The Destroyer Goddess (21 page)

However, he had indeed finally found them. And what they said about the boy Zarien was very surprising: He had died at sea during the
bharata
, the bloody dragonfish hunt which was an annual ritual of the sea-born folk. His clan seemed completely convinced of this. One of them had seen the jaws of a dragonfish close around the boy's torso, crush it, and pull his corpse into the depths of the blood-dark sea. Even if the beast had later let him go, the clan members all assured Searlon, there was no way he could have survived the attack. Whatever sea-born boy was now wandering the dryland, he was definitely not
their
Zarien, they said; it wasn't possible. There were presumably other sea-born boys named Zarien, ones who were not of the sea-bound Lascari, let alone dead; Searlon had merely come to the wrong clan. It was, after all, the sort of mistake a drylander would make.

Nonetheless, mindful of Kiloran's orders and slightly  skeptical about any death which he himself did not witness, Searlon questioned Linyan—Zarien's grandfather and leader of the surviving clan members—very rigorously about the boy. The old man's initial story was that Zarien was the child of a now-dead Lascari couple, Sorin and Palomar. Searlon found this interesting, since he had already learned that was exactly who Tansen's young companion claimed
his
parents were. However, the old man's tale soon gave way, under the influence of stern persuasion, to a much more intriguing version of the boy's origins.

Kiloran sank slowly into a chair as he read Searlon's explanation, extracted from Linyan, about the presumed-dead sea-bound boy who was not only Tansen's constant companion but even, Searlon had recently learned...

"Tansen's bloodson," Kiloran read aloud, his heart pounding.

"Tansen doesn't have..." Dyshon drew in a swift breath. "He's taken a son?"

But Kiloran scarcely heard him. His thoughts were whirling in a chaos of shocked realization.

She didn't die in the mountains.

Alcinar had survived. She had lived to reach the sea. He had never believed it, had always thought she must have died on land. But, no, she had returned to her kind, even though they'd have shunned her, despised her, rejected her... She had returned to them because she knew she could convince them, in the end, to shelter the child she bore. And they had. Kiloran had never known, never suspected... Nor, it seemed, had Baran.

A child...

A child who would eventually come ashore—without his family's knowledge, it seemed, since they thought he was dead. A sea-bound boy who would desert the Lascari to walk the dryland, as his mother once had...

Why?

Did Baran know now, after all these years? Was that why he had betrayed Kiloran and violated the truce agreement?

If so, then why was the boy with Tansen, not Baran? And why not keep the boy at Belitar, which was virtually impregnable? Why let him wander war-torn Sileria with the
shatai?
 

Why let him swear a bloodvow with Tansen?

Would Tansen want the boy, if he knew? Would Baran let Tansen keep him, if he knew? Was it possible...

By all the gods above and below...

Yes, Kiloran realized. It was possible. Even likely.

They don't know.

After all, who would have told them? According to Searlon's letter, the elderly Lascari clan leader said the boy himself had never known. Sorin and Palomar, who adopted him as their own after Alcinar died, had decided not to tell him until he was an adult.

The boy doesn't know.

He might suspect something—it might be why he had disappeared—but he didn't know the truth.

"
Siran
..." Dyshon ventured. "Have you had good news?"

He realized he was chuckling aloud. "Ah, Dyshon. To think only a few moments ago, I thought that learning of Wyldon's death would be the high point of my day."

"What does Searlon say,
siran?
"

Kiloran smiled broadly. "Searlon has discovered the most worthwhile thing of all."

"
Siran?
"

"A secret."

"Ah." Dyshon nodded. Everyone in Sileria understood the inherent value of a secret. "What will we do with it?"

"Searlon will pursue it. You will remain here in Cavasar, to rule the city in my absence."

Dyshon bowed his head and crossed his fists. "You honor me,
siran
."

"You," Kiloran said to the assassin who had brought Searlon's letter to him, "will return here tonight for my reply to Searlon, and you will leave Cavasar with it at first light."

"Of course,
siran
."

"And I..." Kiloran nodded. "Yes, I will leave Cavasar tomorrow."

There was a great deal to do. And the first task, of course, was to write detailed instructions to Searlon regarding Zarien.

Tansen must cherish the boy, to have made him his bloodson. If Tansen died protecting him, so much the better. And if not... Kiloran wondered which course of action would profit him more after capturing Zarien: Telling Baran who the boy really was? Or making sure that Tansen never guessed?

A bloodson...

Oh, yes, the
shatai
would even
help
Kiloran get control of the boy. Tansen had already given him the weapon he needed, long ago. And who could say for certain—perhaps it had always been meant to be this way?

Ah, it was wonderful when fate suddenly showed a man that he would indeed have everything he sought.

Standing in Baran's depressingly damp library at Belitar, Najdan watched Mirabar with dark concern. Ever since receiving this strange gift from Baran, wrapped in a moldy blanket that looked almost as old as Belitar itself, the
sirana
had seemed haunted, distracted, even tormented.

Mirabar didn't know what the gift was; and Baran, for reasons which remained unclear, was incapable of telling her. Prophecy had warned Mirabar not to unwrap the gift until she was ready. Mirabar seemed convinced that Sileria's fate relied on her being ready soon, yet she evidently had no idea how to
become
ready.

Najdan found it all very annoying.

