He turned and saw Armian coming toward him, big and dark and powerful as he strode through the rich shower of life-giving water that fell upon them. Armian's black hair was wetly plastered to his head as he came forward with a pleased grin on his face.
"This is it," he said to Tansen.
Tansen nodded.
"We can leave for the coast tomorrow."
"The Moorlanders will be expecting you," Tansen said.
Armian's grin broadened and he slapped Tansen on the back. "We can finally do something besides just talk!"
Yes, you and Kiloran can make all of Sileria do your bidding if we don't want to die of thirst. We will all be slaves forever now.
Tansen thought he would be sick.
He had saved Armian's life that fateful night on the eastern shore. He had helped Armian make his way through Sileria so that he could find the Alliance, evade the Outlookers, and meet Kiloran.
If he succeeds now, it will be my fault. My responsibility.
"Not the coast, father," Tansen pleaded. "Darshon."
Too happy to be irritable, Armian laughed as if it was a joke, shook him hard, and tousled his wet hair.
Tansen tried to say it again, but his voice failed him.
Why bother? He already knew the truth. Armian would never go to Darshon. The Firebringer would never embrace Dar. He would, instead, fulfill his destiny without Her, driving out the Valdani with the Society's help rather than the goddess's. And then...
No. I have to stop them. I have to stop him.
"I have something for you," Armian announced. He reached into the top of his right boot and pulled out a beautifully made yahr. "Careful how you swing it," he warned. "It's made of petrified Kintish wood."
Tansen stared at it. "Like an assassin's yahr."
"It's from Kiloran. He thought I might like you to have it."
He willed his hand not to shake as he accepted it. "Thank you."
Tansen closed his fingers around the smooth, rock-hard wood of the weapon. He felt its power, felt the weight of what it could do.
"Use it in good health," Armian said.
Tansen looked up at his bloodfather's rain-soaked countenance. "I will."
Only one person in all of Sileria was trusted by both Kiloran and the Moorlanders. Only one person could unite them.
"Tansen?"
Father, father...
"I, uh..." His heart pounded. He couldn't think of anything to say, so he repeated, "Thank you."
"You might want to thank Kiloran," Armian suggested. "He's honoring you."
"Well, I'm your son." His mind was whirling, his blood thundering wildly. He couldn't believe what he was thinking.
"No, he's honoring you," Armian said gently. "Kiloran sees great potential in you, despite..." His father shrugged. "You're still young with much to learn, but he is interested in you."
Tansen wanted to cry. He wanted to run away and pretend he knew nothing about any of this.
"Father, please, can't we..."
Don't do this, Armian. Don't make me do this.
"Tan..." Armian took him by the shoulders and studied his face. Mistaking the anguish he saw there, he said, "The old man was right. Learn from your mistakes and move on. Don't torment yourself about what happened that day. I'm not still angry at you. Neither is he."
"I'm sorry, father," said Tansen, not talking about that day. "I want you to know I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Armian replied. "The first kill is always the hardest. But you'll do it. I know you will."
Tansen nodded, sick at heart. "Yes. I will."
Dar help me. Dar shield me. Dar show me the way.
Dar did not answer, but it didn't matter anymore. Tansen already knew what he must do. What he would do.
He was planning his first kill. And when it was done, he knew he could never pray to Dar again. So he prayed tonight, as he stared at his father in the life-giving rain, for the only thing he still wanted from the destroyer goddess: Dar have mercy on Armian's soul.
Chapter Seven
When someone makes you pay in tears,
you must make him pay in blood.
—Silerian Proverb
"Father! Did you hear me?"
Tansen blinked in surprise, then focused his attention. "What?" he said to Zarien.
"You didn't hear me," Zarien concluded.
The sea-born boy frowned, studying him for a moment. Tansen suspected Zarien thought he was brooding about Mirabar. He chose not to correct the impression by explaining that, actually, he was remembering the father he had slaughtered in cold blood years ago.
