Chapter Twenty

 

 

Mirabar was growing weary. Keeping the assassin prisoner was proving to be hard work. His first escape attempt had nearly succeeded. She'd been more vigilant since then, but it hadn't stopped him from trying again. The third time had been only last night, and it was terrifying; he had tried to kill her.

They were traveling over the mountains, avoiding contact with other people. Sister Basimar, Amitan, and another of Josarian's men, young Kynan, accompanied Mirabar and the assassin. Mirabar didn't want to lead so many people into Kiloran's clutches, but she couldn't control the assassin day and night by herself. Indeed, he had attacked her while she slept last night, and she knew she might well be dead now if not for Kynan's and Amitan's help.

She wondered if all assassins were as tough as this one. He now bore bruises and minor wounds inflicted by the two shallah men, as well as the burns Mirabar had inflicted when she captured him. Remembering that confrontation still nauseated her, and she knew Tashinar would be appalled by what she had done. Yet despite the pain and exhaustion he must be suffering, Mirabar's captive didn't look like a defeated man.

Perhaps she should have listened when Basimar and the others had tried to discourage her from capturing an assassin.

She was very tired and knew she must save strength for her imminent encounter with Kiloran, so she insisted they make camp early that day. She blew a campfire into life so that Basimar could start cooking their evening meal. Then she approached the assassin, whom Amitan had tied securely to a tree. His dark eyes were watchful and wary.

"Assassin..." She paused, then said, "You might as well tell me your name." When he didn't respond, she added irritably, "Just so I know what to call you."

His gaze held hers for a long moment before he replied, "Najdan."

"Well, Najdan, how much farther to Kiloran?"

He shrugged.

"Tell me. Or I will make you tell me." She was aware that her threats were growing thin.

"He is near now," Najdan said stonily.

"How near?"

"Near enough to know that you are here." There was confidence in his voice.

"I see." She studied him for a moment. "Then I look forward to meeting him."

Najdan's confidence worried her. Realizing that Kiloran might attack them, rather than cordially awaiting her visit, Mirabar decided to set a ring of protective fire around the camp that night. Even if it didn't keep Kiloran out, it would deflect any ordinary assassins and alert her to danger.

Blowing life into the ring of fire was an exhausting task, and keeping it going all night would tax her strength. Consequently, she was anything but pleased to hear the Beckoner calling her when she was done igniting the blaze.

"Go away," she snapped. "I'm tired."

Come... You must come...

She resisted. "In the morning!"

"Who's she talking to?" Najdan asked warily.

"I don't know," Amitan said. "Sirana, who are you talking to?"

Now is the time.

"You'd better tell me what I'm supposed to do when I find Kiloran," she warned the Beckoner.

"Who, me?" Najdan asked.

"I think it's a vision," Basimar said. "She'll go into fits and screams in a minute. Don't let it bother you."

"Thanks for the advice," Kynan said dryly.

Come to me. You must come.

"Oh, all right!" Without looking at the others, she got up and followed the Beckoner, knowing how he would torment her if she continued resisting.

He led her through the woods, to the other side of Mount Kandahar, and down into the valley beyond. It was a long walk, and she was very tired by the time the sky grew dark.

"Couldn't I have visions closer to my bedroll?" she asked irritably, hating the Beckoner with all her heart.

The force of his will pushed her hard, carrying her on a wave of insistence, tumbling her through the air. She landed on the shore of the lake. Stars glittered on its surface. The waning crest of Ejara gleamed and undulated as she stared at the water.

Water. A house of water.

"Kandahar." Mirabar shook her head. "Surely it's not possible..."

A house of water.

"So... this is where he hides from the Valdani?"

A blaze of fire appeared above the surface of the water, sketching the foreign symbol of the warrior she sought.

"Is he here?" she asked.

Only you can save him now. The others have tried and failed.

"What others?" Her throat was dry.

Without him, the shackles remain.

"What must I do?" Her heart ached with fear.

The burning symbol sank slowly into the water, its light blazing gloriously even as it sank deep, deep into the black depths of Kandahar.

Fire in water.

