The White Dragon (40 page)

"Stay with Tansen, you mean?" he asked.

He will lead you home.

"To the sea?"

Follow him until you cannot.

"When will that be?"

You will know.

Mirabar risked intruding. "How can we help Zarien?"

You cannot help him. You must not shield him
.

"I must not shield him?" Mirabar said in surprise.

You were born to shield another.

"Then you know?" she breathed.

Zarien interrupted, "When you say I will know..."

Yes, I know.

"How exactly will I know?" Zarien persisted.

"Can you tell us about Zarien's gifts?" Mirabar asked.

His gifts will lead him home
.

Zarien said, "I thought
Tansen
would—"

Cheylan interrupted, "Do you know whom Mirabar must shield?"

Dar knows.

"Does Dar also know," Zarien asked, "how I'm supposed to convince Tansen to... to... " His eyes widened as a low, angry rumbling invaded the cave. "Is that... Is that another..."

Mirabar's senses, wholly immersed in the sacred fire, were slow to respond to the ferocious growling that began in the mountain's belly and soon surrounded them.

Equally torn between this world and the Other one, Cheylan was sluggish, too.

When she felt the ground trembling beneath her, Mirabar tried to pull away from the fire, but her distraction weakened her, letting her soul tumble farther from her body and closer to the void. She felt a current tugging at her, drawing her deeper into the foaming blue flames, deeper into the Otherworldly embrace of the goddess she had brought forth to answer their questions.

Sharifar, let me go!

The goddess answered,
He is coming!

And then Mirabar was tumbling backward onto the heaving ground, her head hitting the floor of the cave as the roaring in her blood changed to a roaring in her ears. She opened her eyes, and the world spun wildly as Cheylan took her arms in a firm grip and dragged her to her feet.

Earthquake!

"Come on!" Cheylan shouted to Zarien.

"My
stahra
!"

Mirabar winced as the boy reached into the fire and grabbed the oar. Fear might shield him from the pain right now, but he'd suffer for days to come—if they escaped the cave alive. They could easily be trapped if a ceiling gave way in any of the chambers they must pass through.

Dizzy and disoriented, Mirabar just concentrated on moving her feet; she let Cheylan, who led her by the hand, determine their direction. Zarien's urgent hand on her back ensured that her pace didn't lag, and her two companions yanked her to her feet whenever she stumbled.

She could see the light of day at the same moment she became aware of someone shouting her name. Tansen's voice. Tansen's face. He was there in the cave now, pushing her ahead of him, then dragging Zarien with him as rocks tumbled around them. One hit her on the shoulder, but she was in the sunlight before the pain became sharp. Then she was lying on the ground in a panting heap with Cheylan, Tansen, and Zarien.
 

A terrible thundering crash filled the air, different from the rumbling roar of the earthquake. She lifted her head and saw a thick cloud of smoke rising from the distant volcano of Darshon, billowing upward with the speed of water pouring downward.

Were there any
zanareen
living on the snowy wind-swept volcano rim now? There had been hundreds in residence the day Josarian had jumped, but Mirabar knew that most had scattered afterwards, either to follow Josarian or to spread across Sileria and announce the long-awaited arrival of the Firebringer.

If there were any of them left at Darshon, she wondered if they had just died up there.

Still shaken from the earthquake which had assaulted Shaljir today, Elelar made sure the servants were all right, then assessed the damage to her household. Apart from some oil jars that had fallen, creating a slick mess of shattered shards, there was relatively little to concern her.
 

Next, she went deep into the cellars, through a concealed door, and down into the dank tunnels which ran underneath her house. Even further down into the belly of the world, behind a secret entrance, was a low-ceilinged maze of ancient tunnels carved eons ago by the now-extinct volcano of Mount Shaljir. It was here that the Beyah-Olvari lived.

The original inhabitants of Sileria, they were a fragile, peaceful, diminutive people driven to near-extinction by the New Race, Elelar's kind, who had invaded Sileria thousands of years ago. While some people thought that Elelar's race may have come from the Kintish Kingdoms before they
were
the Kintish Kingdoms, the Beyah-Olvari said the New Race had come from the south, pouring out of the mouth of the north-flowing Sirinakara River in search of an island nation promised to them in prophecy.

A land-hungry people of conquest, the New Race brought violence and warfare with them. Not even the Beyah-Olvari knew whether they had brought fire magic with them or discovered it for the first time here in Sileria; but they soon developed a powerful communion with the volcano goddess and had little interest in the gentle water magic of the Beyah-Olvari.

Time and the hardships of competition with a stronger race took their toll on the Beyah-Olvari. Most of them died. Some may have set sail for the mainland, though no one knew for sure. Others moved to higher and higher ground, fading into memory, into legend and song, and leaving behind only their mysterious cave paintings to show that they had ever existed. And a few hundred had come here, to underground tunnels ancient beyond memory, hiding for eons and assiduously avoiding the New Race as they built the great city of Shaljir overhead.