Indeed, it was unsettling how often he thought of Armian lately, even while wide awake. Memories of his bloodfather came to him unbidden, unsought, unwanted... Maybe because, as he now tried to be a good father in his turn, he finally understood the enormity of the responsibility Armian had undertaken.
And so, after all these years of doing his best not to think about it, Tansen now let himself wonder what those final moments of Armian's life had been like, when he realized his own son meant to kill him.
...Armian froze, like a statue, when he saw his son standing above him on that windswept cliff, swinging his yahr with deadly intent.
If Tansen lived for all eternity, he would never forget the sound of Armian's voice as he said, "Tansen?"
Tansen felt a sudden, soul-deep pain so immense it blocked out everything else.
Father...
"Father!"
"Hmm?"
"I said..." Zarien's voice, calling Tansen back to the present again, revealed the immense patience the boy felt he was exercising. "Give me your waterskin."
"Why?" Tansen asked absently.
"So I can use it to play a little tune."
Emelen, who was walking ahead of them, snorted with amusement. Tansen gave Zarien a bland glance.
"There's water over there," Zarien explained, nodding to a spot beyond a heat-cracked ridge in the mountain.
Emelen—who had recently come from Zilar, as ordered, to join them here in the mountains north of Adalian—glanced over his shoulder at Zarien. "How do you always know that?"
"Can't you smell it?" the boy replied.
Emelen sniffed the air. "No."
Zarien rolled his eyes. "Landfolk."
Tansen unslung his waterskin and handed it to the boy. "Be careful. That water you smell might be ensorce—"
"I know, I know." Zarien was already turning away, youthfully heedless of the danger.
Tansen willed himself not to say more. Emelen, who had only been with them for a few days, had already mentioned that Zarien wasn't entirely wrong when he claimed Tansen could nag like an overbearing mother.
Emelen thrust his own waterskin under Zarien's nose and said, "You were, of course, about to offer to fill mine, too."
Zarien blinked innocently. "Of course."
Tansen turned and called out to the men and the Guardians that they were stopping for a water break. He traveled with nearly fifty people today, which was more than Tansen usually chose to bring on raids against the Society. Too many people were too noticeable—hard to hide or to travel with stealthily. The Society were not the Valdani; someone in Sileria would always tell the Society about what they saw, what they knew, or what they heard. Today, however, it was worth the risk of being seen in such numbers. They planned to attack Ferolen's stronghold, north of Adalian, and he was too powerful a waterlord for them to defeat with smaller numbers. Fifty more people would meet them at a prearranged location tomorrow, and then they would all attack at nightfall.
Now, as Tansen watched Zarien disappear over the ridge, followed by others, Emelen said, "He's a good boy, Tansen."
"Yes, he is."
"But there's something about him..." When Tansen glanced at him, Emelen shrugged. "I don't know. He's different."
"There's no denying that," Tansen agreed reasonably.
After a moment, Emelen said, "He's too young for battle, Tan. In fact, he s
eems far from ready for any kind of fight."
"I know."
Zarien wasn't a natural. He didn't catch on quickly when they trained. Despite the boy's desire to please him, Tansen had also begun to realize that Zarien had no heart for combat. His mind often wandered when they trained. He certainly wasn't lazy, but he was always ready to quit training well before they really should.
"What'll you do with him when it's time to fight?" Emelen asked.
"What I usually do. Put him in a safe place during the battle." He added, "Ealian has agreed to protect him this time." The elderly Guardian, whom Tansen had first met in Zilar and who was here with them now, lacked the stamina needed for battle against waterlords; but he was still a skilled fire sorcerer, and Tansen trusted him to safeguard Zarien.
Emelen prodded, "Why drag Zarien all over Sileria with you in such dangerous times? Wouldn't it be better to leave him somewhere?"
"Where would I leave him? With whom?" When Emelen didn't answer, Tansen said, "He likes to be with me."
"And you like him to be with you."
"He belongs with me."
"You seem very sure of that."
