The Destroyer Goddess (32 page)

"But," Mirabar said crisply, "a very successful Calling."

"Then you're done with the Olvara's gift," he said, "and it doesn't matter that it's gone. Er, burned up. Whatever."

"I hope not." She sighed. "I just wish..."

"So do you know what to do now?" he asked.

She nodded. "Cheylan has gone to Elelar's estate to bring her here... so that I can..." It amused him to see how hard she found it to conclude, "Protect her."

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"I'm ready!" she shouted, delighting him.

"Just asking," he murmured soothingly.

As Baran had hoped, it annoyed her.

Now he asked, "Did you send some of my men with him?"

"No. Cheylan thought it would be best not to attract that much attention. He said he'd travel quietly with her, trying to keep out of sight."

"What a bold fellow," Baran murmured sardonically.

"He can probably protect her better than your men can," she pointed out. "Especially from a waterlord."

"If you say so, my dear." 

"And if Cheylan succeeds, Baran, nothing and no one must harm the
torena
once she's here."

"Why?" Upon seeing her hesitation, he reminded her, "I can lose my head and kill her just as easily if I
don't
know why she's suddenly under my—"

"
Our
."

"—protection. In fact," he added silkily, "I'm so irrational, I might be
more
likely to hurt her if I don't know why she's—"

"Because she's to be the mother of the new Yahrdan!" Mirabar snapped.

"Ahhh." He considered this. "What about the child carried by the Firebringer's sister?"

"Jalilar's baby," she murmured, frowning.

"The bastard sired by a Valdani
toren
," Baran added unnecessarily, still entertained by the prospect.

Mirabar rubbed her hands over her tired face. "I think... it may just be what Tansen would call... bad luck." She glared when Baran laughed. Then she said, "There's more."

"Oh?"

"It's...
possible
... not certain, I can't be sure, but it does seem very... I mean, there's a good chance..."

"Could you possibly finish this thought before I die?"

She met his gaze. "I think Kiloran may be destined to father the new Yahrdan."

That felt like the thrust of a
shir
. "Kiloran?"

"It's possible. I don't know."

"
Kiloran?"
he repeated.

"Yes. Of course, it was very vague, and it's not necessarily..."

It hurt like a mortal wound to think of that old man's greatest desire finally being fulfilled: Kiloran having an heir who would rule Sileria. It hurt so much, Baran started laughing with wild, bitter amusement.

Mirabar gave him an exasperated look, which made him laugh all the harder. "However," she said acidly, "the powerful, murdering, lying
sriliah
prophesied in the Calling could just as easily be
you
."

"In that case," he said, gasping for air, "how trusting of you to bring the lovely
torena
into our home."

She shrugged. "Well, I don't really believe it."

"Apart from the fact that I'm already expecting a child from my virtuous wife..." Baran steadied his breathing before continuing. "No one knows better than you, my dear, that Elelar would have to be able to coax life out of a corpse to get a child from me, at this point."

Their eyes met, and her mood shifted from exasperation to a subtle tension he was now too ill to find alluring. "There are things I've missed," she admitted quietly.

Careening from amusement to despair, he asked, "If you think Kiloran may be destined to sire a child on Elelar, why have Cheylan bring her here? If this child is so necessary to Sileria's future, then—"

"Because I could be wrong about who the father is! What if it's not Kiloran, and I do nothing and let him just
kill
her? What then?"

"Prophecy," Baran said gloomily, "is very inconvenient."

"All I know is that I'm supposed to protect Elelar and, if I can, keep the father from dominating the child." 

"You mean, kill the father?"

"I don't know," she said faintly.

"As the prospective father of a powerful child myself," Baran said, "I can assure you that only death will keep me from our daughter, Mirabar. So unless the Yahrdan's father is a weakling or a fool, I think it likely that only the most extreme measures will keep him from his child. And if it's Kiloran—"

"Even if it's not..." She nodded. "The man prophesied in this Calling is neither a weakling nor a fool."

"And so you were chosen to protect Elelar and this child."

Mirabar made a frustrated gesture. "I wanted to go for her myself, but Cheylan argued against it. He said if Kiloran has already taken Elelar and set an ambush, I might die pointlessly and fail my duty."

"How thoughtful of Cheylan to have such concern for my wife and unborn child." Baran asked, "Do you think Elelar knows?"

"About Kiloran?" she asked blankly. "Since even
I'm
not sure that's wh—"

"I mean," he said, in the tone he would use to instruct a slow child, "do you think she knows that she herself is to give birth to your prophesied hero?"

"Oh!" She blinked. "You're thinking of that letter she sent you?"

"'Tell Mirabar I have made my peace with Dar and am ready.'"

"How would she know?
I
didn't know. Who could have told..." Her eyes flew wide open with startled realization.

"Who?" he prodded, already suspecting.

"No one," she said quickly, lowering her gaze.

"Hmmm. Now who, I wonder," Baran mused, enjoying his wife's discomfort, "might
Torena
Elelar know who has a gift of prophecy? Besides you, that is."

"I don't know."

"Ah, you're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Tell you what?"

"You actually think I'd hurt them?"

Her gaze flashed up to collide with his. "Them?" she repeated  warily.

He smiled, enjoying the fact that, for all her power and courage, she was still afraid of him. Really, he'd had no idea he was that formidable even half-dead as he was.

"My dear Mirabar," he said, "I have protected the Beyah-Olvari here for years, and treated them far better than any of my predecessors did. I am even, in my own way, rather fond of the Olvara."

"She told you," Mirabar realized. 

"Yes."

She nodded slowly and admitted, "I wondered if she would."

