Chapter Thirty-Two

 

 

Zimran was not surprised when Tansen caught up to them in Shaljir's ancient, underground tunnels. He had seen the roshah fight often enough to know how hard it was to kill him. So, no, Zimran was not surprised—just a little disappointed. After all, Tansen had long ago replaced him in Josarian's favor. There was also something—though he wasn't sure what—between Tansen and the woman that Zimran now secretly wanted more than he'd ever wanted any other. So there were few men living whose deaths would have caused him less sorrow than Tansen's. 

To Zimran's relief, they escaped the tunnels the same night they freed the torena from prison. Carved out of underground lava flows long ago, perhaps from the now-extinct volcano of Mount Shaljir which filled the skyline beyond the Lion's Gate, the tunnels were a wonderland of strange blue beings, exotic plant life, and little glowing creatures. However, a brief visit was more than enough to satisfy Zimran, who hated enclosed spaces and felt as if he couldn't breathe properly until they were once again in the open air. Unfortunately, they fled by sea, and like most shallaheen, Zimran had no sea legs.

Tansen believed that their best chance of safe exit from the city was to leave Shaljir while the Outlookers were still stumbling over themselves trying to figure out what had happened. The following day would be too late. And so, after collecting Faradar from the Beyah-Olvari, they escaped via the same route Derlen had used, covering themselves in blue designs to disguise themselves as sea-born folk. They exited the tunnels at the port, where they joined a boatload of sea-born folk ostensibly setting out for their fishing grounds before dawn.

Afraid of disgracing himself, Zimran just concentrated on trying not to throw up everything he'd ever eaten while the boat heaved and swayed. Meanwhile, Elelar and Tansen consulted with their hosts. The sea-born folk and lowlanders had recently sent representatives to meet with Josarian, though no one knew where. This clan Zimran was sailing with, already part of the Alliance, believed that their people were nearly ready to join the rebellion. There was just one small problem.

"They want Josarian to prove he's the Firebringer?" Elelar repeated incredulously. "You can't be serious."

Even wearing sea-born clothes and covered in strange indigo designs, she looked beautiful in the faint, shifting lantern light. Zimran had never before seen such a beautiful woman. Every gesture and glance tugged at his loins, drew him further into her web, and made him long all the more for her. He was no fool, though. He had known that he had no chance of winning her while she was a torena living in a palace in Shaljir and wooed by men of her own class. He had flirted with her because he couldn't resist, but he had known she was beyond his reach—even though Tansen didn't seem to know that she was also beyond his.

Upon learning from Faradar that the torena had been captured, Zimran had believed, as had Josarian, that she couldn't still be alive. In these dangerous times, the Valdani executed Silerians every day, after all. 

Knowing that Josarian would seek privacy with Tansen at Idalar to break the news to him, Zimran had followed his cousin into the woods and eavesdropped. He wanted to see the pain on Tansen's face when he learned Elelar was undoubtedly dead. It wouldn't be as satisfying as seeing the shatai's corpse lying in the mud after some battle, but it would be enough.

Upon learning that Elelar was, in fact, alive, Zimran had known instantly that he must go to Shaljir with Tansen. Since the torena couldn't go back to her palace in the city or to her grand country estates, she would have to live with them, become one of them. Suddenly she was within Zimran's reach, and he would not let Tansen get to her first. He would not sit by idly while that roshah won her by rescuing her single-handedly from Shaljir. He knew that the shatai's plan was insanely dangerous, but he also knew that if anyone could make it succeed, it was Tansen. Zimran decided it would be better to die like a man in Shaljir rather than stay in the mountains and wish he himself could have been the torena's hero. So he went, praying that he would survive and hoping—but not expecting—that Tansen would get himself killed.

Having exhausted the improbable topic of Josarian flinging himself into Darshon, Zimran's companions turned to a new subject while the boat rocked the way his bed had done once during an earthquake in Emeldar.

"Dalishar?" Tansen repeated in response to the captain's question. "No, we can't go back there. The Valdani will expect it, so they'll be watching every road and raiding every village on the way." He sighed. "They'll want the torena back very badly, and they'll do a lot of damage trying to get her."

