The White Dragon (71 page)

"We're leaving." He looked around at the five waterlords and thirty assassins gathered here. He had no intention of leaving them behind to gossip and plot together in his absence. "We're
all
leaving."

Gulstan, who ruled the springs all around Britar, said, "You're right,
siran
. He has insulted you." He could hardly keep the satisfaction out of his voice.

"He has insulted us all," Meriten said pointedly. He was young and not particularly powerful, but he was smart enough to offer unswerving friendship to Kiloran in exchange for occasional protection and help.

"Perhaps we should give him another day." This suggestion came from Dulien, who was still sulking over Kiloran's recent acquisition of the Zilar River. Dulien had tried for years, without success, to bring it under his control.

"I've offered to be his ally," Kiloran said. "Baran has failed to seize his opportunity. The consequences are his to bear."
 

"He might be—"

"We have all discussed our plans while we've awaited him," Kiloran pointed out. "We have nothing left to say. We are agreed on our obligations, our promises, and our... our..." His voice trailed off as something intruded on his thoughts, whispering across his senses.

Kariman, a waterlord from the Amalidar Mountains, prodded, "You were saying?"

Kiloran ignored him. He stared sightlessly into the distance, waiting until he was sure.

"Is something wrong?" asked Ferolen, whose territory was north of Adalian.

"
Siran?"
Searlon ventured politely.

Kiloran lifted his hand, now sure, as he sensed the awaited approach. "Baran is coming," he told Searlon.

He needed to say no more. Searlon ordered the men to stop harnessing the horses for departure, then took his place beside his master and waited for Baran to appear. The other waterlords took their places, too, aligning themselves formally in the village's main square, with their assassins behind them.

Kiloran glanced briefly over the scene, pleased with the dignity and the imposing menace of his kind—even the ones he detested. What
toren
wouldn't beg for mercy when confronted with this solemn spectacle? What Guardian wouldn't flee for his life? He was pleased that Baran would see the full impact of this assembly when he entered the square. It was time for Baran to remember who he was and what obeisance was due the gift of water magic. He should realize to whom he owed his loyalty. He was one of them, and no one should turn his back on his own kind.
 

"He's getting closer," Kiloran said.

"No, don't," Searlon snapped at one of the assassins who reached for his
shir
. "Unless I say otherwise, you will act as if made of stone."

Great power recognized great power. That's why Kiloran could always tell when Mirabar was approaching, and he knew that she felt his presence just as strongly. That smirking aristocratic Guardian, Cheylan, had it, too. A presence that filled the air, which vibrated along senses attuned to a life beyond the one that ordinary people knew and understood. It was rare, and it took years to develop. A sorcerer's power must be very great to announce his presence in this way, a tremendous natural talent honed and enhanced through practice and dedication. They didn't all have it. They didn't all recognize it.

Kiloran could feel the stinging chill which emanated from Baran as he approached Emeldar. And when Baran's horses entered the main square, followed by only two mounted assassins, Kiloran also felt something far more ordinary emanating from Baran: the obsessive hatred for him which had shaped Baran's life.

Baran was perhaps Najdan's age, though Kiloran was surprised by how much older he looked now. However, it had been years since they'd met face to face, and changes were inevitable. Born to a merchant family, Baran was a big, muscular man, though thinner now than Kiloran remembered. His long black hair was thick, unruly, and uncombed—that, at least, had not changed. His skin was rather fair for a Silerian, his lips full like a woman's, and his eyes two dark windows into a tormented soul.
 

He reined his horse to a halt in the middle of the square and surveyed the scene. A grin split his face. Even Kiloran marveled that a smile could look so malevolent.

"Ah, how I've missed you all!" Baran's deep voice rang with good cheer and patent insincerity.

He dismounted, gave the reins to one of his men, and nodded towards a trough that held cleansed water. No one chose to object as Baran's assassins watered their horses without asking.