"The Olvara trusts me."

"She's very naive."

He grinned, even rather fond of Mirabar in his own way. "Agreed."

"What are you going to do?"

"Me?" he said innocently. "I'm only going to make a suggestion."

"Go on."

"Is there someone you trust who can safely contact the Beyah-Olvari in Shaljir?" he asked.

She continued to regard him warily. "There's Derlen. A Guardian in the
torena
's household in Shaljir. If he's still there. He knows about them."

"Then I suggest we tell your friend Derlen to have them help me resist Kiloran's pull on the Idalar River."

Mirabar let her breath out on a rush. "Can they do that?"

"They should be able to. They're very close to it there. They may even have direct access to it through underground tunnels." Baran studied her for a moment. "Did this
never
occur to anyone who knows about them?"

"I don't... I suppose not. Hardly anyone does know, and the few who do..."

"Aren't waterlords," he concluded. "And so don't know anything about water magic."

"And were mostly concerned with concealing their existence from everyone," she added.

He nodded. "Of course."

"Will the Beyah-Olvari in Shaljir need... instructions from you? Advice or..." She shrugged.

"Yes." Baran asked, "I don't suppose Derlen reads?"

Her face brightened. "He does!"

"That's a relief." He'd write a letter and have one of his men take it to Derlen.

Mirabar rose to leave, so that he could write his letter in peace, but she paused when there was a knock at the study door. 

Najdan entered a moment later. "Ah, you're both here," he observed.

Baran said, "I admire the way
nothing
slips past you."

Najdan scowled. "We need to talk." 

It was a simple dwelling by the standards of waterlords, though extremely grand compared to the way
shallaheen
lived. The blood moons were full and ripe tonight, shedding an eerie orange glow upon Geriden's stronghold as Tansen approached it stealthily, creeping silently through the lush growth which always surrounded a waterlord's lair even in the dry season.

His black hair, like the black clothes he wore tonight, would absorb the moonlight, and he had streaked his face and hands with dirt, ensuring that no one was likely to see him unless he wanted them to—and guaranteeing that no one here could identify him. 

Armian had taught him to feint and confuse an opponent. His
kaj
had taught him that skillful warfare was based on deception. He had taught himself that doing the unexpected always worked best.

And the waterlords had taught him to be ruthless.

Crawling on his belly, he moved silently past Geriden's sentries until he was very close to the house. It was a square, stone structure built across the top of a waterfall, so that the cascades seemed to fall from its foundations. 

There was some artistry to it, Tansen admitted. The late and unlamented Wyldon should have taken a lesson or two from Geriden; Tansen still shuddered when he recalled Wyldon's water sculptures.

Elsewhere tonight, Tansen had separate forces making attacks—which would be aborted before incurring serious losses—on both Gulstan and Kariman.  The attacks were simultaneous, and each one was reputedly led by Tansen. Although real targets had been chosen, the primary purpose of the attacks was to gain the waterlords' attention tonight—and to create confusion by tomorrow. If things went well, the confusion would be swiftly followed by hostility, accusations, and enmity.

Excite the enemy's ambitions
, his
kaj
had taught him,
and
play upon his fears
.

Tansen had no idea whether Gulstan or Kariman wanted Geriden's territory; but he had learned by now that Geriden
feared
they did. So Geriden worked hard at maintaining his friendship with Kiloran, believing he might one day need it. Tansen knew that Geriden had, for instance, supplied the assassins who'd attacked the Guardian encampment on Mount Niran, abducted Mirabar's mentor Tashinar, and taken her to Kandahar—where Tansen could only hope the old woman had died quickly.

Now that Tansen was close enough to Geriden's house, he studied it with disappointment but without surprise. It was far from the riverbanks on either side of it, and it sat at the very precipice of the steep gorge into which the water fell. The river around it—sluggish, this far into the dry season—was unquestionably ensorcelled to protect the inhabitants of the house.

No way in, unless Geriden permits it.

Oh, well. He had known it would probably be this way. Even minor waterlords like Geriden were far from easy to kill.

Tansen waited patiently in the shadows on the banks of the river until another sentry passed him. Knowing that mortality made quite an impression, even on assassins, Tansen attacked this one in silence, grabbing his forehead from behind and then driving the blade of a
shir
into the vulnerable soft spot just below the base of the skull, killing the man instantly. 

He let the body sink to the ground, then withdrew the
shir
made by Kiloran, flicked the blood off the wavy blade, and tucked it back into the assassin-red
jashar
he wore tonight.

Geriden's stronghold was better guarded than Wyldon's had been, and it wasn't very long before another sentry came along. Tansen waited until the man was bending over the corpse before he ambushed him.

The assassin gasped in pain when the
shir
pressed against his throat. 

"No noise," Tansen warned him in a whisper.

The assassin's gaze sought the handle of Tansen's
shir
. Recognizing the workmanship, as anyone in the Society would, he blurted, "Kiloran sent you? No! We are loyal! You can't—"

"Get me inside the house," Tansen ordered.

The assassin spat on him. Tansen slashed his cheek open, then clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the man's scream.

"I want to go inside," Tansen murmured into his ear. "And you have only a moment left to be smart."

The assassin snarled something unintelligible and struggled —with both strength and skill. Realizing this wasn't the man he needed, Tansen killed him, then dumped his body next to the first one. He collected their
shir
, tucked them inside his tunic, then retreated once again to the shadows.

It was a long wait for the next sentry, but as soon as Tansen saw him, he believed he had found the key to this particular lock. This sentry was younger than the other two, and he looked jumpy even before coming upon the bodies of two of his fellow assassins.