Chapter Six

 

 

The news that reached Islanar the following afternoon was so disheartening that Tansen was tempted to go straight back to Cavasar and kill Koroll just to relieve his ire. 

A young wife of Islanar had been visiting her mother in Emeldar yesterday, where she had spent the night before returning home today. During the night, the Outlookers had descended in force upon the village, flooding the main square and choking the streets with their vile horses and clattering swords. They broke down doors and dragged innocent people out into the streets, half-dressed and terrified. They seized twenty men and hauled them off to the Outlooker fortress north of Britar.

"They'll all be set free if Josarian turns himself in before Abayara rises," the young wife's father-in-law informed all the men in Islanar's tavern. "But if he doesn't..."

"Yes? Then what?" prodded an angry young man.

"They will kill one man a day until Josarian finally does turn himself in."

This announcement was met with shocked silence. Tansen looked around the courtyard, then asked, "These men that were seized—who are they? Josarian's friends and family?"

"Every man in that village is a friend or relative of Josarian's."

"Was his cousin taken?" Tansen persisted. "The one who lives in his house?"

"Yes," the father-in-law said. "They especially wanted Zimran, because everyone knows how fond of him Josarian is." The old man went on to explain that Zimran—the same man, Tansen realized, who had nearly challenged him in Emeldar yesterday—wasn't at home when the Outlookers came for him. "So they seized a child, a boy of no more than seven or eight, and held a sword to his throat. They told the child's mother that they would kill him on the spot if she didn't tell them where Zimran was."

"And did she?" Tansen asked, too familiar with Valdani ways to be shocked by such tactics.

The old man sighed. "Yes. She did."

The men around them reacted to this, some nodding in sympathy, most hissing in disapproval. Silence was the traditional way here. You suffered tragedy and injustice, no matter how terrible it was, and then you sought vengeance—or asked the Honored Society to seek it for you, in exchange for your eternal debt to them. But you never, never told anything to roshaheen. Such was lirtahar, the law of silence, and to break it always brought terrible shame—and sometimes terrible vengeance, too, usually from the Society, but occasionally from other shallaheen. Tansen guessed the mother's fate even before the old man finished his story.

"Of course, the villagers... They all turn their faces from her now." The father-in-law sighed. "But at least the Outlookers released the child. At least they did that."

The Outlookers had ambushed Zimran in the home of some widow with whom he had an assignation—meaning that she, too, was now disgraced before her village.

What an absolute mess the Outlookers had made of things, Tansen reflected as he left Islanar that afternoon and headed east along the road that hugged the side of Mount Orlenar. Why had this happened? Had Koroll already lost faith in him and ordered this mass capture to force Josarian out of hiding? Or had some local officer decided to exercise a little initiative? Had Josarian heard about it yet? Although it seemed likely that Zimran had been his main source of information, Tansen didn't suppose for a moment that Josarian had been relying solely on his pretty-faced cousin.

He needed to find Josarian right away. Time was running out. Outlookers and shallaheen would now all be eager to make sure that Josarian heard about the prisoners being held near Britar. The Valdani, Tansen knew, believed Josarian was heading south, so they'd concentrate their efforts there. Word of the mass arrest would spread quickly among the shallaheen, radiating outwards in all directions from Emeldar. Josarian would soon find out what had happened; and when he did, Tansen would become no more than a minor annoyance, one that no longer commanded his attention.

If Tansen had guessed wrong and the Valdani had guessed right, if Josarian was heading south, then Tan had already lost him. Josarian would either give himself up or get himself killed before the new moon rose in the east.

If Tansen had guessed right, though... Then Josarian was closing in on him now, his attention fixed, his target chosen, his resources committed.

If Tansen was right, then all he had to do was wait for Josarian to come kill him.

 

 

He'd waited for his cousin as long as he could, but Zimran hadn't shown up. That only surprised him because the knots in the jashar indicated that Zimran had taken a particular dislike to the stranger and wanted to help Josarian take him. However, it seemed that Zim's innate sense of self-preservation had overcome his bravado at the last moment; swords were awfully intimidating against a yahr, after all. Or perhaps some woman had stimulated Zimran's ever-ready libido, making him lose track of time. Then again, maybe some lady's husband had come home at a most inopportune moment, altering Zim's plans for the day. Or perhaps there were so many Outlookers swarming around Emeldar today that it just wasn't possible to leave the village discreetly until after dark, by which time it would be much too late to get to the far side of Mount Orlenar in time.

