The Destroyer Goddess (40 page)

With his head still down, he heard Zarien return to his own bedroll. He wondered if he had woken anyone else. He hoped not. Zarien slept closer to him than anyone else, and was usually the only one he disturbed. Usually, but not always. 

He cautiously looked up—and saw Ronall staring at him. The
toren
was always wakeful when the camp ran out of liquor, and tonight was no exception. Tansen glanced around, decided that no one else was awake, and lowered his head again, ignoring Ronall. As soon as he judged the
toren
recovered enough from the news of Jalilar's murder to be trusted, he would send him east, as they had discussed. Ronall, however, seemed as if he might take a while to pull himself together.

Tansen started measuring his breath, controlling it, physically calming himself so that his heart would stop racing and his mind would stop leaping wildly.

He thought Zarien had gone back to sleep, as he usually did, so he flinched when the boy said the very last thing he ever wanted to hear on his son's lips: "Who's Armian?"

Darfire, was he actually
shaking
now?

"Go back to sleep," Tansen murmured, trying to make his voice soothing.

Zarien, of course, ignored his instructions and repeated, "Who's Armian?"

Don't answer without thinking. Don't tell a lie he'll catch you in later.

"Armian?" Tansen repeated vaguely, glad that the sea-bound boy didn't recognize the name which any
shallah
child probably would.

"Did he die with Josarian?" Zarien asked.

"No."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?"

"Sometimes you say his name. Sometimes Josarian's. Sometimes..."

"Yes?" Tansen prodded, hearing his blood roaring in his ears.

"Sometimes you, um, cry for your father."

"Oh." His chest hurt.

"What was he like?"

Tell him
.

No
.

"It's late," Tansen said.

"No, it's nearly dawn," Zarien replied. "Not much point in going back to sleep."

"Oh."

There was a long silence.

"Did your father die terribly?" Zarien finally asked.

Dar have mercy.

"Outlookers killed him," he said, since it was true of the man who had sired him. 

"How old were you?"

Tansen looked up and met Ronall's silent gaze. "Too young to remember him."

"But you..." Zarien's voice was puzzled. "You have nightmares about him."

"Yes," Tansen admitted.

"Him and Armian. Josarian and the White Dragon," Zarien continued, naming more of Tansen's demons, "Gamalan and the Valdani."

"They're all jumbled up in my head," Tansen replied, which was true enough. "And it's hard to lose a father."

"Yes. I know."

He heard the quaver in Zarien's voice and cursed himself for wounding the boy so carelessly while trying to dodge his questions. Now he asked, concerned, "Do you still have nightmares?"

"Yes," Zarien admitted. "Not so much as before, though."

Hearing the silence between them, and shying away from his duty to fill it with the truth, Tansen said, "Tell me about Sorin. Tell me what he was like."

"He was... very traditional," Zarien said, hugging his knees. "Not strict like my grandfather, who didn't like us even talking to drylanders, but my papa did everything the old-fashioned way."

Tansen listened to him talk about his life on the sea, and the parents who had raised him. About the past, which both he and Zarien revisited too often in their dreams. About the good things, which were part of what made each of them strangely reluctant to banish the nightmares that tormented them. In the boy's voice, he heard the guilt which was another reason neither of them could let go; Zarien had been spared his family's fate, and he didn't really understand why. 

Tansen also heard Zarien's tone rich with the love that stayed with you long after the loved one was dead. And Tansen knew they had been good parents to Zarien, that couple who had raised him as their own, and who had hidden the truth—whatever it was—about his birth, throughout his childhood.

Had Armian been a good father?

To this day, Tansen wasn't really sure. He only knew that Armian had tried very hard. He only realized just
how
hard now that he was a father, too.

Am I a good father?

Tansen listened to Zarien, and he knew with certainty that his own dream was wrong. He could not tell this innocent boy, this youngster who so loathed killing, what he had done.

Tell him.

I can't. I just can't. Don't ask again
.

"Tansen?"

He heard the soft voice of one of the sentries. Zarien stopped speaking as Tansen reached for his harness and rose to his feet, ready for trouble, ready to draw his swords.

"A messenger," the sentry said.

"Now?" It wasn't even dawn yet. "He must have traveled all night." Which was damned dangerous in the mountains.

"It must be important," Zarien murmured.

It was. When the messenger arrived, he didn't want water or food or rest. He just wanted to unload his burden onto the leader of the Firebringer's loyalists, because it was too heavy to carry alone any longer.

"The Lironi alliance has collapsed," he said. "Jagodan shah Lironi found Kiman shah Moynari with his wife, Viramar, and killed them both."

"
What?
" Tansen said, shocked.

"Found him with his wife?" Zarien repeated, clearly confused. "But why did he kill..." The boy's eyes flew wide open as he realized what Kiman and Viramar had been doing that would have driven Jagodan to murder. "
Oh!"

The messenger continued, "The Moynari and the Lironi have declared a bloodfeud against each other, and Viramar's clan has declared one against them both."

"Oh, no," Tansen said, feeling cold dread wash through him.

"It's over in the east, Tansen. No one has time to destroy the Society now. They're too busy destroying each other."

"Oh, no, they don't," Tansen said, already knowing what he had to do. "I won't let them. No bloodfeuds. No clan wars. They finish Verlon, and they do it
soon
. Those are their orders, and that's damn well what they're going to do."

"Tansen," the demoralized messenger protested, "it's too late."

"No, it's not," he snapped, pulling on his tunic. "Get dressed," he told Zarien.

"What? Why?"

"We're going east, that's why." He glanced at Ronall. "You might as well come with us."

To his surprise, Ronall merely nodded and started dressing.

