The White Dragon (75 page)

"Oh, dear, how thoughtless of me," Baran murmured. "Do forgive me,
siran
."

"Get out." Kiloran's voice was flat.

"I fear I've touched a sore spot," Baran confessed to Vinn.

"Then perhaps we should leave now,
siran
," the assassin replied, keeping a watchful eye on Kiloran.

"You don't think I should stay and try to cheer him up?"

"With respect,
siran
," Vinn said, "I don't advise it."

Baran shrugged. "Of course, he should have anticipated what happened. If you betray someone like Josarian, you've got to expect retaliation. Don't you agree, Vinn?"

"Get out," Kiloran repeated.

"Oh, very well. If you're going to take that attitude." Baran sighed and turned away, pleased with the taut silence among the waterlords as he walked away from them. All the way across the main square of Emeldar, he could feel Kiloran's gaze burning into his back. He suspected that never had the old man wanted to kill him quite as much as he did at this very moment.
 

Baran and his two assassins mounted their horses, then headed east out of Josarian's abandoned village, still aware of the tension in their wake.

"Now that was a very entertaining day," Baran said. "Wouldn't you agree, Vinn?"

"It's always an entertaining day when I am with you,
siran
," the assassin replied. "But today... Yes, today was especially good."

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I am prepared to die today. Are you?

      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
—Tansen

The night fell hard on Mirabar, frustrating her plans at the end of another long day of travel.

Ejara, the second moon, had finally abandoned the night sky. She was not even a sliver-thin crescent overhead anymore. Her absence heralded the end of yet another cycle in the wheel of time which spun as smoothly and relentlessly in this world as it did in the Other one. It was dark of the moons now, nights of syrupy blackness when no ordinary person ventured far from his hearth. In these extraordinary times, though, being ordinary was a luxury that hardly anyone in Sileria could afford.
 

Tonight Mirabar, Najdan, Pyron, and their companions were camped high up on the steep and treacherous slopes of Mount Niran. They had hoped to reach the Guardian encampment today, but the consuming black of a dark-moon sky made Pyron insist that they stop for the night before someone broke an ankle or fell off a cliff. Although longing to speak with Tashinar as soon as possible, Mirabar agreed to stop and make camp for the night.

Far from Sanctuary, exposed and vulnerable, they lit no fire tonight, lest unseen enemies be lurking somewhere in the dark. Najdan lay down to rest immediately after eating a cold meal of bread, cheese, smoked meat, olives, and figs. He would rise in a few hours to assume sentry duty during the empty hours when other men were most apt to be sleepy and dull-witted.

Too restless to sleep yet, Mirabar joined Pyron where he perched on a rocky outcrop and kept watch with ears rather than eyes in the impenetrable dark. She heard him shift slightly as she approached him, alerted by her soft footstep. He drew a sharp breath through his nostrils, then sighed in evident relief. "It's you."

"It's me," she agreed.

"Darfire."

"What?" she asked in a whisper.

After a slight hesitation, Pyron admitted, "Your eyes. I used to think they were reflecting firelight or moonlight at night. But I was wrong. They glow on their own."

Since she heard him dusting off a spot on the boulder for her even as he spoke in low tones, she didn't take offense. "Don't bother, I'm dusty already," she whispered, sinking to a sitting position without waiting for him to finish clearing a spot.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice barely audible. It wasn't like her to seek his company.

"No, I'm just..."

"Eager to get to the Guardian encampment," he guessed.

She nodded. Then, realizing he probably couldn't see the gesture, she whispered, "Yes."

"Is it far?" Pyron asked.

"The encampment? No. If there were any light tonight, it would have been worth it to press on until we reached it."

Mirabar could have lit the way for them, of course, but Najdan was against so boldly exposing her presence here before reaching the safety of the Guardian encampment. On a night like this, there was no telling who crept stealthily through the darkness on the other side of the fire, and Najdan saw no point in courting trouble.

"Your..." Pyron paused. "Your teacher is there?"

"Yes. Tashinar."

"What is she like?"

Mirabar smiled as she considered the question. "Very unlike me," she replied at last. "Calm. Wise. Gentle."

"Old?"

"Yes. A respected elder of our sect. And very brave. She resisted Valdani torture once, long ago. Didn't talk even when they—" Pyron shushed her, and she stopped abruptly.
 

