The White Dragon (57 page)

Nothing was worse than a civil war. And Tansen knew he must win this one quickly. The Valdani were surrendering Shaljir and withdrawing their remaining forces from Sileria, but there was no doubt that they deeply resented losing the jewel of the Middle Sea. They might try to get it back, if the mainland wars favored them, their economy recovered, and they thought they saw their chance. Or if not them, then some other conquering power would arise from the ashes of the mainland wars, see Sileria's independence as a brief anomaly in its long history of foreign domination, and attack. When that happened, if Sileria was weakened and depleted by a long and destructive civil war, then all that Josarian had won might be lost.

The very best way to fight an enemy, Tansen's
kaj
had taught him, was to avoid conflict by making it unnecessary. If Tansen could foil Kiloran's plots and ruin his alliances, there would be less need for battle, bloodshed, and suffering.

"Take this home with you," Tansen instructed Kiman shah Moynari, a clan leader from the east. He held up one of the five
shir
of Kiloran's which he still possessed. It glittered with cold sorcery in the flickering golden light of the Kintish temple. "No, don't try to touch it," he cautioned Kiman. "I'll wrap it and put it in your satchel."

"What am I to do with it?" Kiman asked.
 

Kiman somehow reminded Tansen of Zimran, though he was a few years older. He didn't wear the fine clothes Zimran had always favored, but he was every bit as handsome in his own way. Tansen noticed the marriage mark on the man's palm and briefly wondered if a wife might have changed Zimran's philandering ways. Tansen thought not, but perhaps he was wrong.
 

In any event, there were at least two important ways in which Kiman was completely
unlike
Zimran:
 
He was a leader, and he had been totally committed to the rebellion. Now he seemed equally committed to war against the Society; the cloth wrapped around his left hand was dark with blood from the fresh cut on his palm.

"The
shir
was made by Kiloran," Tansen explained to Kiman as he finished wrapping it in his threadbare old tunic which Zarien had been wearing ever since saving his life in that shallow cave on Mount Dalishar. He had given Zarien money (stolen from the Valdani) and sent him forth this evening to buy new clothes and, more importantly, some well-made boots for his abused feet. Victory celebrations notwithstanding, the shrewd merchants of Zilar were doing business at all hours while their town was flooded with people from all over Sileria.
 

"Kiloran made this
shir
?" Kiman's eyes widened.

"When you get back home, I want you to join up with the Lironi," Tansen instructed. "They're already in open conflict with Verlon. Meet with their clan leader—"

"Yes, I've met him before," Kiman confirmed. "His name is Jagodan."

"That's right." Tansen knew him slightly. An impressive and intelligent man in his forties, Jagodan had held the largest clan in the east together through years of hunger, hardship, bloodfeuds, and rebellion. And now he was, according to Cheylan's news, leading them against the Society. There was no more valuable ally than a man like Jagodan.
 

Tansen said to Kiman, "You and Jagodan should keep this plan private. The fewer people who know about this the better."
 

"Yes?"

"A small party should dress as assassins, ambush some of Verlon's men, and leave this
shir
behind in the battle."

"So Verlon will suspect Kiloran is plotting against him?"

"Yes. And when Verlon makes inquiries and learns that other waterlords are making similar complaints..."
 

Tansen intended to send two more
shir
out into Sileria with rebels returning home, with similar instructions for their use. The remaining two
shir
, he would keep for himself. Sooner or later—and the sooner the better—one of the insulted waterlords would respond to this offense by attacking Kiloran.
 

"As soon as the waterlords start quarreling among themselves," Tansen told Kiman, "they'll be weakened, and we'll have our chance to destroy the Society. Perhaps our only chance."

"Do you really think they'll start fighting with each other?" Kiman asked.

"They always have before. In fact, after Harlon's death, they nearly destroyed themselves with their quarreling."

"But they've always united against a common threat."

"Well, we'll just have to change that," Tansen said.

Najdan didn't leave Mirabar's side all evening, nor did he partake in any of the wine which had flowed so freely in the hours since Tansen's speech before the vast crowd. He remained watchful and vigilant, fearing for the
sirana
's safety in this seething mass of people.
 

He had watched the passionate, enthusiastic crowd intently today, so he knew that not everyone had sworn a bloodvow as Tansen had asked. Some people had left the square with furtive haste. Some had hidden in the shadows, muttering and shaking their heads. Throughout Sileria, there were people who had been loyal to the Society much longer than they'd been loyal to Josarian. Some had abandoned the Firebringer at the start of his quarrel with Kiloran. How many more might abandon Tansen now that Kiloran had succeeded in killing the Firebringer?

A practical man, Najdan was convinced that Kiloran must die. The old waterlord would never accept the new Yahrdan whom Mirabar—and therefore Najdan—was convinced was coming to rule Sileria in peace and prosperity. Najdan just wished the man... child.... Yahrdan would arrive soon. Just as it had been easier to attract people to Josarian's cause after he became the Firebringer, so it would be easier for Tansen to gain support and destroy Kiloran if he actually presented Sileria with a Yahrdan for the people to follow.

Details were so important.

