"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.
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 unharme
d, 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."
The White Dragon Page 35