The assassin studied his face. "What's wrong?"
"Gossip among these men. I've just learned that Searlon was responsible for the destruction of the Lironi alliance."
Najdan looked surprised. "How?"
"Kiman received a request to protect Marendar, Jagodan's village, while Jagodan was supposed to be off raiding in Verlon's territory. Meanwhile, Jagodan received an offer from an assassin willing to betray Verlon, and offering to prove his good faith by meeting Jagodan in—"
"—in Marendar."
"Yes. But, of course, the assassin never showed up."
"And Jagodan caught Kiman and Viramar together." Najdan nodded. "So that's how it happened."
"That's how it happened."
"What makes you think it was Searlon?"
"Because people around here have also gossiped about a tall, well-spoken, short-haired assassin whose good looks are marred only by—"
"—a scar on his cheek," Najdan said slowly.
"Yes. I didn't fully understand it until you arrived." Tansen glanced over his shoulder to the humble dwelling where Mirabar was now housed. "But after what she's told me, I do now. If Cheylan told Kiloran about Jalilar..."
Jalilar, Emelen, and now Elelar...
Darfire, Tansen wanted to kill Cheylan himself, regardless of the sorcery which only Mirabar could confront with equal power.
"Cheylan was in the east throughout the spring," Najdan said suddenly.
"So he might have known about Viramar and Kiman," Tansen said. "He seems to have a way of finding out things he shouldn't."
"He told Searlon about them, and Searlon saw it as a way to destroy the Lironi alliance."
"And perhaps more than that." Tansen added, his stomach clenching as he tried to keep his terror under control, "Searlon has been looking for my son."
Najdan lifted a brow. "Where is Zarien?"
"He's at sea. It seemed the safest place. It never occurred to me that Searlon was here. I would have brought Zarien ashore with me if I'd known. I thought I had left Searlon a cold trail when I came east. How was I to know he'd be here?" Tansen realized he was babbling and clenched his teeth together for a moment. "By now, he must know that I'm here. In fact, he probably expected the crumbling of the Lironi alliance to bring me here. If so, he also knew that I wouldn't leave Zarien behind. Not with Searlon looking for him."
"And not with Searlon willing to violate Sanctuary to kill," Najdan added gloomily.
"For Zarien's protection, I've told no one how I came here or where he is. But I thought I only needed to protect him from the eastern clans."
Najdan nodded, understanding. "So whatever measures you took will not protect him from Searlon."
"I left him at sea, in the care of a sea-born family and of... of Toren Ronall."
"A Valdan?"
"Elelar's husband."
Najdan frowned. "Isn't he said to be a drunkard and a fool?"
"Yes."
"Have you lost all your wits?"
Tansen ignored that. "I need you to go protect Zarien for me. You're the only person I would trust to keep him safe from Searlon." Najdan was not only a skilled and shrewd fighter, but he also knew Searlon and his methods very well.
"Why can't you—" Najdan stopped as he realized, "You're waiting for Jagodan."
"If he arrives and I'm not here to keep them under control," Tansen said, indicating the hardened shallaheen who were gathered here, "it'll be a bloodbath and the end of any hope of saving the Lironi alliance or winning the war in the east."
Najdan said, "I don't want to leave the sirana alone to face Cheylan."
"She won't be alone," Tansen assured him.
"If anything happens to her—"
"I have trusted you with her life for a long time," Tansen said. "You know you can trust me with it."
Their eyes locked for a long moment, then Najdan nodded. "I accept the honor of protecting your son, and I promise you that I will let no harm come to him."
"You need to leave immediately."
"I will go tell the sirana."
When Najdan returned from his brief farewell to Mirabar, Tansen already had a fresh horse waiting for him. He removed his jashar and handed it to Najdan. "Zarien knows you, but this will identify you to Toren Ronall and the sea-born family as my messenger. My orders are that you're to keep your distance from other boats and refuse all approaches until I myself come to you."
"I hate the sea," Najdan muttered.
"Don't we all?" Tansen replied.