Najdan thought it wisest to assume that there were also assassins here now, disguised as ordinary men. They might have been here for many days, previously hoping for a chance to kill Josarian, and now looking for an opportunity to slay Tansen. There might even be those bold enough among them to attack Mirabar, despite her reputation for fierce and terrible fire sorcery. Najdan absently fingered a scar acquired in a cage of shifting lava where she had imprisoned him upon their first meeting.

He glanced at her. She was sitting near a woodless fire, absorbed in conversation with a number of other Guardians, both male and female. A crowd surrounded them, evidently fascinated by their words. Najdan studied each person in turn, as he had numerous times already, but still saw nothing which required action or intervention. Beyond them, he saw only the happy, drunken, triumphant people of Sileria, celebrating victory.
 

Nonetheless, he felt uneasy. As he kept watch over the
sirana
, his hand rested on his
shir
, which was shuddering violently in response to all the Guardian magic around him in Zilar. If anyone was going to attack Mirabar, tonight would be the perfect time. A successful assault on Sileria's famous prophetess could incite terror in those around her and spread doubt throughout the nation. Surely her death, so soon after Josarian's, would convince everyone that Tansen's cause was doomed to failure. Even men who had sworn a bloodvow might think twice about opposing the Society then.

Najdan had not survived twenty years as assassin through sheer luck. He had learned long ago to listen to his instincts, and to act on them even when others doubted him.

He was therefore both relieved and apprehensive when he saw Mirabar finally rise from her place by the fire and approach him to say, "Let's go. I'm tired."

"It is late," he agreed. "We should return to Sanctuary."

He looked around for some familiar faces, feeling it wisest to ensure she had an escort of at least five additional men. The familiar face he saw, however, nearly froze his blood.

Acting on reflex, he shoved Mirabar to the ground, following her down with a knee planted in her back.
 

"Quiet!" he ordered her.

She immediately ceased her muffled sounds of protest. The idiots around them, however, required several warnings. And by then, he realized it was pointless.
 

The face he knew—Candan, an assassin of Kiloran's—had already moved on. Najdan rose to his feet and watched his retreating back. Candan moved with intent but without haste.

"He didn't see me," Najdan murmured. "Or you."

"Who?" Mirabar demanded, rising to her feet and brushing herself off. She nodded to the Guardians and
shallaheen
now asking after her well-being in view of the assassin's rough treatment. "Yes, yes, I'm fine." But she hissed at Najdan, "That hurt."

Najdan climbed atop a stone water trough and peered across the crowd, thankful that the many fires and torches provided enough light for him to see... two other men join Candan. Najdan didn't recognize them, but he recognized the confidence and the intent purpose of his own kind.

Assassins. Headed for the temple.

"Tansen," he said suddenly, realizing it wasn't Mirabar they were after tonight.

"What about him?" Mirabar asked.

"Stay here," he ordered her.
 

"Why?"

Najdan grabbed two nearby
shallaheen
who were both armed and looked sturdy. "Guard the
sirana
," he ordered.
 

"What?"

"Guard the
sirana!
" He didn't like this, but there was no time for something better, and he no longer suspected Mirabar was the target. He glared at the two
shallaheen
and added in his most menacing tone, "If anything happens to her, I will hunt you down and, when I find you, take a very long time about killing you."

"Najdan," Mirabar admonished.

"Stay with them," he told her.

As he shoved his way through the crowd, he heard Mirabar saying, "No, no, it's best just to do as he says." He was glad that she, at least, showed sense.

He didn't want to risk shouting "assassins!" That would only serve to create enough panic and confusion for Candan and his companions, all disguised as ordinary men, to escape. It was always best to corner and kill your enemies; if you let them get away, they would inevitably return to make you regret your mistakes. Kiloran himself had taught this to Najdan long ago; and Kiloran's worst enemy, Tansen, was living proof of the lesson.

When Najdan reached the temple, shoving his way through the throng, he found Galian, the one-eyed Yorin, and two other men posted at the main entrance. They were drinking, laughing, and gossiping, relaxed and happy.
 

"Who's come through here?" Najdan demanded.

"Hmmm?" Galian looked up.

"I said—"

Yorin shrugged. "I've stopped getting all the names. Everyone who—"

"Three men?"

"Recently? Sure. Well, I think it was three. Was it three? I think..." Yorin was still pondering this as Najdan shoved past him and opened one of the heavy doors of the temple. "A lot of people have been going in and—"

"And there are some Guardians in there," Galian added. "Been in there forever, it seems, tearing down—"

"Come with me!" Najdan snapped, hoping they were sober enough to fight, and not caring if they got themselves killed in the process.

"Now just a moment," another of the men objected as Yorin and Galian followed Najdan. "Who's he to give or... Uh, what's
that?
"

The steel clang of Tansen's swords rang through the temple, audible above cries for help and screams of pain. Najdan pulled his
shir
from his
jashar
and ran through the flickering light of the lanterns that made the golden mosaics dance and gleam.

"Darfire!" Yorin blurted. "Get help!"

One of the
shallaheen
sobered up fast enough to spin around and run out of the temple shouting, "Assassins! Assassins!" before Najdan could warn him not to create a panic.