"I meant," Vinn said patiently, "what do we do now about—"
"Oh, that." Baran felt his vision go dark as a fresh wave of mortal pain assaulted him. "That may well depend on what Kiloran's contingency plan turns out to be."
Najdan drew his shir and ordered everyone on board to prepare for attack as another boat approached this one.
"Wait," said Toren Ronall, coming to his side. "Put that thing away. Those are Zarien's relatives."
"The Lascari?" Najdan kept his shir ready but said, "Their boat seems undamaged."
The toren caught his eye and evidently realized his plan. "Zarien won't like this. There's something... not right between him and his family."
"He would like being dead even less than he will like being aboard their boat," Najdan replied.
As the other vessel pulled alongside them, an old man bearing a fresh facial scar stared at him, then noticed his shir and fell back a step, his expression contorted with horror. The old man said something in a harsh voice, though Najdan only caught one word amidst the dialect: Kiloran.
Ah. Searlon had come to them, so they had seen a shir like this before. Najdan bent slightly to slip his shir into his boot, then said to the old man in common Silerian, "Zarien needs your help."
"Who are you?" the old man demanded.
"Najdan. I have been sent by Tansen to protect Zarien from Kiloran. Who are you?"
"My name is Linyan. I am—was Zarien's grandfather. But you carry Kiloran's shir. Why—"
"This boat is crippled," Najdan interrupted. "Zarien will be in danger if he stays aboard, whether from another earthquake or from the people looking for him. One mast is gone, the other—"
"Yes, we heard," Linyan said. "We also heard that Zarien fell overboard. Is he hurt?"
"Not badly. He's resting now," said Najdan. "He's a little stunned, but he'll be fine."
"Let me see him."
"Have you come to help him?" Najdan would force them to do so if he had to, but it would be easier if they helped the boy of their own free will.
"He is no longer one of us—"
"Do you want him to die?" Najdan prodded.
"He is no longer one of us," Linyan repeated, "but we still care about him. We will help him."
"I'll wake him." Najdan turned to Ronall. "Get your things. We're changing boats."
The old man looked appalled. "I didn't say—"
"The toren and I have sworn to protect the boy with our lives. We will try not to disturb your family, but we will not be separated from Zarien until his father comes for him."
Linyan looked wary. "His father?"
"His bloodfather," Toren Ronall clarified, evidently aware that Zarien's sea-bound father was dead.
"Oh. Tansen," the old man muttered. "That... shallah blood ritual." Linyan sighed. "Still, if Zarien must walk among the landfolk now, it's good that he has someone to care for him. And if Tansen is devoted to the boy—"
"He is," the toren said.
"Such a great man, by all accounts. He cannot possibly be the sea king, of course, but—"
"I don't care who the sea king is," Najdan said. "I just care about keeping the boy alive."
"Zarien won't like this," Ronall repeated.
"I don't care about that, either," replied Najdan.
"You haven't told him?" Mirabar asked.
Lying together atop a messy pile of their clothes, they held each other, unable to stop touching, and talked in quiet voices.
"I can't," Tansen said. "I've tried, but I... No, I'm lying. I don't think I've even been able to try."
She knew how Tansen hated the memory, and she could imagine how it tormented him to look at Zarien and remember himself as Armian's son. To keep the most important secret of his life from someone who had a right to know it, to be so ashamed of it that he couldn't bring himself to share it.
"Don't you think he could forgive you?" she murmured, brushing her hand across the hard muscles of his shoulder. She closed her eyes as he caressed her back and considered her question.
"Sometimes I do, but... Not always. Sometimes..."
"Yes?" she prodded, brushing his ear with her lips, reaching up to touch his hair, his face, the line of his jaw.
He looked at her, his gaze troubled in the shifting volcanic light pouring through the roofless ruin in which they lay. "Sometimes... he almost seems like a stranger."
"He is a stranger," she said reasonably. "He came from another life than ours, and he hasn't been with you very long."
