Chapter Sixteen

 

 

Mirabar awoke to find herself lying in a heap near a sacred fire. It had been a long night's work, petitioning the Otherworld for help, trying to guide shades of the dead toward the gateway, begging Dar for mercy and consideration on their behalf. She now realized she must have passed out from the strain. She looked around and discovered that someone had put food near her. Famished, she threw off a blanket—which someone had used to cover her while she slept—and attacked the meal. When she was nearly done eating, she heard a man's voice from the mouth of the cave.

"Ah, you're awake."

She jumped and turned around. He was not the same shallah who had led her here last night, but he had obviously been warned about her, since he didn't gasp, utter prayers and curses, or reach for his sword. Darfire—this one had a sword, too!

There was an awkward pause. She decided to break it by saying formally, "I am Mirabar, no father, no clan, a Guardian of the Otherworld."

"Sirana." He crossed his fists and bowed his head respectfully. "I am Amitan mar Kiman shah Islanari."

"Basimar's clan," she noted.

"She says that you are a Guardian of great gifts, favored with special visions from the Otherworld."

It sounded good, so Mirabar didn't contradict the description. "She says that one of you has seen another like me."

"Well..." A wry smile touched Amitan's mouth. "That was Zimran, and since he is given to telling tales..." He made a dismissive gesture, then added, "But Josarian saw him, too, so I suppose it must be true."

She asked him to repeat what both men had said. She was disappointed that the description he offered was no more detailed or satisfying than what she had made Basimar tell her a dozen times already—fire-gold eyes, dark hair, very powerful, apparently a toren by birth—but she listened intently nonetheless, like a child who never tired of hearing a favorite tale.

"Another like me..." Her mind drifted as she dwelled on this extraordinary notion once again.

Amitan came forward, approaching her as if she were a deer who might run away. "You fought hard last night, sirana, to help those slaughtered in Malthenar."

"Their cries are still loud," she replied, shying away from the din. "Or perhaps they are other voices." She glanced at him. "That's why Guardians only come here for special occasions and only stay briefly. We hear so many voices up here, where the Otherworld is so close to this one."

"I knew Corenten," Amitan said quietly. "He was a good lad. He might have married my sister."

"I'm sorry."

"Is he...." Amitan cleared his throat. "I know little about these things. Is he in the Otherworld now?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm sorry. If you can bring me something that belonged to him, I can try Calling him. But, you must understand, he died very recently, so it may be too soon for—"

"She's awake!"

Mirabar looked up to see Basimar, at the mouth of the cave, reporting this news to someone who waited outside. At Basimar's urging, she left the cave and went out into the sunshine. There were five men with Basimar, all of them obviously curious about Mirabar but evidently prepared for her appearance. Along with Amitan, they were the only ones in residence at Dalishar.

"I thought there were supposed to be many more of you," Mirabar said.

"There are, sirana, but we don't just sit around Dalishar filling our bellies," said the man from last night. "We spend most of our time attacking the Valdani and distributing the supplies we've stolen from them."

"So why are you here, then?"

"Someone has to keep Dalishar safe," a young man said, clearly annoyed that the duty was his at the moment.

"We can't have the Valdani finding out about it and setting a trap for us here while we're all away," Amitan explained.

"So Josarian is gone. The warrior—Tansen—is gone. Zimran is gone." Mirabar frowned. "Who's in charge now?"

"Emelen."

She looked around. "Which one of you—"

"He's gone, too, sirana."

"Wonderful." She sat down on a rock.

What was she supposed to do now? She had sought Kiloran ever since leaving Tashinar's side, and she was no closer to finding him than she had been then. When Basimar had revealed to her that the warrior might be found at Dalishar, she had abandoned her quest for Kiloran in favor of finding the warrior. Had she been wrong? Now that she knew Tansen had gone in search of Kiloran, she had a terrible feeling that she'd made a mistake in coming here; she should have kept looking for Kiloran, too. Tansen would be with him.

"Find the shir and you find him." What shir? If not the shir of Basimar's brother-in-law, then whose? "Fire and water. Fire in water. A house of water. An alliance."

"What's she saying?" one of the men asked, starting to back away from her.

"She does this all the time," Basimar said dismissively. "Don't let it bother you."

"I must find Kiloran," Mirabar said at last.

"We've already tried that," Basimar pointed out.

"There must be a way..." Mirabar looked around at the men. "Who would know where he is?"

"An assassin, I suppose," said Amitan. "One of his assassins."

She thought it over. "All right, how do I find one of his assassins?"

