The White Dragon

by Laura Resnick

  The zanar prophecies might say nothing about the Firebringer's ultimate destiny after driving the foreign invaders out of Sileria, but Kiloran could certainly see into the future after Josarian survived jumping into the volcano at Darshon. The Firebringer would rule Sileria unopposed and grind the Society beneath the heels of his shoddy shallah boots.

  Fire and water had competed for a thousand years in Sileria, eternal enemies. Kiloran had realized, when confronted with the Firebringer, that it was his destiny to end the struggle once and for all. Until Josarian, Dar had ignored the waterlords, leaving Her fire-blessed Guardians of the Otherworld to defend themselves as best they could against the Honored Society. But Josarian changed everything.

  Had Armian been the Firebringer, as people once said, then the Society could have ruled Sileria in power and security for centuries. Of course, Armian himself had never believed it, having spent his whole life in foreign lands where Silerian beliefs were regarded with indifference. Kiloran, skeptical but interested in the possibilities, had seen no reason to press the issue at the time—since he'd had no idea that that pestilent brat Armian had adopted would murder him and thus effectively sever negotiations with the Moorlanders. The silence from the Moorlands ever since then indicated that Armian's death was taken as Kiloran's answer to their proposal, just as Tansen had planned.

  Tansen, when only a boy, had outwitted him. So now that Kiloran had slain Josarian, he knew better than to underestimate Tansen. Both the shatai and the fire-eyed prophetess must be eliminated. There would be no contentment in Sileria while they lived; and Kiloran would ensure that the rest of the Society understood and accepted this. He must lead them, as he always had, as was his rightful place. And in the end, he would rule all of Sileria, as was his destiny.

  After all, he had already triumphed over the Firebringer and proved himself greater than Dar's Chosen One.

  Not that it had been easy. His first attempt to kill Josarian, by using Outlookers to ambush him in Sanctuary, had failed. The Valdani were such incompetent blunderers, Kiloran would never understand how they'd managed to conquer more than half the nations of Sirkara.

  Nonetheless, only the weak wavered from a goal in the face of setbacks, so Kiloran had persisted. After Josarian killed Srijan, vengeance became as important as expedience. No one would respect a waterlord who did not protect his own and avenge his son. Failure to punish Josarian for Srijan's death would ensure Kiloran's own destruction. So he invested a great deal of time and effort in his next attempt, knowing he must succeed. It would have been best, of course, if the Valdani had seized Josarian in the ambush which Torena Elelar planned for him. But the Valdani failed again—this time because Najdan betrayed Kiloran.

  Ah, mistakes. They are so easily made.

  After twenty years of Najdan's loyal service, it never once occurred to Kiloran that the assassin would betray him. Najdan, of all men! Obedient, servile, unimaginative—totally faithful even to his own woman, let alone to the master who had always rewarded him richly for his service. Kiloran had actually been fond of Najdan, had valued him and let him know it, had trusted and relied on him. When he discovered that Haydar had disappeared, he was reluctant to accept the conclusion he would have drawn immediately, without hesitation, had it been anyone else: Najdan hid her—in some Sanctuary, no doubt—to protect her from Kiloran, because he was going to betray his master.

  That was when Kiloran realized that his clean, clever plan to let the Alliance and the Valdani together kill Josarian would probably fail. That was when he knew he would have to do it himself—for he was half the White Dragon, as the water from which it grew was its other half.

  It was a terrible risk, in more ways than one. Until he had done it, even he wasn't entirely sure that water magic could kill the Firebringer. The Society did not pay homage to Dar, but attacking Her Chosen One was undeniably dangerous. However, Kiloran couldn't delay any longer. Josarian was preparing to lay siege to Shaljir. Whether it surrendered quickly or held out for months, the fall of Shaljir would end the war in Sileria. And Josarian must not be alive on the day native rule was declared.

  Power is much harder to take away than it is to withhold.

  Nonetheless, despite everything, Kiloran hadn't wanted to kill Josarian. He had desperately wanted the damned Valdani to kill Josarian, and he hated them bitterly for failing.

