The White Dragon (69 page)

"Which is presumably why it didn't save you."

Zarien shook off his grasp and turned back to the river. "I'm not leaving without my
stahra!
"

"No!"
 

Tansen grabbed for him. Zarien pulled away. And slipped. He went tumbling downhill, dragging Tansen with him. They careened into the merchant... who fell backwards into the river.

"Dar curse you and all your..." Tansen's voice faded as he realized the merchant wasn't sinking. He lay atop the surface of the water... which was now silent, still, smooth, and glowing eerily in the dying sunlight.

"That's really interesting." Zarien stretched out one leg and cautiously tapped the surface with the toe of his new boot. Then he turned a puzzled gaze on Tansen. "It's as hard as rock."

The merchant started praying. Tansen resisted the urge to kick him again.

Zarien stepped onto the river and started walking across it, awkwardly slipping on its glassy surface every few steps.
 

"What are you doing?" Tansen demanded, gritting his teeth as he followed the boy.
 

"Looking for my
stahra
." He looked over his shoulder at Tansen. "If it's embedded in this stuff..."

"Then we'll let Sharifar worry about how to get it out," Tansen snapped. "Zarien, I'm ordering you, get out of..." He slipped. "Off of... Away from—"

"There it is!"

Tansen looked to where the boy was pointing. Sure enough, an object which could only be the
stahra
lay downriver, resting atop the crystal-hard water.

"All right," Tansen said. "I'll get the damned
stahra
. You do as you're told, for once, and get away from the river."

"I'll get it."

"
Now
, Zarien."

The boy's expression was one of long-suffering tolerance. "Very well." His tone indicated that he was merely humoring Tansen. He turned and started stumbling and skidding his way back to the riverbank.

Tansen scowled and went after the
stahra
, well aware of what a stupid risk he was taking for the boy's damned oar. The crystallization of the river seemed to be the waterlords' final act here, but Tansen knew better than to take chances with water magic. He should be up on the bluff with the rest of the town, cowering at a sensible distance; not sliding around on the surface of Abidan's and Liadon's enchanted river, practically inviting them to kill him.
 

Really, it was amazing that Zarien's parents, in a totally understandable and forgivable fit of exasperation, hadn't ever thrown him overboard and sailed away as fast as they could.

After Tansen retrieved the
stahra
and returned to the riverbank, he wasn't at all surprised, alas, to find the boy right there, rather than up on the bluff where he ought to be. Tansen was feeling the after-effects of the sort of emotional panic he never indulged in, and he found he was just too tired to keep snapping at Zarien.
 

Maybe a boy's true passage into manhood, Tansen reflected wryly, occurred when his parents ran out of the strength to keep trying to govern him.

Zarien was studying the hard, shiny, unmoving surface of the water with amazed fascination. He took the
stahra
from Tansen and used it to poke at the river several times. When Tansen failed to admonish him, he was emboldened to step onto its surface again.
 

However, once he started drumming on it with the sturdy heels of his new boots, Tansen said, "
Must
you?"

"It's incredible!" Zarien bent over and touched the hard surface. "How do they do that?"

"That's what everyone in Sileria would like to know." Tansen gazed out across what had been a river only minutes ago. "It's the source of all their power over us."

Zarien's head jerked up, his expression sobering as he met Tansen's eyes. "This is it, isn't it?"

"This is the beginning." Tansen nodded. "They know by now about the bloodfeud we've sworn against them. And they're punishing us." Perhaps the assassin who had escaped Najdan's pursuit told Abidan and Liadon, but not necessarily. Anyone could have alerted them. Tansen's declaration of war had been very public, and word would be spreading fast.

Zarien looked down at the river again. "No one can drink this. No one can... use this now."

"Exactly."

"That's terrible." The boy looked up at the bluff, where hundreds of people were gathering to stare in fear and dismay at the river. They had known this could happen, but it horrified them, even so. "All those people..."

"This is why we have to fight the Society, Zarien."

Zarien nodded. "Yes."

"No one should be allowed to do this to us. No one should hold this kind of power over us. No one should rule us through the threat of doing this to us whenever we fail to obey, to please, to submit."

The young face was thoughtful. "Yes, now I understand."

"I hope you do." Tansen looked up at the crowd gathered on the bluff. He saw their frightened, appalled faces and murmured, "I hope everyone in Sileria does."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

When you turn your back on a friend,
 

he will plant a knife in it.

      
      
      
      
      
—Silerian Proverb

Emeldar was an ordinary
shallah
village. Precariously perched near the summit of a craggy mountain in western Sileria, it had a main square of modest size. Its streets were narrow and ancient, its dwellings mostly made of stone quarried from the mountain itself. The traditional sacred lava stone and the fire-scarred offering-ground were at the edge of the village, where there was a cherished, if distant, view of Mount Darshon.

The only remarkable thing about this village, which so much like hundreds of other villages in Sileria, was that it was the birthplace of the Firebringer.