Basimar jumped as if she'd been stung. Amitan shook his head. Another of the men laughed at her.

"Sirana, you can't possibly—"

"Mira, that is the worst idea I've ever—"

"An assassin! Surely avoiding them is the only—"

"Haven't we had enough trouble with Kiloran?"

"What trouble?" Mirabar asked. "Surely Kiloran doesn't care if you keep attacking the Valdani?"

"I mean the assassin who came here. Tansen killed him, which puts us in an awkward position with Kil—"

"An assassin came here?" Mirabar jumped to her feet. "In search of Tansen?"

"Yes. The shir is still lying over there, where it fell."

"Sweet Dar, he's leaving a trail of them," Mirabar muttered. "Tell me, how many people know that Tansen has disappeared and may not return?"

Amitan blinked. "Well... no one, really. We didn't think it wise to reveal that Josarian is missing, so—"

"So not even Kiloran knows that we don't have Tansen with us right here?" she pounced.

"Yes, I suppose that's true."

Mirabar laughed. "That's it! That's how I'll find Kiloran!"

"Sirana?"

"We'll lure an assassin up here. I'll capture him and make him lead me to Kiloran!"

If she had told them she intended to march into Valda and spit in the Emperor's face, they could not have been more horrified. Mirabar waited for them to calm down, then offered to do a Calling.

 

 

"Someone is looking for you," the Olvar said, stirring the Sacred Pool with a wrinkled hand.

"Kiloran?" Tansen guessed.

"No. An ally."

"Elelar? Is she coming?"

He kept his voice level, concealing the emotions churning inside him. It was hard to mark the passage of time down here, but he thought it must be more than a day since he had sent the scarf to Elelar via the Olvar's messenger, revealing his presence down here, alerting her to his return.

She would come. Surely, she would come. She couldn't risk not coming; nor had she ever been one to back away from a challenge. But part of him was still afraid that she wouldn't come.

"Oh, the torena is coming," the Olvar assured him. "She is in the tunnels even now, coming to meet you."

It felt as if someone had grabbed his insides and squeezed hard. He didn't risk looking at Josarian, though he could feel his friend's gaze hard upon him.

"Someone is looking for you," the Olvar repeated. "Seeks you far and wide. Takes great risks to find you."

Tansen thought for a moment. "It couldn't be Koroll, the Valdani commander, could it? He thinks we're allies, and he doesn't know what happened to me."

The Beyah-Olvari who were gathered around them uttered a banishing prayer. The Emperor's engineers had already destroyed a vast section of this underground world when expanding the port of Shaljir several years ago. Now the Valdani spoke of using Shaljir's vast network of tunnels to channel water into the city from a new source so they would no longer be so dependent on the Idalar River; that source always required costly tribute to the Society, and it had lately become catastrophically unreliable thanks to Kiloran's power struggle with Baran. The very existence of the Beyah-Olvari was threatened by such plans.

"No," said the Olvar. "Not a Valdan. An ally. One who will be the shield, as you will be the sword."

"The shield and sword for what?" Tansen asked.

The Olvar looked straight at Josarian. "For him."

 

 

Koroll read Myrell's latest dispatch without much surprise. He had known that this brutal show of force Myrell was making in several villages in the western district was unlikely to produce immediate results, for every shallah was—quite rightly—afraid to betray Josarian. The Society would almost certainly take swift action against anyone who violated lirtahar. Moreover, the murder of Arlen, Myrell's Silerian informant, proved that Josarian would be just as quick as the Society to punish betrayal.

For the moment, the shallaheen built their sacred fires to send their dead to Paradise, or some such place, and made up songs about the martyrs who had died rather than give up Josarian. For the moment, they remained loyal to him.

Sooner or later, though, someone would betray him. Sooner or later, people would grow tired of suffering on behalf of this outlaw, no matter how much of his booty he gave away. Eventually, old rivalries and grievances would surface to combat this uncharacteristic solidarity. Undoubtedly, Josarian would have to kill one of his own kind again. And if Koroll was lucky, next time the deceased would be a shallah that some local family loved, instead of a despised stranger who had abandoned his family long ago.

The shallaheen were—and always had been—a violent, quarrelsome, irrational people. Whether they finally enabled Koroll to kill Josarian or whether they simply killed him themselves, the High Commander of Sileria knew that this embarrassing rebellion couldn't last much longer.

 

 

The arrival in the Chamber of the Sacred Pool of Torena Elelar mar Olidan yesh Ronall shah Hasnari occasioned much chanting and blessing, both before and after the interminable formal greetings the Beyah-Olvari invariably bestowed upon a guest.

