No, Cheylan didn't like leaving Mirabar with Tansen. He especially didn't like the high-handed way Tansen had given him orders and sent him east again, barely bothering to conceal his real motivation: getting Cheylan away from Mirabar.
Cheylan might well have decided to refuse, had he not realized he had an important task to perform here. Anyone could deliver Tansen's messages to the Lironi about mutual support against the waterlords. But there was Semeon to consider—the red-haired fire-eyed child that he had once told Mirabar about, the one whom she and Tansen now wanted to protect. Cheylan knew he must deal with that. So he had come east again, as ordered.
And when he had done what he must, he meant to return to Mirabar's side and stay there. If Tansen caused trouble or got in the way...
Well, Cheylan could deal with that, too.
Zilar possessed perhaps the largest population in Sileria, outside of the country's four major coastal cities. It had too many people to displace, and it was too important to surrender to the enemy. It lay at the delta of two rivers, and it overlooked the coastal plains between Cavasar and Shaljir. Its citizens had sworn to oppose the Society, and now Tansen must show them how to do it.
The most important thing, of course, was to store water against the inevitable shortage which an offended waterlord would inflict without mercy. Many towns and villages did this every year, anyhow. But now they faced a bloodfeud with the Society. Moreover, the dry season was approaching. Ideally, Tansen should have started the war against the Society during the long rains; but this wasn't an ideal world. Josarian's loyalists couldn't wait until the long rains to defend the nation against the waterlords' bid for absolute power. Now Zilar—and the rest of Sileria—must begin preparing for a drought such as they had never known.
The Guardians could light rings of protective fire around Zilar's wells, troughs, fountains, water barrels, and water towers, thus shielding them from water magic. But they could do nothing to protect the Shaljir River, the town's primary source of water, from its two masters: Abidan and Liadon, the brothers whose assassins had attacked Tansen in the temple here.
Tansen assigned crews to siphon extra water off the Shaljir River as it flowed past Zilar, then he organized other crews to devise additional means to store the water. Every supplementary water source around Zilar—streams, springs, ponds—was examined by the Guardians. They determined whether or not it was ensorcelled and therefore dangerous. If it wasn't, they tried to devise ways to protect it from the waterlords.
It was unlikely that assassins would launch an all-out assault on such a large town. The waterlords had never used them as an army. They were ambush fighters, accustomed to working alone or in small groups. Their attack on Tansen in the Kintish temple evinced the sort of tactics he expected from them: stealth, disguise, surprise. They might, like the Outlookers, raze a few villages or commit a few massacres to set an example, to remind Silerians of the penalty for opposing the Society; but they would only do so in places where the population was small and weak. And unlike the Outlookers, Dar be thanked, they would only kill men—and any male children old enough to be counted as men.
Male children Zarien's age, perhaps.
The thought kept creeping back to distract Tansen from his work. He regretted leaving Zarien down at the riverside while he instructed people in the town itself on the principles of defense and security. However, since the sea-bound Lascari were familiar with the problems of water supply and storage, albeit in a totally different setting, the boy had become interested in the work at the river and chose to stay there.
"Outlookers and Valdani have always been easy to recognize," Tansen said now to the gathering of volunteers in Zilar's main square. "But assassins aren't, not if they choose to wear an ordinary man's clothing." To a trained fighter like Tansen or Najdan, there were clues—habits, posture, body language—which often gave away another of their kind. But it took time and experience to develop this instinctive recognition.
"In a small village, every stranger is noticeable. But a big and busy market town like Zilar is usually full of strangers. So your work," he explained to the crowd, "is to limit access to the town and determine the business of everyone coming and going. We'll work out a system today. Above all you must ensure that no assassins enter Zilar. Fortunately, that's easy."
"How can that be easy?" someone asked.
"Once you have control of access to Zilar, search every man who comes here." Tansen said, "If he's carrying a shir, he's an assassin."
"What if he doesn't want to be searched?"