  Being the murderer of the Firebringer could lessen his influence, he knew, if only temporarily. Most of Sileria had loved Josarian, would mourn his death, and would resent his executioner—even a father claiming vengeance. After all, Josarian had made sure that all of Sileria knew he'd killed Srijan in vengeance for Kiloran's betrayal.

  However, Kiloran had done what he must and didn't regret it. Sileria's people might hate Josarian's executioner, but they would also fear the waterlord who had proven himself more powerful than the Firebringer.

  Fear and love... Well, this was Sileria, where the two tended to be closely entwined. But it was not convenient, because he could well guess what that damned bloodson of Armian's planned now, knowing, as he undoubtedly did, that Kiloran was responsible for Josarian's death.

  Kiloran wondered what was happening in Shaljir, where Searlon waited to identify Josarian's body for the Valdani. Since there would be no body, of course, the Valdani might make excuses, might refuse to honor their secret treaty with the Alliance and surrender Shaljir. It was troubling to think about, particularly since Kiloran knew Searlon might not receive the message he had sent about Josarian's death. In anticipation of attack, Shaljir was locked up tighter than a toren's wine cellar. However, Kiloran was a patient man, and he knew that Searlon was equal to whatever new challenges now arose in Santorell Palace.

  Meanwhile, here in Cavasar, the city he had seized from the Valdani and now ruled, he had other concerns to occupy him. With Najdan gone forever and Searlon in Shaljir, Kiloran allocated additional authority to a green-eyed assassin named Dyshon who had been in his service for almost six years. Dyshon was a little impetuous, but also smart, brave, quick, reliable—and too eager to become a waterlord to get sentimental about the Firebringer, Mirabar, or the rebels, as Najdan evidently had.

  "I want to send messengers across Sileria," Kiloran told Dyshon now, admiring the view of Cavasar at night from his tower window in the old fortress from which the Valdani had, until recently, ruled the city.

  "Yes, siran."

  "I will call for cooperation among the waterlords, to ensure that no feuds or quarrels erupt to divide us. We cannot afford trouble now."

  "But if Josarian is dead..."

  "He is." It would take time for word to spread, but although he had not precisely been there in person when Josarian died, Kiloran, as sire of the White Dragon, had felt his death. Even now, if he tried very hard, he could hear Josarian's screams of agony, which would endure for the rest of his own life. But it was an ugly sound, and so he did not bother to try.

  "Siran, aren't the Valdani therefore obliged to—"

  "That is a separate matter." Kiloran turned away from the window and regarded the assassin. The green eyes meant foreign blood somewhere in his family's history—Moorlander or Valdani. Nonetheless, now that Kiloran had agreed to let him study water magic, he showed some slight promise.

  Dyshon nodded. "Ah. Then your concern is that those loyal to Josarian might have the impudence—"

  "Tansen is still alive," said Kiloran. "So is the Guardian."

  "Mirabar."

  "Yes. So we can count on impudence."

  "But surely the people would never dare oppose—"

  "That," Kiloran said, "is undoubtedly what the Valdani said when Josarian started urging rebellion. But they were fools and I am not. I will expect anything."

  "Yes, siran."

  "And I will prepare for everything." He smiled coldly. "Which is why I want to arrange a meeting with Baran."

  Dyshon's green eyes flashed with surprise. "But he was loyal to Josarian."

  "Precisely."
/>   "Baran is your enemy, siran. He always has been."

  "Exactly."

  "I'm sorry, siran, I don't understand. Why wo—"

  "Because now everyone in Sileria must choose sides," said Kiloran. "Everyone. Even Baran. Will he join forces with a bunch of malcontents seeking vengeance for the death of a leader they can't resurrect or replace? Or will he come home, once again, to his own kind—the Honored Society, the waterlords, the destined rulers of Sileria?"

  "Ah." Dyshon nodded. "Baran will see that you have won."

  "He will see where his only real future lies."

  "You think he will make peace with you?"

  Dyshon didn't know why Baran hated Kiloran so much. No one left alive knew, not even Najdan or Searlon. "No," Kiloran said with certainty. "Baran will never make peace with me."