Tansen was glad. It gave him time to strangle a thousand unwanted memories and emotions before he actually had to speak to her. She was even more poised than she'd been at eighteen; except for a brief glance in his direction when she first entered the chamber, she managed not to look at him again until she had finished exchanging lengthy greetings with the Olvar, his family, the respected elders of the tribe, and their families.

Graceful and elegant, she had ripened to fulfill all the promise she had shown nine years ago. She wore a costly confection of painted gossamer, the traditional long tunic and pantaloons of a Silerian woman modified for the more permissive standards of the toreni. The slim pantaloons tapered down to hug her slender ankles, the grace of which were probably lost on the Valdani clod she had married.

Yesh Ronall: spouse of Ronall. Those words had hit Tansen hard when the Olvar's praise singer had announced Elelar's arrival. Tan had known she would probably be married; except for a Sister, what woman did not marry? He had expected it, but it clawed at him, even so. She belonged to another man—and to a Valdan! Tansen's mind reeled. Knowing how she had hated the Valdani nine years ago, he wondered whether she had changed beyond all recognition, or whether this marriage was another strand in the Alliance's tangled web of scheming and deception.

Physically, at least, she had certainly not changed beyond recognition. He would have known her anywhere. Her smooth, arrogant face with its wide-set watchful eyes and full mouth was just as he remembered it, though it was the face of a woman now, rather than a girl. Her fine clothing was designed to artfully reveal the graceful curves and slender waist he had never forgotten. The short sleeves of her shimmering tunic bared the smooth flesh of her arms, exquisitely fair by Silerians standards—though the pale Valdani probably considered her too dark for true beauty.

However, beauty, though she had it, was not what set Elelar apart from other women. The elaborate coils and braids her glossy black hair was woven into, the oils and cosmetics which she used with such skill, and the exquisite garments she wore all pleased the eye as much as her face and figure, but Tansen had seen more beautiful women. There was something about Elelar which exceeded mere beauty; it had been there nine years ago, and it had now blossomed into its full power. Was it the grace and sensuality of her movements? The mingled warm challenge and cool intelligence of her gaze? The courage which, as Josarian would have put it, was like a banner? Or was it merely the arrogant pride, so evident in every gesture, that made a man want to feel her tremble beneath him?

When he was fifteen, he had fallen instantly, irrevocably under her spell. She had ignored him, mocked him, embarrassed him, angered him. She had also taught him, guided him, and opened his eyes, ensuring that they could never close again. She had shaped his destiny more than she realized. And, in the end, she had betrayed him.

He had tried to hate her, to despise her, to cultivate his resentment against her. Sometimes he had even succeeded. But he had always found it impossible to forget her. And now, after all these years, he was ashamed to discover, as he gazed at her, that hatred and resentment were weak, pale things that withered beneath the onslaught of his longing.

The last time he had seen her, she had raged at him with a violence that knew no relief, with a passion that craved vengeance. Now, as she turned to acknowledge and greet him, he saw that she, too, had given long and hard study to the art of concealing her emotions. Her voice was cool and her expression betrayed no more interest than she would show in any other unexpected visitor to the tunnels. Her apparent indifference tore at his insides, even as he kept his own expression equally impersonal.

Acknowledging her greeting, he crossed his fists over his chest and bowed his head, dignifying her rank. "Torena, I am pleased to see you looking so well."

"May Dar welcome home Her wandering son," she recited, not bothering to try to sound sincere. "I see you bring a friend."

"Torena," he replied, "I beg the honor of presenting to you my bloodbrother, Josarian mar Gershon shah Emeldari."

Even Elelar couldn't conceal her surprise. Her dark eyes flashed to his brother's face and she stared with open astonishment. "Josarian?"

Josarian glanced at Tansen, then crossed his fists and bowed his head. "I am honored, torena."

"You shouldn't be in Shaljir," she said. "If the Valdani find out you're here, you'll never escape. The city is walled and there are Outlookers everywh—"

"They won't find out," Tansen interrupted.

Elelar looked back at him, all formality forgotten. "You did right to notify us, but bringing him into the heart of Shaljir was not—"

"I didn't bring him. I have business here, and he insisted on coming."

"That was unwise," she told Josarian. "You're not safe here, and your first responsibility is to—"

"I choose my responsibilities, torena," Josarian said, frowning at her. "But I am curious. What interest do you have in my safety and responsibilities?"

Elelar looked at Tansen. "You haven't told him?"

"I didn't know if you would come," he said. "I didn't even know if you were still..." He shrugged.