"You sound as if you think you should have left me where I was," Elelar said sourly.

"Don't you?" Tansen replied without heat.

She hesitated, then admitted, "Perhaps."

Wishing the deck would stop heaving beneath him, Zimran protested, "Your death could only be counted as a terrible loss, torena. Your life is worth whatever it costs us."

Tansen rose to his feet. "Oh, for the love of Dar."

He stalked away—though it wasn't possible to go very far away on this boat. Darfire, Zimran couldn't wait to get back on dry land!

At least Elelar smiled at him. Warm. Sweet. Welcoming. At least there was that.

 

 

Calidar's silken scarf danced in the circle of fire. Josarian watched it, absently rubbing the dull ache in his wounded thigh while Mirabar chanted. She had tried to talk him out of attempting this.

"It's the wrong season," she'd argued. "The wrong time of year. Your wife died in the spring. This world and the Other one revolve together, one moving as the other does. She will be out of reach right n—"

"You can do what others can't," he had argued right back. "And I must see her."

Mirabar had continued protesting until Cheylan delicately offered to perform the Calling in her place. That changed her mind fast enough. Tansen had once privately mentioned to Josarian that Cheylan seemed a little jealous of Mirabar's power and reputation. Now Mirabar clearly felt that Cheylan's offer to help Josarian trespassed on her territory. Guardians, Josarian observed wryly, were not so different from ordinary people, after all. Realizing that Josarian would indeed turn to Cheylan if she continued denying him, Mirabar agreed to Call Calidar. Cheylan had tactfully disappeared after that.

Now, alone with Mirabar and her fire, Josarian waited and prayed. The dreams, the visions, the prophecy... Jalan's mad ravings, the whispered rumors, the outright challenge from the lowlanders and the sea-born folk... 

Josarian knew that he could face death, even such a painful one as jumping into Darshon. After all, he had been facing death for a long time now; and he would embrace it when it came, carrying him all the way to the Otherworld and Calidar. But he didn't want to leave the rebellion in disarray by dying at the behest of his own overblown pride. He wanted to die fighting for Sileria, not stupidly seeking vainglory and legend. He wanted to die for a reason.

Perhaps the answer to his dilemma lay in finding out if Calidar had died for a reason, as Jalan had suggested.

She came at last, answering the Calling despite Mirabar's doubts and warnings. She came to him to answer his prayers and his questions, and that in itself was almost answer enough. He basked in the presence of the woman—the shade of the woman—he had loved more than life itself, the woman he had never stopped missing and longing for.

"Kadriah," he murmured, "I swore I would mourn you forever."

"Now another waits for you," Mirabar said, her gaze glassy and unfocused, her voice soft and breathless.

"Did you... leave... to free me for Her?" Josarian asked at last, his chest aching.

Calidar's shade didn't deny it or correct him. "Go to Her now... She awaits you..."

"And you?" He heard the pleading in his voice and didn't care. "I don't want to forget you."

"I await you in the Otherworld," Mirabar said on a sigh, her voice eerily like that of his dead wife. "I will wait for you forever."

"Calidar..." He inhaled, wishing he could smell her familiar scent, wishing he could touch her warm flesh one last time. "Kadriah."

"Now is the time..."

He heard Armian's words, and he knew his destiny. Sorrow, rather than pride, filled his heart. Acceptance, rather than fear, flooded his veins. He would go to Darshon. He would give himself to the goddess. He would offer himself to She who would never, as his dreams had made clear, share him with the memory of Calidar.

Lost in his thoughts as Calidar faded from his vision for the last time, he was startled into awareness by Mirabar's cry of dismay. He saw her thrust her hand into the heart of the fire, then withdraw it with a sharp gasp, nursing burned flesh as Calidar's scarf went up in flames.

"Josarian!" Mirabar looked up at him, tears of regret filling her flame-hot eyes. "The scarf! I'm sorry. I tried... I'm so sorry..."

He wanted to grieve, but he knew he could not mourn his wife any longer. It would not be tolerated; Dar was a jealous goddess. He knelt and cradled Mirabar in his arms.