Whatever the reason, Zimran hadn't shown up as promised. Josarian wasn't particularly worried about it. This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. Moreover, he didn't think anyone was as easy to kill as Zim now claimed Tansen was, and he could concentrate better on the task at hand without his impatient cousin breathing down his neck. Besides, although he hadn't refused Zimran's offer to help, the truth was, he wanted to do this alone. Unlike the Outlookers, who came after Josarian in groups of two, four, eight, and twenty, this stranger had the courage to search for him alone. The man might be a braggart, a fool, and a clumsy fighter, but Josarian felt that his courage, at least, should be honored in a way that precluded outnumbering him.

Outsmarting him, though—that was something else.

Hidden in the hills outside of Islanar, he had watched the stranger walk out of town, then stayed where he was and waited for Zimran until it was nearly dark. Realizing that his cousin wasn't going to arrive in time, he then began tracking Tansen—a task which the roshah had made laughably easy. Well, why not? He thought he was the hunter instead of the hunted.

When he realized where the stranger planned to spend the night, he felt sure it had to be a good omen. Tansen was bedding down in the abandoned Kintish shrine where Josarian's uncle sometimes stabled sheep for the night. Josarian couldn't have chosen more familiar territory himself.

Since there didn't seem to be much sense in attacking a hired killer who was fully armed and wide awake, Josarian settled into the shadows and watched his quarry. Now that it was dark-moon, the only light on the hillside came from the tiny fire the stranger built. Having never before seen this man about whom he had heard so much, Josarian studied him with interest.

He didn't look like a swaggering fool now. His movements were smooth, fluid, and economical. His face as he stared into the firelight was serious and rather grim. It was a shallah face, no doubt about that. There may have been some Kintish blood far back in his line, as there was with many shallaheen born in the east, but he was no Kint who had stolen the jashar of a true shallah and who happened to speak the mountain tongue. No, he was Silerian. The firelight left no doubt about that as it shifted across his sharp cheekbones and soaked into his wavy black hair.

The single, shiny, long braid he wore looked as strange as his foreign clothes—Moorlander clothes, Zim had said. Why would a shallah clothe himself so? But then, why would a shallah carry those swords? Here was a man of many parts—the biggest part of which spoke of nothing but killing Josarian. The stranger held a palm over the fire, then turned it to study the scars in the firelight.

Seeing those scars sent a surge of anger through Josarian. One shallah should not take money from the Valdani to kill another. It was worse than violating lirtahar, filthier than breaking a bloodpact, more despicable than stealing a man's wife. Shallaheen killed each other all the time, true; but they should never do so at the behest of the Valdani.

Josarian had regarded this night's work as a job, a necessity, nothing more. But now a dark fury filled him. As he stared at this sriliah in the firelight, he knew that tonight, for the first time, he would enjoy killing. When he was done, he would fling the body off the cliffs above Islanar, right into the heart of the village, and he would make sure that everyone knew why he had done it: So die all who betray their own kind. So die all who betray Josarian.

 

 

Ever since coming home, Tansen had found that old thoughts were reluctant to be put away where they belonged. So he was still awake when Josarian finally made his move. Not that it mattered. The trap he had set was noisy enough to have awakened him the moment Josarian sprang it. It wasn't even really a trap; he'd just left his swords so precariously balanced that the slightest movement would bring them clattering down on the hard tiles of the ruined shrine. Judging by the gasp and curse that accompanied the noise, Josarian had just been cut by the falling swords, too.

The dark-moon had proved convenient tonight. After dousing the fire, Tansen had set up the swords—a crude trick, but an effective one—where he'd been pretending to bed down. Then he'd curled up in a corner with his back braced against the shrine's only remaining wall. While he would normally never give an opponent such an opportunity to seize his swords, he knew that Josarian didn't know how to use them and wouldn't try. The outlaw hadn't taken swords from the bodies of any of the Outlookers he'd killed, and none of his victims had been killed with a blade. Josarian didn't yet think of a sword as a weapon that a shallah could use.