"I see." She paused, studying him with the curiosity she had refused to reveal before. "I was sure you must be dead by now."

"You're bearing up well under the disappointment."

She ignored that. "When did you come back?"

"Earlier this year."

"And him?" She nodded to Josarian. "How do you know him? Are you responsible for—"

"No. Coincidence. The Valdani captured me in Cavasar, upon my return, because of these." He gestured to his swords, which he now wore unconcealed. "Commander Koroll hired me to find Josarian and kill him, because the Valdani were already so afraid of him."

"So you found him and helped him kill more Valdani?" she guessed.

"Yes." He tensed as she glided forward and, without asking permission, touched the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. Her scent wafted around him, subtle, luxuriant, intoxicating in the dank air of the caverns. The warmth of her skin reached out to him, turning him again into a boy who longed for her touch but was too proud to risk her rebuff.

"Where did you get these?" she asked. "This is Kintish workmanship, isn't it?"

"I left the Adalian coast on a ship bound for Kashala," he replied, looking down into her upturned face. He realized with vague surprise that he was now taller than she was; he hadn't been, back then.

She held his gaze for a moment, then turned away. "Kashala... I did sometimes wonder where you had gone. If you were alive. What had happened to you."

"Whether the Society had found me?" He heard the edge in his voice and clenched his teeth, reminding himself to keep his head.

"No, I would have heard," she reminded him.

"You know about Kiloran's bloodvow, torena?" Josarian asked, watching them both closely, his face dark with concentration as he tried to understand the tension between them.

Tansen's breath came out on a soft puff of laughter. "You might say the torena urged him to swear it."

"What?" Josarian's voice was shocked.

Elelar's eyes flashed, the aristocratic coolness of her manner melting away as anger bubbled to the surface. "What did you expect, after what you did?"

"What did you expect me to do, after all the things you said?" he challenged.

"I never said anything to make you do something so reckless, so destructive, so abysmally stupid!" she shot back.

"You were the one who showed me the way, who taught me my duty, who taught me what they really are." Nine years of anger, of burning resentment, flooded his veins. He heard it throbbing in his voice, exposing him, but suddenly he didn't care. How could she have done this to him?

"You can't blame it on me!" she shouted. "You could have gotten us all killed! You nearly did! As it was, you ruined everything! If not for you, we could have won!"

"Won what?" he snapped. "Another thousand years of slavery? Another ruthless conquest?"

"The Valdani are the only enemies that matter!" she cried.

"You're wrong." He had told her so then, too, and he saw that she still didn't understand. "And you were wrong to betray me, Elelar." He shook his head and added, "I thought you had more courage than that."

Elelar stepped back as if he had slapped her. Her face was pale with the shock of his insult. The mingled blessings, banishing prayers, and mourning chants of the Beyah-Olvari were reaching deafening proportions. Such hostile, emotional outbursts were deeply distressing to them. Tansen looked around at his wailing, swaying companions and cursed himself for having lost control. He knew better. He was a shatai. He must focus on the task at hand.

"I did what I did to save the Alliance," Elelar said, her voice quiet but shaking with anger. "In one stupid, irrational act, you destroyed Sileria's future. You nearly destroyed the Alliance, too." She glared at him, her gaze scorching. "I couldn't change what you'd done, but I wasn't going to let you destroy the work of years, the work to which my parents, my grandfather, and so many others devoted their lives."

"The work of years?" Tansen's voice was scathing. "In a few short months, Josarian has hurt the Valdani more than the entire fifty years of the Alliance's scheming and double-dealing and—"

"And without us, he'd continue wasting his efforts on minor targets," she snapped. "Violence without intelligence is nothing! Or haven't you learned that yet? Have you totally wasted these nine years?"

"He's a shatai," Josarian interrupted, his voice harsh with anger. "And no one may speak to him so, torena. He has used his time well, and you owe him more respect than—"

"A shatai?" She glanced from Tansen's swords to his face, her expression confused. "I have seen shatai, and you don't look—"

"I, uh..." Tansen looked wryly at Josarian. "I underwent a slight transformation after I joined Josarian. A shatai would be too easy to spot in the mountains." Seeing her dubious expression, he sighed and unlaced the front of his shabby tunic enough to expose the brand on his chest. Her astonished gasp pleased him.

She came forward and stared at the elaborate scar that he had earned with sweat, pain, and skill, and which he bore with pride. "You... became a shatai." Her voice was the barest of whispers.

"I know, you're disappointed." He closed his tunic. "For nine years, I've no doubt you've been picturing me as dragonfish bait."