"I can't tell him," Tansen insisted. "I can't tell my son I killed my father. Not Zarien. He wouldn't understand. I can't."
"You can't let it go unsaid forever," she said gently.
"His family is gone. He looks to me for guidance."
"And you give it to him."
"I try, but..."
"But what?"
Tansen sighed unhappily. "Sometimes I feel he wants to see someone else when he looks at me."
"His real father?"
"No. He doesn't even know who that is."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"The sea-bound couple who raised him adopted him in infancy. He doesn't know who his real parents were."
"Now you're his real father. That's all that matters."
"Yes." He sounded dissatisfied.
"Then who do you think he wants to see when he looks at you?"
He shrugged. "A different man."
"Different?"
"Different from me. Perhaps... perhaps the man he expected me to be."
"Ah. Yes. Being a legend can be inconvenient," she said dryly.
"Very inconvenient for a father, anyhow," Tansen agreed.
"Well..." She rubbed her cheek against a scar on his arm. "Perhaps this isn't the right time to tell him. We're in the middle of war. He's still new to life on land and still quite young."
"When I did it," Tansen said bleakly, "I wasn't much older than he is now."
Mirabar tightened her arms around him and thought of the brave boy he had been, with the weight of Sileria on his shoulders, and no one to support him except Elelar—who, instead, betrayed him. "I love you," she whispered.
He kissed her hair. After a while, he asked darkly, "Would Baran hurt you for this?"
"I don't intend for him to find out, but, no, I don't think he'd do anything about it," she said. "He's not a jealous man, and he's never loved me. His heart has been ashes for fifteen years."
"Why?"
She propped herself up on his chest and said, "It's why they hate each other. Kiloran became obsessed with Baran's wife—who was sea-born, like Zarien—so he abducted her and eventually killed her. Baran was his apprentice, perhaps even destined to be Kiloran's heir. But then he became the old man's worst enemy."
Tansen toyed with her hair. "So that's what made Baran the way he is?"
"No, his flaws made him the way he is. I came to understand that, and then I knew... I could become that twisted—"
"No, not you."
"—if I kept hating Elelar so obsessively. A wasted life is bad enough, but when someone has the kind of power Baran does—or I do—then such hatred can make too many people suffer."
"You really think you needed him to teach you that?"
"I do," she said. "Who else could have taught me? Certainly not you. I was too jealous of how you felt about her."
He snorted. "Mirabar, even I don't know how I feel about her."
"As long as you know how you feel about me."
He kissed her, then said wryly, "Another man's wife. Another man's pregnant wife." Tansen shook his head. "My grandfather would have beaten me for this. Armian would have beaten... Well, no. Probably not. He was always indulgent with me."
"He loved you." She knew that. She had once Called Armian and therefore knew everything that mattered now that he was dead.
"And I loved him," Tansen said. "Even the night I killed him. And, now, sometimes..."
"What?"
He looked away and t
ook a long moment before saying, "Sometimes I wonder if I should have done it. If there was another way. Was killing him the only answer? Zarien says... Zarien says that I too often think it is."
"You think Zarien would say you made the wrong choice, that you should have done something else," Mirabar guessed.
"Something better. Stopped Armian without..." A faint tremor passed through him. "Without beating him to death in the dark."
"Oh, Tansen." She pressed her face against the Kintish brand on his chest. "I don't know what—" She went silent, hearing an intrusive noise even as his body tensed and his hands tightened warningly on her. Mirabar lifted her head and their eyes met. Yes, they'd both heard it.
She silently pushed herself away from him. He rose and started to reach for something, then froze and stood there with a strange expression on his face. She frowned questioningly as she came to her feet, too, then realized what he had reached for and didn't find.
"Your swords," she whispered.
Tansen jerked his head, indicating he'd left them down in the main village. He looked disgusted with himself as he silently pulled on his clothes.