  "Then why—"

  "But I believe he can be persuaded to accept another truce."

  "Why, siran?"

  "Because he lives to destroy me."

  "Then surely—"

  "And he'll want to go on living until the day he can destroy me," said Kiloran. "He won't side with my enemies unless he's certain they can win. And now that Josarian's dead, he'll know they can't."

  "So..." Dyshon frowned in puzzlement as he thought it over. Kiloran missed Searlon, who would have understood instantly. "So you're saying that he'll become your ally rather than your enemy now... because he'd rather wait for the chance to destroy you in the future, instead of risk losing that chance now by..." Dyshon shrugged and concluded, "By dying alongside your doomed enemies?"

  "Precisely. He has done it before," Kiloran pointed out. "He has become my temporary ally before, in order to preserve his chance of vengeance at a later time."

  "Yes," Dyshon said slowly, "I suppose he has, hasn't he?"

  "He's less than perfectly sane," Kiloran said dryly. "But he's not a fool."

  Kiloran and Baran had not only joined forces when Josarian united Sileria against the Valdani, they had also called a brief truce some seven years ago when Valdani reprisals against the Society had been particularly harsh. Baran might be the single greatest nuisance of Kiloran's long life, but at least the man could see the larger tapestry and adjust his plans accordingly.

  "The strength of the Society," Kiloran continued, "is that we know how to put aside our differences—at least temporarily—to unite against a common threat."

  "Where shall we invite Baran to meet with you?" Dyshon asked. "He won't come here, and he certainly won't agree to go to Kandahar. And I assume you won't go to Belitar."

  Dyshon assumed correctly. It was ironic that Baran—whose longtime feud with Kiloran made him an enemy of Kiloran's adoptive clan, the Idalari—inhabited Belitar, the abandoned stronghold of Harlon, the long-dead leader of the Idalari clan. Considering how many men—not all of them Valdani—had died in the ensorcelled lake surrounding the castle, it wasn't surprising that people said the place was haunted by demons, evil spirits, and wandering shades of the dead. Kiloran, content in his underwater fortress at Kandahar, had never much cared what happened to Harlon's crumbling old ruin, a place he'd only entered once during his youth. Legend claimed that Marjan himself, the first waterlord, had once lived there. Perhaps it was true. Kiloran found Belitar's damp, dreary ruins so decayed, he could well believe the foundations were at least a thousand years old.

  By the time Kiloran learned, more than a dozen years ago, that Baran had moved into the long-abandoned ruins of Belitar, Baran had already secured the surrounding lake with sorcery. Then he went about establishing his territory by killing off some rivals and forging alliances with others. As the years passed, Baran became the second most powerful waterlord in Sileria, challenging Kiloran at every turn.

  That, Kiloran acknowledged, was what came of not killing your friends before they became your enemies.

  However, the damage was done, and he must deal with what Baran had become rather than reviewing his regrets.

  "No, I certainly won't go to Belitar," Kiloran agreed with Dyshon. "Suggest to Baran that we meet in Emeldar."

  "Josarian's native village?" Dyshon said in surprise.

  Kiloran nodded. "It has been deserted since the start of the rebellion."

  One of Josarian's first acts had been to slaughter a band of Outlookers who rode into Emeldar with the intention of punishing Josarian by punishing his clan. After that, Josarian ordered his people to abandon Emeldar. Then High Commander Daroll and more than one hundred Outlookers occupied the deserted village... and all died of the poison that Josarian had ordered be put in the main water supply.

  Even now that the Valdani had abandoned the district, Josarian's people couldn't go home. No one but a waterlord could cure Emeldar's water.

  "I will send a messenger to Baran," Dyshon said.

  "Invite some of the other western waterlords to come witness our truce," Kiloran ordered. "He will be more apt to come if he knows half a dozen others will be there." Baran knew Kiloran wouldn't murder him at a truce meeting in front of witnesses. The appearance of honor was, after all, rather important in the Honored Society. "We will set a good example for the other waterlords, putting aside our private quarrel for the sake of the Society."

  "Is that all for now, siran?" Dyshon asked.

  "No, one more thing."