Elelar had learned about the Beyah-Olvari from her grandfather. Gaborian had envisioned a free nation for all Silerians, and so he had brought the Beyah-Olvari into the Alliance. Their existence was still largely a secret, though, known only to a few inhabitants of Shaljir, several trusted members of Elelar's household, and certain members of the Alliance. As Gaborian had once warned Elelar, the more people who knew about the Beyah-Olvari, the more chance there was of the Society learning about them. And the Society were unlikely to tolerate the existence of another water magic cult in Sileria.

Elelar had not sent a message to warn the Beyah-Olvari—the Followers of the Olvar—of her imminent arrival. This was an unplanned visit, inspired by the earthquake. It had been a violent one, even worse than the other night's, and she wanted to know if there'd been any injuries among "our old friends," as they were discreetly referred to in the Alliance, from falling rocks or collapsing tunnels.

However, though unexpected, she was soon greeted by a small welcoming party sent in search of her. She didn't bother asking, since the Olvar was the only one among them who made a habit of speaking directly to members of the New Race, but she supposed that the aged Olvar had foreseen her arrival in the Sacred Pool—a small, deep spring imbued with all his considerable power. Among the Olvar's gifts was one which the waterlords had never developed: divination. Unfortunately, it was a gift of limited use, since the Olvar usually only foresaw things of interest to the Beyah-Olvari. Not only were they different from the New Race in virtually every way, but they led a very circumscribed life down here in the tunnels. Consequently, Elelar seldom found much practical use for the Olvar's gifts of foresight.

The half dozen blue-skinned beings who now welcomed Elelar with much chanting and blessing were tiny, coming up only to her waist, with fragile bones and innocent faces. Whereas the New Race, even the
toreni
, were a modest people who covered most of their bodies, the Beyah-Olvari, male and female, covered only their loins. Although the Olvar could speak archaic High Silerian, which was how he and Elelar communicated, she seldom heard any of the others speak anything but their own language—a chattering, musical sound well-suited to chants, blessings, banishing prayers, and mourning songs.

They guided her now to the Chamber of the Sacred Pool, where the Olvar could always be found. All around her, the tunnels glowed with phosphorescent plant and animal life; most of it comprised the diet of the Beyah-Olvari. When Elelar came face to face with the Olvar, and his praise singer announced her arrival, there was a great deal more chanting and blessing, both before and after the lengthy greeting ceremony that was always required.
 

"I came to see if your people are well after the earthquake,
siran
," Elelar finally said.

The dozens of Beyah-Olvari around her, only a portion of the hundreds which she estimated lived in the tunnels under the city, chanted a banishing prayer.

The Olvar's aged face was shadowed as he dipped and stirred his hands in the water of the Sacred Pool, which glowed with his sorcery. "We have not suffered from it,
torena
," he replied in his thick accent.

Shame and sorrow washed over Elelar as she said, "There have been many changes since last we met,
siran
."

"Yes, I know. The Firebringer is dead."
 

The Beyah-Olvari began a mourning chant.

She said, "Now there will be a struggle for ultimate rule of Sileria."

He looked up from the Sacred Pool, his watery eyes full of pity. "It is always so with your kind, isn't it?"

The mourning chant grew louder, making her head spin.

"Can you see who will win?" she asked suddenly.

The Olvar gave what might have been a sigh and returned his gaze to the Sacred Pool. "A child is coming."

"A child?"

"To rule us all."

"How can a child unite Sileria?" she asked.

"A woman of fire awaits him."

"Mirabar?"

"But her heart is so set on vengeance that she may not shield the child," he said. "She may fail her duty."

Of course it was Mirabar. Elelar could readily guess how much Mirabar wanted vengeance, wanted both her and Kiloran dead.

"What happens if she fails her duty?" Elelar asked.

"The waterlords will destroy her."

A banishing prayer replaced the mourning song. The Beyah-Olvari always uttered banishing prayers when the waterlords were mentioned.

"And," the Olvar added, "they will destroy us, too."

Some of the Beyah-Olvari wailed in panic. The noise rattled Elelar's nerves and made her eager to escape the tunnels. But she had to know, had to ask: "How can I help,
siran?
"

The Olvar's wrinkled blue face and sad eyes gazed deep into the Sacred Pool as his frail hands stirred the eerily glowing water. "Yes," he said at last, his head bobbing lightly on his thin neck, almost as if it floated. "What you do will change everything."

Elelar's heart pounded. "What must I do to save Sileria?"

"You must surrender."

Her stomach clenched with fear. "Surrender?"

"When the one with eyes of fire comes for you, you must not resist."