"No..." She shook hear head, feeling her feet take steps backwards as she spoke. "I can't."

Fire in water...

The symbol kept blazing.

"I can't. No one could!"

Find the shir, and you find him.

"Please..."

The alliance lives or dies tonight. Find the shir...

"Oh, Dar shield me!" she begged, falling to her knees. Then, knowing she had no other choice, she asked, "How? How do I do this?"

She looked up and saw the Beckoner out in the center of the lake, hovering above the water's surface, surrounded by the glow of the Otherworld; the only good thing in an evil place. Fear clouded her vision as she rose to her feet again, consigning her life to his care, knowing that he wanted her to live to fulfill the dreams of dead rulers in living flame.

He opened his arms, reaching out to her across the span of centuries, across the barrier of death, through the void of destruction and despair, past the sorrow of a humiliated people and a culture condemned to servitude. He reached out and she went to him, offering her life and her power to the Fires beyond.

 

 

Tansen shivered with cold, annoyed that he couldn't control this instinctive reaction. There wasn't much point in his body's life-seeking efforts to generate heat, since he'd be dead in a few minutes anyhow.

Nine years ago, he had only seen the luxuriant camp Kiloran lived in while traveling through his territories, something a waterlord had to do regularly to keep his power secure. He had never known where Kiloran lived permanently, what sort of a place the wizard called home. Judging by the expression of shocked awe on Elelar's face, she had never known, either. Not until tonight. And Josarian looked like he was so far past shock that not even a personal appearance by Dar would surprise him now.

They were in a shifting palace of air far beneath the surface of Lake Kandahar—so far that Tansen had nearly drowned before being unceremoniously dumped here by the twisting coils of water that moved in response to Kiloran's will. It was as grand as any toren's house, with its high ceilings, luxuriant furnishings, sweet-smelling candles, and vast rooms. The ceilings, floors, and walls of a toren's home, however, didn't pulse and fluctuate—at least not unless an earthquake was taking place.

This palace, though, responded to its master's will as easily as a shatai's limbs answered his demands. Any portion of it could open or close like a mouth, to admit or exclude visitors; expand to comfortably encompass more people or constrict to drown them; become as hard as crystal, as soft as a feather tick, or as wet as... water. The blazing torches which lit the dark depth of this night were rooted into the shifting walls the way trees rooted into the soil. The floor beneath Tansen was as smooth as glass, and almost as chilly as the touch of another man's shir.

Soaking wet and chained to this cold, smooth floor by coils of icy water more unyielding than any bonds of iron, Tansen shivered and waited to die. Two of Kiloran's trusted assassins had disarmed him earlier while he lay helplessly gasping and strangling in the grip of the monstrous tentacles that had brought him here. Upon examining Tansen's swords—swords that no man should touch without permission—Kiloran had recognized the workmanship and instantly suspected the truth. He'd ordered his man to rip open Tansen's threadbare tunic, exposing the brand he wore on his chest.

"A shatai..." Sitting upon a throne of shells that were joined together by exquisitely-worked gold to form an enormous chair of astonishing beauty, the old waterlord had glared hard at Tansen. "You trained long and hard to come home and kill your master, boy."

They'd heard Josarian's shouted threats echoing through the watery caverns of Kiloran's lair; some sorcery by which Kiloran knew everything that happened overhead. His expression frosty with fury, the old wizard had permitted the others entry to his domain by way of a glimmering staircase of water—which disappeared a bare moment after their arrival.

Josarian held his sword across Srijan's throat and demanded Tansen's release. Kiloran kept Tansen lashed to the floor and promised his instant and very painful death if Josarian didn't release Srijan. Elelar pleaded with everyone to exercise some restraint and intelligence—to no effect.

Kiloran had grown older and bulkier, but he was as impressive and imposing as ever. His once-dark skin had grown sallow over the years, probably from hiding so long in a sunless, Dar-forsaken place like this. His hair had gone from gray to white, and his face betrayed what the years had cost him. His cold, lifeless eyes still glowed with dark, watchful intelligence, though; and Tansen had only to consider his frankly hopeless situation to realize that Kiloran's power had, if anything, continued to grow over the past nine years.

