Chapter Forty-One

 

 

They waded across the shallow waters of the Zilar River, then stalked through the dense brush in search of game. Josarian suggested they separate, but Zimran wanted to stay together. They weren't out here for long before Josarian began to suspect that his cousin hadn't really wanted to hunt, after all. Although a good hunter, Zimran was being as noisy as a whole pack of clumsy Outlookers, tromping around with heavy feet and speaking often and loudly.

Knowing they'd see no deer now, Josarian smiled. He realized that Zimran had just wanted to spend some time alone with him, something they hadn't done in so long. It saddened him that his cousin needed a pretense to get his company for a little while these days. Glad as he was to have Zimran back at his side, he had been too busy to pay any attention to him.

He would rectify that now, he decided, as the shadows lengthened and the forest grew dark. He slapped Zimran on the back and slung his quiver over his shoulder, talking idly as they ambled along, now making no pretense at hunting.

Even after focusing his attention on Zimran, it took him a while to realize that Zimran was... anxious. It was becoming increasingly obvious as evening descended. Zimran was looking around as if he had come to this forest as prey rather than as a hunter. He jumped at every little sound. He seemed nervous and strangely impatient. Now that he had Josarian's undivided attention, in fact, he hardly seemed to hear a word his cousin said and contributed little to the conversation.

"Zim?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is something wrong?" Josarian asked.

It was getting too dark to be sure, but Josarian thought his cousin's face flushed. "No."

He wondered if Zimran was worried about being alone out here with a man marked for death by both the Valdani and Kiloran. It was getting close to nightfall, after all. Perhaps they should turn back. Josarian said as much.

"No!"

The outburst surprised him. "Zim, I don't think—"

"We're not going back!"

He knew then. Even before he saw the first Outlooker, poorly disguised as a Silerian, descending from a concealed ledge in the rocks; even before he saw two Valdani appear behind Zimran or heard two more come up behind himself, he knew.

"Zim."

It was there in his cousin's face now. The betrayal. The hatred. The guilt. The triumph.

It broke his heart.

Zimran? No!

The Outlookers ignored his cousin, as Zimran ignored them. Josarian jumped back and unsheathed his sword. He would not be taken alive. Zimran jumped back, too, a flash of fear in his face revealing that he thought Josarian meant to kill him.

"Come for me," Josarian snarled at the hesitating Outlookers. "Come for me now!"

Josarian saw that they were willing to ambush an unsuspecting shallah, but not ready to risk their lives bringing down an armed and fighting rebel.

They never changed.

He swung out at the nearest one, then whirled around, holding half a dozen men at bay, fighting with both his sword and his yahr.

Dar, let me take many of them with me as I die!

He heard thundering in the distance. Horses. Hoofbeats. More Outlookers?

"Josarian!"

He recognized the distant voice. Tansen!

Josarian grinned wolfishly, seeing sudden panic take hold of his attackers. They were deep in rebel territory, and they had come here to kill a single, isolated man. More Outlookers were emerging from hiding—there seemed to be at least a dozen now—but there were not nearly enough men here for a battle.

"Josarian!" Tansen shouted, closer already.

"Here!" he responded. "Hurry!"

Two Outlookers came for him, intent upon killing him fast enough to escape from the approaching rebels. The ground shook as the riders drew near.

"No!" Zimran screamed. "No!"

"Tansen!" Josarian shouted. "I'm here!"

He thrust his sword into the body of one attacking Outlooker, then struggled to yank it back out before someone killed him. He struck his second attacker across the face with his yahr, then braced his foot against the chest of his first attacker to withdraw his sword.

Mounted riders thundered into the scene, separating Josarian from most of his attackers. He saw the familiar flash of Tansen's two blades, saw Lann cut a man down with the absurdly long Moorlander sword he favored, saw his friends sweep through the Valdani with violent energy and deadly intent. They launched themselves off their horses and entered the battle, howling their war cries as they rescued their leader from this trap.

Josarian ducked the whirling blow of a skillfully-handled yahr, then met his cousin's hate-filled gaze.