Here in Emeldar, Josarian was born, grew to manhood, fell in love, and married. It was here that his wife died in the unfortunate horrors of childbirth. It was here that he mourned her and, in his despondency, allowed himself to be coaxed into his cousin Zimran's modestly profitable smuggling trade; and it was not far from here that he was caught by Outlookers one night.
 

In the normal course of events, Josarian and Zimran would have been arrested and sentenced to a year or two in the mines of Alizar. But a single moment of bad judgment—and to this day, no one could really say whose—had changed the world. If Josarian had not tried to warn his cousin before the Outlookers caught Zimran, too; if the Outlookers had not lost their heads and started beating Josarian for his impetuous warning; if Josarian had not fought back and killed two of them...

Well, actually, everything would probably have turned out the same, anyhow. He wasn't the Firebringer because he had killed a couple of Outlookers and become an outlaw that night. He was the Firebringer because Dar chose him.

Even Kiloran, who had turned his back upon Dar long ago, understood and accepted this.
 

Now, as Kiloran entered the main square of Emeldar for the first time, he could only marvel that such an extraordinary man had come from such an ordinary place. They had been mortal enemies, and Kiloran had tried to kill him more than once, true; but Kiloran did not believe in undervaluing a man (or woman) just because of enmity. Josarian had indeed been extraordinary—even before becoming the Firebringer.

Kiloran had reached an age when travel was more of a trial than a pleasure, so he wasn't pleased about having to come to Emeldar, but the journey was necessary. Having secured the loyalty of Cavasar, now he needed to ensure that Baran wouldn't be a problem—as he could be, if he chose.

As Kiloran's even-tempered gelding approached the main fountain, he reined him in. He had never doubted the tale of how Josarian had ruined his village's water supply to destroy the Outlooker forces sent here against him, but now he scented the water for himself.
 

Poison
. It was indeed true. A waterlord could recognize tainted water instantly, though the Outlookers had drunk it like thirsty goats.

Fortunately, this wasn't a problem. Kiloran had five assassins with him, all of them mounted on horses which had, until recently, belonged to the Outlookers in Cavasar. He saw no point in expending the energy needed to cure the entire water supply, especially since the Emeldari were now his blood enemies, but he could cleanse enough of it to keep his men and horses watered for the duration of their stay in Emeldar. Considering what a dreary little village this was, he hoped that the visit would be a short one.

Kiloran sent one of his men in search of a comfortable place for him to stay, if such accommodation was possible in Josarian's deserted birthplace. Another of the men took charge of the horses, and two more began transferring water from the main fountain to a large bone-dry trough. When there was enough of it in there for the horses, Kiloran would extract the poison so they could drink. Meanwhile, Searlon drew enough water to quench the men's thirst.

"If you please,
siran
," Searlon said, presenting the bucket to Kiloran for him to cure the water.

While pondering the ramifications of Dar's latest dramatic activities in the distant volcano, Kiloran held his hand over the broad-rimmed bucket and felt the water inside it respond to his will. The colored pillars of smoke, sky-reaching bolts of flame, and angry lightning dancing all around the summit of Darshon concerned him now. He did not hate the goddess, and he refused to fear Her. He could not, however, afford to ignore Her.
 

Despite the coming of the Firebringer, Kiloran remained convinced that the
zanareen
were essentially mad and unreliable, so he didn't intend to count on their noisy proclamations about the strange new events at Darshon. If anyone could sensibly interpret this unprecedented display of Dar's, he supposed it would be the Guardians. So he had recently made arrangements to have several of them captured, in the hope that at least one of them could be made to talk.

After only a few moments, a silvery mist arose from the bucket of water beneath Kiloran's palm. The poison hissed into the air, the water rejecting it as he commanded.
 

"You and the men may drink now," he advised Searlon.

"Not before you,
siran
," Searlon said. "The journey has been a long one, and the sun is hot."
 

Though a powerful and influential assassin, Searlon proffered the first cup of water to his master like a common servant. And not, Kiloran knew, because he wanted to test the water before drinking it himself. During more than ten years of loyal service, Searlon had never failed to show his master the most attentive respect. It was one of his many virtues.

Kiloran was pleased to have Searlon back. The assassin had stolen a horse in Shaljir, made his escape, and taken the coastal road to Cavasar to join his master. Kiloran had therefore been the first person in Cavasar to learn of the Valdani surrender. He had used the information to his advantage, gaining more of Cavasar's love as he made the announcement.
 
He accepted credit for the victory in the wake of Josarian's death—without, of course, clarifying how the Firebringer had died.

Unfortunately, though, the circumstances of Searlon's return to Cavasar were a mixed blessing.
Torena
Elelar was a fanatic, which had proved useful, but Kiloran had always known she wasn't a fool. Her proposed alliance with Searlon was sensible, despite how much it must have galled her to suggest it. And, in the end, she had needed Searlon to force Kaynall to honor his own treaty. Sadly, though, Elelar had shown her appreciation by betraying Kiloran. It was a bold and unexpected move, one which took even Searlon by surprise.