Considering how many days and nights Tansen made every move with the expectation of Josarian's imminent attack, he was relieved that it had finally come. Although obviously taken by surprise, Josarian realized it was a trap and regrouped quickly. Tansen heard the yahr making deadly sweeps through the air as Josarian moved in a continual circle, seeking his opponent on every side in the obsidian darkness. The sound, however, also let Tansen know exactly where his quarry stood.

Having kept one of the shrine's broken tiles at hand for this very purpose, he tossed it to the other side of the shrine. Josarian whirled in that direction, and Tansen jumped him from behind, pressing the shir against his throat; hard enough to hurt, as even the briefest touch of a shir would do, but not enough to kill him. For the past ten days, Tansen had kept the shir tucked inside his clothing, close against his skin, day and night. Although he would have preferred sleeping with a venomous snake, the shir had proved convenient; the deadly-sharp, double-edged, enchanted blade of a shir could not harm the flesh of the killer who possessed it—which, after all, could not be said of a venomous snake.

Despite the pain and the sudden fall to the broken tiles on the floor, Josarian fought back. So, with a sharp and well-placed blow, Tansen set the nerves of Josarian's arm on fire. When he was certain the arm was momentarily useless, Tansen groped for Josarian's yahr, now lying near a limp hand, and flung it away. Then he shifted and dug his elbow into those same nerves to keep the arm disabled. Josarian's harsh grunt of pain was followed by heavy breaths. Tansen waited, keeping the blade against his victim's throat.

"It was a trap," Josarian rasped. "It was always a trap."

"Always," Tansen confirmed.

To his astonishment, Josarian laughed. "You fooled everyone. You were very good. Only..."

"Only what?"

"It's not that I mind dying..."

Tansen had never known anyone, not even a shatai, who didn't really mind dying—but, strangely enough, this man sounded like he meant it.

"It's just that..."

"What?" Tansen prodded.

"It's just that I wish you weren't doing this for the Valdani." Then he sighed. "But I don't suppose you understand that. Zim doesn't. I don't know if anyone does."

"Oh?"

"But if only you hadn't done this for them, for the Valdani, well, then..."

"What?"

"I would honor you with my death."

"Why did you kill those two Outlookers the night you were caught smuggling?"

"They tried to kill me. I fought back."

"You must have resisted arrest."

"I did."

"Why?"

"It's hard to remember now."

"Try." Tansen let the shir draw a little blood.

"The shir," Josarian croaked in sudden surprise. "They said you didn't take the shir that day."

"This is a different one."

"Fires of Dar! How many assassins have you killed?"

"More than I wanted to. How many Outlookers have you killed?"

"Not nearly enough." Josarian paused. "Go on, kill me now."

"You seem very eager to die."

"I'm not afraid right now. But if you keep waiting... Then I might become afraid." When Tansen didn't reply, he said, "Or is that what you're waiting for? Do you want me to beg for my life?"

"Not especially."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"This is a little awkward," Tansen admitted.

"You've killed men before. Plenty, according to your own boasting."

"Yes, but I haven't spared many." He felt Josarian stiffen with surprise and added, "I didn't realize it would take practice, like everything else."

Josarian was silent for a long time, lying as still as a corpse. Then he said, "If you're not going to kill me..."

"Yes?"

"Could you stop digging your elbow into my arm? That hurts like all the Fires."

 

 

"A shir?" Tashinar exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"It goes with the symbol I showed you," Mirabar said. "They go together."

"They didn't before."

"They do now." Mirabar tried to control her irritation. She, of all people, knew how hard it was to accept and understand the visions. "I'm not imagining it."

"I know."

"And I'm not mad. I'm not."

"I believe you. Only... Don't tell this to the others, Mira. A shir." Tashinar shook her head. "It will frighten them."

"It frightens me."

"Yes, of course."

"I won't tell the others." They'd probably shun her. "It must be Armian."

"Perhaps."

"An assassin associated with a Kintish symbol? A shir linked to the Kints?" Mirabar looked at Tashinar. "Armian."