"Enough, torena," Kiloran said, silencing Elelar with a voice full of authority and deadly warning. "You know this sriliah's crime. If you continue to plead for his life, I will have to question your loyalty."

His speech was as cultured and educated as Elelar's, giving credence to the legend that his mother had been a torena who fell in love with an assassin and abandoned her family, rank, and home for him. Legend had it that, upon the violent death of Kiloran's father, the woman had taken the boy to apprentice to a waterlord so that he might become powerful enough to avenge his father's murder.

It gave Tansen some pleasure to see Elelar beg, and to hear her plead for him, but he knew it was useless. Kiloran had taken him by surprise, revealing powers none of them had suspected, and now he had the upper hand. Stripped of his swords and staked out like a sacrificial offering, Tansen was helpless and would soon die. He thanked all the gods above and below that pride and rage, at least, were stronger than fear, for he didn't want to die cowering, quivering, and begging for mercy. He was embarrassed by his present situation, since this was no way for a warrior to die, but even shatai were not invulnerable to sorcery such as this.

For himself, he would hope for nothing more than a quick death. For his companions, however... Well, Elelar had nine lives and would somehow manage to get out of this safely, he believed. But Josarian looked determined to free Tansen or die trying, and Tan wasn't optimistic about finding a solution to this problem in the few remaining moments of his life.

"He has survived the nine years of a bloodvow," Josarian said, his sword pressed so tightly against Srijan's throat that the assassin was gasping for air. If Josarian lessened his grip for even a second, if Kiloran saw a single opportunity to attack Josarian without getting his son killed, it would be all over. "The time has come to call off your assassins let Tansen live in peace, Kiloran."

Kiloran rose from his throne, radiating fury. "Does a shallah think to tell me my business?"

"When you dishonor yourself this way, I do." Josarian's grip was ruthless, his concentration fierce.

"Do you know what this sriliah did?" Kiloran demanded. "He killed his own bloodfather!"

"After nine years, it's now Dar's place to punish him for that. Not yours."

"How quaint," Kiloran spat.

"You don't care that he betrayed a bloodpact," Josarian said. "You think you could have been Yahrdan, and a mere boy took it away from you. You can never have it back, and that's why you want him dead, old man."

Elelar swallowed her breath, and even Tansen tensed. It wasn't a good idea to insult Kiloran in front of his men—and in his domain—with such open contempt. The wizard's sallow complexion warmed up slightly as anger reddened his face.

Josarian continued, "It was business, this thing between you two, nothing more. You lost. That's all." Pressing his advantage, he tightened his grip and made Srijan bleat like a lamb. "Now take back the bloodvow before you lose something much more personal."

Picking up the thread of Josarian's argument, Elelar said, "Siran, the shallah has come in good faith to make peace with you. I swear it on my life. He has brought the shir back to you."

Damn! Tansen wished she hadn't told them that. After stripping him of his swords and shredding his tunic, they hadn't bothered to search him for another weapon. The shir was tucked inside his boot. Far from being a peace offering, it was now the only thing he had his favor if something broke Kiloran's concentration long enough to let him to escape these bonds. He didn't intend to meekly give up the shir so they could slaughter him in perfect safety.

Kiloran's attention shifted back to Tansen. "The shir..."

The wizard's dark eyes glittered with interest. Oh, yes, he would want the shir back. It was too powerful a weapon to leave in the hands of an enemy. A waterlord made such weapons only for his trusted servants, for a shir was too effective against even himself to be trusted in the hands of anyone whose loyalty was questionable. An enemy's possession of a shir was a serious threat to the waterlord who'd made it, which was why returning the shir of a slain assassin to its maker was regarded as an honorable peace offering. Tansen had brought the thing here with every intention of making an honorable peace offering. Now he wanted nothing more than a chance to slit that fat old man's throat with it before he died. Even Kiloran's own water magic couldn't protect him from a shir, especially not from one he himself had made.

Hoping but not really expecting that he could delay the inevitable, Tansen said, "It's hidden in our baggage. I didn't expect to see you tonight, Kiloran."

