How the changing times have changed us all.
"What are your instructions, siran?"
It would require someone experienced to kill Najdan. Someone much better than average.
Someone, for example, who had successfully killed Wyldon.
Kiloran smiled, feeling better again. "Oh, meet with him, Dyshon. By all means. See if he knows anything interesting. Then kill him." Searlon would just have to bear the disappointment like a man.
Dyshon shook his head and reminded him, "It's to be a truce meeting, siran."
"Najdan is likely to be wary, even so." After all, the assassin had survived twenty years in the Society, betrayal of Kiloran, and a quarrel with Baran. Najdan wasn't a waterlord, but he was smarter than Wyldon, and—as Tansen had certainly proved time after time—smart men were more dangerous than powerful ones. Kiloran admonished, "So don't be careless or overconfident. Go to the meeting place a day early. Set your trap well, and eliminate any possible escape route for him."
Dyshon seemed to have trouble understanding. "Trap? But I can't kill him at... a truce meeting."
Kiloran snorted. "Of course you can. He's not one of us anymore, Dyshon. He made his choice, and he is no longer protected by the honor of the Society. So find out everything he knows about Baran, and then kill him."
"I..." Dyshon looked queasy. "I am still of the Society, siran, and I... I don't want—don't like—"
"Neither do I, Dyshon, but these are difficult times and we must be strong. Najdan betrayed us, and now he's betraying Baran. Do you really think anyone will care when or where we kill him?"
Kiloran gave him a hard look, hoping he wouldn't have to remind him of the inestimable honor he was doing Dyshon by allowing him to assist in the struggle for the Idalar River.
After an awkward moment, Dyshon crossed his fists, bowed his head, and said, "It will be my honor to kill that sriliah as he deserves, siran."
"I thought so," Kiloran said dryly.
Yes, Searlon would feel cheated. But Searlon was a practical man who would understand that his master was obliged to use the very trap which Najdan had so thoughtfully proposed for his own demise.
A truce meeting. As if I could ever overlook what that sriliah did to me.
Really, it was amazing, the things some people thought they could get away with.
Elelar's tenants were engaged in wild celebration, every bit as exultant as the day they had received word of the Valdani surrender in Shaljir. The power of the Honored Society was far older and more enduring in this district than a mere two hundred years of Valdani rule. And now, for the first time in a thousand years, the waterlords had lost control of the water here.
True, these were still terribly dangerous times. Bands of murderous assassins roamed the district at will, not necessarily caring whether they were killing genuine enemies or just helpless innocents. Refugees now poured into the area from regions still crippled by the waterlords; disputes—even terrible fights—broke out when there wasn't enough free water here to slake their terrible thirst. Fierce earthquakes shook the land, destroyed homes and villages, and created avalanches and landslides. Wild-eyed zanareen and passionate Guardians wandered everywhere, their proclamations and promises alternately terrifying and inspiring. Bandits took advantage of the chaos throughout Sileria, and they were especially bold wherever the disciplined protection of the Honored Society no longer existed.
Yet Elelar's people now celebrated with reckless jubilation, because Kariman had lost his grip on their water, and—for the first time in centuries—no other waterlord flowed into the void to demand tribute and obedience from them, or to punish them with thirst and drought if they refused to comply.
Tired from all the celebrations of recent days, and having endured all the goodwill she really could stand, Elelar now sat examining accounts in her grandfather's study. But she could still hear the songs, the cheers, the wild cacophony of her ebullient tenants, and she knew the villages and estates all over this district were equally noisy these days.
"Free water for all! Free water for all!"
Elelar raised her head and listened for a moment. She heard some commotion coming from the kitchens next to the house, but it was a familiar occurrence by now. The hoards of hungry pilgrims, mystics, and refugees roaming the district were welcome to stop for a meal at the torena's kitchens as they passed. Lately, these mealtimes inevitably turned into still more buoyant celebrations, and Elelar had given up reprimanding the cook for being too generous with her wine and ale.
"Dar bless Torena Elelar!" someone shouted outside her house.
