The White Dragon (99 page)

Now Cheylan spoke. "Tell me what it will take to win your trust again."

"I don't know."

"I do."

Verlon looked both interested and suspicious. "What?"

"Do you know the greatest threat to you? To all of us?" He didn't wait for an answer. "It's not the Lironi, or Tansen, or Kiloran, or even Mirabar. It's Dar's chosen one."

"Mirabar's vision of a new Yahrdan."

"You've heard, then?"

"The same rumors everyone else has heard."

Cheylan sprang the trap: "I know who it is."

"
What?
"

Oh, he had the old man; yes, he had him now.
 
And he would get what he wanted. "There's still time to stop him, to get rid of him. Only it must be done soon. He'll be more powerful than the Firebringer, harder to kill, impossible to control, if he's allowed to reach manhood."

"A child?" Verlon murmured. When Cheylan nodded, Verlon asked, "How can you be sure it's him?"

"Because I'm in Mirabar's confidence."

"But isn't she protecting him?"

"She doesn't know where he is. Only I do."

"Then why haven't you killed him already, if he's such a threat?"

"Think! How can I remain in Mirabar's confidence if I do that? Besides, what would better establish
your
preeminence than killing him?" He added gently, "Especially since it was Kiloran, not you, who destroyed the Firebringer."

Verlon glowered briefly. "Then this boy
can
be killed?"

"Oh, yes. He can be killed. It won't be easy, but the longer you wait, the harder it'll get." Cheylan paused. "This is my gift to you, grandfather, whether or not you decide to let me come home. If you don't get rid of him, this boy will fulfill Mirabar's prophecies and destroy you, along with everyone else who opposes him or the Guardians."

"If he's your gift to me," Verlon said coldly, "then
give
him to me. Where is he?"

"Gamalan. His name is Semeon." Cheylan smiled. "I know the weaknesses in his Guardian circle's defenses. I'll help you plan the attack. Only..."

"Only what?" Verlon prodded.

"Only you mustn't do it until I'm elsewhere and surrounded by witnesses. If I'm to keep you informed about Mirabar's and Tansen's plans, then they need to believe I had nothing to do with Semeon's death."

Verlon started to smile. "Agreed," he said. "So..." He cast an annoyed glance at the fire-locked stream before inviting, with no more warmth than Cheylan expected, "Why don't you come honor my home, eat at my table, sleep beneath my roof... and tell me how to kill this boy?"

Knowing he had won, Cheylan blew upon the stream, and released his grip on its waters as his fire started to fade. "Gladly, grandfather."

Ronall was amused by how astonished Elelar's servants were to see him when he reached her country estate with Yenibar and
Torena
Chasimar in tow. They didn't even recognize him at first, which wasn't surprising. He seldom came here, since he'd always hated rusticating, and Elelar didn't like him visiting her estate, anyhow. Besides, he was scarcely recognizable now, after so long without a bath or anything resembling personal grooming. Some earnest young lowlander in the household immediately decided to take him into hand, and Ronall let himself be taken: bathing, shaving, hair trimming, nail trimming, a massage...

Oh, it's good to be a
toren, he thought, sinking into the pleasures of his class.
It's good to be rich and pampered
.

But, as always, his pleasures were fleeting and their price was soon made clear. Half of Elelar's servants treated him with open disdain. They knew he was half-Valdani, and they knew how his wife loathed him. They had always shown him courtesy in the past, but that was because the Valdani ruled Sileria and the penalties were appalling for any Silerian who crossed a Valdan. Now, in a free and chaotic Sileria, despite his status as a
toren
, Ronall's Valdani birthright held him hostage to the rudeness, contempt, and resentment of Silerians. Even, as he well knew, to their violence and deadly hatred.

Meanwhile, the other half of the servants were so glad to see someone,
anyone
, with authority over the estate (however nominal and seldom-exercised it was in Ronall's case) that they fell all over themselves in an effort to force their bewildering concerns upon him. Three have mercy, didn't they understand he knew nothing about running an estate? He couldn't answer their questions about planting, harvesting, property disputes, repairs on old buildings, construction on new buildings, a new Guardian encampment on Elelar's land, how much to put aside for taxes, whether there would even
be
any taxation this year, what to do about the Valdani buried in one of the fields (Silerians considered burial a repulsive custom, and the servants wanted permission to dig up and burn the bodies), what to do about all the pilgrims begging for food at the
torena
's gates, and how to respond to Ferolen's demands for tribute.

"Ferolen the waterlord?" Ronall asked. "I thought Elelar paid tribute to... oh, what's-his-name? You know who I mean."

"Yes,
toren.
She did," a servant replied. "But he died during the rebellion, and now Ferolen controls our water. What shall we do,
toren
?"

It was an easy decision. An obvious one. The only decision possible in Sileria. "Pay Ferolen," Ronall instructed.

"Are you sure,
toren
? Tansen has declared—"

"Yes, but Tansen isn't here to deal with Ferolen when he decides to make us suffer for not paying, is he?"

