Josarian's glance flickered to the glowing twilight sky. "You're that sure Kiloran knows we're here?"
"Not much happens within a day's ride of Kiloran that he doesn't know about." He stooped to fill a goatskin with water. "I don't think he'd hide out this close to a good road, since the Outlookers would have access to such a place, but I think we must not be very far from his—"
"Tan!"
He saw shock on Josarian's face and instinctively reached for his swords as his friend lunged at something behind him. He had barely touched the hilt of his left sword when something thick, wet, and viciously cold wrapped around his throat and cut off all his air. He struggled to withdraw at least one blade, but another icy tentacle wrapped around his body with lightning speed, trapping him. Strangling, freezing, and astonished beyond thought, he heard Josarian's screams—and Elelar's in the distance—as the tentacles dragged him away from the shore, into the center of the lake, and beneath the surface into its chilly depths.
Swinging his sword and screaming, Josarian ran through the water, ignoring its deadly chill, following Tansen as he struggled in the arms of some obscene thing, then disappeared into the murky depths of the lake. Sword raised over his head, blood roaring in his ears, Josarian started swimming, paddling frantically when his feet could no longer touch the ground. Stunned and horrified, he treaded water in the middle of the lake, unable to find any trace of his brother or the thing that had seized him.
Torena Elelar stood at the shore now, knee deep in water, with Srijan laughing behind her. "Get out!" she screamed. "Get out!"
He ignored her, took a deep breath, and dived down, giving into the weight of his sword and his boots, resisting the numbness creeping into his limbs.
A geyser of water suddenly forced him back up, throwing him high into the air. When he landed, expecting to sink back beneath the water's surface, he found that its consistency had changed in the blink of an eye. It was as hard as rock now, and landing on it hurt like all the Fires. Bewildered, he hit it several times with the hilt of his sword.
Water magic, he realized through the chaos of his confusion and fear. "Kiloran," he said aloud.
"Josarian!"
He looked up to see Elelar now running towards him, her dainty feet skittering across the crystal-hard surface of Lake Kandahar. Srijan approached at a more leisurely pace. Josarian flipped his sword over and started chopping fruitlessly at the diamond-hardness of the water, screaming his brother's name over and over.
Elelar fell to her knees when she reached his side, gasping for air, trembling and babbling questions. He had never handled a woman roughly in his life, but now he grabbed her by the hair and demanded, "Is Tansen dead? You know Kiloran's tricks! What's happened to Tan?"
"I don't know!" she cried, gritting her teeth against the pain and trying to pull away.
He pushed her aside and jumped to his feet, lunging for Srijan. The assassin flinched with surprise, apparently not having expected an attack from Josarian. Faster, smarter, stronger, and unhampered by a wound, Josarian drove him down to the cold, hard surface beneath their feet and held his sword to Srijan's throat.
"Kiloran!" he shouted. "If you truly know everything that happens here, then know this: I will kill your only son now if you don't release Tansen alive!"
Elelar scrambled forward on her hands and knees. "No! He'll kill you, too! No!"
She flung herself at Josarian and tried to wrestle his sword away. His kicked her away and stilled Srijan's struggles by slicing open his cheek. Srijan screamed in pain. Elelar cursed and begged and flung herself at Josarian again.
"Kiloran!" Josarian dug the blade into Srijan's throat, ready to cut.
The surface beneath him moved, knocking him off balance. The sound of rushing water filled his ears, even louder than Srijan's moans of pain. He stared in bewilderment as a small whirlpool of water churned in a frantic circle nearby. His heart thudded as the whirlpool widened and deepened into a tunnel. He pressed his blade even harder against Srijan's throat to keep him still, watching as the swirl of water and magic glittered in the dying light. Josarian prayed to Dar to bring Tansen through that tunnel.
When the water stopped moving, he found himself staring at a familiar, coiling structure, but his mind could form no coherent thought.
It was Elelar who crept forward, studied it, and then said: "It's a staircase."
"A staircase?" Josarian repeated, gazing in confusion at the gleaming, crystalline steps leading into the depths of the lake. "I don't understand."