Baran, meanwhile, crossed the square on foot and began greeting his compatriots one by one, examining them like a
toren
looking over prospective servants.

"Gulstan! You really are trying to become the fattest waterlord in Sileria, aren't you? Meriten," he exclaimed, moving on while Gulstan's mouth worked in sputtering outrage. "Ah, Meriten, pretty as ever, I see. Kariman! Ferolen... No, I really can't think of anything to say to you. And Dulien." He leaned forward and murmured into Dulien's ear, loudly enough for the others to hear, "Don't sulk, Dulien. It doesn't become you."
 

"No one likes you," Dulien replied. "No one has ever liked you."

"Ah, but they do envy me," Baran replied easily. "Don't they, Dulien?"

Kiloran said coldly, "Did you come all the way from Belitar just to insult your betters and cause ill feeling?"

Baran smiled at him, his eyes dancing with the hot hatred which was the ruling force in his life. "If you were my betters, you wouldn't be so worried about what I'm going to do now that Josarian's dead, would you?"

"You are one of us," Meriten said. "And now that Tan—"

"Yes, yes, yes." Baran strolled away, studying the fountain as he babbled, "Unity is crucial against a common enemy. This is what makes the Society stronger than any other faction in Sileria. It's why we've survived for a thousand years against so many foes... And so on and so forth. I know the doctrine by heart." He whirled around and confronted Kiloran again, his expression that of a hesitant houseguest. "You know... It was such a long journey, and I find I'm so terribly thirsty."

Kiloran said nothing.

"Could I trouble you?" Baran raised his brows in seemingly innocent inquiry.

"It's no trouble." Kiloran nodded to an assassin, who brought Baran a cup of water.
 

"How gracious of you," Baran said. "Perhaps sometime I'll honor your home, eat at your table, and sleep beneath your roof." The words of the traditional welcome flowed smoothly from his tongue. Then he snapped his fingers in sudden recollection. "No, come to think of it..." He gasped. "Why, yes! I've already done that. And it didn't work out so well, did it?"

Kiloran felt Searlon's puzzled glance. The other waterlords looked confused. For as long as any of them had known Baran, he had been Kiloran's enemy. They had no idea that once, long ago, Baran had been welcome in his home, as his apprentice.

"I believe you said you were thirsty," Kiloran remarked, ignoring Baran's jibes.
 

"Yes." Baran sniffed the water in the cup. "But this somehow seems stale." He spilled it out onto the ground, then walked over to the fountain, dipped the cup into the tainted water, and drank.

Kiloran heard Searlon draw a sharp breath of surprise through his nostrils. Meriten took a hesitant step forward. Ferolen and Kariman exchanged a glance. There was no doubt that Baran could tell the fountain was poisoned, even if he'd never heard the story of Josarian's devious destruction of the Outlookers here.

Gulstan said, "You really are mad, aren't you? And here I thought people were just being unkind."

"I don't like to drink alone." Baran held the cup out to Kiloran, his eyes full of strange delight. "Won't you join me,
siran?
"

It was an absurd gesture, a childish challenge. However, with so many people here, Kiloran knew he couldn't refuse. Not only would the tale be repeated, it would grow bigger with every telling. He felt a desire to wrap the fountain's waters around Baran's neck and strangle him. However, this was a truce meeting. Besides, Baran would just fight back and turn the whole day into a messy disaster. So Kiloran accepted the cup. He knew there wasn't enough poison in a few sips, or even a whole cup, to kill an ordinary man, let alone a waterlord. And he could certainly command the water to protect him from what little poison he swallowed. This was just one of Baran's bizarre rites.

Kiloran drained the cup, then suggested they sit in the shade to discuss their mutual concerns. Baran agreed with a buoyant enthusiasm that suggested he was looking forward to a day spent among long lost friends. Gulstan ground his teeth. Meriten looked confused. Even Searlon seemed a bit off balance. Dulien sulked, and the other two waterlords regarded Baran with lively interest.