Tansen glanced at his friend in surprise. "You think otherwise?"
Emelen looked up at the ridge where Zarien had disappeared. "I don't know. Our way of life doesn't really seem to suit him well."
"He can't return to his clan. He doesn't—"
"I know. I don't mean to... Never mind." Emelen shrugged. "I'm probably just worrying about your family so I don't have to worry about mine."
"You'll see Jalilar soon," Tansen promised.
"And you may have to replace me then, since she's bound to kill me for tricking her and leaving her behind in Sanctuary the way I did."
"Yes, well, that's why I thought I'd come along," Tansen said dryly. "Say hello. Tell her about Josarian's final hours. Introduce her to my son. Prevent her from castrating you."
"Good idea," Emelen agreed faintly.
"Ah, here they come." Tansen saw a few men appearing on the rise, their now-bulging waterskins in hand. Zarien—walking more slowly than anyone else, of course—brought up the rear.
Watching the boy approach, Emelen asked, "Do you really mean to let this question of the sea king go unresolved?"
Tansen squinted in the harsh sunlight as he gazed at his remarkable son. "Oh, I don't think it will go unresolved."
Emelen glanced sharply at him. "You think you're the one?"
"No." Tansen turned his back on the approaching men and boy, and looked eastward, toward the tumultuous whirl of colored clouds at the peak of Mount Darshon. The magically healed shir wound which had nearly killed him seemed to throb momentarily with a cool fire as he thought of what the Olvar had said about Zarien. "No, not me."
Tansen would rather his son always walk the dryland with him, but if Zarien's fate was to be the sea king... Yes, if that was indeed his future, then Tansen would do his best to prepare the boy for such an important destiny.
"Where have you been?" Mirabar demanded of her husband, upon finding him conferring with an assassin in the main hall of Belitar's gloomy castle. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
He glanced at her, dismissed the assassin with a nod, and turned away without acknowledging her, his attention captured by a letter he started reading.
"Baran," she persisted, following him into the shadowy study where he kept books, papers, and a magically whirling fountain of stunning beauty.
"Hmmm?" He took a seat without ever lifting his gaze from the letter.
Mirabar didn't bother looking over his shoulder, since she couldn't read. "Who is it from?"
He didn't seem to hear her, or maybe he was just ignoring her. Either way, he was clearly very absorbed in the letter, and his expression was increasingly intense as he continued reading it. She decided to wait until he was done before explaining why she had been looking for him today.
Watching his face now, Mirabar couldn't tell whether he was upset or amused. Both, perhaps. She still found Baran's conflicting and volatile emotions bewildering and difficult to discern. His sharp intelligence sometimes made her forget that his madness was not just legend or pretense; and his wild mood swings and bizarre behavior sometimes made her forget that he was dangerously shrewd and seldom missed anything.
As a husband, he was exhausting. As an ally, he was unnerving. As a lover, he was...
"Not a father yet," she muttered.
Baran finished reading the letter and stared blankly at her. "Hmmm?"
"I'm not with child," Mirabar said, glad to have his attention at last for this news.
He glanced down at her lap, as if expecting to see proof of her claim staining the fine clothes he had insisted she acquire. She pressed her legs together, suddenly embarrassed.
"Oh." He turned away and stared out the window, his thoughts apparently still captured by the contents of the letter.
"You're taking my news well," she noted. There was no response, no acknowledgement that she had spoken. "Baran!"
He didn't look at her. "So we'll keep trying," he said without much interest.
She supposed it was a reasonable response, but she still felt annoyed. She was as ignorant of Belitar's secrets as she had been the day she first arrived here, and now the child Baran said he had been promised—by whom?—was not even on its way to soothe Mirabar's irritated nerves. Why was it that women who didn't want a baby became pregnant the moment they strayed from chastity, whereas Mirabar, who was completely committed to conceiving a child, had lain with her husband more than a dozen times with no results?
Looking to inflict her ill humor on someone, she said, "Let's hope we have time to keep trying."