"Zim, no!" he begged.

He parried a thrust of Zimran's sword. Ducked another swing of the yahr. Fell back a few steps. Tansen had warned him never to fight defensively. He should always seize every opportunity to wound or kill. But he couldn't. Not this time. He couldn't kill this man.

I can't!

"Zim, please..."

Josarian took another step back and ducked the yahr again. As boys, they had trained together in the use of the yahr. He knew every counter to every move that Zimran knew, for they had shared the same teacher and had practiced together for years. They were evenly matched with a yahr. But not with a sword... Zimran had never practiced enough with that new weapon.

"Please don't make me kill you," Josarian pleaded, parrying another thrust.

Sweating and gritting his teeth, Zimran snarled with rage and came at him again.

I can't. Please don't make me!

Josarian fell back another step, knowing he would have to stop retreating. He would have to fight Zimran. He would have to kill a man whom he had loved his whole life. He must do it or die.

"How could you betray me? Why?"

Zimran paused for only a moment. Panting with mingled fear and rage, he said in a low, unfamiliar voice, full of venom and bitterness, "I never wanted your war."

Josarian stared at him, everything forgotten except the dark heart now revealed to him. He had never foreseen this. He couldn't believe it, not even now that it was happening. He wanted it to be just a nightmare from which he could awaken.

"Zimran, no..."

Josarian couldn't seem to raise his arm to defend himself, not even as he watched Zimran's sword come at him. Everything was happening in slow motion, and only the burden of his sorrow seemed real right now.

Zimran's eyes suddenly widened with astonished pain, and he dropped his sword as a blow to his legs drove him to his knees. Tansen stood directly behind him, blood-splattered, sweat-drenched, and breathing hard. His gaze was unyielding as he met Josarian's bewildered, tear-filled eyes.

"Bid him farewell, Josarian." Tansen's voice was harsh and breathless.

"Tan..." Josarian shook his head. "Don't. Let me talk to him."

"Make your peace with Dar, sriliah," Tansen advised Zimran, raising one sword.

"No!" Zimran screamed.

"Tan!" Josarian lunged forward. 

Too late.

Tansen was faster. He had always been faster. He slit Zimran's throat with a single, merciless swipe. Josarian caught his cousin's body before it hit the ground. He held Zimran's gaze in his last moments of life.

Standing over him, gulping for air and holding the bleeding wound at his side, Tansen said, "So die all who betray Josarian." His voice was hollow and exhausted. "There are... no exceptions."

Tears streamed down Josarian's face as he stared into the lifeless eyes of another boyhood friend who had died because of him.

"It could have been different," he whispered to Zimran. "I wish..." It should have been different.

Must it always be this way?

He had not known he could go on living with a heart this broken and battered. He cradled Zimran's limp body in his arms, oblivious to the screams of dying men all around him, and howled with grief as the hot flow of his cousin's blood poured over him in silent condemnation.

 

 

Tansen and Josarian knelt side by side on the banks of the Zilar River, stripped to the waist, washing. A fire blazed in the forest behind them, begun by Mirabar, who now guarded it, burning the Outlooker corpses along with Zimran's body. They had kept one Outlooker alive. He was securely bound and under guard now. Later—perhaps in the morning—they would send him back to his masters with a message. Right now, though, neither of them could even think, let alone compose a verbal message for their enemies.

Bound by blood and brotherhood, Josarian had helped Tansen down to the river when the fighting was over. But he had not yet spoken a word to him. Not since Tansen had slaughtered Zimran even as Josarian begged him not to do it.

Feeling light-headed and weak, Tansen let the icy waters of the Zilar wash the blood off his skin, knowing that Josarian would continue to see it there long after it was gone. The zanareen, who had sent his rescue party in the right direction in time to save Josarian's life, now stood guard around Josarian, chanting, praying, giving thanks that the Firebringer was safe. He ignored them. They elevated Tansen in their praises, for he had come to save their leader. He ignored them, too.