"Shhh... It's all right," he murmured. "Don't fret, Mira. It's all right. I won't need it again."

"You're going to Darshon, aren't you?" Her voice was weak and despairing.

"Yes."

"Then I'm coming with you," she said firmly.

He smiled. "I know."

Mirabar was supposed to leave here with Kiloran, but she'd never go now. Josarian would send Cheylan in her place, he decided. Nothing would keep Mirabar away from Darshon now, and Josarian knew he might need her there.

He rose to his feet and summoned one of his men. "Send a runner to Dalishar. Tell Jalan I'm ready. I'll meet him at Darshon."

 

 

His failure to re-capture the torena meant that Koroll would have to inform the Imperial Council that she had escaped. Several days of combing the countryside and slaughtering peasants had produced no results whatsoever. Koroll even began to suspect that people might actually be telling the truth; the rescue party might not have brought Elelar back to rebel-held territory after all. He had to stop the search sooner than he wanted to, too, since he couldn't risk going much closer to the region around Dalishar with only two hundred men. Even assuming that informants were exaggerating, Koroll knew that there were thousands of armed Silerians living in rebel territory now, and hundreds more were joining them every day: refugees from sacked villages, more shallah clans pledging their blood to Josarian's cause, escaped convicts, more assassins, bandits and smugglers, ambitious fools and naive idealists... It made Koroll shudder to think of social life within rebel circles. He derived some small satisfaction in picturing Torena Elelar stranded amidst such company.

However, the satisfaction was very small, indeed, when he considered how to phrase his dispatch to the Imperial Council. There were only so many ways to explain that the prison in Shaljir had been ransacked by rebels who had liberated his most valuable prisoner—and none of the ways made Koroll look good. He decided not even to mention Borell's "final orders" or the trial Elelar wouldn't have lived to see. Koroll's previous plans on that score were irrelevant now that the torena was gone; her death would have been so much easier to explain away than her escape.

On the road back to Shaljir, Koroll's company came across a small rebel group returning from a raid. Vastly outnumbered, the rebels tried to flee rather than fight. More than half of them got away, but Koroll's men were able to run down a few. Galloping up to where four Outlookers had seized a big, well-fed, surprisingly well-dressed rebel, Koroll stopped his men from killing the man. He'd had trouble impressing upon the new recruits that they needed to keep some rebels alive for interrogation. Silerian rebels were not usually talkers, not even under torture, but one must try, after all, even if success was rare.

This attempt was failing. Even when the Outlookers tied this rebel like a trussed chicken and began beating him, he struggled, spat, cursed them, and disappointed any hopes that he might talk in exchange for his life—or for a quick death.

However, Koroll at least discovered why this man was such a healthy, well-dressed specimen: He was an assassin. One Outlooker, favoring a hand which seemed to have been burned, showed Koroll the wavy-edged dagger the man had carried. It now lay on the ground nearby. The Outlookers had disarmed the rebel but found they could not touch his dagger, which burned with a bitter cold worse than fire.

A shir! And a captive assassin. Unlike the new recruits he commanded, Koroll knew what this meant. He had taken the trouble to learn about Silerians and their ways. He knew how powerful a shir was, and he knew what a man had to do to get one. This assassin might not give Koroll any information, but he would give him something almost as valuable.

Without another word, without warning, Koroll unsheathed his sword and slit the assassin's throat. Silent with surprise, his men watched him turn and pick up the shir.

It came into his hand almost as if answering his summons, and it felt more sure and powerful in his grip than any sword ever had. It was a lovely thing, easily as beautiful as the only other shir he'd ever seen, the one owned by Tansen. The wavy, water-made blade shimmered almost like the diamonds of Alizar; it practically seemed to ripple and move of its own volition, as if still connected to the currents of the spring or river which gave it birth. Even the hilt was very fine, made of petrified Kintish wood with silver and jade inlays. It was as exquisite as it was deadly. Koroll wondered who had made it. The waterlord who had fashioned this thing would fear it, too. To make his loyal servants powerful, effective, and feared, he had imbued this weapon with enough power to threaten him, too. Whoever he was, no matter how mighty, he was vulnerable to this thing.