"He keeps it wrapped in a silken scarf he got from the torena," Josarian added, lying smoothly. He knew perfectly well that Tansen had kept the thing on his person ever since leaving Shaljir.

"If you promise to let me go once you have it," Tansen added, searching for a way to get his brother safely out of here, "Josarian will show your men where it is."

"Then perhaps he would release my son now, in good faith?"

"Don't do it," Tansen said quickly. As long as he was within Kiloran's reach, Josarian would only survive while Srijan was his shield.

Kiloran whirled on him. "Do you take me for a fool, boy? Do you think I really need either of you to find it?"

Water suddenly tunneled straight down from the wavering ceiling overhead, splashing onto Tansen's face, then forming a mask that smothered him. He fought it, his chest burning as he struggled for air, his body jerking convulsively against his bonds. He could hear Elelar's screams, Josarian's shouted threats, and Srijan shrieking, "Father! Father!"

Something vibrated frantically against his calf while water filled his mouth, nose, and throat. The weight of death pressed on his chest, the icy grip of Kiloran's wrath claiming his life at last. There was more shouting now, but the noise was barely noticeable through the roar of blood filling his ears and the blackness descending on his senses.

I am prepared to die today... He tried to recite his creed silently, to find dignity at the last moment as his body struggled for life and his soul railed against death.

I am prepared to die... No! No, I'm not!

Like any living creature, he fought it blindly, mindlessly, furiously.

Then the clinging mask of water melted away from his face. The smothering weight was lifted from his chest. His body convulsed in a wave of coughing and sputtering. Tansen thought briefly that Kiloran must have been bluffing. His lungs heaved, sucking air into his half-dead body. His head pounded and his eyes throbbed. He heard Kiloran's assassins shouting frantically. He turned his head to see who was dead.

He was vaguely surprised to see that everyone looked fine. He was even more surprised to see that Kiloran's attention was no longer on him or Josarian, who still held Srijan in a death grip. Taking advantage of the confusion, Elelar rushed to his side, kneeling on the cold floor and stroking hanks of wet hair off his face.

"Wh..." He struggled to force even a single word out. "What..."

"I don't know," she whispered, surreptitiously testing his bonds. "Something's frightening them. Can you move at all?"

"Fright..." He was wracked by another spasm of coughing. Ignoring the burning in his chest and the pounding of his head, he focused on the unfamiliar sensation he had noticed at the moment the world started going black. 

"The shir," he choked out.

It was shuddering wildly inside his boot, like a live thing trying to escape. It was only supposed to do that when threatened by other sorcery.

Something else had come to Kandahar tonight. Whatever it was, it held Kiloran transfixed. He stood staring up at the domed ceiling while his assassins babbled with fear. Exultation filled Tansen as he felt his bonds start to dissolve, turning once again into mere water. Whatever was out there, it was providing him with the chance he needed. With his arms and legs freed a moment later, he rolled over and rose silently to his feet. Crouched and ready to make his move, he reached into his boot and withdrew the shir. No matter how it quivered, it was still a blade and could still do the job. Moving before Elelar guessed his intentions, he stalked Kiloran. Now was his chance.

An enormous ball of fire, like the roaring heart of a falling star, blazing with sound and fury, broke through the watery ceiling, plunged into their midst, and landed directly between him and Kiloran. Steam instantly arose all around it, as if it were melting the interior of the sorcerer's palace.

Tansen fell back against Elelar, squinting against the brilliant light, one arm held up to shield his face. For a moment, the thing gave off so much heat he thought it would devour them all. Then it seemed to collapse in on itself, drowning in the shower of water that followed its descent.

He stared in shock, his mind blank, his muscles slack, scarcely hearing the screams around him. What in the Fires was this thing? Had it fallen from the sky? Had it come from...

"Dar?" he whispered, finishing the thought.

The flames continued to sizzle away beneath the falling water. As the heat, brilliance, and fury faded, Elelar crept around him and stood at his side, staring with identical shock and amazement.

"What is it?" she breathed.