"Tell him what you're looking for."
"And if he still doesn't want to be searched?"
"Then he's an assassin," said Tansen.
"And we know," someone else cried, "what to do with an assassin!"
They all shouted their agreement. Which was encouraging, Tansen thought, considering that they were all sober today.
However, hoarding water and keeping assassins out was, as Armian would have told him, merely defensive. In order for Zilar to be free, the Shaljir River would have to be free. That meant getting rid of the Abidan and Liadon. And killing waterlords was a lot harder than killing Valdani.
Experience had taught him that sorcery was the best weapon against sorcery, so he was counting on the Guardians. A few days after arriving here to celebrate Sileria's freedom from the Valdani, Tansen met with nearly a hundred Guardians in the old Kintish temple. He regretted that Mirabar had left Zilar, since she was held in great respect by her kind, but he could do this without her.
He mostly regretted that she had left with so many things still unresolved between them. It was another thought that kept distracting him.
Focus on the task at hand.
"Some of you," he said to the gathered Guardians, "will tell me that you're not warriors. And I'm afraid there's only one answer to that: Then you'll die."
He waited for their outraged protests to die down, then continued, "That's not my decision. That's the waterlords' decision. If you'd like, I'll be happy to send a message to Kiloran suggesting that since so many of you aren't fighters, he refrain from attacking you. What do you suppose his response will be?"
Some of them looked upset, others uneasy. The practical ones nodded their agreement. Those who had learned to fight during the rebellion urged the others to remember that their forebears, the Guardians who had ruled Sileria for centuries before the Conquest, had been a race of warriors as well as sorcerers.
"That's true," Tansen said, raising his voice to be heard above the others. "Mirabar has told me. And Daurion himself was a Guardian. Daurion, who ruled this island with a fist of iron in a velvet glove and who drove back the Moorlander invasions again and again." His gaze swept the crowd, vaguely wishing for a pair of fire-gold eyes among them; but she was on her way to Mount Niran. "Daurion, who was betrayed by Marjan."
"A thousand years of foreign domination was the curse of the waterlords!" proclaimed Ealian, an elderly Guardian. "Tansen's right! We must take back our nation!"
"How—by going up against the waterlords in combat?" someone else protested. "We can't defeat them in direct confrontation."
"If you can't, then who can?" Tansen demanded. "The Guardians possess the only power in Sileria that can challenge the waterlords' sorcery."
"Fire and water have competed for ascendancy since the time of Marjan," Ealian said. "It is time for one to vanquish the other!"
"And if they vanquish us?"
"Then that's your answer," said Tansen.
This brought an uneasy hush over the temple. Tansen let it engulf the Guardians for a moment before continuing, "You're the only group in Sileria with absolutely nothing left to lose. If the Society rules Sileria, then the waterlords will squeeze the toreni, the shallaheen, the lowlanders, the city-dwellers, and everyone else for everything they've got, and rule them through terror and bloodshed. But, after the initial massacres to punish everyone who opposed them, they'll let most of Sileria live."
He paused before stating the obvious. "But they won't let any of you live. If the Society wins this war, they'll hunt down and kill every last one of you, their ancient blood enemies. And forever after, they'll kill anyone born with the potential to become one of you." He let this sink in for a moment. "Does anyone here doubt it?"
No one did.
"Now you can retreat to the highest mountains, abandon your people, hide from the waterlords the way you've been hiding for centuries, and hope for the best," Tansen said. "Or you can take part in your fate, in Sileria's fate, and fight for your lives."
"We swore a bloodvow!" Ealian reminded the others.
"You are the Guardians of the Otherworld," Tansen added. "Blessed by Dar and sworn to serve Her will. Who will prepare the way for the new Yahrdan, if not you?" He saw his words affect them, saw fire enter eyes which in no way resembled Mirabar's.
But Ealian knew what would motivate them most: "Avenge the Firebringer!"
"Avenge Josarian!"