Once they were all seated in the shade, Baran said, "I must apologize for keeping you waiting, Kiloran. I wouldn't have dreamed of such disrespect, but I had so many visitors at Belitar that it was hard to get away."

Kiloran considered ignoring the comment, but decided the conversation would move more quickly if he just took the bait. "Visitors?"

"Well, of course, Tansen sent a messenger," Baran said chattily. "The ugliest and meanest Sister you can imagine, in fact. What was Tansen thinking? That's no way to influence a red-blooded man in the prime of life."

"Perhaps he could find no other volunteer," Gulstan suggested dryly. "I'm just guessing, of course."

Kiloran could easily imagine what sort of message Tansen had sent to Baran, and he knew better than to waste time asking what Baran's response was. He would get no straight answer; indeed, he doubted that Tansen would get a straight answer.

"I've asked you here to propose a formal truce," Kiloran said, already tired of Baran's company and eager to complete his task. "You and I—"

"But don't you want to hear about my other visitor?"

"No."

Baran pouted. "It hurts me when you speak to me that way."

Kiloran was starting to regret having called this meeting under a banner of truce. How satisfying it would be to abandon sense and caution, and—finally, after all these years—kill Baran right now.

Unfortunately, he mustn't do it. Not here and now. No member of the Society could, with impunity, violate a truce meeting with an act of violence. Not even Kiloran. It was undoubtedly the only reason Baran had abandoned the safety of Belitar to meet him face to face today. It was among the inflexible rules which had made the Society strong for centuries. Kiloran himself had ruthlessly punished anyone who had ever violated this tenet, and he knew that killing Baran today was one of the few things he could do to destroy his own supremacy in the Society.

"Shall we proceed?" Kiloran suggested.

Baran leaned forward, grinning again. "You'd love to kill me right now, wouldn't you? Doesn't it just eat at your heart? Doesn't even
your
blood run hot when you think of putting an end to me, old man?"

"Baran..." Kariman said uneasily.

"But maybe I'm wrong," Baran admitted. "Maybe nothing could warm your blood, you grizzly old reptile."

The horses at the trough suddenly whinnied in panic and danced away from it. Some assassins started shouting. Several drew their
shir
. Others responded, taking their weapons in hand, too. The other waterlords jumped to their feet. Kiloran knew what they saw even before he himself turned to look.
 

The water he had cleansed was boiling coldly with his rage, droplets spraying everywhere. Steam spewed skyward, the chilly mist of ensorcelled water dancing in a ghostly display of anger. And it took only this small manifestation of sudden fury from one of their masters to push all the assassins to the brink of violence.
 

Baran folded his arms, leaned back, and laughed.

"Stop it," Gulstan insisted, glaring at Kiloran. "This is a truce meeting!"

Searlon was shouting orders, demanding the assassins disarm. To make his point, he knocked down an assassin of Dulien's who didn't immediately obey.
 

Kiloran regarded Baran with real displeasure. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Satisfaction is such a thorough word," Baran replied. "Let's just say I'm pleased."

Kiloran willed his fury to subside. The water responded by sinking back into the trough. The silvery mist blew away. The assassins all hesitated, then slowly began backing away from each other. Searlon offered a hand to the man he had knocked down and helped him to his feet. The horses danced nervously while the men tried to calm them. The waterlords resumed their seats, one by one.

Kiloran decided he'd had enough. "I have no more time to waste with you," he told Baran. "Your cooperation with us isn't needed enough to—"

"That's what Wyldon thought."

Kiloran paused. "What?"

"That his cooperation wasn't needed," Baran said casually. He saw Kiloran's puzzled frown. "Oh, didn't I mention? Wyldon was my other visitor."

"Wyldon has been to Belitar?" Kiloran didn't believe it. Nothing could convince Wyldon, or any other sane waterlord, to enter Baran's lair.