He looked across the weakly blazing ruin in the center of the hall and sought Kiloran. At least the waterlord looked as stunned as they were. Whatever this was, Kiloran had never seen its like, either.

The flames continued to sizzle away, finally revealing quite possibly the last thing Tansen would have predicted.

"A girl?" he croaked.

She was lying curled up on the floor, struggling to gather her strength and get up. She was drenched and gasping for air. She wore ordinary shallah clothing, which seemed incongruous with such a grand entrance. It was only when she shifted and the dying firelight flickered over strands of her wet hair that he realized... it was red. The red of child-eating demons, the red of lava-eyed monsters cursed by Dar.

Old superstitions, yes, but powerful ones. He stood his ground like a man, but he wanted to hide like a child from this strange female.

Saying nothing, asking no one for help, she slowly pushed herself off the ground, breathing hard, her body tensing against exhaustion or pain—or both. When she rose to her full height to face Kiloran, Tansen saw that she was rather small. He also saw the waterlord's face twist with emotion. Shock? Fear? Disbelief?

The girl looked around, as if searching for someone. As she turned this way, the wet, clinging cloth of her thin summer tunic revealed that, although small, she was indeed a woman full grown, with all of a woman's attributes. Dark-skinned, like any shallah, she wore a roughly-made copper broach fastened at her shoulder: the insignia of the outlawed Guardians.

Then she turned her face to him, turned her gaze upon him, and he saw what had made the others flinch, one by one, as she confronted them in silence. He heard Josarian murmur "sirana" in a voice that sounded both pleased and bewildered, but he paid no attention. He heard Elelar say something, but the words made no sense to him. He stared back at the woman who had entered their midst in a violent blaze of glory, and he saw only the fire-golden eyes of the creatures of his boyhood nightmares.

Her gaze dropped to his chest, and he felt the burn of the branding ceremony again. Her expression grew exultant, her horrible eyes shining like the lava-churning belly of Darshon. With a smile that made his bones turn to water, she reached out and came for him.

 

 

Mirabar stopped abruptly when the warrior stumbled backwards, away from her outstretched hands. His revulsion was plain in his face. She had searched so long and hard for him. Stung by his rejection, she swallowed and stared stupidly at him.

He was the one. There was no doubt. The strange symbol that had burned in her visions for so long was carved into his chest, a big, fierce scar which he must have earned with great pain. Yet he was a shallah, not some roshah from a strange land. Like her, he was soaking wet. His tunic was torn open, and he looked like he'd been through an ordeal—one of Kiloran's making, no doubt.

"Tansen?" she said, recalling his name.

He reached for the woman at his side and pushed her protectively behind him. A torena, Mirabar observed. Poised for combat, dark eyes glittering with silent threat, he demanded, "Who are you?"

"Her name is Mirabar," said Josarian. "I met her on Mount Niran."

She jumped with surprise, recognizing Josarian now. A wounded man crouched at his feet, his face cut and bloody, his arm wrapped in stained bandages. He wore the clothes of an assassin. The man's eyes practically bulged as he gaped at her.

Josarian, at least, was smiling now. "I'm pleased to see you again, sirana, but this is hardly a place for a Guardian."

"Josarian." She was relieved to find an ally in this strange domain, among these hostile, staring people.

"Josarian, you know this— this— her?" Tansen said at last, his voice sharp, his gaze suspicious.

"She is a gifted woman." Josarian added more quietly, "And she is no danger to us, Tan."

He was like a blade, this man. Lean, hard, quick, sharp. She sensed that no one present feared her more than he did; yet he would be the first to risk death and confront her if he sensed a threat. The others gaped in fear, but he stood ready and watchful. A man of terrible courage... He was the one who had killed two assassins, who would have killed Najdan, too. He was the one who had sought this confrontation with Kiloran, a wizard so dangerous that everyone who was not of the Society avoided him at all costs. Yes... he was the one she sought, the one she had been sent to help. But how?

"Find the shir, and you find him," she muttered, finally noticing the weapon in his hand.

