The White Dragon (18 page)

When dawn came, when he felt sure the visions must have passed and the thing she called the Beckoner must have retreated, Najdan went in search of Mirabar. He brought Sister Rahilar with him, because he didn't know what Mirabar would need, and it wasn't fitting that he, a man, should handle her.
 

The Sister was rather pretty, in the almost-harsh way of
shallah
women, but she chattered far too much. He missed Haydar, his woman of many years. He hoped that she was safe and that the earthquake had not hit hard at Sister Basimar's Sanctuary.

Najdan was scanning the hillside and ignoring Rahilar's vapid babbling when he spotted Mirabar lying in a heap, her fire-bright hair glistening with morning dew. Her long homespun tunic was hiked up, exposing her bare stomach. The modest pantaloons of a
shallah
female were now torn, leaving one golden knee naked.
 

He turned his back on Mirabar and said to Rahilar, "Tend her." At least the woman was good at that.

Rahilar arranged Mirabar's clothing and woke her with some smelling salts. Najdan knew Mirabar was well when she snapped, "Ugh! What are you doing?"

"You had fainted," Rahilar murmured.

"I did not faint. I was... hit on the head with a volcano."

Rahilar looked at Najdan. He ignored her. "Would you care to return to camp now,
sirana?
" he suggested.

"No, I'd like to sit on the damp ground in the middle of nowhere all day." Her eyes glowed almost yellow with bad temper.

Yes, she would be fine. He had learned by now to expect a little crankiness after these encounters, as if she'd drunk too much wine or indulged in Moorlander cloud syrup.

"Oh, my
head
," she said, cradling it.

"I have something that will help that," Rahilar said. "Back at camp."

"Camp..." Mirabar met Najdan's gaze. "Has he come?"

Najdan knew whom she meant. "No,
sirana
. Tansen hasn't arrived yet."

"Dar shield him," she murmured.

"Yes,
sirana
." He had not prayed since his youth, but now he tried the words with an unaccustomed tongue: "Dar shield him."

From Kiloran. From himself. From the earthquake. From his destiny.

Yes, Dar had much to shield the
shatai
from.

Chapter Seven

To know is nothing at all.

 
To believe—that is everything.

      
      
      
      
      
—Kintish Proverb

Tansen felt the re-opened
shir
wound throbbing at his side, draining his life away with the cold magic of a waterlord.
 

It seemed like such a long time since he'd gotten this wound. Tansen remembered killing High Commander Koroll before collapsing. He'd never even seen the
shir
with which Koroll had done this to him. But he did remember one of his men later saying that it evinced Baran's distinctive workmanship, with its silver and jade inlays on a hilt of Kintish petrified wood.
 

And Baran isn't even my enemy.

Well, not back then. Perhaps he was now. Who knew? An immensely powerful waterlord, Baran was nothing if not unpredictable. And who could say which was more dangerous in Sileria, anyhow: a friend or an enemy? As Josarian had said:
I can take care of my enemies, but Dar shield me from my friends.
 

Tansen grunted in pain. Not from the
shir
wound, but from the memory of Josarian's death, which now returned to him with the pain of a sharp stab to his vitals.

"Are you awake,
siran?
"

He tensed with surprise, coming into his senses as he realized he wasn't alone. With tremendous effort, he opened his eyes. The world whirled dizzyingly for a moment, a cacophony of sight and sound as sunlit shadows flickered over rough stone and the unfamiliar voice spoke to him again.

"
Siran?
"

His eyes came to rest on the figure addressing him. Dark-haired, olive-skinned, brown-eyed. Short hair. Intricate indigo tattoos on the face, forearms, and hands. None on the torso, as a fair-skinned Moorlander might have.  
      
Sea-born.
 

And young. Caught in that bewildering web between childhood and adulthood, but still clearly more boy than man.

Memories started to drift back into Tansen's conscious mind. The ambush on the path to Dalishar, his collapse afterwards, the voice which had roused him, the sea-born boy who had helped him.

What's he doing so far inland? And all alone?

They were in a cave, hiding because Tansen was too weak to defend himself—let alone the boy who had helped him—and incapable of making the journey to Dalishar or to Sanctuary.

What's your name?

His lips moved, but no sound came out. The boy seemed to understand the problem and, lifting Tansen's head, held the waterskin to his lips.

He choked briefly on the water, and his wounded side felt as if all the Fires of Dar were consuming it. His left hand burned coldly, too, and he now remembered the wound inflicted on it during his struggle with the last of the six assassins who'd ambushed him. He drank more, letting the water soothe his parched throat.

"What's your name?" he croaked at last.

"Zarien." The boy hesitated, then awkwardly crossed his fists over his chest and bowed his head. "I know who you are,
siran."

No surprise there. His swords and the brand on his chest made him easy to identify in Sileria, even without the
jashar
he wore around his waist.