Kiloran himself? Ah, perhaps that's too much to hope for.

Koroll ran the blade along his thumb and discovered that the legends were true. Although the shir was sharp enough to cut through cloth as if it were thin air, it could not harm him. It could not drink his blood now that he possessed it.

He slipped it inside his tunic. It would live from now on against the soft flesh of his belly, where no Valdan would ever dream of keeping an unsheathed blade. Perhaps he would kill more rebels with it. Someday, he hoped, he would even use it on the waterlord who had made it.

 

 

Elelar was exhausted by the time they finally reached the mountains. They had traveled from the coast on foot, something she wasn't used to. Nor was she used to hauling her pampered body over rough ground, negotiating uneven trails narrower than her hips, or climbing straight up the side of rocky mountain faces to "save time." She would like to complain sometimes, just to relieve her ire, but it would only cause more trouble between her two companions, and she didn't need that.

Men.

Besides, she knew that Faradar was just as tired, and the maid said nothing. A torena should show no less fortitude.

Well aware of the danger they were in, knowing how desperately the Outlookers would be searching for her, Elelar allowed Tansen to push her to the very edge of her endurance—and sometimes beyond. She knew he didn't do it lightly or without careful consideration, and she often caught him studying her, as well as Faradar, trying to assess her strength and determine how much farther she could go. Tansen insisted on brief but regular rest stops, even in the mornings when the two women felt fresh; it would make them last longer, he said, and help build their endurance. He pushed Elelar hard, though, so hard she was furious at him more than once. She understood why he did it, but she needed somewhere to direct her feelings of fear and exhaustion. He understood; and sometimes he even purposely inspired her anger to fuel her strength.

He's playing me like a harp.

Having exercised similar skills on various men, Elelar recognized the tactics. Since she knew Tansen was doing it to ensure her survival, she permitted it.

Zimran, on the other hand, offered her all the courtesy and solicitude of a toren courting a virgin. He found shady places and smooth boulders for her and Faradar during their brief rests. He offered them water at regular intervals. He gave Elelar a hand over rough portions of ground, scavenged wild harvest fruits and fresh honey for her, and scouted ahead to warn her when the going was about to become rough or reassure her when it was about to become easier.

Zimran and Tansen, both shallaheen, didn't even seem to breathe a little harder during what Elelar considered a punishing, life-draining uphill trek. Unfortunately, this left them plenty of breath to argue.

Zimran thought Tansen should be more considerate of Elelar; Tansen thought Zimran should stop coddling her. Zimran thought Tansen's pace would kill the torena; Tansen thought Zimran's dawdling would get her killed. Zimran thought a particular place was a good spot to stop for the night; Tansen thought they should press on. And so on. At times, Elelar felt like a juicy bone being fought over by two hungry dogs.

Zimran was a handsome man and quite charming when he chose to be. Elelar found it pleasant to return his simple gestures of flirtation with easy smiles and uncomplicated appreciation. After her recent experiences in Shaljir, she enjoyed such gentle and undemanding consideration.

Tansen was, as always, more challenging company. Elelar was actually rather fond of Tansen, perhaps because of their long history together, or perhaps because he had grown into an extraordinary—if difficult—man.

She just wished, she thought wearily, that he and Zimran would stop bickering so much.

Suddenly exposed by the Valdani and condemned after all these years, this was the first time in Elelar's memory that subterfuge, misdirection, and false promises weren't part of her daily life. There was little that Tansen didn't know about her, and neither of them liked to allude to the events of which Zimran and Faradar knew nothing. So, for the first time in her adult life, she wasn't living in a nest of tangled lies.

She had expected to die in Shaljir, or to be taken to Valda where she'd stand trial—and probably die anyhow. Now finding herself unexpectedly free in a way she had never foreseen—for who would have thought even Tansen would do something so daring and mad as break into Shaljir's prison?—she found herself thinking only day-to-day, sometimes only moment-to-moment, for the first time in her life. After all these years, suddenly she had no hidden agenda, no secret purpose, and no false friendships or pretended enmities. Now she was just a rebel escaping through the mountains, hoping to survive, and attempting nothing more complex than reaching safety.

