Authors: Laura Resnick

The White Dragon (58 page)

Typical.

There were more than just three assassins here. A lot more. They had evidently been insinuating themselves into the temple all evening, a few at a time, dressed as
shallaheen
, until there were... Actually, Najdan wasn't even sure how many there were now. Since none of them were dressed as assassins, the scene was very confusing. He hesitated, reluctant to attack someone who might be an ally and unwilling to turn his back on anyone who might be an enemy.

One man lay dead near Tansen, who was fighting three more. A scream attracted Najdan's attention. He looked to his right and saw a Guardian strangling someone with what appeared to be a rope of glowing orange...
Lava
, he suddenly realized. It burned through the flesh and severed the man's neck. Another Guardian blew flames at someone and set his clothes on fire; the screams were terrible. The sudden bursts of their fire sorcery made Najdan's
shir
shake even more wildly in his hand. Other Guardians lay dead on the floor, which didn't surprise him; Guardians were spiritual leaders, and many had no combat experience at all. Now a woman, absurdly, started shrieking that they mustn't risk setting the temple on fire.

It was only when Najdan saw one Guardian slit the throat of another with a
shir
that he realized that not all of the Guardians in here were really Guardians.

He raised his
shir
to attack one running toward him, but the Guardian raised his arms and cried, "No! Please, don't! No!"

Najdan lowered his
shir
and acknowledged his mistake... Until he noticed, due to long association with Mirabar, that something was wrong. "Where's your insignia?"

"My what?"

There was no broach depicting a single flame inside a circle of fire, the proud symbol of Mirabar's sect.

"Your insignia," Najdan repeated, realizing.

The man moved suddenly, a
shir
appearing in his hand as if by magic, but Najdan was faster. He stabbed the stranger through the belly and ripped open his vitals. A hot and messy death, he noted with distaste as blood and innards flowed over him and onto the floor, as the dying man sank to his knees. Najdan bent over the corpse and took the
shir
, the very first one of Kiloran's he had ever touched except his own.

He heard another woman scream, but he couldn't see her. His path was blocked by an enormous, blinding fire which seemed to be raging out of control. If its creator had lost command of it—or if its creator was dead now—it could indeed destroy the temple. Half of Zilar, too. Guardian fire needed no fuel and could destroy what ordinary flames couldn't, including the town's stone dwellings.

Najdan circled the growing fire, moving in the direction of the woman's screams. He f saw a female Guardian trying to fight off an attacker. He didn't reach her side in time to save her, but he killed the assassin who gutted her, surrounded by dancing flames and twirling whips of lava.

They're killing women now.

"Najdan."

He spun around and met the eyes of someone who had once been an ally. "Candan."

"You will pay for your betrayal,
sriliah
," Candan spat.

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?" Candan repeated disdainfully. "Without a doubt! You can't really imagine they'll win?
Shallaheen
and Guardia—"

Candan jumped in surprise as Najdan threw the newly acquired
shir
at him. He didn't regain his balance before Najdan slid the other one between his ribs and sought his heart.

"You always did talk too much," Najdan said as Candan gazed at him with wide, astonished eyes.

"Na... Na..."

"This will hurt," Najdan promised. He twisted the hilt and yanked the wavy-edged blade out of Candan's body.

The assassin gurgled in agony, then slumped to the floor, jerking awkwardly in his death throes.

From behind Najdan came more shouts.

"Argh! Yagh!"

He turned quickly, thinking the noise signaled a fresh attack; but all he saw behind him were Pyron—who must have arrived in the last few moments—and Galian. They were killing another assassin. Well, Galian was doing the killing, using his two
yahr
. Pyron was doing the shouting, as well as the jumping up and down.

When the assassin lay dead, Pyron said with feeling, "I hate assassins! I just hate them!" He saw Najdan standing nearby, armed and blood-soaked, and added, "Er, nothing personal."

Tansen shouted, "Don't let him get away!"

Najdan saw that the
shatai
had cornered his remaining opponent while another assassin wounded a
shallah
who stood in his path and then ran for the doors at the back of the temple. Najdan followed. The assassin made it out the door and into a covered walkway. He escaped into the crowded street ahead. Najdan pursued him—and ran smack into someone who suddenly appeared out of nowhere, blocking the exit of the covered walkway. Najdan's speed was such that the two of them went flying straight into the crowded street, knocking several people over and creating noisy chaos.

By the time Najdan had picked himself up, the fleeing assassin was long gone. There'd be no chance of catching him in this densely packed throng. He looked down with displeasure at the young person whose sudden appearance had brought an abrupt end to his pursuit. "You are a tiresome boy."

"You know," Zarien said, glaring up at him, "we'd get along much better if you just never came anywhere near me."

"I agree. Watch where you're going in future."

"You can't blame—"

"Get up," Najdan ordered, tucking his
shir
back into his
jashar
. "We've attracted quite enough attention."