"Zarien," Tansen said tersely to the astonished boy, "
dress
."

"Huh? Oh!" Zarien started struggling into his shirt and searching for his boots. "But how can—"

"I assume you ride?" Tansen said to Ronall.

"Yes."

"Horses?" Zarien exclaimed with unconcealed horror. "We're not going by horseback?"

"Only to the coast," Tansen said. "And then you're getting us onto an east-bound boat."

"The sea? No!"

"Zarien." Tansen put his hands on the boy's shoulders and forced him to hold still and pay attention. "Everything depends on speed now. There's heavy fighting everywhere. Loyalists against the Society, and Society factions against each other. We don't have time to fight our way overland. We have to go by sea."

Zarien was pale. His eyes were bright and watery, and he suddenly seemed shaky and fragile. "I don't want to see the sea again. Smell it."

"We can't—"

"I don't want
you
to go to sea!"

"Zarien—"

"Sharifar took my whole family!" Zarien's voice was rich with panic now. "Please,
please
, father—"

"It'll be all right."

"There are earthquakes all the time now!"

"Put on your boots," Tansen ordered.

"You're not a good swimmer," Zarien babbled. "And that won't even matter if you're smashed against the rocks. My parents and my brothers were good swimmers, and they're all dead! You won't survive!"

"Your family was unlucky. The wrong place at the wrong time," Tansen said. "Most of the sea-born are living through most of the earthquakes."

"Don't do this," Zarien begged.

"I'll be fine as long as I'm with you," Tansen insisted, believing it. "Sharifar won't let you die."

Zarien frowned. "I won't let her have what she wants. Don't go to her."

"I won't," Tansen promised, knowing he wasn't the one the goddess wanted—and hoping she understood that Zarien wasn't ready for her yet.

"Not the sea, father," Zarien pleaded.

"Zarien, I'm going." He made his tone hard, because there was no time for anything else. "Now are you coming with me or not?"

Glaring at him, the boy held out for a moment longer, then nodded sulkily.

"Then put on your boots and pack food for all three of us."

Zarien nodded and did as ordered while Tansen started issuing instructions to his men. He needed messengers sent to Pyron at Dalishar, to Radyan in Shaljir, and to Lann in Zilar. He also gave orders about how the war here was to proceed in his absence. "Keep pressure on Gulstan's and Kariman's territories. We can't afford to lose our advantage now, and we can't risk other waterlords taking over their leavings. Proceed with the assaults we talked about." He sighed. "We'll have to forget about Searlon until I return."

He'd been developing a plan to lure Searlon into a trap by making him think he was closing in on Zarien. But getting rid of Searlon would now have to be postponed.

Only when the preparations for their hasty departure were nearly complete did Ronall, looking hollow-eyed and haggard, ask Tansen, "What was all that about?"

Tansen frowned. "What?"

Ronall nodded to Zarien, who was approaching them with their food and water all packed and ready to go. "Shar.. Shari..."

"Sharifar," Tansen supplied. "A sea goddess."

"Oh. And?"

"She's... hurt Zarien."

"Of course," Ronall said sourly. "She's a woman, isn't she?"

Chapter Fifteen

He who betrays you is never one from afar.

                                    —Silerian Proverb

"So Kiloran violated Sanctuary," Baran mused, slumped in his chair, light-headed with weakness and pain as he considered the news from the courier who had come to Belitar.

Mirabar nodded, still weeping. This morning she had been fretting ceaselessly (yet again) about there still being no sign of Cheylan and Elelar. Now she was sobbing her heart out about Jalilar's murder.

He regarded her with some impatience. "You told me that Jalilar's baby was just bad luck. Not the one you've prophesied. Not the one meant to save Sileria. And so on and so forth."

She nodded and sobbed harder.

Baran sighed. "So why all the tears?"

"Oh, you really are a heartless monster," she snarled.

"Your moods," he observed, "are becoming quite intolerable. It makes me glad that I won't be around for your second pregnancy, whenever that happy event may occur."

She cried even harder, and it was really no fun tormenting her when she wouldn't fight back. At a loss, he sipped some more of the brew Velikar had prepared for him. It was disgusting and mind-clouding, but he could no longer function at all without large doses of such things all day and half the night.

Fortunately, Najdan and Vinn chose that moment to return to Belitar. They entered the study only moments after being announced. Both well-trained, they crossed their fists and bowed their heads, murmuring polite greetings.

"Dyshon is dead," Najdan said.

"Ahhh." Baran smiled, pleased. He had felt the sudden dissolving of the novice's grasp on the Idalar River, of course, but he never liked to assume victory without definite confirmation. "I thought so, but this is nonetheless worth celebrating. And, naturally," he added, still a great waterlord, "you will be rewarded."

Vinn grinned, but Najdan's frowning gaze was already fixed on Mirabar's swollen, tear-streaked face. He moved protectively toward her and glared at Baran. "What have you done to the
sirana?
"

"I've been as well as can be expected, thank you," Baran said mildly. "And you?"

Najdan, a stern man, made no move to embrace Mirabar, but his very presence seemed to calm her a bit, and her sobbing started drifting into broken little sighs.

Vinn ventured, "Is the
sirana
still suffering from, er, difficult moods?"

"Yes, and the
sirana
is still making sure the rest of us suffer along with her." Baran ignored the scowl this comment produced on Najdan's forbidding face. "Haydar assures me this period will pass and my wife will become more agreeable as she gets, er, riper. But I am increasingly skeptical about being around to enjoy the fruits of my labors in her bed."

"Oh, do shut up," Mirabar said, which was certainly an improvement over her earlier behavior.

Vinn protested, "You have cheated death too often to succumb now,
siran
."