Elelar had never felt so free. It surprised her that she could walk all day without thinking about much besides putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to break her neck by falling down a steep slope or slipping off a sheer drop. She was amazed by how quickly and deeply she fell asleep at night in the cool mountain air—she who had always been prone to lying awake long into the night, planning and scheming, and waking often from a shallow sleep. For once, she didn't feel compelled to make two plans for every possibility and three counter-plans for every contingency. Now she simply lived the moments as they came, light-headed with her own freedom.

No Borell. No Shiraj. No Ronall. For the time being, no Alliance. No orders or duties.

It was a revelation to her to see the unconcealed desire in Zimran's gaze and realize that only one factor influenced her response: whether or not she wanted him as a lover.

Elelar had taken only one man, the very first man, out of desire. All the others—and there had been so many—had been for duty. The bitter heartbreak of that first man's betrayal was only a memory now, lost in the elaborate maze of her secretive life; but choosing or rejecting every lover for a purpose, to serve a concealed goal, had become second nature to her in the succeeding years. She had forgotten what simple desire was like, and she hadn't ever expected to accept or a reject another lover based solely on what she wanted as a woman.

The freedom to do so now was so unfamiliar, she was giddy with it. If her life had been different, she might throw her arms open to Zimran now, eager to defy her aristocratic upbringing by taking a shallah lover. However, so many men from so many walks of life had groped for their pleasure between Elelar's thighs that her true freedom now lay in the ability to say no.

 No. She rolled the word around in her mind, enjoying the echoing silence of it.

No, I just want to sleep at night.

What a luxury! How restful it was that there was no man who could call her to his bed on a whim or invade her bed just because he felt like it. What a privilege this newfound celibacy was. For so long, Elelar's body had been a tool, a vessel, a means by which she bargained with unwitting men to get what she needed—what Sileria and the Alliance needed. She realized how much she enjoyed this unfamiliar freedom she had now to give or withhold herself without such considerations.

 Poor Zimran. He would be disappointed, and he would probably think it was because she was a torena and he was a shallah. Being a man, he also wouldn't understand even if she tried to explain it to him. Ah, well. She would enjoy his charm and courtesy, and she would return it in kind—when she had the strength—but she didn't intend to admit another man to her bed any time soon.

Elelar wondered if Tansen would be disappointed, too. His desire had been transparent when he was a boy, but now he seldom let his feelings show, and she found them confusing when he did. Oh, he still wanted her, she didn't doubt that; there were some things a woman could smell on a man's skin, no matter how stern he kept his face. But there were so many conflicting and fleeting responses mingled with his desire: mistrust, amusement, resignation, wariness. There were times when he was silent and secretive, but also moments when he spoke to her almost as he spoke to Josarian—honestly, directly, letting his thoughts come uncensored to his lips. There were times when he seemed to respect her, but also moments when he fairly radiated contempt and exasperation.

She couldn't think of another man who had such complex reactions to her. Josarian tolerated her. Zimran longed for her. Borell had wanted to possess her. Koroll had dismissed and overlooked her. Shiraj had enjoyed her. Ronall... She decided not to think about Ronall. Not now. This was not the time or place to dwell upon thoughts of the half-Valdan husband who had made such startling revelations in her prison cell.

Tansen was enough to fill her thoughts for now. He pushed and prodded, coaxed and goaded, keeping Elelar moving, making her go just a little farther than she thought she could each day as they approached Mount Niran. She would stay there until the Valdani stopped looking for her and it was safe for her to travel to rebel-held territory around Dalishar.

They stopped at a Sanctuary this evening, earlier than Tansen wanted to. Zimran had convinced him of the advantages. Besides giving the women a chance to wash, rest, and eat hot food, it would give Zimran a chance to make contact with men in a nearby village, gathering news of the war. So Tansen had agreed to the plan. Immediately after washing and eating, however, he'd left the simple comfort of the Sanctuary to prowl the surrounding area. The Valdani were barbarians who did not respect the inviolability of the Sisterhood. They routinely captured Sisters and regularly raided Sanctuaries searching for outlaws and rebels. So Tansen was watching for Outlookers.

