"You and the men may drink now," he advised Searlon.
"Not before you, siran," Searlon said. "The journey has been a long one, and the sun is hot."
Though a powerful and influential assassin, Searlon proffered the first cup of water to his master like a common servant. And not, Kiloran knew, because he wanted to test the water before drinking it himself. During more than ten years of loyal service, Searlon had never failed to show his master the most attentive respect. It was one of his many virtues.
Kiloran was pleased to have Searlon back. The assassin had stolen a horse in Shaljir, made his escape, and taken the coastal road to Cavasar to join his master. Kiloran had therefore been the first person in Cavasar to learn of the Valdani surrender. He had used the information to his advantage, gaining more of Cavasar's love as he made the announcement. He accepted credit for the victory in the wake of Josarian's death—without, of course, clarifying how the Firebringer had died.
Unfortunately, though, the circumstances of Searlon's return to Cavasar were a mixed blessing. Torena Elelar was a fanatic, which had proved useful, but Kiloran had always known she wasn't a fool. Her proposed alliance with Searlon was sensible, despite how much it must have galled her to suggest it. And, in the end, she had needed Searlon to force Kaynall to honor his own treaty. Sadly, though, Elelar had shown her appreciation by betraying Kiloran. It was a bold and unexpected move, one which took even Searlon by surprise.
Ah, mistakes. They are so easily made.
Kiloran knew that frightened whispers in Cavasar were spreading the story of Josarian's death. That was as it should be. He held the city now. Nothing could threaten that. The rumors that he had proved to be even more powerful than the Firebringer would be to his advantage there. Fear and love were so closely entwined in Sileria, and knowing how to balance them was one of his great strengths.
However, Kiloran was not loved at all in Shaljir, and the torena's dramatic announcement, made to the masses at such a volatile moment, had roused the people of the city to passionate hatred. That was unfortunate. Shaljir's citizens had responded enthusiastically to their aristocratic heroine's public call for vengeance, effectively eliminating Kiloran's options there.
It was therefore essential that Baran accept a truce and relinquish full control of the Idalar River to Kiloran. Sileria's ancient capital must be brought to its knees. If Shaljir resisted, then the rest of Sileria would see that disobedience was possible. And that was unacceptable.
Nothing happened in Sileria without Kiloran's knowledge, so he was already well informed about Tansen's public proclamation of war. It took little imagination to realize that Tansen had killed the six assassins Kiloran had sent to ambush him at Dalishar after Josarian's death. Tansen was alive, urging the populace to civil war, and Kiloran's men were missing without a trace. Yes, it was disappointing, but Kiloran knew that persistence was an inherent requirement of victory. So he would keep trying.
Meanwhile, thousands had already joined Tansen in declaring a bloodfeud against the Society. News from the east revealed that the Lironi were opposing Verlon. Mirabar had offered public prophecy about the coming of a new Yahrdan, and the waterlords were struggling for dominance over their people.
In the wake of the Valdani surrender, chaos was sweeping across Sileria. Far from being distressed by it, Kiloran found it exhilarating. He had carved his small empire out of the chaos that followed Harlon's death nearly forty years ago. Blessed with a cold intelligence which resisted panic and impulse, he had risen to preeminence by recognizing his opportunities during those years of terrible turmoil in the Society. Now he would do so again. Only this time, the prize wasn't just leadership of the Honored Society. This time, he would rule all of Sileria.
As for Mirabar's prophesied Yahrdan... Well, Kiloran had already defeated the Firebringer, and he could destroy whomever the fire-eyed Guardian now foresaw in her visions. He had already proven that prophecy did not make a man invincible or his future assured. He had already demonstrated that he was the king of his kind, and soon he would triumph over all his enemies and lead Sileria into a new age.
It was a fitting climax to an extraordinary life. Kiloran had only two regrets. He wished he could be ten years younger when he assumed control of the nation... and perhaps he might have been, had Tansen not killed Armian and destroyed their chances ten years ago. And he wished he had a suitable heir to carry on his legacy after his death.