"Dar save the torena!"
She had long since given up going to the windows in acknowledgement of these revelers. She'd never get anything else done if she waved to them all.
"Free water! No more tribute! Free water!"
There wasn't an abundance of water, of course, since it was late in the dry season, and the nature of the climate had always ensured the waterlords' supremacy at this time of year. But what water was here was now free. No one ensorcelled it. No one could keep it from them anymore because of disobedience or terrible poverty.
"Free water for all!"
Tansen's promise had come true here, as it was coming true elsewhere. Not in the west, of course, where Kiloran, powerful beyond the dreams even of other waterlords, still ruled with unassailable dominance; but here and elsewhere, the waterlords—those seemingly invincible kings of life's most precious element —were now melting and dissolving. Dulien, Abidan, Liadon, Ferolen, Wyldon, Geriden, and so many others were already dead. Gulstan and Kariman were absorbed in a wrathful bloodfeud, destroying each other with a passionate fury unlike anything they had ever brought to their war against the Valdani or their battles against Tansen. Meriten had yet to claim the Shaljir River from the loyalists, and now rumors suggested that he was weakening, losing strength; now he would never take the Shaljir River, some said. His time was past, as was the time of so many of his friends.
Neither Kariman nor any other waterlord could reclaim the territory which the Society had lost and was still losing. The Guardians saw to that. Every liberated water source in Sileria was protected by Guardian fire, and Dar's servants would never yield what they had fought so hard to win.
And Verlon? Oh, yes, he was powerful, but everyone knew how recklessly hot-blooded the Lironi were; and their many allies had swelled their numbers to a force which, in the end, even Verlon and his friends could never defeat or destroy. No, the Lironi would never give up. Once fired, their bloodlust could never be cooled. Everyone knew that about them.
Under different circumstances, Elelar would be as celebratory as everyone else. Under different circumstances, though, she would not be waiting for the most famous Guardian in Sileria to come execute her as punishment for betraying the Firebringer.
As Tansen's influence spread, as the Society spiraled into confusion and defeat, and as all of Sileria struggled with destiny and Dar's rages, Elelar grew to believe that her own death might even be the key to defeating Kiloran, the one waterlord who still seemed truly invincible; the waterlord whom even Tansen, surely, couldn't destroy.
As Elelar waited, she often wondered how her death would save Sileria. She hoped she would understand her destiny in the final moments of her life. She also wondered—sometimes with genuine dread—exactly how her life would end. Would Mirabar choose to publicly humiliate her? Drag her through the dusty roads of Sileria, proclaiming her infamy and exposing her treacherous schemes? Would there be a painful, fiery sacrifice to Dar? A traditional execution for a traitor, something even worse than Valdani death by slow torture?
Elelar willfully mastered her fears, as she had to do almost daily now, and took a deep breath, reaffirming her resolve.
If this is the way it must be, then I am ready.
She only wished Mirabar would come, because the waiting was becoming intolerable. Almost as intolerable as the praise, admiration, and sheer adulation Elelar encountered every time she left the sa
fety of her home.
A great heroine of the rebellion, she thought, torn between ironic amusement and bitter self-loathing.
"Dar be praised for giving us Torena Elelar!"
"Elelar! Elelar! Elelar!"
Elelar sighed. Mirabar would probably immolate the crowd in a fit of righteous fury if she arrived during one of these emotional gatherings outside of Elelar's house.
Elelar was also worried that something might happen to spoil her plans. Tansen had somehow guessed where she was now; she had recently received a message from him. She suspected that he might even know what she intended. If he was still determined to protect Mirabar from herself, and Elelar from almost everyone, then he might try to interfere. He had already, Dar curse him, tried to convince her to take responsibility for Ronall again.
I really would rather jump into the volcano.
She'd had to keep her reply moderately civil, since Tansen couldn't read and always had to communicate with her through trusted messengers. Had she been able to respond to him in the privacy of a letter, her language might have shocked him.
