The White Dragon (91 page)

Haydar, whose most notable feature was not a colorful imagination, said no, it was merely like wearing someone else's old hair. A charming thought indeed.

Still, at least the hungry
shallah
who had sold this hair to a wigmaker had evidently had clean habits, since there was nothing offensive in the shiny black hair. And the clothes Haydar had purchased to complete Mirabar's disguise as a
torena
traveling with her small entourage... Well, they were much finer than anything Mirabar had ever worn before.

If Tashinar could see me now...

Mirabar felt tears welling up again. She held them back and, instead of crying yet again in vain, prayed to Dar for Tashinar's quick and merciful death. There was nothing better to hope for once someone became a prisoner in Kiloran's impregnable lair.

Haydar, posing as Mirabar's maid, disliked horses—like most
shallaheen
—and walked at some distance from Mirabar. The men, including Najdan, looked rather bedraggled for a
torena
's escort; but these were hard times for everyone, after all, even
toreni
. Mirabar didn't know where Najdan intended to install Haydar once they reached their destination, and she was too numb with sorrow to feel any interest in the subject anyhow. She was growing used to the woman, however, and supposed she could accept the Haydar's regular company from now on if Najdan expected her to do so.

The sun was hot overhead, riding high in the flawlessly blue sky, when Mirabar, swaying a little on her mount, heard the Beckoning.

"Why?" she said instantly.

"Why what?" Pyron asked, walking beside the horse.

"Why," Mirabar continued, "did you let Kiloran take Tashinar?"

"
Sirana
," Pyron replied uneasily. "You know that we—"

"Not you," she snapped.

Mirabar looked around for the Beckoner, hearing his silent song, and finally spotted him floating amidst the trees on the north side of the narrow road.

She drew her horse to a halt and repeated, "Why?"

"
Sirana
..." Najdan's voice. "Is it..." She heard him draw in a sharp breath, as if he'd suddenly touched something fiery-hot or watery-cold. "It's a vision, isn't it?"

"He's here," she replied.

"Kiloran?" Pyron bleated.

"No," Mirabar said, her gaze moving distantly into the mysterious world of the Beckoner.

"Najdan?" Haydar's nervous voice.

"She sees him," Najdan said quietly. "The one who brings her visions. Stay back. Don't interfere."

Pyron assured him, "I wasn't going to."

"Why didn't you prevent Kiloran from capturing Tashinar?" Mirabar demanded of the Beckoner, whose glowing gold gaze now held hers so fiercely that it seemed to dominate even the brassy sunshine. "Why did you permit Geriden's assassins take her?"

I prevent nothing. I permit nothing
.

"An answer." She started crying. "You finally answer a question... and your answer is so useless."

Pyron muttered, "Should she be talking to him that way?"

"Quiet," Najdan snapped.

Mirabar pleaded, "Why didn't you warn me so I could go to her? Stop the assassins. Save her."

You went to her,
the silent voice replied.
You tried to stop them. You tried to save her.
 

"I was too late," she wept. "I failed."

Then you were destined to fail, and she is destined to die in Kandahar
.

"Did you decide this destiny?" Mirabar asked hotly, her heart full of hatred.

I decide nothing.

"Nothing?" She sighed and repeated, "Nothing."

It was true, Mirabar supposed. The Beckoner was her guide and her tormentor, pushing her hard toward destiny, but he had never claimed to create or craft the fate he revealed to her.
 

Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. "Can't I save Tashinar?"

You're not strong enough for Kandahar now.
 

"Will I ever be?"

Perhaps when the child is with you...

"The child," she repeated wearily.

To shield you.

"But you've always told me to shield the child..."

She will be part of you...

"She?" Mirabar blurted.

And you will shield each other...

"Shield each..." A wave of mingled hot and cold shock washed across her. "Part of me?" she whispered. "Will I... Am I going to bear the—"

Belitar.

"What?"

The truth is in Belitar.

"I can't go there," she protested. "Not n—"

A child of fire...

"In Belitar?"

A child of water...

"Belitar?" Najdan repeated uneasily. "
Sirana?
"

A child of sorrow....

"A girl?" Mirabar asked desperately. "Am I looking for a girl?"

You are looking for me.

"What?"

The girl is looking for you.

"My girl?" she whispered in confusion.

Welcome her,
the Beckoner urged, drifting into the Otherworld.
Welcome him. Welcome your fate.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ride hard to meet death,
 

lest someone take your place.