Exhausted and in pain, Tansen barely had the strength to sluice the bitterly cold water over his body.

"Here," Josarian said at last, his voice subdued, "let me. You're going to fall in headfirst in another moment."

"No, I—"

"Sit back," Josarian snapped.

He sat back.

Josarian soaked a cloth in the water and then wiped gingerly at the edges of Tansen's reopened shir wound. "It looks worse again."

"Oh."

"You should rest," said Josarian.

"We must leave here."

"Tan—"

"Now." He winced as Josarian placed pressure on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "If those Outlookers were expected to report somewhere tonight, someone may come looking for them when they don't show up."

"Searlon?"

"I don't know." He couldn't bear to tell Josarian the whole truth. Not now. Later, yes. But not right now.

"How did you know?" his brother asked.

"I'll explain later."

"Did you know about..." Josarian's voice broke. He looked away for a moment. "Did you know he would be the one to lead me into the trap?"

"I..." Tansen took a shallow breath, trying not to strain the wound. "Yes. I knew."

"We were born only three months apart." Josarian dunked the cloth into the river again. "We shared everything as boys. As men, we..."

"I'm sorry."

I'm sorry he betrayed you. I'm sorry I had to kill him. I'm sorry.

A tear streamed slowly down Josarian's face, glistening beneath the brilliant light of the full twin moons. "I know."

Tansen would not ask for forgiveness. He said only, "It had to be done."

"If only..." Josarian bowed his head and gulped for air. He scrubbed at his face and finally said, "We will meet again in the Otherworld. Mirabar says that our earthly concerns and quarrels will not matter there."

"Mirabar..." Tansen pushed Josarian's hands away from his wound and said, "She's been out there long enough." He rose to his feet.

"I'll get her. You—"

"No, you go back to camp. Tell everyone we're moving out now. And fast. I'll get Mirabar."

Josarian nodded and turned to don his shabby tunic. Tansen scooped his up and slipped it over his torso as he ventured into the dark forest in search of Mirabar, following the glow of her fire. At his insistence, she had stayed with the zanareen until the fighting was over. Few men could match her for courage, but she didn't belong in close combat with Outlookers.

Najdan was with her, of course. He was filthy from the recent battle, and his shir was practically leaping out of his jashar it was so agitated by Mirabar's funereal fire. His face was unfathomable as he watched Zimran's corpse burn. Considering that he, too, had just betrayed his leader, Tansen couldn't help wondering what he was thinking right now.

"Mira," Tansen said, "we need to—"

A blood-chilling scream split the night wide open. It came from the riverbank. Tansen was already running toward the sound when he heard more voices—screaming, shouting, crying out. Above it all, there was a terrible roaring unlike anything he'd ever heard in his life, a sound that was so terrifying it made his hair stand on end and a clammy sweat break out on his skin.

His side was burning and his head was spinning by the time he reached the riverbank. What he saw there made him forget his pain, his exhaustion, his weakness. Made him forget everything but the horror confronting him.

It rose out of the river, looming over the shallow waters of the Zilar like some monster from a madman's worst nightmares. Tansen knew what it was even before he heard Najdan's hoarse, shocked voice utter the words: the White Dragon. A voracious, deadly creature born of a magical union between water and a wizard.

It was huge, far bigger than a Widow Beast or even a dragonfish, and its fierce roar made the very ground tremble with awe. It shifted and glittered beneath the brilliant light of the moons, gleaming like the blade of a shir, shining like the diamonds of Alizar. Its long, serpent-like neck swayed and twisted, the sharp icicles inside its great mouth snapping at its enemies. If it had eyes and ears, Tansen could not see them, so he didn't know how it had found its intended prey—the Firebringer—with such unerring accuracy.

The White Dragon held Josarian in its grasp, its powerful, icy claws cradling him against its horrifically beautiful form as it roared at the zanareen and shallaheen who were screaming, waving weapons, and trying to find the courage to attack it. Josarian's face was distorted with terror. His frantic struggles didn't even seem to be noticed by the creature which held him in its deadly embrace. He was badly wounded, probably by those claws, and his blood mingled with the water that dripped off the beast, splattering the rebels and spilling into the current of the Zilar River.