 

 

They built a small fire—outside of the shrine this time, since it stank of sheep dung. Tansen wasn't quite ready to give Josarian's yahr back to him, but he did let him disappear to hunt up some firewood. While the outlaw was gone, Tansen sheathed his swords, strapped on his harness, and slipped the shir down the side of one of his expensive Moorlander boots. The two men had agreed to a truce, but trust was a different matter.

Josarian returned with the wood and made quick work of starting a fire. Once they had a tiny blaze to light the night, Josarian sat back on his heels and stared hard at Tansen. There was a strange look in his eyes, one that Tansen couldn't interpret.

So he finally asked: "What are you staring at?"

Josarian seemed to consider the question before answering slowly, "I've seen Dar spewing fire which filled the entire sky. I've seen precious gems stolen from the mines of Alizar, each one valued at more than a man's life by most reckoning. I've even seen the shade of my own wife greet me from the Otherworld." He paused. "But until tonight, I had never seen a shallah holding a sword."

Tansen watched him silently.

After a moment, Josarian smiled. "It's a sight that gives me strength. I have seen it now, and I will never be the same. Maybe someday...." He cleared his throat. "Someday you'll teach me how to use one?"

"Maybe someday," Tansen agreed, still watching him closely.

Seeing his expression, Josarian laughed out loud. "No, I won't ask for that now, with you expecting me to try to kill you again the moment your back is turned."

"Good." Tansen sat down across the fire from him.

"Why didn't you kill me?" Josarian asked at last.

"Because the Valdani wanted me to."

"But you said—"

"I was trying to find you. Since I didn't think that anyone would tell me where you were, no matter how nicely I asked or how much I assured them that I didn't intend to betray you—"

"No, they wouldn't have, roshah," Josarian agreed; but his tone was inoffensive as he used the word.

"I thought it expedient to make you find me."

"Ah." Josarian poked the fire with a stick. "So the Outlookers didn't hire you to come after me?"

"Actually, they did." Tansen grinned at the uneasy look Josarian cast him. He explained how he had found himself in custody back in Cavasar, robbed of his gold, and offered a choice between death or this contract.

"And you never intended to do this service for the Valdani?" Josarian asked, not looking quite convinced.

"Never." Tansen leaned forward, holding Josarian's gaze. "The Valdani slaughtered my entire village when I was fifteen years old. Every man, woman, and child." He kept his voice hard. Hatred was easier than sorrow. "They raped my sister before they killed her. They gutted my mother like one of their sacred goats. They gouged out my grandfather's eyes and cut off his fingers. They..." He stopped suddenly. After all these years, the details still made his heart bleed. "They did things that I see in my nightmares even now."

Josarian never looked away. "Where were you?"

"I was in hiding. I didn't know what had happened until I got there a day later and... found them like that." Tansen was the one who looked away. "But I was the one the Valdani were looking for."

"You? A boy? What had you done?"

"It wasn't really what I had done. It was what I had with me."

"I don't understand. They slaughtered an entire village because of—what? One boy's smuggling activities?"

"It doesn't matter now."

"Oh, I think it does, Tansen. You do not have the face of a man who has forgotten."

"What matters," Tansen said, "what you need to know, is that I would rather be eaten slowly by a dragonfish than do the bidding of the Valdani."

"Yes." Josarian nodded slowly. "That I believe."

"I won't kill you."

"No."

"Though if you try to kill me again," Tansen added, "I shall be very annoyed with you."

Josarian smiled, calm, at peace. "No. You gave me my life, and you don't need to prove to me twice that you can take it whenever you want to." He touched his throat gingerly, then asked, "So this Valdani commander, he simply let you go?"

"Well, he kept my gold as ransom for my skills, but, yes, he let me go." Tansen absently touched a shir wound which had re-opened during his struggle with Josarian. "Koroll saw what I wanted him to see: a mercenary who could be bought for the right price."

"As you showed me what you wanted me to see."

Tansen nodded. "Your first lesson, Josarian. Never take anyone for granted, and never let pride lead you into a fight."

"You speak as if there will be more lessons."

"There may be."

"If you didn't mean to do this Valdani commander's bidding, then why did you come looking for me after you left Cavasar? Why not just disappear?"