Kiloran loved Sileria and didn't want chaos once again sweeping through the land after he died. This was his time, his destiny. He would bring order to the nation, unite the people under his vision, and secure the island against more foreign invasions. He would wipe out the Guardians once and for all, including Mirabar. He would destroy dissenters. He would eliminate Tansen, his friends, and the friends of his friends... And when Sileria was safely his forever, Kiloran would forgive the people for having strayed. They were his children, and they would return to him in love and in fear. It was their history. It was their destiny. There could be no other way. Not in Sileria.
And he didn't want to do all that, to devote the rest of his life to his beloved nation, only to die knowing he left behind no one to maintain order, inherit and secure his legacy, and carry on in his name.
There had been prospects over the years, potential heirs to his legacy as the preeminent waterlord of the Honored Society, but they had come to nothing. Armian was dead. His own son, Srijan, had been bereft of water magic, as was Searlon. And Baran, the whimsical and frustratingly unambitious young man of enormous natural talent whom Kiloran himself had first apprenticed to water magic... Baran had turned on him in vengeful wrath.
Kiloran sighed at the memory. Honesty compelled him to admit, in the privacy of his own heart, that he had erred, both in judgment and in sense. Through uncharacteristically rash acts which he remembered with bemusement, he had driven Baran to this demented hatred. Then he had compounded the error by failing to kill him.
Ah, mistakes. They are so easily made.
He silenced his regrets. What was done was done. He had created Baran, and now he must deal with the consequences. Kiloran would eventually destroy him, but not now. It would take too much sustained effort. Right now, he couldn't spare the energy or afford the potential damages. Later, after Tansen and Mirabar were dead, the Guardians were all ashes, and Sileria was his... Yes, then he would finally succeed where he had failed so many times over the years; he would destroy Baran at last.
Each thing must come in its own time. And now was the time for the Honored Society to unite against a common enemy.
Kiloran chose to rest as the hot sun rose high over Emeldar. One of his men had found a dwelling which, though spare and simple, was reasonably comfortable. Kiloran wondered with cool irony if it had been Josarian's house.
As requested, several other waterlords arrived throughout the day, each one accompanied by assassins, to attend this truce meeting. Baran, however, did not arrive that day; nor the following day. Searlon privately suggested to Kiloran that this was a sign of disrespect, an open insult. The assassin advised his master that it would be best to leave if Baran didn't arrive the following morning.
"It is not fitting, siran," he said, "that you should be seen to wait upon his pleasure. It is beneath you."
What Searlon meant, of course, was that if Kiloran waited another full day, he would appear too desperate for Baran's cooperation. This, in turn, would lead to the suspicion that he was vulnerable.
As another night in Emeldar fell with no sign of Baran, a cold fury simmered inside of Kiloran. Did Baran mean to reject his offer of a truce? Or worse, did Baran mean to make a fool of him by not even acknowledging it?
He was Kiloran, the greatest waterlord in Sileria—the greatest who had ever lived! This display of disrespect was intolerable.
Kiloran saw the predatory instinct lurking in the dark eyes of the other waterlords who had gathered here in Emeldar at his request, but he didn't let it worry him. He had dom
inated the rest of them for more than thirty years, and he would continue to do so with or without Baran.
But Baran was placing him in an inconvenient position. If that half-mad upstart didn't arrive tomorrow, then Kiloran, for the sake of his dignity, would indeed be obliged to leave Emeldar without securing a truce. He would also be obliged to punish Baran for this show of disrespect. And that would expend energy and attention which Kiloran couldn't afford to spare right now.
It was often hard to decide which man he most regretted not having killed long ago, Baran or Tansen.
As if Baran's disrespect weren't annoying enough, Wyldon hadn't shown up yet, either. Searlon raised the subject that night in the privacy of Kiloran's quarters, away from the watchful eyes and eager ears of the other waterlords and assassins in Emeldar.
"I do not believe Wyldon would simply defy you," Searlon said. "Something has happened."
"It's not a serious concern right now," Kiloran replied. "If he's dead, his loss is of little consequence, and his territory will be open for conquest. If he's alive and offering me an insult... Well, he will be much easier than Baran to punish."
Searlon nodded. "When we leave here, I will initiate inquiries." He lifted one dark brow and prodded, "We are leaving tomorrow, are we not, siran?"