Faradar was exhausted and so, after combing and dressing Elelar's newly-washed hair, excused herself and went to bed. As the sun set over the mountains, Elelar found herself bored by the Sisters' conversation and too alert for sleep. Knowing it would annoy him, she nonetheless went outside to search for Tansen.

He came up silently behind her, after she had called out for him several times, and snapped, "Yes, I can hear you. The people in Adalian can probably hear you."

She jumped and whirled to face him. "There you are!"

He sighed. "What do you want?"

Elelar's brows arched at his tone. "Are there hoards of bloodthirsty Outlookers in the hills?"

"No. Is that all, torena?" He turned to leave.

"Wait." She put a hand on his arm. He froze. Very slowly, he turned back to her.

"Well?" he prodded after an awkward silence between them.

"I would like to thank you for saving my life." Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she pulled her hand back and continued, "I was denied a trial. Myrell was taking me to the cellar for... death by torture. He promised he wouldn't let me die until I told him everything he wanted to know."

"He won't be torturing anyone else." Tansen's voice was quiet. "Ever again."

"So I... owe you my life."

"I hardly recognize you when you're being humble."

"You don't make humility easy," she countered.

He smiled. "Ah, forgive me. Very well, torena. I pray you, don't mention it. I'd do the same for anyone."

"Would you?" she whispered.

He went absolutely still for a moment, then looked away, as if ashamed. She could hardly hear him when he replied, "No. And Mirabar knew it."

The sudden shift in topic unsettled her. "Mirabar?"

"She's the one who told me you were still alive. She brought the news from Derlen."

"He escaped?" When Tansen nodded, she asked eagerly, "And my other servants?"

"As far as I know, they're all safe. Probably all trying to reach Dalishar."

Elelar wanted to collapse with relief. "Thanks be to Dar! I was so worried. I wanted to know, wanted to ask. But, of course, I couldn't. I couldn't risk letting the Valdani know whose safety I cared about."

"It must..." Tansen's voice softened. "It must have been very hard for you in there."

She nodded. "Now I know why men—warriors—say it's better to die quickly. Waiting, struggling against hope, trying to keep your worst fears at bay... It weakens you, drains you. Sometimes I wondered if Borell was doing it on purpose, even though he surely wanted me killed before I could disgrace him even more."

After a moment, Tansen asked, "Was he vengeful?"

She understood what he meant. "Yes." 

His expression was dark as he took her hand and said formally, "Shall I swear a bloodvow, torena?"

"No. He's already dead," she said. "Suicide."

"Suicide?" he repeated in surprise. 

"Yes. Because of the disgrace, I suppose."

Tansen released her hand. Elelar suddenly realized how seldom he had ever touched her. She wondered what he was like as a lover. Yes, now that she was free to choose, based solely on who she wanted, she knew she would think of him more often. There was no trace in him of the skinny, ignorant, awkward boy brimming with painful infatuation. He was all man now, experienced, confident, and ruthlessly disciplined. He was a man of grace and courage, intelligence and honor. What a rare lover for her, she thought wryly. He was special, but the complexity of their lives had forced her to look beyond his qualities as a man—until now. Now she was free to think of him as any other woman might, and she was surprised by how pleasing the sensation was. Besides, it would also be a practical liaison; there was no one Josarian trusted more than Tansen, and she... Elelar almost laughed at herself, suddenly aware of what she was doing. Even now, she couldn't help considering how it would serve the Alliance if she took another lover.

Old habits die hard.

She decided to let the matter rest for a while. This was a man, she was starting to realize, to whom she might choose to open her arms with no hidden purpose. But she wasn't yet ready for such a relationship; not so soon after her complicated life and near-death in Shaljir. If Tansen wanted her despite everything, then she supposed he might still want her even if she made him wait a little longer. Yes, she would let the matter rest for a while.

"Would he... have mourned you, do you think?" Tansen asked.

She didn't know what he meant. "Who?"

"Borell." Sensing her surprise, he added, "You said he wanted to marry you."

"That was before he found out the truth."