Together they listened in tense silence for a few long moments. Then he sighed and murmured, "Nothing." She continued listening to the thick darkness until he prodded, "Didn't talk even when they...?"

"They took three of her fingers," Mirabar whispered, her attention still focused on the many subtle sounds of night in the mountains. "They left her for dead, lying in the dust somewhere between Cavasar and the Orban Pass. But she survived."

"Dar curse them and all th—"

"Shh!"

She felt Pyron's tension in the silence that followed, but when they still heard nothing, he whispered, "What?"

"I don't know," she said slowly.
 

She shivered, sure something was wrong. But what?

Then there was murmuring nearby, from their own companions. It frustrated her attempts to hear and distinguish every faint sound, and it exposed them to whatever she suddenly feared was out there in the dark.

"
Sirana?
" Najdan's voice.

"Quiet," she snapped, knowing that he'd already revealed their location to anyone within earshot.

There was silence for a moment, and then she heard Najdan's approach. His voice, though soft, carried through the darkness to her. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. Be quiet." Then the realization chilled her. "What woke you?"

"Someone is doing
some
thing," he said grimly.

"Your
shir
." Mirabar rose.

"Yes."

Pyron scrambled to his feet. "What
about
his
shir?
"

Najdan said, "It's agitated."

"It's not responding to me. I'm not doing anything." Mirabar turned and began picking her way through the dark, adding to Pyron, "You'd better come. We can't stay here."

"But—"

"We're still at some distance from them," she said.

"The Guardians?" Pyron asked, following her.

"Yes." She spoke at a normal volume now. The time for stealth had passed. "So if his
shir
is responding to their magic, then..."

Najdan found Mirabar's arm in the dark, and he helped her down from her stony perch. "Then they're invoking a great deal of it."

"That must be this... this... " Mirabar shook her head. "Whatever I'm feeling. It must be coming from them."

"They're under attack?" Pyron guessed.

"Yes." Najdan's reply was terse, his attention already fixed on the problem. "They must be. My
shir
is shaking so hard it will barely stay in my
jashar
."

"We've got to help them," Mirabar said, aware of the other men gathering around her as they realized what was happening.

"By fighting waterlords? How?" Pyron prodded. "By attacking assassins? How many? And
where
?"

"We've got to help them," Mirabar repeated.

"We cannot risk your safety,
sirana
," said one of the other men. "If there are assassins or waterlords attacking—"

"Then I will fight them, too," she insisted.

"Tansen said—"

"I'm in charge here," she snapped.

"No, you're not. Right now," Pyron pointed out, "Najdan's in charge."
 

He was right, she realized. Najdan knew more than any of them about what they were facing. They must accept his judgment and follow his orders.

"Najdan?" Mirabar prodded. When the assassin didn't respond, she gripped his thickly-muscled arm and said in desperation, "Najdan,
please.
Tashinar is there!"

He hesitated, then briefly covered her hand with his. Coming to a decision, he said, "We must act quickly, then."

Ronall awoke in the dark, alerted by a soft sound. He lay there listening for a moment, wondering what had disturbed him, but he heard nothing else.

Whatever it was, though, he was wide awake now. Moderately alert, but still pleasantly drunk. He had rested just enough to feel no desire to go right back to sleep.

With consciousness, though, came the return of his heartsick longing. Longing for something. Longing for everything. Longing for
more
.

More Kintish fire brandy. More of the good dreamweed he'd been lucky enough to acquire yesterday... Two days ago? Last night? He wasn't sure. But it was good.
 

And more of the woman who'd ministered so skillfully to his needs after sundown.

He turned his head and smelled the clean linen of the bedclothes, now perfumed with the heavy scents of sex and sweat. He vaguely remembered bespeaking the sole spare bedchamber in this small, simple inn in... Actually, no, he didn't remember what village he was in. It didn't matter. Just another Darforsaken town of stone and dust somewhere in the Threeforsaken mountains of this godsforsaken country.

However, he did remember the shocked look on the faces of the respectable old couple who ran the place when he boldly brought a woman through the front door after dark and commenced enjoying her right there in the public room.
 

The disdain and disgust on their faces was nothing compared to the way his own wife looked at him every day—

Get out! Get out! Get out!

—so it didn't bother Ronall in the least. His pretty companion, however, had suggested they continue their play in more private surroundings. He had agreed, laughing off the scandalized mutterings he heard behind him as he led the young woman up the stairs to his bedchamber.

Now he rolled over and reached for her.