"I've seen many things, too," Tansen said, studying the outlaw with an assessing gaze. "I've been to half of the Kintish Kingdoms, and I've traveled from one end of the Moorlands to the other. I've been to the edge of the Great Northern Desert, I've crossed the Sirinakara River, and I've even been inside the Palace of Heaven."

"What is that?"

"It's the largest palace in the world, where the Kintish High King lives." He continued, "I've killed men, and I've seen many killed. But until I reached Cavasar, I had never heard of a shallah fighting back and killing an Outlooker. Not since the Disarmament."

"Why should that matter to you?"

"Because I'm a shallah, too!" Tansen said with more passion than he had meant to show. "Because the Valdani destroyed everything I ever loved, and because I've seen them doing the same thing all over the world." Uncomfortable with his companion's fascinated gaze, he rose to his feet. "We've been slaves to them for centuries. We used to be... A thousand years ago, this was the strongest land, the proudest people in the world, and now we bow down to the Valdani like beggars who are thankful for a lenient beating."

"You know, then," Josarian murmured. "You do understand."

"When I was in Cavasar, I saw something I thought I would never see in my whole life. Koroll, that Valdani officer, with thousands of Outlookers under his command, with the weight of the Empire behind him... He's afraid of you. He's afraid of a single shallah who said no."

"Who wouldn't bow down." Josarian rose to his feet, too.

"Who wouldn't run away." Their gazes locked and held in the flickering firelight.

"Or beg for mercy," said Josarian.

"Or go meekly to the mines."

"Who tells others to fight back, too."

"Yes. He's so afraid," Tansen said, "that he half believes you can't be killed."

"Maybe I can't be. Not yet." Josarian grinned exultantly. "Maybe Dar Herself is tired of these Valdani and wants them gone."

"You and I can't get rid of them all," Tansen warned.

"No, but we can kill enough to count. Enough to make the Emperor pay dearly for holding Sileria."

"Yes." Tansen nodded and clasped the hand Josarian offered him, pressing their scarred palms together. "And I think I know where to start."

"Oh?"

"You haven't heard about what happened in Emeldar last night, have you?"

Fear washed across a face which had shown none until now. Josarian gripped Tansen's tunic. "My family? My friends? Tell me quickly."

And so he did.

 

 

They headed north the next day by going straight up the side of Mount Orlenar, a trek that only shallaheen would attempt. They needed to move fast if they were to reach the fortress near Britar in good time to prevent the Outlookers from killing any of the men they had taken from Emeldar.

"I'm almost sorry I got rid of Koroll's horse," Tansen admitted when they finally stopped for the night. Keeping pace with Josarian over these mountains was liable to kill him.

"A horse?" Josarian made a dismissive sound. "It couldn't survive the mountains, and I can't travel by road. I might be caught."

"I know."

"A horse is too easy to track, anyhow. If we had one now, everyone would know where we were." Josarian started gathering wood for the evening fire. "What did you do with his horse? Turn it loose? Let someone steal it?"

"I sold it to some traders who will probably wind up taking it all the way to Liron. Since Koroll thought I should take it, I saw no reason not to turn a profit from it."

Josarian grinned. "So now the Valdan will never know what happened to his horse. Or be able to find you."

"Yes, that, too." Why draw Koroll a map, after all? Sooner or later he would realize he'd been betrayed, but Tansen didn't have to make it easy for him.

Josarian shook his head and mused, "A horse. He sent you to seek me out here on horseback. Ah, the roshaheen defy all reason, don't they?"

"Their latest scheme certainly seems to." Tansen assembled the kindling. "Why has Koroll had twenty men taken from Emeldar now? I still—"

"Oh, I don't think this Commander Koroll ordered it. He probably doesn't even know yet."

Tansen glanced at him. "Who, then?"

"A toren named Porsall."

The toreni were the traditional aristocrats and landowners of Sileria. Many Valdani had taken the title as well as the lands; and Porsall was definitely a Valdani name.

"Oh? What did you do to him?" Tansen asked dryly.

"I stole some gold trinkets that had been in his family for two hundred years. They were very pretty, too. Pearl-studded, jewel-encrusted..." Seeing Tansen's expression, he shrugged. "Well, why not? His family stole them from Silerians, after all."