"No..." was the uncertain reply.

"So pay the tribute."

"Yes,
toren
. Now about the Guar—"

"Everything else will have to wait until the
torena
arrives," Ronall said. "Get me some fire brandy."

"I'm afraid it's all gone,
toren
. The Valdani took it."

He sighed. "Well, bring me whatever you have. And bring me lots of it."

"Of course." The servant hesitated and then asked, "Is the
torena
coming soon?"

"You don't know?"

"She sent money and some instructions right after the Valdani surrendered Shaljir. She said she would come as soon as she could, to deal with everything. But we haven't heard from her since then, and we don't know quite when to exp—"

"Well, you know the
torena
," Ronall said. "Always so busy."

"Yes,
toren
."

"However, if she said she'll come soon, then you can count on it."

"I know,
toren
." The servant's dark face brightened when he added, "Only imagine how pleased the
torena
will be to find her cousin here!"

"Yes," Ronall agreed dryly. "Only imagine."

"Dar be praised for sparing
Torena
Chasimar's life."

"Yes. Now, I believe you were going to bring me something to drink?"

"Dar curse those Valdani dung-eaters for killing
Torena
Chasimar's husband!"

"As you say." Ronall had altered the truth a little to ensure Elelar's servants would accept Chasimar.

"The war took so much from so many," the servant continued, warming to his theme. "And now there will be more bloodshed. More loss."

"All this talking is making me terribly thirsty," Ronall prodded.

"Oh! Yes. Of course,
toren
. And shall we send something soothing to
Torena
Chasimar's room? I understand she's crying."

"Crying?" he repeated without much interest.

"The death of her husband must be a terrible sorrow to her."

"Yes, well, whatever you think best," Ronall murmured, not wanting to know more about it. He could still hear Porsall's dying scream in his head, and he wished it would go away.

Ronall finally got something to drink—some very good strawberry wine, in fact—but the servants simply would
not
stop pestering him for answers, advice, and decisions. He staggered up to his unfamiliar bedroom that night, pleasantly drunk and annoyingly burdened with Elelar's worries. He'd sleep in a clean bed for a few nights, he decided, and then leave with some money in his purse. He didn't want to see his wife again, and he didn't want her people nagging him until she got here.
 

His bed, when he found it, wasn't empty.

"Yenibar," he said without much enthusiasm. He lifted the bedclothes, saw she was naked, and felt some moderate interest begin to stir. He didn't encourage it, though. He was tired. "There's plenty to steal in this house," he assured her. "You don't need to come to me for that."

She didn't rise to the bait. "I wanted company. I thought maybe you did, too,
toren
."

He sighed. "Considering our history together, however brief, I think you can call me Ronall when we're alone."

"Everything is so strange now," she murmured, using one shapely leg to push the bedclothes off the bed. Her flesh was golden, young, and smooth in the glowing candlelight. "Strange places, strange people—"

"Strange bedfellows," he said dryly. "But then, these are strange times."

"The
torena
is inconsolable."

He nodded and sat down on the bed, depressed. "Porsall."

Yenibar made a dismissive puffing sound. "No. Although that has certainly upset her, too. He was the father of her child, after all."

"Well, of course he was..." Ronall stopped, studied her expression, and figured it out. "There was someone else."

She rolled towards him and started unfastening his clothes. He watched her impassively as she said, "Yes."

"Is he still—"

"No. He's dead."

"During the war?"

She placed her hand boldly between his legs and massaged him. He sighed and relaxed a little more. "In a way," she whispered.
 

"In what way?"

"It was not an honorable death," she explained.

"What happened?" he asked, sliding down onto the mattress to lie bedside her, pressing his hand over hers, showing her what he liked.

"It's a sad story," she warned him.

"I'm in the mood for a sad story," he replied, his head swimming with good wine and a woman's clever touch.

"Tansen killed him."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"You're not much of a storyteller," he noted. "Why did Tansen kill Chasimar's lover?"

"For betraying Josarian."

He pressed his face against her neck, pleased that she had bathed, too. "This man, this, uh,
sriliah
—"

"Zimran," she murmured, arching her back into him.

"Mmmm. Faster," he instructed. Then he realized what she had said. "I thought Zimran was Josarian's cousin?"

"He was. And he betrayed him."

Of course. This was Sileria.
 

Ronall said absently, "So Tansen killed him?"

"Yes," she whispered.
 

"And Chasimar weeps for Zimran," he mused, getting distracted. "More than for her dead Valdani husband."

"She loved Zimran. She even helped the rebellion for him."

That surprised him. "A half-Valdani woman helped the rebellion?"

"That crowd trying to kill her that night," Yenibar murmured. "If only they knew.
Torena
Chasimar did more for Josarian than any of them."

"Such as?"

"She was one of Josarian's first abduction victims—"

"When he was trying to raise money." Ronall remembered; he had been terrified, at one point, by a rumor that he was among Josarian's intended victims. Elelar must have found that particularly amusing.