Leadership called for compromise, and war called for expedience. So Tansen urged them, "Avenge the Firebringer!"
A young woman rose to her feet. Typically shallah in appearance, with olive skin, brown eyes, and coarse black hair, she was not much older than Mirabar. And like Mirabar, she wore a Guardian broach made of copper. "I will fight," she said. "And I will shame any man who won't do what I am willing to do!"
Tansen decided he liked her. "What's your name?"
"Iyadar."
"Iyadar." He said with a grin, "Josarian might not have stayed a widower, if he had been lucky enough to meet you."
It wasn't true, of course. Josarian had never gotten over his wife's death, and he had also been the beloved of a very jealous volcano goddess; but the compliment pleased the young woman and influenced the Guardians, as Tansen had hoped.
"What must I do?" Iyadar asked.
Before Tansen could reply, the rest of the Guardians present began jumping to their feet with similar questions. He raised his arms to quiet them, then replied, "The first thing you must do is get rid of Abidan and Liadon."
"How?" Iyadar asked.
"I want all of you to start asking around town today to find out everything you can about them," Tansen instructed. "Where are their strongholds? How powerful is their sorcery? How many assassins do they have? What is the extent of their territory? What are their strengths, their weaknesses, and their habits?" He explained, "The servant always knows the master best. The people of Zilar have paid tribute to these two brothers for years and have lived under their influence for a long time. They know things about them which they don't even realize they know, things which they may have no idea are useful. So find out everything."
"And then?" Ealian asked.
"We'll meet again tomorrow and develop a plan. Then you will accompany me, along with any fighting men who volunteer, to implement our plan."
The first major assault on the Society had to be successful or Sileria would lose heart. The nation needed proof that the Society could be fought and beaten. And the Guardians needed to learn how to fight the waterlords rather than run from them.
"After that, some of you will stay here to help protect Zilar. The rest of you," he said, "will go back to your own circles, or to other Guardian circles, and teach them what you've learned here. There are perhaps as many as one hundred waterlords whom we've got to defeat, and we can't waste any time."
He dismissed them all. As he watched them leave the temple, excited and scared, he knew with burning regret that he was leading some of them straight to their deaths.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool
than to speak and remove all doubt.
—Silerian Proverb
There was no way to reach Mount Niran from Zilar without traveling through lands controlled by waterlords, including Kiloran's traditional territory. Indeed, the journey took Mirabar too close to Lake Kandahar for comfort. Kiloran wasn't there, but that only made the trip marginally safer. His assassins still patrolled the district, and his power over the major water sources here had not slackened.
In addition, Mount Niran was much closer to Cavasar than Mirabar had gone ever since Kiloran seized the city. With so many deaths during the war and so much shifting of power in the wake of Valdani withdrawal from Cavasar, who knew what additional lands Kiloran now controlled, what greater power he wielded?
The journey made Mirabar jumpy, and Najdan's ever-increasing tension practically made her skin tingle. He had served Kiloran for twenty years, often carrying out his duties in this very region. He knew better than anyone just how dangerous this trip was for Mirabar, especially since she was so easily identified. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled over her flaming hair at all times and shielded her burning eyes from view whenever they encountered people. But just one slip—a stray lock of red hair escaping her hood, a shifting ray of sunlight seeking out her fire-bright eyes—would alert people to her presence here. Anyone loyal to Josarian's memory would stay silent; anyone loyal to Kiloran would betray her.
The cloak, she reflected, was an increasingly impractical disguise. The days were growing warmer, the sun hotter. At least Najdan's disguise didn't make him sweat like an overworked horse, she thought enviously. Although he wasn't enthusiastic about it, he had agreed to eschew his own black clothes and red jashar in favor of ordinary clothing left in Shannibar's Sanctuary by someone who had never returned for it.
