be in a lemon grove.

  No, this wasn't right... Surely he had been in Shaljir?

  The very thought seemed to trigger more nausea. He leaned over, bracing himself on his hands, and retched. Again and again. When he finally stopped and sat back gasping, drool filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

  "Dar..." he croaked, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, disgusted with himself.