She started dressing, too, hoping they'd only heard an animal, but knowing better already. She'd been an animal as a child in the mountains, and so she already knew the soft movements she'd just heard were human and deliberately stealthy.
"Keep talking," he whispered, then moved away from her.
Realizing Tansen didn't want the intruders warned by their silence, Mirabar began an inane stream of soft chatter as she finished dressing, then she crouched down amidst the tumbled rocks and watched while Tansen quietly slipped over a ruined wall in search of whoever had joined them here.
After she lost sight of him, her heart started pounding with sharp fear. She tried to hear what was happening, letting her chatter trail off into silence, but she heard nothing. Not knowing what else to do, she started talking again, praying to Dar not to let Tansen get killed.
No, of course, he wouldn't die now, she assured herself firmly. He had survived much more challenging things than an ambush in...
Mirabar heard a footstep behind her and turned to see—
Assassin!
His shir was drawn for combat, and he rushed at her so fast she didn't have time to scream. Mirabar leapt away in terror and fell awkwardly over a tumbled stone wall.
She felt his hand on her pantaloons, struggling to capture her.
No!
She called fire into her flesh, becoming a human torch. He cursed and snatched his hand away from her. She flung a ball of flame at him, searing and wild with her startled fear.
"Arrrrgggh!"
He fell back screaming, and she pressed her advantage, engulfing him in her deadly fire as he tried to escape it.
"Mira!" Tansen shouted.
She heard Tansen grunt nearby, then she heard thudding, scuffling, sounds of a fight. Then he shouted, "Attack! Get ready!" very loudly. Mirabar didn't look, though, didn't take her eyes off the assassin as he fell to the ground and rolled frantically. Even after he stopped moving, stopped screaming, she didn't look away, didn't douse the fire.
"Mirabar. It's all right. Stop now."
She recognized Tansen's voice and realized her whole body was still aflame. She commanded the fire to die. It did, slowly, until only she remained.
Then Tansen touched her. "Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head, then sank against him as he embraced her. "I've done it before," she babbled brokenly. "Killed a man like that. When we were attacked on Mount Niran. Oh, Dar have mercy, it's awful. You were right. It's not a thing to be done lightly. You were right."
"Shhh," he soothed. "It's done now. No, don't look. Don't look, kadriah."
She heard shouting and felt afraid again. "What's happening?"
"Those were advance scouts. We're coming under attack."
"Who?" She realized where she was. "Verlon?"
He looked down at the ground. "Yes. Verlon."
She followed his gaze and saw the dead assassin's shir on the ground. She bent to pick it up.
"Mira..."
"I may need it," she said, forcing calm into her voice.
"Come on." He scooped his shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head. "We have very little time now. Let's get down to the main village and find some place safe for you."
They emerged from behind the tumbled walls which had sheltered them for too short a time. In the eerie glow of the volcano's restless peak, Mirabar looked down at the village and saw the shallaheen of the eastern clans energetically readying for the attack that Tansen had just warned them was imminent.
He was right: They didn't have much time. The two of them had only just reached the main square when the attack on Gamalan began, and the Society made its bold move to kill every last one of them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
If you want to be one of us, you cannot be
one of them. It is the first rule.
—Armian
Cheylan traveled over the tumbled rocks and thick ash which covered the ground. His horse had broken a leg earlier, leaving him on foot. He'd been stunned in the fall and was bleeding from a cut on his face, but he didn't slow his pace, let alone consider turning back for another mount. Riding a horse had been foolhardy over this terrain, and he'd known it. Speed was imperative, though, so he'd taken the risk. Speed was still imperative, so he pushed himself hard now.
He hoped Mirabar would die in the attack on Gamalan, but he knew he couldn't count on it. She was at least as hard to kill as Tansen was, perhaps more so. Two lesser waterlords, allies of Verlon's, were participating in the attack, Verlon himself being too old and physically weak to make the demanding trek up to Gamalan. Cheylan hoped they would prevail. But Tansen and Mirabar had defeated waterlords before, as Cheylan had pointed out to Verlon before leaving to retrieve Elelar from the sacred cavern which was too close to Gamalan for Cheylan's peace of mind.