Tansen ran forward through the shallow water, feeling its deadly chill. He had attributed the icy cold of the river to the time of year and to its source being high up in the mountains... But now he knew the true source of that life-stealing cold. Now he understood. This was Kiloran's river now. The old waterlord had taken control of it without telling anyone, biding his time, awaiting his chance. He had given birth to this monstrous creature here in the heart of Josarian's territory, hoping that it would someday have the opportunity to fulfill the purpose of its creation.

The Valdani had failed, and so Kiloran now set his deadly monster free to devour Josarian.

"No!" Tansen screamed, running straight at the enormous, dripping beast, his swords drawn.

He swung at its haunches. His blade cut through pure water. He swung again, cutting, stabbing, slicing, thrusting. He circled the roaring beast, plunging through thigh-deep water, his flesh burning in a thousand places from the bitterly cold, ensorcelled droplets flying off the White Dragon. Each splash was like the touch of a shir. Tears streamed down his face from the pain.

"Josarian!" he howled, attacking the creature again.

An enormous claw came down and struck him. It was like being hit by a galloping horse. He flew backwards. The waters of the Zilar closed over his head as he fell. He lunged to the surface, still hanging onto his swords. The great dragon-like head lowered, following him, the hungry jaws snapping and seeking him. He swung a sword with an arm that felt heavy and numb. His blade scraped along the shir-like fangs. The cold breath of the beast froze his wet flesh.

"Tan!" Josarian screamed.

A bolt of fire struck the creature in the head. It flinched and turned away momentarily. Tansen scrambled to his feet and sloshed forward to attack again.

"It's water!" Mirabar shouted. "Get back!"

Standing hip-deep in the river, she extended her arms. Fire poured from her body. Sheets of flame swept into the White Dragon. Ribbons of lava encircled its head. A ring of fire floated atop the water's surface, surrounding Kiloran's vicious beast with the ancient power of the Guardians.

The White Dragon bellowed with rage. It clawed at the flames, spat on the fire, and fought the woman.

It glittered as it whirled in search of her, momentarily forgetting its hostage as it sought to destroy this new and greater threat. Sensing his opportunity, Josarian made another attempt to get away. The creature felt the Firebringer's struggle and returned to its original purpose, clamping both claws tightly around Josarian's chest. He grimaced with pain, crying out again.

The White Dragon now turned its back on Mirabar, hurrying to finish the work for which it had been born. It ignored the circle of fire licking at its shimmering body. Its head descended, and its great mouth closed over Josarian, its dripping fangs ripping into his flesh.

"No!" Tansen fought his way through the ring of fire, slashing wildly at Kiloran's creature.

Josarian's horrible screams tore the night apart and shattered his brother's soul.

"Noooo!"

A powerful blow from the beast sent Tansen flying into Mirabar, bringing the two of them down together. She screamed, too, and lost control of her fire. Her flames withered and died as she sank beneath the river's surface with Tansen. They clawed at each other, trying to rise again, trying to plunge through the water to renew their attacks on the White Dragon.

Josarian's agonized screams died the very moment he did, ending as his body disappeared into the gaping maw of Kiloran's hideous offspring.

"No!" Tansen fought Mirabar as she tried to stop him, to hold him back. "Josarian!"

"No, you can't help him now! Stop!" she cried. "It'll take you, too!"

He flung her out of his way as the great beast curled in on itself, devouring the last of the Firebringer. Mirabar clung to Tansen's legs, coughing and sputtering, dragging him down into the water again.

"Let me go!" he snarled, hitting her.

The creature was just beyond his reach, hissing and sizzling as it started decomposing, its task complete, its goal achieved. Josarian was dead. Gone. Devoured.

"Josarian!" Tansen howled.

Mirabar held onto his tunic, his hair, his harness—any part of him that she could reach as he struggled to get away.

