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The White Dragon

Page 44

by Laura Resnick


  "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 do
wn 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.

  "Not exactly to Belitar, I must admit." Baran smiled. "As hard as this may be for you to believe, he doesn't trust me."

  "Imagine that," Gulstan murmured.

  "We met nearby, in Sanctuary." Baran sighed. "He was so distressed. So angry. I tried to appeal to him on your behalf, truly I did, but nothing could calm him down."

  "Go on," Kiloran prodded impatiently.

  "He's not going to forgive you for the night you sent six assassins to his stronghold to kill him."

  "What?" Meriten blurted.

  "Well, he thinks it was six," Baran added. "But he admits that things were very confusing. So it might have been four. Or maybe eight."

  "What?" Dulien said.

  "I didn't—" Kiloran stopped abruptly, realizing the truth. Six of his men missing ever since they'd gone after Tansen...

  Oh, the shatai was clever. Tansen knew that the other waterlords would suspect Kiloran of the attack no matter what he said. He also knew that Kiloran wouldn't explain he'd lost six assassins, shir and all, trying to ambush Tansen. After all, that was not an admission designed to increase the others' respect for him.

  "It seems that one of your assassins left a shir behind," Baran said. "Very careless. But I can see how the poor fellow might have forgotten it, given that he'd just used it to gut one of those hideous sculptures that Wyldon's so proud of. Frankly, they even give me nightmares." He shook his head sadly. "Someone really needs to be honest with Wyldon about his art, but I fear my heart's just too tender for the task."

  The five other waterlords flew into a fury.

  Dulien jumped to his feet again. "You sent assassins after Wyldon?"

  "Who are you planning to attack next?"

  Gulstan said, "So you finally got tired of waiting for him to die?"

  "Are your assassins invading my territory even now? Is that why you wanted me to come all this way to watch you declare a truce with this madman?"

  "I resent that," Baran protested.

  "You tried to kill Wyldon, Kiloran?"

  Meriten argued, "If he did, it's not our concern."

  "Watch out, you spineless sycophant," Gulstan warned. "You'll be next."

  Kiloran heard Searlon's voice raised again, warning the assassins against using their shir. The agitated shouts of their masters were urging their blood to violence again. They circled and stalked each other as the waterlords continued arguing.

  "This meeting is just a pretense, isn't it?"

  "We mustn't turn on each other now. This is exactly what our enemies want."

  "Wyldon is a fool who deserves whatever happ—"

  "And will we say that about you next?"

  Through the chaos, Baran smiled at Kiloran. His thin and surprisingly lined face was rich with laughter and satisfaction as he said, "We really don't get together often enough, do we?"

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Allies need not be friends.

  —Kiloran

  Baran's insides burned with the dull, ever-present physical pain which was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, but he was nonetheless thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of half a dozen waterlords and more than thirty assassins all at each other's throats. The rage that lived inside Baran was the only thing stronger than his endless sorrow, and now it fed off the other waterlords' hatred and suspicion, their mistrust and enmity, their short-tempered intolerance and cold-blooded greed.

  While Gulstan demanded an explanation of Kiloran's attack on Wyldon, his fat red face growing red with fury, Baran blessed the impulse that had led Wyldon to seek his support. Baran was the only waterlord alive who had ever challenged Kiloran. Oh, there had been others, to be sure; but Baran was the only one still alive. So Kiloran's enemies always sought Baran's support. Josarian, Wyldon, Tansen... they were just the most recent petitioners for his friendship. Every enemy of Kiloran's—and there had been more than a few during the dozen years that Baran had openly opposed the old waterlord—came to him sooner or later.

  Baran ignored most of them. He neither needed nor wanted their friendship. He didn't care whose territories Kiloran threatened or stole, whose relatives Kiloran killed or abducted, or whose honor Kiloran impugned and offended. He didn't want Kiloran's territory for his own, he had no interest in winning the loyalty of Kiloran's men, and he was indifferent to Kiloran's wealth.

  Baran cared for one thing and one thing alone: vengeance. Personal, private, and profound vengeance. Apart from that, nothing and no one mattered. He needed no friend, no ally who could not actively assist his quest for revenge.

  While the waterlords shouted all around him, Baran idly fingered the necklace—Kintish silver with jade inlays—which he had worn ever since Kiloran destroyed his world years ago.