She rolled her eyes. "For nine years I've been busy w..." She stopped and stared. "Nine years. The bloodvow! So that's why you came back."

"Yes."

She turned her palms up. "Then... it's over?"

"That's what I need to discuss with Kiloran," he said. "He seems to have forgotten to rescind the bloodvow, and the Society knows I'm back."

"They'll send assassins after you."

"Two have already found me."

She blinked. "And?"

"And if this keeps up, I'll soon have more shir than the Society."

She looked stunned. "But... they're assassins. How in the Fires did you—"

"I'm a shatai." He enjoyed the opportunity to show her a little condescension. "I am not so easy to kill."

Her gaze was intent, assessing. "You're not afraid of them."

"I can kill as many as Kiloran can send," Tansen said dismissively. "That's not the problem."

"The problem," Josarian said, "is that our fight with Kiloran interferes with our bloodfeud against the Valdani."

"Our fight with Kiloran?" Elelar's brows went up.

"Tansen is my bloodbrother now," Josarian told her. "His clan is gone. There is no one but me to fight at his side."

Elelar looked back at Tansen, her irritation evident. "Now that's just wonderful."

"I thought you would be interested," he said with satisfaction.

"You're needed in the mountains," she explained to Josarian. "More than you're needed at Tansen's side."

The notorious rebel clearly didn't appreciate being spoken to as if he were a child. "Tansen cannot go back to the mountains until this business with Kiloran is settled, so neither can I."

"There are more important considerations than—"

"If you betrayed him, torena, then you can hardly expect me to listen to your advice." Josarian's expression revealed contempt, and Tansen suspected that it was a novel experience for Elelar to be addressed this way by a shallah.

"Dar grant me patience," she muttered. She glanced at Tansen. "I can guess why you've come. You want me to help you find Kiloran."

"Yes."

"You can't truly believe he'll rescind the bloodvow?"

"It has been nine years," Tansen said, knowing the words were hollow. "Honor dictates—"

"Don't waste my time pretending that Kiloran cares about honor."

"I'm bringing back the shir."

"You've still got it?"

He nodded. "It's an honorable peace offering."

"Not after what you did." Her voice trembled with the emotions she was trying to keep from erupting once again. "He will never forgive you for what you did."

"Will you help me find him?"

"Tansen..." She put a hand on his arm, the first time she had touched him since entering the Chamber of the Sacred Pool. It was disgraceful, he thought, how much her touch could make him want to forgive her everything. "He's a waterlord. The waterlord. Even a shatai cannot survive a direct attack from Kiloran."

"Will you help me?" he repeated.

"Tansen, please..." She shook her head. "It wasn't your death I sought. It was the survival of the Alliance. And now that I see you again, I..." She looked away. "Let me help you get out of Sileria. I can help you get away safely." 

"I only want you to help me find Kiloran." His heart pounded at her nearness, ached at her softening.

"He'll kill you," she whispered. "He will kill you. You must know that."

"I will see him, with or without your help, Elelar," he said above the wailing of the Beyah-Olvari. "We will make peace, or one of us will die."

"Please—"

"That's how it will be." A woman's pleas, he discovered, were harder to resist than his own fear. "There is no other way." Now was the time to bait the trap. "If you help me..."

"What?" She didn't even bother to look up.

He glanced at Josarian. "Then my bloodbrother might show his appreciation, even after my death, by joining the Alliance."

That got her to look up. Her eyes narrowed, for she knew the answer to her next question: "And if I don't?"

"You'll never see Josarian again."

Josarian recognized his cue. "If you help us now, torena, I'll swear a bloodpact with you."

Elelar held up a smooth, flawless palm. "If you come anywhere near me with a knife, I'll have you arrested."

Josarian's mouth quirked. "Forgive me, torena, I forgot that only shallah women can bear the knife with dignity."

Tansen wanted to laugh at the look Elelar flashed Josarian, since he had no doubt that she still prided herself on being able to bear anything.

"The point is, Elelar," Tansen said, "if the Alliance wants Josarian and the shallaheen to join them, whether I survive or not, then—"

"Then I must take you to Kiloran," she concluded bitterly.

"Those are our terms," Josarian confirmed. He met Tansen's gaze, his look clearly expressing that he'd require a lot of explanations about this scene.

"Do you want to die?" Elelar asked Tansen.

Instead of answering, he reminded her, "You traded my life for the Alliance once before. Why hesitate now?"

She lowered her head and sighed. After a long moment, with the wailing of the Beyah-Olvari echoing all around them, she finally nodded. "Very well. I will take you to Kiloran."