He gave Najdan the best instructions he could about finding the right boat in the crowded bay where he had left Zarien.
"Najdan," he added as the assassin mounted and prepared to ride away, "this is about my son's life, not your honor. If it will keep Zarien safe, then running and hiding are perfectly good options."
Najdan paused for a moment, then nodded. "I understand. I have given my word. The boy will stay safe."
Tansen bowed his head and crossed his fists. "Thank you."
He watched Najdan ride out of the crumbled ruins of Gamalan, fighting the urge to change his mind and go to Zarien himself. But it didn't take a gift of prophecy to foresee the disaster that would ensue here if Tansen abandoned his duty to Sileria in favor of his duty to his son. Najdan's arrival had been the answer to an unspoken prayer, ensuring that neither Tansen's son nor his nation's future need be sacrificed today.
If anything happens to that boy, Dar, he warned silently, I will never forgive You and never stop trying to punish You for it.
Since he had never forgiven Her for taking Josarian, though, he supposed his threats wouldn't bother the goddess, who rumbled and roared beneath the skin of the soaring mountain which was so nearby that it filled the smoky sky over Gamalan.
Baran lay on the damp floor of his study at Belitar, shaking with shock and weakness as Sister Velikar bathed his forehead and wiped blood and spittle off his face.
"Siran!"
He recognized Vinn's panicked shout and was vaguely aware of the scuffle which then ensued between the assassin and the Sister. Baran was too weak to intervene and in too much pain to be as amused as he ought to be.
"What have you done to him, you ugly sow?" Vinn demanded.
"I found him collapsed here," Velikar snarled in reply, "unconscious and face down in the blood he had vomited. Would you prefer me to leave him like that?"
The two of them had never learned to play nicely together, Baran reflected. No one was more devoted to him than Vinn and Velikar, not even his wife (especially not his wife), but their mutual dislike ensured that each of them pretended the other was a danger to him. Well, mutual dislike laced with a heavy dose of mutual jealousy; each wanted to be his favorite, of course.
It might be nice, Baran thought wearily, if they would at least declare a truce long enough to tend him now, rather than leave him lying here shaking, barely conscious, and covered in his own disgusting excretions.
Really, it was rather a relief that his wife was off chasing some demented fire wizard halfway across Sileria rather than staying home to witness moments like this. A man who had made love to a woman—and rather skillfully, if he did say so himself—didn't want her to see him like this while the fruit of his efforts was ripening in her womb.
Finally, to Baran's relief, Vinn muttered something sensible about how they should help the siran now and quarrel later. Then Baran felt them lifting him off the floor to haul him over to some cushioned surface (which, alas, smelled of the damp that permeated everything at Belitar). One of them started undressing him while the other commenced washing the parts of him that now needed it. He supposed he must have slipped into unconsciousness again after that, since the next thing he knew he was wrapped in a clean blanket and Velikar was forcing one of her tisanes down his throat.
"Perhaps you would consider poisoning the next cup of brew you give me?" Baran mumbled. "I find I'm getting a trifle tired of all this."
"Would you give up before Kiloran is dead?" V
elikar snapped.
He opened his eyes. "Oh, damn. You had to remind me."
"Siran, your plan is working well." Baran recognized Vinn's voice again and turned his head to focus his gaze on the assassin as he hovered behind Velikar. "Meriten's allies are turning on him, and I think it likely he'll be dead before long. Two more waterlords have been defeated, their bodies displayed in public, their lands overrun by Guardians."
"Who ever would have thought," Baran murmured to Vinn, "that you would be so pleased about Guardians killing waterlords and shallaheen killing assassins?"
"He just likes all the killing," Velikar growled. "Regardless of who winds up dead."
"We have chosen our side, woman," Vinn responded. "Kiloran's friends are our enemies, as his enemies are now our friends."
"What news of Kiloran?" Baran asked, his mind starting to clear as Velikar's brew soothed the fiery pain consuming his body.
Vinn grinned. "Ah, you were right, siran."
"I love those words."