Zarien looked around and noticed how everyone was chattering and staring at the armed assassin and the sea-born boy who had just brought down half a dozen people in their tumbling drama. He flushed and rose to his feet. Dusting himself off ostentatiously, he said, "These clothes are new."

Najdan noticed that the boy addressed him in
shallah
now, rather than the common Silerian he had used at Dalishar. He supposed he shouldn't just leave Zarien out here on the street, so he said, "Come inside."

Zarien followed him with a look of long-suffering tolerance. But the boy's expression changed dramatically once they entered the burning temple. Najdan suspected he'd made a mistake and should have instructed the boy to wait outside for Tansen.

"By the eight winds!" Zarien's face contorted with horror as his gaze encompassed the aftermath of the attack: the wounded, the dead, the blood, the fire. "What in the Fires is going on?"

"An attack by assassins," Najdan replied.

More people had been alerted by now. They came pouring through the doors to help, albeit it too late. Amidst the confusion, Najdan saw Tansen. He was covered in blood, but unharmed, and shouting for the crowd to organize water supplies and to fight the fire in case the Guardians couldn't bring it under control. Then he turned and saw Najdan and the boy.

"Zarien!" Tansen's expression, so often unreadable, revealed tremendous relief. Najdan saw that the
shatai
had grown to care about the boy. "You're safe!"

"What.... What..." Zarien sounded dazed.

"We'll talk about it later." Tansen's gaze flashed to Najdan as he asked, "Mirabar?"

"Safe. When I saw Candan coming here, I left her in someone else's care." He glanced at Zarien and added, "The other assassin got away."

"I left this one alive just in case." Tansen nodded to where Yorin and Pyron were finishing their task of tying up the man whom Tansen had been fighting when Najdan went in pursuit of the escaped assassin.

"For questioning?" Najdan guessed.

"Yes. Do you recognize him?"

Najdan studied the man. "No. Let me see his
shir
." Tansen showed him where it lay on the floor, useless to anyone else as long as its owner was alive.

Najdan studied it a moment, then nodded with certainty. "It was made by one of the brothers. Abidan or Liadon. Their work is too similar for me to say which one, but it's one of theirs."

Tansen nodded and thought for a moment. "And this other man —Candan?—whom you recognized. One of Kiloran's men?"

"Yes."

"Do you recognize any of the other dead men?"

Accustomed to death, Najdan didn't shrink from examining the corpses. "I recognize those two," he informed Tansen. "Both Kiloran's men. But I don't know the others." He eyed the daggers of the dead men. "Most of them were Abidan's and Liadon's men. Which makes sense. Zilar lies within their territory."

"None of Baran's assassins," Tansen mused, studying the various
shir
. He scoured his face with a dirty hand, suddenly looking weary. Only a few days ago, Najdan recalled, he had been dying of a serious wound. "Perhaps Baran hasn't joined them yet. Perhaps there's still time to win him over to our side."

"I know that he hates Kiloran beyond reason," Najdan offered. "But I don't know why."

"Hatred might not be enough to make him side with us against Kiloran," Tansen said pensively.

"True. He and Kiloran have declared a truce several times in the past. Whenever they agreed that something mattered more than their private feud."

"And what could matter more," Tansen said, "than the fate of Sileria?"

"Tansen!" Someone Najdan didn't know, a man wearing the Guardian insignia, joined them and said, "We've got the fire under control. It'll be out shortly."

"Good work." Tansen frowned. "Did you burn yourself?"

"It happens," the Guardian said, dismissing his singed sleeve and reddening skin. He turned away to return to his task.

Najdan had seen some of Mirabar's burns and knew that even Guardians were not always impervious to fire.

"I will show you where I left the
sirana
," Najdan said, coming to a sudden decision. "I think a very large escort would be advisable for both of you on your way to Sanctuary for the night."

Tansen glanced at Zarien, who was edging towards the main exit and looking as if he might vomit at any moment. "Yes, that's a good idea. The boy shouldn't stay..." He sighed and looked at Najdan again. "And you?"

"I will question the assassin."

"Are you sure—"

"He is my kind," Najdan said. "If he can be made to talk, then it will take another assassin to get him to speak."

Tansen accepted this without expression. "I'll leave some men here to make sure that you're not surprised the way I was just surprised. Just in case."

Najdan glanced over the devastation all around them now in this previously immaculate shrine to foreign gods. "It's been a very interesting day."

"You have a gift for understatement."

"And you," Najdan observed, "are very lucky."

"In more ways than one," Tansen agreed.

"Indeed. I am beginning to lose count of the ways."

"Yes, well," Tansen said dryly, "my grandfather always told me that it's wise to be lucky..."

"Ah."

"... but foolish to rely on luck."

Chapter Twenty-Three

There's one sure way of winning an argument with a

woman. Unfortunately, no one knows what it is.

—Moorlander Proverb