Suddenly a tower of water poured down from the ceiling, crashing down upon her. Choking and gasping, she scrambled away from it, aching as if she'd been beaten by human fists. Knowing the source of this pain, she flung a bolt of fire at Kiloran. A wall of water sprang up around him, and her fire hissed like an angry snake, battering against it to no effect, then dying.

"This is his son, sirana!"

She whirled in response to Josarian's voice and, before Kiloran had time to react, wrapped a ring of fire around the shabby-looking assassin. Josarian barely jumped out of the way in time to avoid being burned.

She turned back to Kiloran and forestalled another attack by saying, "Now can we talk?"

"You want to talk?" Kiloran's voice was chilling, and she knew that her fears of dying here tonight might well be realized. "You've forced your way into my home, wrecked my hall, attacked me, and now threaten Srijan... And you say you want to talk?"

She saw the attack coming just before Kiloran did. The waterlord flinched at the last moment, just as the warrior leapt for him, taking them all by surprise.

"No!" she screamed, knowing that this wasn't what the Otherworld intended to take place here tonight, though she still didn't know quite what was supposed to happen next. "No!"

Tansen held the wavy blade of the dagger against Kiloran's throat. Even from here, she could see how wildly it quivered in his hand; a response to her presence, her power. The sight gave her courage. She was a Guardian, gifted by Dar and the Otherworld, sent here by the Beckoner and Daurion himself! She could do whatever had to be done.

"You want me, old man?" the warrior growled into Kiloran's ear. Kiloran gasped for air as the blade drew blood. The cut was not fatal, but it was undoubtedly painful, for a shir wounded as no other weapon did. "Let my friends leave."

"Kill me now... and you all drown here," Kiloran rasped.

"Let them go, and you may get another chance to kill me," Tansen replied coldly. "If not, you've got one last moment to live."

The torena screamed, "Tansen, no!"

The assassins started circling nervously, afraid to die, looking for an opening to take Tansen without getting their master killed. Srijan was cursing in a fear-maddened voice.

"What do I do now?" Mirabar asked Dar, Daurion, and all the lesser the gods.

Find the shir, and you find him.

"I've found him, so what?"

Find him.

"What do you mean, find h..." Mirabar gasped, a long gurgling sound. "You're not an assassin!" she cried in sudden realization.

"Make your peace with Dar," Tansen advised Kiloran.

"The shir!" Mirabar recalled that Tansen had left behind the shir of the two assassins he had killed. "You shouldn't be able to touch it!"

"It's over, old man."

"No, you mustn't, Tansen!" the torena cried. "We need him!"

"Whose shir is this one? Who did you take it from?" Mirabar demanded. "Who did you kill to get it?"

Find him!

Mirabar hauled air into her lungs and blew it out as fire—right where Tansen held Kiloran in a death grip. The shuddering blade leapt from his hand as the flames startled him into jumping back. He and Kiloran scrambled away. Josarian and the assassins lunged for them at the same time. Torn between preventing them all from killing each other and keeping Kiloran from dousing her fire, Mirabar circled the flames, shouting at them, threatening the waterlord's son, partaking of the chaos instead of preventing it.

And then she heard the Calling, a voice unlike any other, roaring through the barriers separating this world from the Other one, craving her attention. She fell to her knees as an explosion expanded the fire and rocked the entire palace. Water from the damaged ceiling showered the fire now, because Kiloran's strength was being pulled in too many directions at once. The clear drops of water glowed with magic and turned to lava as they entered the flames. Bellowing with rage, Kiloran called tentacles of water out of the walls to wrap around the fire and strangle it. They, too, turned to lava as they touched it.

"An alliance," Mirabar choked. "Fire and water." She met the waterlord's appalled gaze. "The Guardians and the Society." Tears of fear, exhaustion, and exultation streaked down her face. "Now is the time."

The men stopped fighting. The torena stopped shouting. Even Srijan stopped bleating. The hall was silent but for the crackling of the fire and the voice coming from the Otherworld in response to the shir's dance in the sacred flames.

"He is coming..." Mirabar breathed. "And his name is..." She gasped and turned to Tansen, feeling betrayed. "Armian?"