The tale of Josarian's death was spreading like wildfire through the mountains, as was news of the Valdani surrender in Shaljir. Sileria was delirious with volatile emotions. Whole communities were wracked by mourning even in the midst of their victory celebrations. Whole villages were already disintegrating into violence as everyone in Sileria learned of Kiloran's triumph over Josarian and of Tansen's vow to destroy the Society. Fighting the Valdani had united the people. Now the ancient blood hatred that ran so deep in Sileria was tearing them apart again.
Staying at the back of her group and keeping her face and hair hidden with what must look like absurd modesty, Mirabar listened to the vows, fears, opinions, and wild predictions of the people they encountered on the high mountain paths, narrow goat trails, and crumbling roads of rural Sileria. When she and her six-man escort needed food or additional supplies, Pyron or one of the others would enter a village to make the necessary purchases, then come back full of news and gossip.
The normally reticent shallaheen, the traditionally timid lowlanders, the cautious toreni, and the calculating merchants all knew that destiny was at hand and everyone must choose his fate before it was chosen for him.
The mountains were erupting with precisely the sort of brother-against-brother rage that Mirabar knew Tansen had feared from the moment Kiloran first betrayed the Firebringer and Josarian responded by killing the waterlord's son. In the wake of victory against the Empire, Mirabar believed the question her people faced simple: Did Sileria drive out the Valdani to live under the yoke of the Society, or to pursue a future of peace and prosperity under the leadership of Dar's chosen ruler?
She also knew that many people would never view things her way. Some were too frightened of the Society to oppose it. Others were too used to its rule to challenge it. Even worse, many genuinely loved the Society, loved Kiloran. Filled with a rapt devotion to the waterlords which Mirabar had never understood, they believed Kiloran and his kind had stood between them and the roshaheen for centuries, had protected them when there was no one else to do it, and had given them justice when there was no law to avenge their injuries.
Would the people choose Kiloran or Tansen? Which power would finally triumph in Sileria, fire or water? Did Silerians fear the waterlords too much to trust in the Guardians?
Mirabar shivered beneath the hot sun by day, chilled by uncertainty and fears. She wanted to reveal herself to the people whom she and her escort met, wanted to proclaim prophecy in the main square of every village in western Sileria. But she was too
vulnerable to attack. Once her whereabouts were known to the waterlords, she'd never live to reach Mount Niran, let alone Sister Velikar's Sanctuary back on the slopes of Dalishar.
Others carried her words, though: people who had been in Zilar on the day freedom was announced and Tansen's bloodfeud against the Society was proclaimed; people who knew, as Mirabar did, that their sacrifices would all be in vain if they surrendered now to the Society; people who believed, as Mirabar desperately wanted to, that Dar Herself would help them triumph.
Mirabar trembled under the waning reddish moons by night, mourning her loss of innocence, the death of her absolute faith in the goddess.
Why did You let him die, Dar?
Had the goddess betrayed Her Chosen One? Sacrificed him? Neglected him? Or had She been too weak to shield him from Kiloran?
If Dar was too weak to shield Josarian, then how could Mirabar possibly shield the coming ruler?
A child of fire, a child of water, a child of sorrow...
How will I know him? Where will I find him? Give me a sign. Please give me a sign.
Lying in the dark now, in a particularly poor Sanctuary, Mirabar heard a strange rumbling sound outside.
Another earthquake?
She rose from her bedroll, grabbed the chubby Sister who was their hostess tonight, and dragged her toward the door, eager to escape the unstable stone dwelling before any ground-shaking began in earnest.
"What are you doing?" the Sister cried.
"Get outside!" Mirabar said, raising her voice to be heard above the rumbling filling the air. "The roof's not sturdy!"
The Sister blinked at her in bewilderment. Mirabar couldn't believe that she could be so stupid. Even a child knew what to do during an earthquake, and they'd endured enough of them recently that the Sister's reflexes ought to be a little more honed.
"Come on." Mirabar dragged her away from the dwelling and the overhanging rockface sheltering it—and tripped over Pyron, who was sleeping like the dead. She kicked him. "Get up! Get up!"
The White Dragon Page 40