"It means," Srijan croaked, "that my father is inviting you into his home."
Chapter Twenty
Mirabar was growing weary. Keeping the assassin prisoner was proving to be hard work. His first escape attempt had nearly succeeded. She'd been more vigilant since then, but it hadn't stopped him from trying again. The third time had been only last night, and it was terrifying; he had tried to kill her.
They were traveling over the mountains, avoiding contact with other people. Sister Basimar, Amitan, and another of Josarian's men, young Kynan, accompanied Mirabar and the assassin. Mirabar didn't want to lead so many people into Kiloran's clutches, but she couldn't control the assassin day and night by herself. Indeed, he had attacked her while she slept last night, and she knew she might well be dead now if not for Kynan's and Amitan's help.
She wondered if all assassins were as tough as this one. He now bore bruises and minor wounds inflicted by the two shallah men, as well as the burns Mirabar had inflicted when she captured him. Remembering that confrontation still nauseated her, and she knew Tashinar would be appalled by what she had done. Yet despite the pain and exhaustion he must be suffering, Mirabar's captive didn't look like a defeated man.
Perhaps she should have listened when Basimar and the others had tried to discourage her from capturing an assassin.
She was very tired and knew she must save strength for her imminent encounter with Kiloran, so she insisted they make camp early that day. She blew a campfire into life so that Basimar could start cooking their evening meal. Then she approached the assassin, whom Amitan had tied securely to a tree. His dark eyes were watchful and wary.
"Assassin..." She paused, then said, "You might as well tell me your name." When he didn't respond, she added irritably, "Just so I know what to call you."
His gaze held hers for a long moment before he replied, "Najdan."
"Well, Najdan, how much farther to Kiloran?"
He shrugged.
"Tell me. Or I will make you tell me." She was aware that her threats were growing thin.
"He is near now," Najdan said stonily.
"How near?"
"Near enough to know that you are here." There was confidence in his voice.
"I see." She studied him for a moment. "Then I look forward to meeting him."
Najdan's confidence worried her. Realizing that Kiloran might attack them, rather than cordially awaiting her visit, Mirabar decided to set a ring of protective fire around the camp that night. Even if it didn't keep Kiloran out, it would deflect any ordinary assassins and alert her to danger.
Blowing life into the ring of fire was an exhausting task, and keeping it going all night would tax her strength. Consequently, she was anything but pleased to hear the Beckoner calling her when she was done igniting the blaze.
"Go away," she snapped. "I'm tired."
Come... You must come...
She resisted. "In the morning!"
"Who's she talking to?" Najdan asked warily.
"I don't know," Amitan said. "Sirana, who are you talking to?"
Now is the time.
"You'd better tell me what I'm supposed to do when I find Kiloran," she warned the Beckoner.
"Who, me?" Najdan asked.
"I think it's a vision," Basimar said. "She'll go into fits and screams in a minute. Don't let it bother you."
"Thanks for the advice," Kynan said dryly.
Come to me. You must come.
"Oh, al
l right!" Without looking at the others, she got up and followed the Beckoner, knowing how he would torment her if she continued resisting.
He led her through the woods, to the other side of Mount Kandahar, and down into the valley beyond. It was a long walk, and she was very tired by the time the sky grew dark.
"Couldn't I have visions closer to my bedroll?" she asked irritably, hating the Beckoner with all her heart.
The force of his will pushed her hard, carrying her on a wave of insistence, tumbling her through the air. She landed on the shore of the lake. Stars glittered on its surface. The waning crest of Ejara gleamed and undulated as she stared at the water.
Water. A house of water.
"Kandahar." Mirabar shook her head. "Surely it's not possible..."
A house of water.
"So... this is where he hides from the Valdani?"
A blaze of fire appeared above the surface of the water, sketching the foreign symbol of the warrior she sought.
"Is he here?" she asked.
Only you can save him now. The others have tried and failed.
"What others?" Her throat was dry.
Without him, the shackles remain.
"What must I do?" Her heart ached with fear.
The burning symbol sank slowly into the water, its light blazing gloriously even as it sank deep, deep into the black depths of Kandahar.