Tansen had found Ronall, so Tansen could worry about him hereafter. Elelar was not going to have that lazy drunkard clinging to her now as she advanced to meet her destiny.
If only Mirabar would come, she fretted. Or send a message. Or do something. If only Baran would write from Belitar. Elelar fell into a useless bout of worrying that that unpredictable madman had never even bothered to share her letter with his wife.
"Elelar! Elelar! Elelar!"
"May Dar always favor Torena Elelar shah Hasnari!"
It was a relief when something finally disrupted all the cheering and shouting outside. Elelar was starting to get a headache. When she heard footsteps in the hallway, she gladly pushed aside the estate accounts, aware that she wasn't really seeing the figures anyhow, so absorbed was she in her thoughts and anxieties.
"Yes, Faradar?" she said when the door opened and her maid entered the study.
"You have a visitor, torena."
"I don't want to see any..." A strange feeling came over her as she noticed Faradar's serious expression. "Is it... Mirabar?"
Faradar looked surprised by the question. "No, not the sirana."
Elelar sagged with momentary disappointment.
"Another Guardian." Faradar paused. "Cheylan."
No wonder Faradar looked strange. And no wonder the crowd outside had grown quiet. The locals had surely never before seen the fire-eyed Guardian whose looks were almost as arresting as Mirabar's.
The fire-eyed...
Suddenly tense, Elelar rose. "Cheylan?"
Faradar nodded.
"Show him in."
"Unfortunately..."
"What?" Elelar prodded.
"Torena Chasimar has already, um..."
"Pounced on him?" Elelar guessed. Chasimar required a great deal more stimulation and entertainment than Elelar chose to provide, and she eagerly tended to accost any respectable visitor here—particularly, Elelar had noticed, if he was a man.
Faradar agreed, "As you say, torena."
Elelar had only met Cheylan briefly a few times, but she knew that he was a toren by birth and had the manners of one. So he probably had little chance of escaping Torena Chasimar's attentions any time before he died of old age, unless someone rescued him.
Elelar followed Faradar out of the room and went down the hall toward the front of the house, where she came upon Cheylan and Chasimar in the largest reception room.
The Guardian's lava rich eyes sparkled with strange intensity as he greeted Elelar with all the polished courtesy of their class. Torena Chasimar was fluttering and chattering even more than usual, and Elelar realized the half-Valdani woman was unnerved by Cheylan's looks. Not enough to be rude; just enough to be irritating.
Impatient with everything but the burning question inside of her, Elelar interrupted Chasimar's nervous chatter and said to Cheylan, "You've come for me, haven't you?"
Even his well-governed features betrayed a reaction to her bluntness. "Yes."
When the one with eyes of fire comes for you, the Olvar had told her, you must not resist.
"Are you the one, then?" Elelar asked, gazing intently into those eyes of fire. "The one I've awaited?"
Now his face went blank with surprise. He nodded slowly and said, "Yes. I'm the one."
Torena Chasimar giggled a little and said, "What are you two talking about?"
"What about Mirabar?" Had Elelar been wrong all along about her?
"She sent me."
"She knows, then?"
His gaze was sharp. "Knows what?"
"What my destiny is?"
Cheylan suddenly smiled, looking pleased. "I know what your destiny is, and only I can lead you to it."
Her head started spinning as if she had drunk too much wine. After all the waiting, all the fear, all the patience and secrecy and strangely dark hope, the moment had arrived. The Olvar had been right. Elelar had been right. Only now, as Cheylan confirmed it, did she realize what a relief that was.
If this is the way it must be...
"Then I am ready," she said.
Cheylan nodded. "We should leave immediately."
"Leave?" Chasimar blurted.
"Will I... need anything?" Elelar asked.
"All your courage," he said. "All your resolve."
Elelar nodded and allowed Cheylan to lead her to the door.
"Wait!" Chasimar bleated. "Where are you going?"
Cheylan said over his shoulder to her, "It was a pleasure to meet you, torena."
"Elelar!" Chasimar protested.