"Even Kiloran has his limits. He is spreading his power too thin, trying to control too much. He has tried but has been unable to claim the territories of dead waterlords. There are riots in Cavasar now that the news of Jalilar's murder in Sanctuary has spread among them, as has the story of your own sad loss at Kiloran's hands. The Cavasari accepted everything until now; but they will not accept a ruler who murders helpless pregnant women and who violates Sanctuary."
"Oh, very well," Baran conceded, "I suppose I do want to live a little longer."
"The chaos in Cavasar is leading to turmoil in the rest of the district, keeping Kiloran's assassins there very busy," Vinn continued. "I've heard rumors that Guardians are already sneaking into the district, preparing to come between Kiloran and the city."
"Oh, that's very heartening," said Baran. "Perhaps I'll even sit up now."
"No," said Velikar.
"If the siran wants to sit up, woman, then you will assist him or I will gut you with my—"
"Now, now," Baran admonished. "We're all friends here."
"No, we're not," they said in unison.
Baran sighed. "Velikar, please, I would very much like to sit up."
"You'll just start puking your guts up again."
"Oh. Well. In that case, perhaps lying here for a little while longer would be prudent," Baran opined.
"Wait until the tisane has had time to move through your body," she said, softening as she sometimes did only for him. "Then you can get up. Not before."
"I would never dispute such a learned woman," Baran assured her.
"You dispute me all the time," she muttered. "Luckily, I am not weak-willed."
"I assume," Baran said to Vinn, "that Kiloran is denying all accusations?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"No one seems to believe him," said the assassin.
"How gratifying."
"People are sure you would not, er..."
"Publicly shame myself with such a terrible story if it weren't true."
"Yes." Vinn nodded. "And they remember that he killed Josarian."
"The Firebringer. Dar's Chosen One. The man responsible for driving the Valdani out of Sileria." Baran sighed with pleasure. "I always thought that killing him might turn out to be a mistake."
"I liked Josarian," Velikar said grumpily.
"He was a likeable fellow," Baran admitted. "Even I was in danger of liking him, but I controlled myself."
"So of course the loyalists believe Kiloran murdered Jalilar out of..." Vinn shrugged. "A fear of Josarian's bloodline. Or perhaps simple malice. Or maybe Kiloran has become too much like the Valdani, who slaughter women and children, too. And even Kiloran's allies are disillusioned. Whole clans are turning against him. Even toreni are speaking out against him."
"Toreni?" Baran smiled cynically. "Well, better late than never, I suppose."
"They say if we no longer respect womanhood, then we are not Silerian," said Vinn. "And if we no longer respect Sanctuary, then we are worse than any barbarians who have ever invaded our nation."
"Goodness, I feel positively rejuvenated," Baran announced, aware that his voice was nonetheless thin and weak.
"With events proceeding so well, siran, what shall we do now?"
"Now?" Baran closed his eyes and inhaled, feeling the great Idalar River flowing through him, feeling the flooded mines of Alizar quiver in his embrace... feeling Kiloran's strength and power in them both, resisting him with a brilliant, masterful clarity. Baran inhaled again and felt himself weakening, losing command of his own power. Dying. "Now," he said slowly, "I think we must pray for rain."
"Yes," Velikar said. "If only the rains would come. The suffering everywhere is appalling."
"Hmm? Suffering? Oh, yes. I suppose it is bad." Baran was a waterlord, and the curse he would carry throughout eternity was that he himself had often caused such suffering. It didn't matter, though. It couldn't matter to him. Cultivating a conscience at this late date would destroy everything he had lived for—as well as everything he had promised to his fiery wife and his unborn child. "No, I was thinking of the Idalar River, Sister. If the rains would come soon, if the river would swell, even flood... It would help me." When the river rampaged in a good rainy season, even Kiloran couldn't control it. So then Baran could relax a little, rather than daily spending so much of his waning strength on keeping it from Kiloran's domination.
"However..." Baran sighed. "Neither Dar nor anyone else has ever listened to my prayers, so I suppose I must pursue practical measures."
"Don't!" Velikar protested as he started to rise.