The boy's tattoos, Tansen knew, were like a
jashar
; but Tan was, after all, what the sea-born rather contemptuously referred to as "landfolk," and so he couldn't interpret them. "Family? Clan?" he asked, wondering whence this boy had come.

"I... was raised by the sea-bound Lascari."

"You're sea-bound?" Astonishment lent strength to his voice.

"I was."

"Ah..." He only knew a little about the sea-born folk. Even those sea-born who spent much of their lives ashore seldom came inland and rarely mingled with landfolk. He was aware, though, that the sea-bound clans were regarded as anything from slightly exotic to rigidly fanatical even by their sea-born cousins who willingly traversed the land. "This means... banishment from your clan, doesn't it?"

"Yes,
siran
. I am dead to my people." The stern, youthful pride in the boy's expression dared Tansen to pity him.

He finally noticed the bruises on the boy's face, and a fresh cut along his cheek. "What happened to you?"

Zarien reached up to touch a bruise on his forehead. "The land shook."

"Earthquake?"

"Is that what it was?"

"When the land shakes, yes."

"The ground heaved. The cave walls moved. There were falling rocks." The boy frowned. "I'm not used to caves. I didn't know it was unsafe until it was too late. Anyhow, you were here, and unconscious..." He shrugged.

Tansen didn't remember any of this. "You shielded me?"
 

"I didn't know what else to do."

"I owe you my life," Tansen said. However, it felt like there would soon be nothing left to collect of the debt. His body was immobile, his mind weak and sluggish with fever and blood loss.

"It is my honor,
siran
," said Zarien.

"All the same... I am... very grate..."

Zarien lifted his aching head and gave him more water. It revived him, but less than it had before. He was weary, so weary...

His gazed drifted downward as he fought to stay awake. He caught his breath when he noticed the terrible scars on the boy's naked torso and realized what they were.

 
"Dragonfish," Tansen murmured, remembering Armian's wounds. Only these scars were from a much, much worse attack. The beast's jaws had closed over the child's entire torso. Its broad teeth had sunk far into his flesh, Tansen judged, based on the width of the marks left behind. How in the Fires had the boy survived
that
?
 

"Yes." Zarien took a deep breath and then blurted, "A dragonfish killed me during
Bharata Ma-al
."

Tansen digested this, wondering if he was hallucinating. "And then?"

"And then I was rescued by Sharifar—"

"One of the nine goddesses of the sea."

"Yes."

A
detailed
hallucination.

The boy added, "I thought that most drylanders didn't know the names of the sea goddesses." He sounded pleased with Tansen.

So my hallucinations are blessed with accuracy
.

"I have a broad education," Tansen told him.

"Of course,
siran
." Zarien continued, "And then Sharifar made a bargain for my life."

The tale which followed was as compelling as it was extraordinary. The boy seemed sane enough, though Tansen didn't place a great deal of faith in his own judgment while he lay bleeding to death, feverish, weak, and confused. However, having seen Josarian emerge alive from the Fires of Dar to drive the Valdani out of Sileria, and having seen Kiloran's White Dragon emerge from the icy waters of the Zilar River to destroy the Firebringer, he supposed anything was possible.

"I'm sorry," he said, aware of the boy awaiting his reaction. "But Josarian isn't your sea king. Not now, anyhow. He's dead."

"Yes, I know that now. You told me yesterday."

He vaguely remembered. "Was it only yesterday?"

"I'm disappointed, of course," Zarien said. "But that is the way of the landfolk, isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"To betray, to kill in vengeance, to fight among themselves."

Tansen felt both depressed and irritated. "And the way of the sea-born is what?" he challenged.

"To fight the dragonfish."

He grunted and felt himself drifting away again. Tansen felt compassion for this boy, so far from home, bent on a seemingly impossible task in a world which did not welcome him. "But you're... a strong boy." Zarien had come this far. He had faced the bloody mess Tansen had left on the path to Dalishar. He had helped a wounded man to this cave and shielded him during an earthquake that must have scared him half to death. Tansen figured Zarien's chances of surviving were better than average. "Strong," he repeated, too weak to say the rest.
 

"I am Lascari," the boy said, with a creditable attempt to sound casual.

...Tansen felt his face glow with pleasure at the compliment, but he shrugged it off like a man. "You have been away from the mountains for too long. Here, I am not special...."

"There are ghosts here," Tansen whispered.

"Where?" He heard apprehension in the boy's voice.

"Don't worry," he murmured. "They are only
my
ghosts."

"I don't understand."

"No, I don't imagine you do."

"I've been thinking,
siran..."

He closed his eyes, trying to decide what to do. Send the boy to Dalishar? Would he make it? To Sanctuary? Would he find it? If Zarien remained here, Tansen would probably die, whereas there was a slight chance that a Sister could arrive in time to save him...
If
a sea-born boy could find one
and
also remember where this cave was. Meanwhile, if assassins found them here together, the boy would certainly be killed.