Now, as Mirabar sat staring at the gift with such intensity that Najdan thought she might accidentally immolate it, the assassin silently cursed Baran again. The
sirana
had been under a terrible strain ever since marrying that madman and coming to this damp, gloomy, haunted place. Now Baran had abandoned her alone here at Belitar, having gone off on some mysterious task of his own. He had taken Sister Velikar and Vinn the assassin with him, as well as half a dozen others, effectively leaving Najdan in charge. Which was a strange position to be in, considering that Najdan had served Baran's worst enemy most of his life.

"
Sirana
," Najdan said. When she just continued to stare at Baran's gift with a fierce frown, he repeated more loudly, "
Sirana
."

Those glowing golden eyes shifted their gaze to him. "Hmm?"

"We've had news. A courier."

"From Baran?"

"No. From Wyldon's people."

That got her attention. "Well?"

"Wyldon is dead," said Najdan.

"Dead? Is this Kiloran's doing?"

"That's what Wyldon's assassins believe, though it was supposedly a message from Baran which lured him to the meeting where he was ambushed."

Mirabar turned away from the moldy wrappings to focus on their conversation. "A message from Baran?"

Najdan unwrapped the small package which the courier had given him. Mirabar drew in a sharp breath when she saw the bracelet that matched the necklace which Baran had worn all these years.

She murmured, "That was from Kiloran, wasn't it?"

Najdan nodded. "I've seen it at Kandahar." He looked down at it now and shook his head. "But until it was brought here today, I never recognized the resemblance to Baran's necklace. Now it's so obvious that I..." He searched her gaze, wondering how much more she now knew about the secrets of those two giants than he did. "What exactly is between Kiloran and Baran?"

She folded her hands. "I'm sorry. I can only tell you if he gives me permission."

He nodded, respecting that. She had a husband now. Mirabar often seemed to both fear and despise Baran, but many people married without affection, and husbands and wives must honor each other's confidences.

"So," Mirabar guessed, "Wyldon's people want our assurances that Baran didn't kill him?" 
      "And then they want Baran to take over his territory before Kiloran can do it."

"I don't know if he can," she admitted.

Their eyes met. One secret Najdan did know, though they hadn't discussed it openly, was that Baran was dying. He had deteriorated enough, just since the marriage, that he couldn't hide this fact from anyone inhabiting Belitar.

"Even if he can," Mirabar added, "it might not be the wisest use of his remaining strength."

Najdan nodded. "Then perhaps you," he suggested, "could use your own power to keep Wyldon's territory from another waterlord?"

Her eyes brightened with interest for a moment, but then her face clouded. She looked again at the moldy gift that captured so much of her attention these days, and she ran a hand absently over her stomach. "Not me," she said at last. "I can't go there. We'll need to find someone else."

Najdan glanced down at her stomach. "How are you feeling?" he asked tactfully.

"I'm not pregnant yet," she replied bluntly. "And with my husband gone from home now..."

"So we should ask other Guardians—" He stopped speaking when he heard a familiar footstep behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Haydar approaching them. He almost smiled, pleased as always by how content her face was these days. He and she were together after such a long time apart, and she had work to keep her busy. Unlike almost everyone else, she even liked living at Belitar; she enjoyed the challenge of making Baran's ruins inhabitable for the
sirana
—and perhaps a baby.

"What is it?" he asked her.

"The sentries say a Guardian is approaching." Haydar glanced at Mirabar and added, "They say it's Cheylan,
sirana
."

"Cheylan! Dar be thanked! That's who we can send to try to prevent Kiloran from taking over Wyldon's territory." Mirabar started for the door, then stopped and turned to Najdan again. "He... He can't cross the moat, can he?"

"No,
sirana
. No one else can enter Belitar until Baran returns and permits it." Najdan added, "I used the boat to go meet Wyldon's courier."

"So we'll row across and meet Cheylan on the other side of the moat?" 

"Yes." And there, in full view of Baran's many sentries, there would be no opportunity for Cheylan to exchange tender words, let alone improper embraces, with Mirabar. 

There were ways in which Baran was shrewder than Tansen was, Najdan reflected.

"Can't you go hunt something?" Jalilar asked Ronall.

"Hmm?" He lay naked on his back, wishing the Sanctuary's bed were more comfortable. And bigger. The two of them were always uncomfortably squashed together when they made love in it.

Well...
love
might be an exaggerated word for what they shared in this bed, or in the other places where they had mated as carelessly as wild animals ever since Ronall's ribs started healing.

Jalilar was a voluptuous and sensual woman, and Ronall's brief flirtation with celibacy had ended within a few days of arriving here. Her body brought him endless and varied delight, as did her frank, earthy passion. No wonder so many
shallah
men had that swaggering, smug air about them; if their famously modest wives were all this uninhibitedly sexual in private, they had plenty to be pleased about. 

Unfortunately, Jalilar's energetic nature as a lover had many annoying corollaries. She expected him to do
work
around the Sanctuary, as she did, and she didn't seem to understand that he had never worked in his entire life and didn't know how—or have any interest in learning. Jalilar had a
shallah
's traditional contempt for pain and weakness, so she disapproved of the way Ronall coddled his healing injuries rather than manfully ignoring them. And although she wouldn't leave Sanctuary grounds—for reasons which she refused to specify—she had no compunction about constantly nagging him to do so.