"No," she screamed. "It'll get you, too! Don't go near it!"

He raised his sword, intending to strike her with the hilt. She moved faster and punched him right where Koroll had stabbed him. His knees buckled with the pain and he fell back down. His head sank beneath the surface again, and he inhaled water when his pain-shocked body gasped involuntarily for air.

A strong arm—much stronger than Mirabar's—seized him by the hair and dragged his head up. Sputtering, choking, and gulping down air, his gaze sought the White Dragon again, not even acknowledging the hands that hauled him upright and then held him prisoner. The creature was disappearing now, dissolving, melting back into the river which had given it birth. Dying after its brief, destructive life. Escaping before Tansen could avenge the man it had murdered.

"Josarian!"

He struggled to go after the thing, to try once more to kill something which had never even been truly alive.

"It's gone." Najdan's voice was breathless and quiet. "He's gone, Tansen."

My brother is dead.

"No..."

Mirabar surged to her feet, soaking wet, disheveled, bleeding. "We must... get away from this river," she said, panting hard.

"Josarian..."

"He's dead, Tansen. We must leave now."

My brother is dead.

He heard the terrible, heartbroken wailing before he realized that it came from him. Helpless, grief-stricken sobs shook his body as Najdan hauled him laboriously to the riverbank. The sorrow of his loss tore him apart with wracking cries of protest as Mirabar took his swords from his numbed hands.

Josarian is dead.

The mourning of the zanareen shuddered through his senses, their death chants lighting a fire that singed his soul. He heard Lann sobbing, heard the sounds of panic and horror and heartbreak all around him.

My brother is dead.

For the first time since that day, long ago, when he discovered his entire village had been slaughtered by Outlookers, for the first time since he had gazed upon the mutilated corpses of his loved ones, Tansen shah Gamalani broke down and wept like a child.

 

 

So exhausted she could hardly keep standing up, Mirabar blew several small fires into life in the empty hours before daybreak. To ward off the menacing darkness of this endless night. To warm men chilled by grief and terror. To await the light of the most uncertain dawn of their lives.

Najdan dug food and water out of the supplies they carried and forced it upon her. She took one bite and thought she would be sick. Hot tears slid down her face again. Grief renewed itself in her heart.

Josarian was forever in Kiloran's keeping now. He would never reach the Otherworld. He would never answer a Calling. He would never see Calidar again. That was the way of the White Dragon, a death more horrible than anything the Valdani had ever devised. Until the day Kiloran finally died, Josarian's spirit would be locked in the agony it had entered last night in the jaws of that grotesque water-born creature that the old wizard had created for his enemy's destruction.

I will wait for you forever, Calidar had said.

Mirabar now saw that the words had been prophecy, not promise. Calidar's shade had known what becoming the Firebringer would ultimately cost Josarian, what it would cost them both: an eternity apart. Forever, as Calidar had said; and for Josarian, an agony that would end only with Kiloran's destruction.

"Sacrifice..." Mirabar's voice broke on the word and more tears streaked down her cheeks.

Josarian had believed in Sileria's freedom more than anyone, and in making sacrifices for it.

"Sirana?" Dull with exhaustion, Najdan now became alert again, observing her renewed misery.

"He gave everything," she said hoarsely. "And this is his reward." She met the assassin's gaze. "When his agony finally ends, what awaits him? Oblivion. Nothing more. For this, he gave his life and heart to Sileria, followed the prophecy of the Firebringer, fulfilled the visions of the gods..." Her voice faded as a painful wave of guilt swept across her. "And I led him to it."

"No, sirana, he sought his destiny, and you—"

"I led him to it, Najdan! I went to Kandahar and turned his bloodfeud into a revolution! I Called the shade that convinced him to go to Darshon. I—"

"Shh, sirana. He would not want you to do this to yourself."

Najdan abandoned his usual respectful reserve and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she wept brokenheartedly, blaming herself and railing against the gods.

"I will not serve them any longer!" she cried. "The Beckoner can stay away forever! I will not..." Her lungs strained for air in the throes of her grief and outrage. "... serve such..." She gasped again. "...cruelty."

