In Legend Born (50 page)

Tansen shivered with cold, annoyed that he couldn't control this instinctive reaction. There wasn't much point in his body's life-seeking efforts to generate heat, since he'd be dead in a few minutes anyhow.

Nine years ago, he had only seen the luxuriant camp Kiloran lived in while traveling through his territories, something a waterlord had to do regularly to keep his power secure. He had never known where Kiloran lived permanently, what sort of a place the wizard called home. Judging by the expression of shocked awe on Elelar's face, she had never known, either. Not until tonight. And Josarian looked like he was so far past shock that not even a personal appearance by Dar would surprise him now.

They were in a shifting palace of air far beneath the surface of Lake Kandahar—so far that Tansen had nearly drowned before being unceremoniously dumped here by the twisting coils of water that moved in response to Kiloran's will. It was as grand as any
toren
's house, with its high ceilings, luxuriant furnishings, sweet-smelling candles, and vast rooms. The ceilings, floors, and walls of a
toren
's home, however, didn't pulse and fluctuate—at least not unless an earthquake was taking place.

This palace, though, responded to its master's will as easily as a
shatai
's limbs answered his demands. Any portion of it could open or close like a mouth, to admit or exclude visitors; expand to comfortably encompass more people or constrict to drown them; become as hard as crystal, as soft as a feather tick, or as wet as... water. The blazing torches which lit the dark depth of this night were rooted into the shifting walls the way trees rooted into the soil. The floor beneath Tansen was as smooth as glass, and almost as chilly as the touch of another man's
shir
.

Soaking wet and chained to this cold, smooth floor by coils of icy water more unyielding than any bonds of iron, Tansen shivered and waited to die. Two of Kiloran's trusted assassins had disarmed him earlier while he lay helplessly gasping and strangling in the grip of the monstrous tentacles that had brought him here. Upon examining Tansen's swords—swords that no man should touch without permission—Kiloran had recognized the workmanship and instantly suspected the truth. He'd ordered his man to rip open Tansen's threadbare tunic, exposing the brand he wore on his chest.

"A
shatai
..." Sitting upon a throne of shells that were joined together by exquisitely-worked gold to form an enormous chair of astonishing beauty, the old waterlord had glared hard at Tansen. "You trained long and hard to come home and kill your master, boy."

They'd heard Josarian's shouted threats echoing through the watery caverns of Kiloran's lair; some sorcery by which Kiloran knew everything that happened overhead. His expression frosty with fury, the old wizard had permitted the others entry to his domain by way of a glimmering staircase of water—which disappeared a bare moment after their arrival.

Josarian held his sword across Srijan's throat and demanded Tansen's release. Kiloran kept Tansen lashed to the floor and promised his instant and very painful death if Josarian didn't release Srijan. Elelar pleaded with everyone to exercise some restraint and intelligence—to no effect.

Kiloran had grown older and bulkier, but he was as impressive and imposing as ever. His once-dark skin had grown sallow over the years, probably from hiding so long in a sunless, Dar-forsaken place like this. His hair had gone from gray to white, and his face betrayed what the years had cost him. His cold, lifeless eyes still glowed with dark, watchful intelligence, though; and Tansen had only to consider his frankly hopeless situation to realize that Kiloran's power had, if anything, continued to grow over the past nine years.

"Enough,
torena
," Kiloran said, silencing Elelar with a voice full of authority and deadly warning. "You know this
sriliah
's crime. If you continue to plead for his life, I will have to question your loyalty."

His speech was as cultured and educated as Elelar's, giving credence to the legend that his mother had been a
torena
who fell in love with an assassin and abandoned her family, rank, and home for him. Legend had it that, upon the violent death of Kiloran's father, the woman had taken the boy to apprentice to a waterlord so that he might become powerful enough to avenge his father's murder.

It gave Tansen some pleasure to see Elelar beg, and to hear her plead for
him
, but he knew it was useless. Kiloran had taken him by surprise, revealing powers none of them had suspected, and now he had the upper hand. Stripped of his swords and staked out like a sacrificial offering, Tansen was helpless and would soon die. He thanked all the gods above and below that pride and rage, at least, were stronger than fear, for he didn't want to die cowering, quivering, and begging for mercy. He was embarrassed by his present situation, since this was no way for a warrior to die, but even
shatai
were not invulnerable to sorcery such as this.

For himself, he would hope for nothing more than a quick death. For his companions, however... Well, Elelar had nine lives and would somehow manage to get out of this safely, he believed. But Josarian looked determined to free Tansen or die trying, and Tan wasn't optimistic about finding a solution to this problem in the few remaining moments of his life.

"He has survived the nine years of a bloodvow," Josarian said, his sword pressed so tightly against Srijan's throat that the assassin was gasping for air. If Josarian lessened his grip for even a second, if Kiloran saw a single opportunity to attack Josarian without getting his son killed, it would be all over. "The time has come to call off your assassins let Tansen live in peace, Kiloran."

Kiloran rose from his throne, radiating fury. "Does a
shallah
think to tell me my business?"

"When you dishonor yourself this way, I do." Josarian's grip was ruthless, his concentration fierce.

"Do you know what this
sriliah
did?" Kiloran demanded. "He killed his own bloodfather!"

"After nine years, it's now Dar's place to punish him for that. Not yours."

"How quaint," Kiloran spat.

"You don't care that he betrayed a bloodpact," Josarian said. "You think you could have been Yahrdan, and a mere boy took it away from you. You can never have it back, and
that's
why you want him dead, old man."

Elelar swallowed her breath, and even Tansen tensed. It wasn't a good idea to insult Kiloran in front of his men—and in his domain—with such open contempt. The wizard's sallow complexion warmed up slightly as anger reddened his face.

Josarian continued, "It was business, this thing between you two, nothing more. You lost. That's all." Pressing his advantage, he tightened his grip and made Srijan bleat like a lamb. "Now take back the bloodvow before you lose something much more personal."

Picking up the thread of Josarian's argument, Elelar said, "
Siran
, the
shallah
has come in good faith to make peace with you. I swear it on my life. He has brought the
shir
back to you."

Damn! Tansen wished she hadn't told them that. After stripping him of his swords and shredding his tunic, they hadn't bothered to search him for another weapon. The
shir
was tucked inside his boot. Far from being a peace offering, it was now the only thing he had his favor if something broke Kiloran's concentration long enough to let him to escape these bonds. He didn't intend to meekly give up the
shir
so they could slaughter him in perfect safety.

Kiloran's attention shifted back to Tansen. "The
shir
..."

The wizard's dark eyes glittered with interest. Oh, yes, he would want the
shir
back. It was too powerful a weapon to leave in the hands of an enemy. A waterlord made such weapons only for his trusted servants, for a
shir
was too effective against even himself to be trusted in the hands of anyone whose loyalty was questionable. An enemy's possession of a
shir
was a serious threat to the waterlord who'd made it, which was why returning the
shir
of a slain assassin to its maker was regarded as an honorable peace offering. Tansen had brought the thing here with every intention of making an honorable peace offering. Now he wanted nothing more than a chance to slit that fat old man's throat with it before he died. Even Kiloran's own water magic couldn't protect him from a
shir
, especially not from one he himself had made.

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.