  Ah, well. At least a little amusement, now and then, made this bitter thing called life more bearable. Wyldon's seething, self-righteous anger, when he met with Baran in Sanctuary, had been wonderful. And the pleasure of delivering Wyldon's scathing denouncement to Kiloran, in front of five other waterlords at a truce meeting—well! Baran hadn't enjoyed anything this much in years.

  Above all, it delighted him to make Kiloran angry, to drive him to an indiscreet display of rage, to unsettle his icy demeanor with a verbal ambush. Baran was pleased to see proof today that he had improved at this over the years. There was a time, long ago, when Baran would rage with helpless frustration and blind fury while Kiloran remained cool and indifferent. Even now, the memory of those days was like a merciless fist around Baran's heart. How satisfying it was now to make Kiloran angry, appalled, and alarmed, all in one day. Why, this was such a delicious feeling, it almost inspired Baran to let Kiloran live a few more years, just to enjoy the sheer pleasure of tormenting him now and then.

  The sudden grip of fire on Baran's vitals, though, reminded him that he didn't have a few years. When Tansen's emissary, Sister Velikar, discovered him vomiting blood in the damp ruins of Belitar, she had examined him. He hadn't permitted it, but she had done it anyhow. It would take more than a waterlord to menace Velikar, Baran discovered; and since she was a Sister, he couldn't harm or kill her when she ignored his commands and threats. There were certain rules governing life in Sileria which even Baran obeyed, and the inviolability of the Sisters and their Sanctuaries was among them.

  Velikar's pronouncements about his illness, like her prescriptions for its treatment, would have terrified a man who had something to live for. If there was anything human left in Baran's soul, though, it had been yearning for death for years and would embrace it when it finally came—as, indeed, Velikar believed it soon would.

  The rest of him, though... the rest of him craved fulfillment of a monumental goal and raged against the possibility of dying before it was achieved.

  Baran had denied his own affable nature, forsaken his clan and his family, consecrated his life to vengeance, and helped reshape the destiny of Sileria, all so that he could destroy Kiloran. The risks he had taken in pursuit of this dream defied all reason. The dedication Baran had brought to the art and craft of Kiloran's own sorcery eventually made him one of the most powerful waterlords who had ever lived. The ruthlessness he had employed in carving out his place in the Society would make the man he used to be sick with horror, wild with shame, demented with guilt. But that genial man had died years ago; Kiloran had ensured that. All that remained now was the merciless
and half-mad waterlord who lived only to destroy Kiloran and who would do anything, hurt anyone, and risk everything to accomplish this.

  If Velikar was right, though—and he supposed she was, because surely no one would feel this way who wasn't mortally ill—then he had little time left to achieve the goal to which he had dedicated his life, the ultimate ambition that had already led him to do so many extraordinary things.

  He must discover the best way to have his vengeance before he died. No matter what it took. No matter who he had to betray or how many of Sileria's laws and customs he violated, he meant to see Kiloran die before he did.

  The immediate question, of course, was whether he should he side with Tansen's seemingly hopeless war against the Society or accept Kiloran's offer of a truce? Baran looked at the quarreling waterlords surrounding him and searched for some inspiration about what path he should take.

  Not surprisingly, Dulien decided to go home and sulk. He turned his back on the other waterlords and ordered his assassins to prepare to ride out. Gulstan—who was probably just bluffing—announced he was leaving, too. Then Kariman, who never bluffed and who had a lot to lose if Kiloran moved against him, rose to leave, too. Meriten, who knew where his cup was filled, stayed by Kiloran. Ferolen, possibly the most tedious man in Sileria, just kept shouting that Kiloran owed him an explanation. Kiloran looked as if his head ached.

  This is going so well. I must remember to send Wyldon a gift.

  "Aren't you going to stop them, siran?" Meriten demanded as three waterlords and nearly twenty assassins began mounting their horses.

  "Is anyone hungry?" Baran asked. "I find all this excitement has stimulated my appetite. I don't suppose there's anything to eat in this Darforsaken place?"

  This use of the goddess's name made Ferolen stumble over his words, but he quickly recovered. "What is between you and Wyldon is your own affair, Kiloran, but I—"

  "Yes," Kiloran interrupted, speaking at last. "It is."

 

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