"Help me," he ordered now, in the tone with which he had commanded dozens of assassins over the years. It still worked—even with Sister Velikar.
Baran needed to send a message to the Beyah-Olvari in Shaljir, which meant writing a letter to Derlen, the Guardian who still dwelled in Torena Elelar's house.
He also needed to speak here with the Olvara. But even if he could find the strength to descend into the ancient underground caverns alone, he knew he'd never make it back out without help. With Mirabar gone, he had no choice about what he was going to do now. Besides, if neither he nor his wife survived, he supposed someone he trusted ought to know what lay beneath Belitar. Baran regarded Vinn and Velikar with some amusement, picturing the two of them bound together for the rest of their lives by the secret he was about to impart to them.
"I need more help from my teacher," he told them. "And I'll need you to help me get to her."
"Her?" Velikar repeated.
"Your teacher?" Vinn looked puzzled.
If Baran weren't quite so ill, he would have delighted in the slacked-jawed astonishment which his revelations inspired in both of his companions that day.
Elelar forced herself to eat some of the meal which Cheylan had brought to her. It was rather unappetizing fare, and her own shock and fear made it difficult to swallow or keep down; but she supposed that letting herself grow weak from lack of food would be foolish right now, so she consumed what she could.
How long had she been here? It was impossible to be sure. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious after inhaling those terrible fumes on the slopes of Mount Darshon. Since then, she'd been so agitated and anxious that the time seemed to pass very slowly, so she may not have been here as long as it seemed. The lack of day or night in this strange cavern of fire and water further disoriented her.
It was a very effective prison. She had already explored this murky world for an escape route and felt quite discouraged. There were dozens of passages down here, and she knew she would quickly become lost and never find her way out. Nor could she trace Cheylan's route; he left by a different passage each time he was here, and he always left an enchanted fire blocking the way to prevent her from following him. If she was going to escape this place on her own, she'd need a good plan—and so far, she didn't have one.
The river that flowed through the cavern was clear and cold, so at least she d
idn't fear dying of thirst while she was imprisoned here. However, she was terrified of what would happen if the volcano acted up. There were trickles of lava everywhere here, making the whole place unbearably hot and steamy—as well as hazardous to roam around. It seemed likely that the many lava leaks in this cavern were from a tributary to the main caldera of Darshon.
Which meant it was a holy place. And perhaps the Beyah-Olvari had known this—in the dim orange glow of the lava streams and puddles, Elelar saw their strange, ancient paintings decorating the cave walls all around her. However, being sacred didn't make the cavern safe. The volcano had been agitated and active ever since Josarian's death, and there was no reason to suppose that the frequent earthquakes which had plagued Sileria since then, too, were now over. All of which made this cavern very dangerous—particularly if Dar was, as Elelar believed, enraged at her for betraying the Firebringer.
Is this my punishment? she asked the goddess.
If so, it was a confusing one. Abducted and raped—well, all right, seduced—by a Guardian claiming Elelar was destined to bear a new ruler foretold in prophetic visions... Though it was an intriguing idea, Elelar didn't want to sink into Cheylan's delusions of grandeur. She'd been exaggerating when she compared him to Baran; he didn't have the waterlord's mercurial madness. No, he was just conniving, bitter, and wholly unprincipled.
Moreover, Cheylan wasn't as clever as he thought he was. Elelar's verbal sparring had irritated him enough to make comments which gave her hope. He admitted he hadn't laid a false trail for Mirabar, and so Mirabar surely knew by now that he had betrayed her and abducted Elelar.
Please Dar, let it be so.
Elelar wanted to believe that Mirabar would realize what had happened and, as was her nature, would take action. If Cheylan's extraordinary revelations were true, then Mirabar believed Elelar was destined to bear the ruler of Sileria and would be desperate to find her.
It takes nine months to bear a child, Cheylan, so time is on my side.
If, that was, Mirabar had not already suspected Cheylan's perfidy and therefore lied to him when she told him Elelar would bear the child she saw in her visions.
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