"I'm not dead yet," he replied mildly.
No, but he had awoken her two nights ago when he doubled-up in bed with a sudden attack of excruciating pain which led to him bringing up blood. The sight had terrified Mirabar, who now truly understood how imminent Baran's death was. She could not afford to be patient with him, lest he die with his secrets intact and her womb still empty.
She watched him as he now fingered the costly parchment of the missive which occupied his mind. "Who is it from?"
"Kiloran." Baran looked at her. "He knows."
Ah. "Well, we knew he'd find out soon," she said, wondering at Baran's strange expression.
"Hmm."
Realizing there was more, she prodded, "And?"
His sudden smile was both bitter and amused. "Kiloran is impatient. He's trying to force my hand now, rather than waiting to see what I intend."
"What does he say?" she asked.
"He says we will commence holding back the Idalar River from Shaljir the day after tomorrow, at sundown, and he counts on my strength to help him swiftly bring the city under the Society's influence."
"What does he say about our marriage?"
"He congratulates me on such a shrewd plan for destroying you." Baran studied her with dark, brooding eyes. "He also says that others in the Society doubt my loyalty, now that Tansen has proclaimed my alliance with him."
"And?" she prodded.
"And if I will send your body to Kandahar, it would assuage any fears among the other waterlords that I have betrayed them all." His expression was unreadable as he added, "He concludes with a sort of peace offering."
Belitar seemed suddenly chillier to Mirabar. "What?"
"In exchange for requesting the corpse of my second wife as a trophy," Baran said, "Kiloran has offered me the truth about what happened to my first wife."
Mirabar held his gaze, hoping that today was one of his saner days. "You already know the truth, don't you? He killed her."
Baran's eyes started to take on a wild glitter. "He says he didn't."
She kept her voice steady and reasonable. "So she killed herself, then."
"No."
Mirabar frowned. "Now, after all these years, he's claiming she's still alive?"
"Not exactly."
"What then?"
He looked down at the letter. "Kiloran says Alcinar escaped him, escaped Kandahar one day, all those years ago."
"He's lying. Surely she would have come to you?"
"He told her I was dead. She believed him."
Yes, Mirabar realized, Alcinar probably would have believed him. It must have shocked even Kiloran that he couldn't, in fact, manage to kill Baran. Besides, with their home abandoned, where could Alcinar even have looked for Baran after she escaped Kiloran?
"Do you believe he's telling the truth?" Mirabar asked.
Baran's face took on the tormented expression it bore whenever he thought of his wife's fate. "I don't know."
Mirabar saw the struggle going on inside him. Oh, Kiloran was very shrewd. He knew that if Baran had decided to betray the Society, then the enmity of the waterlords wouldn't frighten him or change his mind. But the faint possibility of finding Alcinar after all these years? Oh, yes, that was a promise that might sway Baran, bring him under control... and even convince him to sacrifice his unloved new wife.
Mirabar would not show fear. "Does Kiloran offer any proof?"
"Only if I give him your dead body."
She would not show fear. "He's lying," she repeated.
Their gazes locked. She saw the relentless obsession which had made Baran what he was. Saw the ruthlessness that had led him to become one of the most powerful and feared waterlords who had ever lived.
"After all these years," Mirabar said, keeping her voice steady, "will you let him make a fool of you now?"
Baran laughed, a disturbingly cold sound. "After all these years, I finally have something else he wants so much it has driven him to desperation once again."
"Me." She felt Belitar's damp chill all the way through her vitals.
"I wonder if it's true," he murmured.
"He's not desperate, he's clever," Mirabar snapped.
"Alcinar had seen enough of my sorcery to have at least some knowledge of how water magic worked. If an ordinary person could spot a weakness at Kandahar and escape that place... yes, it would have been her."
"Or perhaps Kiloran killed her the very first time he raped her," Mirabar said harshly, "and is smart enough to know how to get you to do exactly as he wants, despite having murdered your wife."
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