"Why not, indeed?" Watching him curiously, Tansen asked, "What did you do with Porsall's gold?"

"I gave it to the Sisterhood."

Tansen blinked in surprise. "All of it?"

"Yes." Seeing his expression, Josarian shrugged. "Well, who else would I give it to? They saved my life, after all, and they're less likely than anyone else to get caught melting it down and selling it off. The Valdani ignore the Sisters."

"I, uh... Yes, I see." Tansen cleared his throat. "How did Porsall know it was you?"

"He saw me and asked who I was. I thought it would be bad manners to cast the blame on someone else."

"You robbed him personally?" Tansen asked in surprise. "A toren? There were no bodyguards with him?"

"Of course not." Josarian grinned. "He was in bed with his wife at the time."

Tansen laughed. "How in the Fires did you find your way into a toren's bedroom?"

"Zimran told me how. He finds his way into the lady's bedroom every time the toren is away on business."

"By Dar, I wish I'd been there to see Porsall's face." The kindling blazed to life. Still smiling with amusement, Tansen started skinning and cleaning a hare that Josarian had killed that afternoon.

After several unsuccessful attempts to break a stubborn branch in two by stomping on it, Josarian said, "Could you chop this in half for me?"

"I have no ax," Tansen pointed out.

"I meant with one of your swords." A moment later he laughed at the expression on Tansen's face. "When I was a boy, my mother once looked that way at a zanar who tried to convince me to go off to Darshon with him."

"Chop wood? With these?" Tansen's voice was rich with outrage. "These are among the finest swords in the world!" He unsheathed one suddenly, pleased to see Josarian jump back. "The steel of a shatai's swords comes only from a secret source in the Stone Forest, guarded by sorcerers who are bound by holy oaths to the shatai-kaj."

Josarian blinked. "Where? Who?"

"These blades were tempered in sacred fires, blessed in my name, and honored by the hands of my shatai-kaj. It's a sacrilege for anyone to even touch them without my permission." He still burned at the memory of Koroll pawing them in Cavasar.

"I didn't mean—"

"When a shatai is killed, his swords must never be used again. Pilgrims are honor-bound to take them back to his shatai-kaj, who then returns them to the sorcerers of the Stone Forest."

Josarian looked at him skeptically. "You don't really believe that the Valdani honor such Kintish cus—"

"No." Tansen turned the blade so it shone in the firelight. "The Valdani keep such swords as trophies. Sometimes they display them, so that everyone will know they've killed a Kintish swordmaster. Sometimes..." His mouth twisted with disgust. "I've seen Valdani aristocrats fighting with a single Kintish sword. Fouling it with their hands."

"Only one sword?"

"They don't know how to use two. Only shatai do that." Tansen added, "I saw a Valdan try once. He cut himself to ribbons."

"I suppose it's harder than it looks," Josarian ventured politely.

Tansen's gaze flashed from his sword to his companion. He realized that Josarian's ignorant request had been made innocently enough and had not called for a lecture on Kintish propriety. Embarrassed by his outburst, he sheathed his sword and said, "Here, you hold the wood. I'll jump on it."

Now that the subject had been introduced, however, Josarian was apparently interested in pursuing it. "How did you become a... a shatai?" he asked, hesitating over the strange word.

Tansen waited for him to elevate the wood, then started stomping on a spot that looked vulnerable. "I saw a shatai for the first time in Kashala. It's a Kintish port city," he added.

"Yes, I know. I've helped Zimran smuggle goods shipped from there." Josarian put pressure on the branch, bending it as it started to give way beneath Tansen's assault.

"He..." Tansen grunted as he drove his heel down again, and the wood gave way with a sharp crack. "... killed three armed men in less time than it's taken you and me to break this branch."

They each seized an end of the branch and started twisting in opposite directions. The wood would make a good fire, and it was brisk atop Mount Orlenar tonight.

"Were they Valdani?" Josarian asked, dropping his half when it was free.

"The men he killed? No." Tansen tossed aside the wood and brushed off his hands. "They were Kintish pirates who had raped a local girl. All of her father's relatives contributed money to hire a shatai to kill them."

Josarian tended the fire while Tansen returned to cleaning the hare. "So shatai are like Society assassins, then?"