  "Yes?"

  "Find Najdan's family. He came from some miserable little village east of Britar. As far as I know, his mother is still alive, and I believe he has sisters. Presumably married by now."

  "Do you want them all assassinated?"

  "On the contrary," said Kiloran. "I want you to send someone to them with wine, food, money, and gifts. Make sure they have everything they need. Promise them my protection, and establish a means for them to contact me if they ever need my help."

  "Siran?"

  "Assure them I don't blame them for Najdan's shameful betrayal. Tell them I will look after them, in his place, for the rest of their lives."

  "That is very generous of you, siran."

  Kiloran gazed out the window again. Yes, Sileria could be ruled through terror, and often had to be. But why bother in cases where it was so much easier to cultivate devotion? If Kiloran slaughtered the womenfolk of a rogue assassin, he'd be feared—but also hated. Whereas if he tenderly cared for them... Ah, yes, who would be shamed now? Indeed, it wouldn't be long before Najdan's native village and perhaps even his own family were ready to kill him for betraying Kiloran.

  "That will be all for now, Dyshon," Kiloran said.

  "You..."

  "Yes?" He glanced over his shoulder at the assassin.

  "You seem tired, siran. Perhaps you should rest now."

  "Yes. You're right. I will."

  He turned away and, a moment later, heard the door close behind him.

  Of course he was tired. As Marjan had once said, to rule water was to rule Sileria—but, as Marjan must have also known, it was far from easy.

  Even in his sleep, Kiloran could feel Baran's grasping will struggling for full control of the Idalar River—something which was not so easy to rule even without fighting such a talented sorcerer day and night for it. The concentration required to keep Baran from seizing it was indeed tiring, especially at this distance.

  Kiloran meanwhile maintained his grasp on the mines of Alizar. This was far less taxing, since they were dormant, flooded by water so cold a man could lose a finger just touching it. However, he couldn't access the mines—one of the greatest sources of wealth in the three corners of the world, a place so rich that even the Emperor of Valdania felt its loss—while his energy was absorbed by so many other demands. Moreover, the power needed to drain the mines might distract him long enough for Baran to seize complete control of the Idalar, which was yet another reason Kiloran needed the proposed truce.

  In addition, Kiloran now controlled the Zilar River, where Josarian had died, deep in the mountains, before it merged with the Shaljir River. He continued to rule water throughout his traditional territ
ory, and he was slowly taking control of all of Cavasar. Not just the people and the government, as any conqueror would—as Josarian surely would have—but also the many deep-bored wells which were the city's primary source of water.

  He had already, of course, quietly killed the two waterlords who had previously ruled the water of Cavasar. Neither of them had been powerful enough to be a threat, but together they were strong enough to cause trouble and be a distraction. Now that they were dead, some of the water in Cavasar was free—neither controlled nor requiring tribute—for the first time in centuries. That would change soon, of course.

  Kiloran stretched his senses out toward the city now and could hear it, smell it, feel it—the water that lay deep under Cavasar. Some of it was his already, though he had chosen to do nothing with it for the time being. Let Cavasar celebrate, let her people rejoice. The Valdani had fled, the Outlookers were gone, and no foreigner would ever again rule this city. Let the fountains flow, the wells bubble joyously, and the people quench their thirst for freedom. In the end, it always paid to be a little generous, a little kind. You could beat a dog every day, but it remained loyal if you fed it—and mindlessly devoted if you let it sleep at your feet at night. People were much the same, and when the time came to be ruthless, the city of Cavasar would do as its new conqueror ordered. When tribute for water was required, they would remember how Kiloran had let it flow in celebration of the Valdani surrender, and so they'd be that much more likely to surrender without resistance and obey without resentment.

  Obedience was essential. Opposition was intolerable.

  Yes, there was water out there. Some of it answered his will, his ensorcelled reach, even now. He pushed slightly and felt the course of a stream adjust to his desire. He grasped, and the level of a well lowered a bit. He willed it, and a fountain stopped flowing.

  This was the power that made Silerians obey him. This was the mysterious glory of the waterlords, the only wizards of their kind in the three corners of the world.