Kiloran knew the assassin was right. It was best to adjust quickly to disappointments and move on. "Yes, before midday." He paused, then added, "While you're making inquiries, I also want to know more about the demon-girl's prophecy."
"Of the coming Yahrdan?"
"Yes. I waited too long to kill Josarian, let him become too influential. The task would have been easier if we had eliminated him as soon as we knew he was the Firebringer."
Searlon thought it over. "And if the Yahrdan is young, as Tansen and Mirabar said in Zilar, and in need of protection..."
"They've been vague, but they may already know who he is."
"And if not, they're certainly trying to learn."
Kiloran nodded, considering this. "If there was some way we could find out before the rest of Sileria..."
"I doubt that can be done, siran. This information comes only to Mirabar, in her visions. Unless we can capture her alive..."
"Perhaps we should find someone who's easier to take alive. Someone Mirabar trusts."
"Ah. Someone she confides in." Searlon rubbed his chin as he considered the possibilities. "Najdan, for example."
"He won't betray her."
"No," Searlon agreed sadly, "I suppose not. If we captured him, though, perhaps he could be forced to talk."
"We can try, but I must admit that I don't anticipate satisfactory results."
"Still, we must deal with him. One way or another."
"True. I count on you to make him regret betraying me."
"I intend to, siran." The assassin added, "After all, Najdan is more than a mere enemy."
"Yes." For twenty years Kiloran had trusted Najdan, rewarded him, counted on him, and shielded him. Only to be repaid, when it mattered most, with betrayal. "Much more."
Even now, he wondered what hold—what fascination or fear—Mirabar exerted over the assassin. Even now, he tried to imagine what had lured Najdan—always so devoted, so faithful, so obedient—away from his own kind after twenty years. Whenever he thought of Najdan's betrayal, Kiloran was as puzzled as he was enraged.
"You will secure great honor for yourself," he told Searlon, "when you slay him for me."
"I could ask for no more, siran."
"Ah, but you will," Kiloran replied dryly. Although unfailingly courteous, Searlon was neither modest about his skills nor shy about asking for his due. He would expect to be richly rewarded for shedding Najdan's blood. And Kiloran would not disappoint him. It was a waterlord's duty to cherish, protect, and reward those who were loyal to him.
Searlon grinned. "Yes, siran. I will."
Kiloran stared at the wavering lantern light as he considered the other news they had received from Zilar. "About this sea-born youth seen in Zilar with Tansen..."
"By all accounts," Searlon responded, "he's too young to be there as a representative of the sea-born, and he's alone. It still seems most likely, with the Valdani withdrawing now, that the sea-born will ignore our quarrels on land."
"So the lad is just some runaway, then? Chasing after youthful dreams of glory with a famous rebel leader?"
Searlon frowned. "Why does he worry you, siran?"
"A sea-born lad, that far inland." Kiloran shook his head. "It may be nothing, but he's out of place. Things that are out of place bother me. Especially where Tansen is concerned."
"You would like to know more," Searlon surmised.
"Yes. If only to put my mind at ease." He supposed that he wouldn't trouble himself over an equally minor anomaly of a different nature. But the sea-born... Well, the sight of them, even the mention of them—it always brought back memories. And the memories always bothered him. He supposed it was the same for Baran. "Just see what you can learn," he instructed, pulling his thoughts away from the past.
"As you wish, siran."
The night passed uncomfortably. Accommodations were far from luxurious in Emeldar, and the presence of other waterlords was a drain on Kiloran's senses. Cooperation wasn't the same thing as trust, after all. He didn't believe that any of them would make an attempt on his life here, but he wasn't about to wallow in misplaced confidence and relax his vigilance so that one—or all—of them could ensorcell the poisoned fountain in the main square and ambush him with it. Such an act was strictly forbidden by the centuries-old protocol of a Society truce meeting... but that didn't mean no one had ever tried it.
And as if all that weren't enough to disturb his rest, Dar gave a loud crack of rage in the middle of the night, setting some of the assassins to gibbering like frightened virgins.
All in all, Kiloran was feeling distinctly bad-tempered by the time he arose, dressed, and left his quarters to announce to the other waterlords that he would endure no further insult from Baran.
"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 i
mposing 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.
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