"No. We're warriors," Tansen said tersely. "We work for hire, and we do not swear allegiance to a waterlord or anyone else. My loyalty is to my shatai-kaj, my teacher. He's, oh... a kind of priest as well as a shatai. It was his duty not only to teach me to fight, but to teach me to use my skills with good judgment."

"But he doesn't tell you who to kill?"

"No. When the shatai-kaj  decides he has taught you well enough, he gives you a test—some kind of mission or quest. Each shatai-kaj  designs his own test, and each of his students must pass it with honor before he can become a shatai."

"With honor?"

"Yes."

"What if a student is dishonorable?"

"It depends on what happened, what he did. Sometimes the shatai-kaj  will kill him. Sometimes the next student will be tested by being sent to kill him. And sometimes the shatai-kaj  will regard his student's failure as his own and kill himself."

"I take it you passed your test?" Josarian said dryly.

"Yes. I had a good teacher." Tansen handed Josarian the hare, which was ready to be spit and roasted.

"And after a shatai passes his teacher's test?"

"He goes out into the world to live as a shatai."

"And what else does a shatai do besides avenge abused women and promise to kill Silerian outlaws?"

"He encounters reality," Tansen admitted wryly. "He learns that in the real world, he has few chances to use his swords for good and many occasions where he may use them for evil—whether by mistake or through sheer greed. And believe me, Josarian, many people offer a shatai wealth beyond your dreams in exchange for the skills he possesses."

"Ah, no wonder we've never seen a shatai in these mountains before," Josarian said. "No money."

"Shallaheen enjoy killing each other too much to pay a roshah to do it," Tansen pointed out. "And as for professional killings, the Honored Society would never tolerate the competition."

"We are a difficult people," Josarian acknowledged. "There's no denying it."

"Still, despite the expense, a shatai costs less than an assassin in the long run." Tansen stared into the fire. "Once you've paid a shatai, you owe him nothing and he goes his way. But once an assassin has done you a service, you are indebted to him forever."

Josarian balanced the hare's carcass over the fire. They were too hungry to wait until the flames had died down to glowing embers, though the meat would have been better that way.

"The Moorlands, the Great Northern Desert... Why did you travel so far?" Josarian asked at last.

Tansen shrugged. "I was following the work."

"And you couldn't come home."

"No." No point in denying it. "I couldn't come home."

"Even a skilled warrior cannot escape a bloodvow from Kiloran himself. Not in Sileria."

"Nine years have passed," Tansen said stubbornly. "He must release me."

"But will he? What did you do to him?"

"Does it matter?" Tansen flashed him a quelling look, but Josarian didn't back down.

"It's been thought that perhaps you betrayed Gamalan to the Valdani," Josarian said quietly. "And that perhaps Kiloran cared about someone—or something—there."

Tansen felt as if he'd been cut with a shir again. This was an accusation so foul and degrading it had never even occurred to him. "Is that what Kiloran says?" he demanded harshly.

"Kiloran seems to be silent on the subject."

Hot with shame, Tansen asked, "Do you believe it?"

"No," Josarian said. "Not now."

Tansen heard blood thundering in his ears. For a moment he smelled the stench of death again, remembered across the years. He again saw his mother's twisted corpse, her entrails streaming away from her belly in a river of blood. He saw his sister's eyes, staring sightlessly out of her battered face, her thighs bruised and defiled with Valdani seed. He saw his grandfather... Oh, Darfire, what they had done to his grandfather! Even now, not a day passed without his thinking of the old man who had raised him and shaped his boyhood. Every prayer and curse he'd known, every secret and story, every skill and vice... All had been taught to him by that irascible old man before he died, slowly and in agony, at the hands of the Valdani.

"That anyone should think I had a hand in that..." Repulsed, Tansen swallowed and turned away from the fire. "Still, perhaps this is my due, considering..."

"What?" Josarian asked.

"Considering what I did do."

Without another word, he left the fireside. He did not come back to eat, nor did he return to bed down near the warmth. While Josarian, a hunted outlaw, slept peacefully by the glowing embers that night, an honor-bound warrior sat alone amidst the barren, windswept rocks high atop Mount Orlenar and fought his demons in silence.