He wouldn't underestimate Mirabar. Despite Verlon's smug confidence, Cheylan knew she might live through the surprise attack. So he must get the torena safely away before any survivors of the battle had time to regroup and go in search of her.
"No!" Tansen shouted at Mirabar as the fighting grew furious around them. He tried to drag her to shelter. "I'm putting you somewhere safe! No discussion!"
"Verlon or another waterlord will be with them!" she shouted back, resisting his rough tugging. "Let me put fire around the water supply! You know I have to do it!"
She saw his jaw work as he ground his teeth. "Do it fast," he snapped. "And then you stay where I put you."
Mirabar nodded, then felt her heart collapse in her chest as an assassin appeared behind him. Tansen had yet to retrieve his swords and was still unarmed! Her horrified expression must have warned him, since he turned to confront the attacker before she'd even drawn breath to scream. Tansen broke the arm thrusting a shir at him, knocked the pain-stunned assassin to his knees, and twisted his head hard enough to break his neck. The body had barely hit the ground when Tansen seized the shir, which was now his.
"Do it now!" Tansen ordered her, moving to fight two more men who were coming straight for them.
She turned her back, having no doubt that he could protect it, and started calling forth fire to surround the well in the main square. Her senses immediately touched something cold and intrusive, dark and resistant.
There was a waterlord here. Already reaching out to this well, trying to coax it to his will.
But Mirabar's will was stronger, and so was her power. She struggled fiercely against the unseen sorcerer for long moments, all the while aware of the fighting around her. Then there was a sudden crumbling of opposition, a shuddering collapse in that chilly magic as she overpowered it—and Mirabar set the well on fire, protecting it from other sorcery.
"All right, inside!" Tansen shouted, shoving her toward an old hovel. "Make a fire around this house, and stay here until I come for you."
"Sirana!"
Mirabar turned and shouted, "Faradar!" The disheveled maid was running across the square. Mirabar caught her hand. "You're safe!"
"Neither of you is safe!" Tansen gave Mirabar a hard push. "Get inside!"
Mirabar tumbled into the abandoned stone house, dragging Faradar with her. Then, as ordered, she called enchanted fire to encircle the whole thing, protecting them from further attacks for the time being.
"Thank Dar you're all right!" Faradar said, panting. "I looked everywhere for you."
"I was... Never mind where I was."
"Are these Verlon's men?"
"Yes."
Terrified, Mirabar tried to peer out a window and see what was happening. The fire she had made was dense and bright, though, obscuring her view of the battle. Even the noise was dimmed by the roar of her Guardian flames.
She turned away, frustrated, scared, anxious—and fell back with a gasp of startled fear as someone came through the flame-veiled doorway.
"What is it, sirana?" Faradar demanded. "What's wrong?"
He stood golden and burning before her, neither screaming nor reeling in blazing agony. And, as the flames melted away, she recognized him and understood.
"You!" she said.
Faradar asked, "Who? What?"
Her time is at hand, the Beckoner said, his skin shimmering with Otherworldly light.
"Where have you been?" Mirabar snarled, "I've begged you for help! For guidance!"
Faradar gasped. "You're having a vision, aren't you?"
You must go to her.
"Now?" Mirabar asked incredulously
Time has run out...
"I'm surrounded! How can I go to her now?"
"Is it a vision about the torena?" Faradar asked hopefully.
Come to me...
"Where is she?" Mirabar asked the Beckoner. "Tell me, and as soon as the battle—"
You must come to me...
There was a terrible crash from the volcano, so violent it shook the house... and then Mirabar realized it wasn't just the volcano.
"Earthquake!" Faradar shouted.
"No," she muttered, horrified. "Not now. Not again."
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