Elelar paused. Without looking back at Chasimar, she said, "Tell Faradar I have written down my instructions. She'll know where to look. And, uh... Tell Tansen..." She felt Cheylan stiffen slightly when she mentioned that name, but he didn't interrupt. "Tell him if everything had been different..." She gave a little puff of laughter and admitted wryly, "No, it probably would have always been this way between us."
"But Elelar..."
"Stay here, Chasimar," Elelar ordered.
The torena continued protesting as Elelar and Cheylan left the house together.
"What is she doing here?" Cheylan asked.
Elelar shook her head. "It's a long story. But she's like all Valdani. Once they make themselves at home, it takes an act of Dar to get rid of them."
As they emerged into the dying sunlight, she murmured, a little surprised, "It's getting late."
"We should travel by night," he explained, leading her to where he had two horses tethered. "We're too easy to recognize."
She supposed he meant he was, since, without the elaborate headdress she usually wore when traveling, which identified her, nothing about her appearance was distinguished enough to reveal her name. And with no servants or entourage, the only thing about the two of them likely to attract attention was the color of Cheylan's eyes.
"What about bandits?" Perhaps a pointless question, since she was riding to her death, but she didn't want to be raped by bandits on the way.
Also a silly question, she realized, when Cheylan replied, "I'll take care of them."
Yes, the Guardian who, as everyone knew, had been keeping waterlords out of Wyldon's territory could certainly get rid of a few bandits.
"Torena Elelar!"
"Torena! Torena! Torena!"
They were spotted by the crowd which peopled her grounds today. Elelar waved briefly, hoping they'd leave her alone. Instead, they came rushing forward in an aggressive wave of adulation, shouting her name, praising her for her courage and generosity—and frightening the horse she was trying to mount. Someone clumsily but kindly pushed her up into the saddle—and was then a little too familiar about helping her foot find the stirrup.
"Cheylan!" someone cried.
The crowd had evidently figured out who he was. Only one man in Sileria fit his description, after all.
"Thank Tansen for us!" a lowlander urged Cheylan.
"Tell Tansen we love him!" an old shallah woman cried.
"Tell the sirana we believe in her!"
"Yes, tell Mirabar we love her!"
"Siran," a zanar exhorted Cheylan, "do you not hear Dar Calling to you?"
"I do indeed," Cheylan replied.
The crowd cheered, even though Elelar suspected they'd all rather go without water again than go to Darshon themselves. The tales about the mystical ecstasy of the pilgrims and the many deaths at Mount Darshon these days were as terrifying as they were inexplicable.
"Dar is also Calling the torena," Cheylan announced. "So you'll have to let us pass, now."
This made quite an impression, and Elelar could hear them screaming and chanting her name in a fever of holy praise even after she followed Cheylan off her grounds and into the arms of whatever fate Dar had chosen for her.
Chapter Thirteen
Refuse to do evil; that is
the beginning of doing good.
—Creed of the Sisterhood
When Tansen came back to camp one day, Ronall finally summoned all his liquor-soaked courage and spoke to him.
"I think," he said to the shatai, "I should go... Darfire! Doesn't that hurt?"
"Hmm?" Tansen followed Ronall's gaze to where a singed hole in his leggings revealed a patch of burned skin. "Oh. Yes," Tansen replied absently. "It does."
"What happened?"
"I stumbled into some Guardian fire."
Since he was returning from a skirmish, Ronall assumed that he had "stumbled" while fighting several men simultaneously. Tansen didn't talk about his feats, but everyone else did. Often.
Now Tansen's tattooed bloodson peered at the burn and said critically, "You would never survive at sea. You're much too clumsy."
"Then it's just as well we're not going to sea, isn't it?"
The boy's gaze flew up to his young father's face. There was a strange tension between them for a moment, then Zarien said, "I'm not." It sounded like a warning, or maybe a vow.
"Did I say you were?" Tansen replied innocently.
Zarien rolled his eyes, then he gestured to the burn. "That needs to be cleaned."
The Destroyer Goddess Page 24