Tansen nodded. "He felt betrayed. He was vengeful. He would have ordered your death, no doubt, if not for the protests of your husband's family."

"Yes." She couldn't interpret the expression on his face, which she could still see clearly in the twilight.

"But that doesn't mean he wasn't still in love with you."

"Still in love with me?" Elelar shrugged. "If he was, then he was a bigger fool than I took him for."

"True, but..."

"But what?" 

Tansen hesitated before saying, "Have you never loved someone you also hated?"

"Never." She folded her arms against the descending evening chill. "I loved one man who betrayed me. From that moment on, I hated him. There can be no mingling of two such feelings."

"Can't there?"

She sighed with irritation. "Have you ever loved and hated someone at the same time?"

Tansen stared at her for a long moment before replying, "Yes. More than once, torena."

"If you—"

He moved quickly. His hand over her mouth silenced her. Elelar went still and pliant, aware that he now stood alert, listening to something she couldn't hear.

"Someone's coming," he whispered. "Go behind those trees and don't come out until I tell you to."

She nodded and hid. The scared pounding of her heart slowed with relief a few moments later when she recognized Zimran's voice. He was very excited. Elelar spoke and understood the mountain dialect, having learned it in childhood from her shallah nurse. However, she had trouble following such fast, breathless conversation as this, and the two men were standing so far away she couldn't hear all of their words. They were discussing something to do with Josarian, but that was all she could make out. Wondering whether they were all in fresh danger, she remained prudently hidden until Tansen called to her.

"I'm leaving," he said abruptly.

Elelar blinked. "Now?"

"Now," he confirmed. "There's no time to waste."

"You can't travel these mountains in the dark," she protested.

He ignored her comment. "In the morning, you and Faradar will continue on to the rebel camp at Mount Niran with Zimran. You'll be safe there for now."

Tansen's voice was harsh with strained emotion as she and Zimran accompanied him back to the Sanctuary.

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Elelar demanded, trotting to keep up with him.

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. A curt gesture silenced whatever Zimran was about to say. "You deserve to know," Tansen said. "You should be prepared."

"For what?"

"The rebellion may be over. We may lose everything."

"What? Why?" She grasped his arms. "What has happened?"

"Someone has convinced Josarian that he's the Firebringer," Tansen said tersely. "He's on his way to Darshon to prove it by flinging himself into the volcano."

Elelar gaped at him in stunned horror for a moment before saying, "No! He can't! He mustn't." The rebellion was still too new and scattered. If the leader of the shallaheen died now, the whole movement could collapse. "You've got to stop him!"

"Darfire, do you think I'm going to Darshon to give Josarian a push?" Tansen shook off her grasp on his arms. "Of course I've got to stop him!"

"Josarian has gone mad," Zimran said. "What other explanation could there be?"

"You heard this news in the village?" Elelar asked.

Zimran nodded. "Josarian announced his intentions in Kiloran's camp and sent a runner to Dalishar. Word is spreading already." 

Elelar looked at Tansen. "He must be stopped. Can you catch up to him?"

"He has a head start of a few days, but I know the zanareen," Tansen said. "My brother was one. He died in the volcano. The zanareen won't let Josarian simply walk up and jump. There are days of rituals and ceremonies they'll want to put him through. It could give me enough time to reach him before he... before he can do it."

"Will he listen to you?" she asked desperately.

"I'll make him listen," Tansen vowed.

Elelar rubbed her forehead. "What could have happened? What is Josarian thinking?"

"I don't know, torena." Zimran shook his head. "He is not the man I knew. He is no longer the cousin I grew up with."

"We're wasting time," said Tansen. "I'll go get my things. Zimran, get me a traveling lantern and plenty of fuel." He almost smiled. "There are times when I actually miss Mirabar. Guardians come in handy in the dark."

"If she's so handy, why didn't she stop him?" Elelar snapped.

He sighed. "Who knows?"

"I'll have the Sisters pack some food and water for you," Elelar said.

Tansen nodded and went to get his satchel. Hurrying into the Sanctuary to get food for him, Elelar realized there would be no rest now, no time for living simply as a mountain rebel. This changed everything.