Fire in water.
"No..." She shook hear head, feeling her feet take steps backwards as she spoke. "I can't."
Fire in water...
The symbol kept blazing.
"I can't. No one could!"
Find the shir, and you find him.
"Please..."
The alliance lives or dies tonight. Find the shir...
"Oh, Dar shield me!" she begged, falling to her knees. Then, knowing she had no other choice, she asked, "How? How do I do this?"
She looked up and saw the Beckoner out in the center of the lake, hovering above the water's surface, surrounded by the glow of the Otherworld; the only good thing in an evil place. Fear clouded her vision as she rose to her feet again, consigning her life to his care, knowing that he wanted her to live to fulfill the dreams of dead rulers in living flame.
He opened his arms, reaching out to her across the span of centuries, across the barrier of death, through the void of destruction and despair, past the sorrow of a humiliated people and a culture condemned to servitude. He reached out and she went to him, offering her life and her power to the Fires beyond.
Tansen shivered with cold, annoyed that he couldn't control this instinctive reaction. There wasn't much point in his body's life-seeking efforts to generate heat, since he'd be dead in a few minutes anyhow.
Nine years ago, he had only seen the luxuriant camp Kiloran lived in while traveling through his territories, something a waterlord had to do regularly to keep his power secure. He had never known where Kiloran lived permanently, what sort of a place the wizard called home. Judging by the expression of shocked awe on Elelar's face, she had never known, either. Not until tonight. And Josarian looked like he was so far past shock that not even a personal appearance by Dar would surprise him now.
They were in a shifting palace of air far beneath the surface of Lake Kandahar—so far that Tansen had nearly drowned before being unceremoniously dumped here by the twisting coils of water that moved in response to Kiloran's will. It was as grand as any toren's house, with its high ceilings, luxuriant furnishings, sweet-smelling candles, and vast rooms. The ceilings, floors, and walls of a toren's home, however, didn't pulse and fluctuate—at least not unless an earthquake was taking place.
This palace, though, responded to its master's will as easily as a shatai's limbs answered his demands. Any portion of it could open or close like a mouth, to admit or exclude visitors; expand to comfortably encompass more people or constrict to drown them; become as hard as crystal, as soft as a feather tick, or as wet as... water. The blazing torches which lit the dark depth of this night were rooted into the shifting walls the way trees rooted into the soil. The floor beneath Tansen was as smooth as glass, and almost as chilly as the touch of another man's shir.
Soaking wet and chained to this cold, smooth floor by coils of icy water more unyielding than any bonds of iron, Tansen shivered and waited to die. Two of Kiloran's trusted assassins had disarmed him earlier while he lay helplessly gasping and strangling in the grip of the monstrous tentacles that had brought him here. Upon examining Tansen's swords—swords that no man should touch without permission—Kiloran had recognized the workmanship and instantly suspected the truth. He'd ordered his man to rip open Tansen's threadbare tunic, exposing the brand he wore on his chest.
"A shatai..." Sitting upon a throne of shells that were joined together by exquisitely-worked gold to form an enormous chair of astonishing beauty, the old waterlord had glared hard at Tansen. "You trained long and hard to come home and kill your master, boy."
They'd heard Josarian's shouted threats echoing through the watery caverns of Kiloran's lair; some sorcery by which Kiloran knew everything that happened overhead. His expression frosty with fury, the old wizard had permitted the others entry to his domain by way of a glimmering staircase of water—which disappeared a bare moment after their arrival.
Josarian held his sword across Srijan's throat and demanded Tansen's release. Kiloran kept Tansen lashed to the floor and promised his instant and very painful death if Josarian didn't release Srijan. Elelar pleaded with everyone to exercise some restraint and intelligence—to no effect.
Kiloran had grown older and bulkier, but he was as impressive and imposing as ever. His once-dark skin had grown sallow over the years, probably from hiding so long in a sunless, Dar-forsaken place like this. His hair had gone from gray to white, and his face betrayed what the years had cost him. His cold, lifeless eyes still glowed with dark, watchful intelligence, though; and Tansen had only to consider his frankly hopeless situation to realize that Kiloran's power had, if anything, continued to grow over the past nine years.
