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 c
lothes 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?"
Chapter Twenty-One
Tansen's face flushed with shame as this creature, this woman, this demon turned her fiery gaze back upon him and repeated, in a voice thick with betrayal: "Armian?"
Painfully aware of everyone's attention, he nodded. "Armian. It's his shir."
An awful expression crossed her face. "You killed him. You killed Armian."
He let no expression show on his. "I killed him."
"Can you... Are you bringing forth a dead man?" Elelar asked, staggering forward without her usual grace.
The red-thatched head bobbed. "Yes."
Her demon eyes closed with concentration, her body tensing with some unseen effort.
No! he cried silently. Not Armian. Not this...
"I can crush you," Kiloran warned the girl.
She didn't even bother to open her eyes. "You won't. You want to see Armian. He wants to speak to you." She gasped and her head rolled back. A sheen of sweat broke out along her cheekbones and her breath came harshly, like a woman caught in the throes of passion. Or deadly terror. "A windy night... wet and windy... The pain of the blows, the pain of the betrayal..."
No, I came to face Kiloran, but not this! Not this.
He had lived life on the fine edge of fear, taking risks, pledging his life to combat, offering his blood to Josarian's cause. He was no coward and had never run away from anything in fear, but he wanted to run now. He could willingly swim towards the gaping, sharp-toothed jaws of a dragonfish before he could face the bloodfather he had murdered. He had confronted death alone many times, and he had chosen to face the wrath of the greatest waterlord in the world. But he had never expected to face Armian again, and he knew he couldn't do it.
The fire grew in size and intensity, the shir glowing in their midst, the water of Kiloran's strange world marrying the flames wherever the two elements met and touched. Heart tugging at his lungs and twisting his belly, Tansen inwardly retreated as the Guardian told them that Armian was very close now.
He could not do this. He would run. He would walk through those watery walls and drown before he would do this.
A hand took his arm in a firm grip and held him steady. He whipped his head around to see who dared... And his gaze collided with Josarian's. He wanted condemnatio
n, accusation; he saw only understanding. He wanted disgust, revulsion, hatred; he saw only a brother's love.
Dar have mercy, why hadn't Josarian stayed behind? Tansen could have turned and run away if not for the firm support of that hand, the childlike trust in that face. But how could he do the wrong thing in front of one who never doubted he would do the right thing? How could he betray himself if it meant betraying another's blind belief in his courage and strength?
Gritting his teeth and wishing Josarian on the far side of Ejara, Tansen stood his ground and awaited Armian.
Mirabar ignored Kiloran's grousing about the feeble tricks of Guardians. She ignored the torena's perplexed questions. She even ignored the shame that practically radiated from Tansen now that she had exposed his secret. A man of stained honor... Now Armian would come, and she would learn why Tansen had killed the man rumored to be the Firebringer, the one who might have set them all free. Now she would learn why she had been sent to confront these strangers and enemies in this watery underworld where no Guardian had ever been admitted before tonight.
He arose in the flames, and she saw instantly that he was different from any other shade she had ever Called forth from the Otherworld. He reached out and seized his shir, something he should not have been able to do. He looked at them all; something he should not have been able to do. He addressed them all directly, instead of speaking through her.
Wary of what kind of power she had just unleashed with her Calling, Mirabar held the flames steady as Armian floated in the fire and linked this world to the Other one.
In Legend Born Page 34
