The Destroyer Goddess (17 page)

Armian caught Tansen's gaze and said, by way of instruction, "One enemy at a time. That's the way to win."

"Indeed." Kiloran said to Tansen, "Listen to your father."

"Always,
siran
," Tansen responded.

Kiloran smiled at Armian. "He's a good boy."

Armian glanced at Tansen, his expression fond. "Yes, he is,
siran
."

"Mistakes are so easily made," Kiloran said to Tansen.

"Yes,
siran
," Tansen said, knowing that the old man was referring to the day he had defied Armian.

"Learn from your mistakes, correct yourself, and move on. Can you do that?"

His stomach churning with dread, Tansen replied, "Yes, I can,
siran
."

Kiloran nodded, satisfied. Then, after a servant took away the empty plates and the remaining food, he said to Armian, "If the Moorlanders are right, if we can indeed force the Valdani to withdraw from Sileria by working together, then our primary concern is to be in a position of strength when that happens, rather than finding ourselves depleted by the effort."

Armian nodded. "So we want the
toreni
and merchants to bear the cost of the rebellion."

"And the
shallaheen
and lowlanders," Kiloran added, "will bear the loss of life."

"So the Honored Society," Tansen said slowly, "will be strong when this is all over."

Armian looked pleased he had been bold enough to contribute to the conversation. "The strongest."

"The Society will be in power," Tansen said. 

Armian smiled. "Completely."

"And you,
siran
..." Tansen said to Kiloran.

Kiloran looked exhilarated. "I will rule Sileria." They all considered this in silence for a moment. Then Kiloran placed a hand on Armian's shoulder and added, "And now I have an heir."

"I would not dream," Armian said politely, "of usurping your son's place."

"Sadly, the boy has shown no talent for water magic. And only a waterlord can rule Sileria. Srijan could not survive if he tried to command the waterlords. But you... You show real promise." 

Armian crossed his fists over his chest and bowed his head. "Then,
siran
, I am deeply honored."

Tansen knew he had to try again. "But, father, what about Mount Darshon?"

Armian laughed. Kiloran regarded father and son with interest.

"Tansen," Armian said, "if you want me to jump into that damned volcano, then you're going to have to drag me up to the rim and
push
me off."

Tansen tried to talk to Elelar about all this, but it was hard to find enough time alone with her, especially since Armian wanted more of his company lately. And when Tansen did get her alone, she couldn't seem to understand anything except the imagined victory she craved with obsessive passion. Sileria would drive out the Valdani conquerors, and Elelar was so excited she scarcely heard anything Tansen tried to say to her in his awkward, stumbling way.

This war, Tansen became convinced, wouldn't free Sileria for Silerian rule once the Valdani were defeated—if such a thing was even possible. No, if the Moorlanders' plan worked, then the Society would dominate Sileria when this was all over. And would that be any different from being ruled by the Valdani?

Who starves the cities of water
?

Yes, he realized. It would be different—because it would be even worse. Who could overthrow the Society? No one. Who would ever drive
them
out of Sileria? Who would ever unite against them? 

Sileria's fate would be hopeless.

Who rules the mountains through terror and violence
?

The Society, led by Kiloran and Armian, would rule Sileria more harshly than the Valdani or any other conqueror ever had. Silerians would endure another thousand years of slavery, this time under the heaviest yoke of all. 

Who has already killed more
shallaheen
than the Valdani ever will?

Why didn't Elelar see that there would be no freedom in Sileria if they went ahead with this plan?

As Tansen wrestled with his confusion and dread, the cruel heat of the dry season finally began to relent. The days grew softer, and cool winds from the north sweetened the nights. Distant thunder teased Sileria with the promise of relief, and Kiloran prepared to retreat to his hidden stronghold—wherever that was—as the season of his greatest power and influence drew to a close.

Then one evening, as darkness descended on Kiloran's camp, something cold fell on Tansen's cheek. He brushed it away, and it happened again. He heard a sound, like softly rattling pebbles, and smelled a fulfilled promise perfuming the air...
Rain
, he realized, as it started coming down: the longed-for feel of the first drops of the long rains. This was a gentle beginning, a thick drizzle which would help prepare the thirst-hardened soil for the torrents that would follow as the season ripened and matured.

Rain
, Tansen thought, letting it soak him as he stood under the open sky. 

Rain. Sileria had run out of time.

"Tansen!"

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.