      
      
      
      
      
—Moorlander Proverb

 
The city of Shaljir was in chaos. When Tansen arrived at the Lion's Gate with Zarien, he scarcely recognized it, even though he had passed through it several times in the past.

"May the winds have mercy..." Zarien murmured, his tattooed face stricken with horror as he stared at the severed heads grotesquely decorating the gate. "Those... Those are..."

"Valdani heads," Tansen confirmed, his mind blank with shock as he stared. "There were... There were Silerian heads..." But that was before the Valdani surrendered. Now Silerians in Shaljir were slaughtering Valdani men... and women and children. The way that the conquerors had slaughtered unarmed Silerians. And, also in the same way, displaying their severed heads at the city gates.

Tansen felt strange. He had personally killed more Valdani than he could count. He couldn't even guess at the figure, though he supposed it was several hundred. He was aware of the weight of his slaughtering swords, discreetly wrapped and bundled today with the satchel he carried, so that he wouldn't attract attention.

And now he, who had slain so many Valdani, was sickened by what he saw as he reached the city of Shaljir. Maybe he felt this way because there were women and children among the Valdani dead; and because he knew, without being told, that these people had died as the victims of mindless mobs rather than in battle.
 

Or, he thought darkly, maybe he felt sick because if Silerians could do this, then they were no better than the Valdani.
 

"The landfolk... The landfolk..."

Tansen's attention was diverted to the boy. Zarien looked as if he was going to vomit. Tansen put a steadying hand on the back of his neck. Zarien drew in a deep breath. Unfortunately, he did it just as a breeze stirred the air. And since they were standing downwind of the grisly display on the gate... Zarien let out a horrible moan and threw up all over his new boots.

Tansen dragged him away from the chaotic crowd bustling through the gate, then held his head as vigorous heaves consumed the boy's body. It hurt, Darfire it hurt to see him losing his innocence day by day.

When Zarien was done, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, then he leaned against Tansen, who supported him with one arm while wiping hesitantly at his face with his free hand.
 

Zarien drew a few cautious breaths and blinked away tears, looking dizzy and ill. "The landfolk... love killing, don't they?"

"I don't know," Tansen murmured, at a loss.

"Is this Dar's will?" Zarien whispered, searching his face.
 

"I don't know Dar's will."

"Couldn't we just... let them go? Let them return to Valdania?"

"I don't kn—"

"If you don't know, who does?" Zarien pleaded. "You
have
to know!"
 

"I'm sorry," Tansen said, feeling the weight of being less than this boy expected of him. "I'm sorry."

"All the killing..." Zarien's legs seemed to sag under him. "Must it always be this way here?"

"I've wondered that... since I was your age." He met the boy's dazed, sorrowful gaze. "Come, let's get away from this."

Zarien pulled away from him. "You mean... go through the gate?"

"Don't look," he advised.

Zarien sighed, squared his shoulders, and rubbed a hand through his short hair. "And don't breathe," he said wearily.

"Somewhere on the other side of this," Tansen promised him, "is the port."

"The port." The idea revived Zarien slightly. "We're going straight there?"

"No."

"But—"

"We have to see the
torena
first."

"What
torena
?" Zarien asked suspiciously.

"
Torena
Elelar shah Hasnari." He made sure he kept the irony out of his voice as he said, "A great heroine of the rebellion."

"Oh." Zarien studied him with a frown for a moment. "Is she the one the
sirana
wants you to kill?"

He'd have flinched if he hadn't been expecting it. "Why do you ask?"

Zarien shrugged. "You don't seem to know all that many women. I just wondered."

"I know plenty of women," he countered, trying to shift the focus of the conversation.
 

"And this one—"

"Will feed you well," Tansen promised.

But Zarien would not be distracted this time. "You're not going to kill her, are you?"

"No."

Zarien squinted up at the gate, where a woman's head was swarming with flies and being consumed by maggots. "Good," was all he said.

Kiloran curled icy, razor-sharp tentacles of water into the old Guardian woman's guts, toying with her innards. Only the ensorcelled chill of water magic kept her from bleeding to death. The dreaded Valdani methods of slow torture were nothing compared to this; their victims usually died within hours, and never lasted more than two days. Only a waterlord could torture his victims this brutally for this long without killing them. And only Kiloran could break a sorceress of this woman's strength.