"Enough, torena," Kiloran said, silencing Elelar with a voice full of authority and deadly warning. "You know this sriliah's crime. If you continue to plead for his life, I will have to question your loyalty."
His speech was as cultured and educated as Elelar's, giving credence to the legend that his mother had been a torena who fell in love with an assassin and abandoned her family, rank, and home for him. Legend had it that, upon the violent death of Kiloran's father, the woman had taken the boy to apprentice to a waterlord so that he might become powerful enough to avenge his father's murder.
It gave Tansen some pleasure to see Elelar beg, and to hear her plead for him, but he knew it was useless. Kiloran had taken him by surprise, revealing powers none of them had suspected, and now he had the upper hand. Stripped of his swords and staked out like a sacrificial offering, Tansen was helpless and would soon die. He thanked all the gods above and below that pride and rage, at least, were stronger than fear, for he didn't want to die cowering, quivering, and begging for mercy. He was embarrassed by his present situation, since this was no way for a warrior to die, but even shatai were not invulnerable to sorcery such as this.
For himself, he would hope for nothing more than a quick death. For his companions, however... Well, Elelar had nine lives and would somehow manage to get out of this safely, he believed. But Josarian looked determined to free Tansen or die trying, and Tan wasn't optimistic about finding a solution to this problem in the few remaining moments of his life.
"He has survived the nine years of a bloodvow," Josarian said, his sword pressed so tightly against Srijan's throat that the assassin was gasping for air. If Josarian lessened his grip for even a second, if Kiloran saw a single opportunity to attack Josarian without getting his son killed, it would be all over. "The time has come to call off your assassins let Tansen live in peace, Kiloran."
Kiloran rose from his throne, radiating fury. "Does a shallah think to tell me my busin
ess?"
"When you dishonor yourself this way, I do." Josarian's grip was ruthless, his concentration fierce.
"Do you know what this sriliah did?" Kiloran demanded. "He killed his own bloodfather!"
"After nine years, it's now Dar's place to punish him for that. Not yours."
"How quaint," Kiloran spat.
"You don't care that he betrayed a bloodpact," Josarian said. "You think you could have been Yahrdan, and a mere boy took it away from you. You can never have it back, and that's why you want him dead, old man."
Elelar swallowed her breath, and even Tansen tensed. It wasn't a good idea to insult Kiloran in front of his men—and in his domain—with such open contempt. The wizard's sallow complexion warmed up slightly as anger reddened his face.
Josarian continued, "It was business, this thing between you two, nothing more. You lost. That's all." Pressing his advantage, he tightened his grip and made Srijan bleat like a lamb. "Now take back the bloodvow before you lose something much more personal."
Picking up the thread of Josarian's argument, Elelar said, "Siran, the shallah has come in good faith to make peace with you. I swear it on my life. He has brought the shir back to you."
Damn! Tansen wished she hadn't told them that. After stripping him of his swords and shredding his tunic, they hadn't bothered to search him for another weapon. The shir was tucked inside his boot. Far from being a peace offering, it was now the only thing he had his favor if something broke Kiloran's concentration long enough to let him to escape these bonds. He didn't intend to meekly give up the shir so they could slaughter him in perfect safety.
Kiloran's attention shifted back to Tansen. "The shir..."
The wizard's dark eyes glittered with interest. Oh, yes, he would want the shir back. It was too powerful a weapon to leave in the hands of an enemy. A waterlord made such weapons only for his trusted servants, for a shir was too effective against even himself to be trusted in the hands of anyone whose loyalty was questionable. An enemy's possession of a shir was a serious threat to the waterlord who'd made it, which was why returning the shir of a slain assassin to its maker was regarded as an honorable peace offering. Tansen had brought the thing here with every intention of making an honorable peace offering. Now he wanted nothing more than a chance to slit that fat old man's throat with it before he died. Even Kiloran's own water magic couldn't protect him from a shir, especially not from one he himself had made.
In Legend Born Page 33