"Ah, sirana." Najdan stroked her hair like a father comforting a child. "I said that when I left Kiloran. But the gods, the Otherworld, the tides of destiny... Surely they are superior to a waterlord, and their will—"

"No," she said furiously. "I will not! If the Beckoner ever comes again, I will not—"

"Shhh, you're tired," Najdan said. "Make no vows or promises in the dark, sirana. Always wait until dawn."

They had left the riverside as soon as possible after the deadly horror of Kiloran's revenge withered back into the waters from which it had come. Stumbling through the dark, they had traveled until they were too tired to go on. Tansen's howling grief had faded into a hollow-eyed silence that was even more disturbing than his unprecedented outburst. Wounded and battered, he walked as if propelled by some secret sorcery of his own. He refused any attention for the seeping shir wound, or for the deep cuts and heavy bruises he had earned in the recent battle for Josarian's life. He refused food and water, too, and he ignored any attempt to communicate with him. Now he sat alone, away from the fire, his gaze fixed upon the distant, moon-drenched peak of Mount Darshon, wherein dwelled Dar the destroyer goddess.

He will both succeed and fail...

Is this what the visions meant? Tansen had been the catalyst for the rebellion. Without him, Josarian might well have died long ago at Britar. Without Tansen, Josarian would never have met Elelar or made a pact with Kiloran. Without the shatai, Josarian might never have left the western mountains or sought his destiny as the Firebringer.

He will both succeed and fail...

Josarian was dead, but Sileria was not free yet. Not until the Valdani left. Would they do so now?

"The prisoner," Mirabar said suddenly, her mind now called away from grief and set once again upon the path of duty.

They had brought their Outlooker prisoner with them. They had no plan or purpose, they had simply brought him along on their mad flight from Kiloran's river.

Mirabar pulled herself out of Najdan's comforting embrace and repeated, "The prisoner."

"What about him, sirana?"

Tansen's quiet voice startled them both. "The prisoner..."

She turned and watched the warrior rise to his feet. He approached them as they stood beside the fire she had conjured, his steps slow, his face pale with pain. His eyes were shadowed and weary. His voice was calm when he spoke. Familiar. Shrewd and quick. Once again the voice of the man she was accustomed to.

Tansen met her gaze in the firelight and nodded. "We need him to tell the Valdani that... when the Outlookers failed, the Silerians killed Josarian themselves to..." His face twisted briefly with disgust. "To seal the bargain. To fulfill the treaty."

"So they'll leave Sileria," Mirabar said.

"Kiloran knew," Tansen said. He glanced at Najdan, then turned his gaze to the fire. "He found out you had taken your woman away from Kandahar, and he knew what that meant. Knew that you would warn us. Try to save Josarian."

Najdan's eyes clouded with horror. His mouth worked for a moment, but no words came out. Even upon learning of Srijan's death, he had not looked so shocked. Finally, struggling to get the words out, he said, "Upon my soul, I swear I had no—"

"I know," Tansen said. "You couldn't have known. No one could have known, Najdan. I didn't even believe in..." He shuddered. The silence was heavy with memories they all wanted to banish. "We did all that we could do. Josarian himself would... say so if he were here now." He cleared his throat.

"I think the prisoner's mind is a little unhinged now," Mirabar ventured. It wasn't surprising. They at least knew what that river-born thing was. The Valdan, however, had probably doubted his own sanity from the moment he'd seen the White Dragon rise out of the water.

"As long as he can remember what we tell him to say to Kaynall," Tansen said, "that will be good enough."

They hadn't bothered to bind the Outlooker after fleeing from the site of Josarian's death. He was too frightened to try to escape in the dark and too shocked to do much besides huddle pathetically amidst the zanareen, who chanted and prayed, wept and mourned. Mirabar had been surprised to discover the man spoke a little common Silerian. She supposed it was why he'd been chosen to join a raiding party going deep into rebel territory, where Valdan wasn't the most useful language.

The Outlooker was willing to cooperate with Tansen's orders, as long as no one tried to make him go anywhere alone before morning. Then he fully intended to go straight back to Shaljir and board the first Valda-bound ship leaving port, even if it meant being charged with desertion.

Tansen sighed. "Sometimes we're tempted to flee, too," he admitted, "and we live here. But you mustn't leave until you've reported to Kaynall. After he questions you, I doubt you'll have much trouble getting back to Valda."

Once they were sure the Outlooker would do as told, Tansen questioned him about the ambush on Josarian. The Valdan didn't know who had arranged it or how.

"All I knew was that there would be two shallaheen at the ambush site near the river, and we were not supposed to attack the one in the yellow tunic." He brushed a trembling hand through his short hair and added, "Then we were supposed to bring Josarian's body back to Shaljir."

"To Advisor Kaynall?" Tansen asked.

The Outlooker nodded. "And Commander Cyrill. He's been in Shaljir since the surrender of Cavasar."

"How were they going to identify the body?"

"There's a Silerian who meets with Kaynall. He used to meet with Koroll, before the commander got killed b—"

"What does this Silerian look like?"

"Tall, sleek, dangerous. Always well-dressed. He has a scar on his face and speaks good V—"

"Searlon."

The Outlooker shrugged. "I don't know his name. I always had the impression that I wasn't even supposed to know about those meetings."

Mirabar met Tansen's gaze as the sky turned pink with the long-awaited dawn. "Kiloran," she said. "He means to rule Sileria now."

"Then we will just have to stop him," Tansen replied.

When morning glowed bright and brassy all around them, they gave the Outlooker a fast horse for his journey back to Valda. Before he left, Tansen also gave him a length of knotted, woven twine dotted with the rough beads of a shallah.

"It's a jashar," Tansen told the Outlooker. "Show it to anyone who tries to stop you between here and Shaljir."

"Is it some kind of spell?"

"It's a message, one which almost all Silerians can interpret.," said Tansen. "It gives you my protection to return to Shaljir as a messenger between the rebels and the rosh—the Valdani."

The Outlooker studied it curiously for a moment, then nodded his understanding and kicked his horse, setting off on the long journey back to the relative safety of Shaljir.

They watched him leave, then Tansen turned to Mirabar. "I want you to go back to Dalishar and—"

"No, I'd rather go to Niran," she said, thinking of the way her head always reeled at Dalishar.

"No. It must be Dalishar," Tansen insisted. "Kiloran can't hurt you there."

"If not Niran, then I'd rather return to Sanc—"

"Kiloran has used Outlookers to violate Sanctuary before. As long as there are Outlookers in Sileria, he might do so again." He took her shoulders, shaking her slightly when he could see she still intended to object. "He knows Najdan has betrayed him. He'll send someone else after you."

"I can—"

"Can you survive the White Dragon?" he asked tersely. "You saw what it did to Josarian, surrounded by a shatai, a Guardian, an assassin, and more than fifty men." He shook his head. "Go to Dalishar and wait for me there."

"She will go," Najdan promised. "I will see to it."

"But where are you going?" Mirabar asked.

He said nothing, only showed her the second jashar  he had made after weaving one for the Outlooker. She recognized it instantly.

So die all who betray Josarian.

"The torena," she whispered.

Tansen nodded.

"You'll never do it," Mirabar said.

"I will." There was steel in his voice.

"I'm coming with you." She didn't trust him. Not where that woman was concerned.

"I want you safe at Dalishar."

"I don't—"

"After I ki... After I do this, we must destroy Kiloran. I can't do it without you, Mira."

He was right, she realized. She must concentrate her energy against the waterlord. "All right," she said at last, "I will wait for you at Dalishar."

"I won't be long."

"There's just one thing, Tansen." Now there was steel in her voice.

"What?"

"Don't come back until it is done." Her gaze was fierce as she held his, willing him to remember Josarian's death. "Don't come back to me unless you can show me Elelar's blood on your sword."