The White Dragon (102 page)

Kiloran made a sound of weary anger. "I warned them about Tansen. I warned them, yet those fools still let—"

"We should look forward not backward,
siran
," Searlon suggested politely.

He mastered his rage and agreed, "Yes, of course."

"Is Meriten having any success reclaiming the brothers' territory from the Guardians?"

"Not yet, but I'm willing to give him time."

"We don't intend to... step in?" Searlon asked.

Kiloran shook his head. "Meriten is loyal to me, and it would be foolish for me to expend energy right now on that particular territory."
 

Searlon considered this and then indicated his agreement with a nod. "Perhaps if I assisted him, though?"

Kiloran nodded, understanding that Searlon meant he would
 
advise Meriten on making the most effective use of his assassins in his struggle with the Guardians over the Shaljir River. "If you can spare the time."

Searlon mused, "It would, however, mean further delays in my dealing with Najdan."

"Since we don't even know where Najdan is at the moment—"

"Finding Mirabar is the key, of course. And that's proving harder than I anticipated," Searlon admitted.

"Ah. We return again to the question of befriending someone who will betray her, if Baran can't manage to kill her soon."

"Sooner or later—"

"No doubt. In the meantime, however, if you feel you can help Meriten without neglecting more important matters..."
 

Searlon nodded, then continued, "You wanted to know more about that sea-born boy."

"The one traveling with Tansen."

Searlon shrugged. "Little is known. He appeared out of nowhere one day, shortly after Josarian's death, and hasn't left Tansen's side since then." 
      
"But why? And where does he come from?"

"
Why
is anyone's guess, although there is strange talk of an enchanted
stahra
—that's an oar which the sea-born use as—"

"I know what it is," Kiloran interrupted. "Enchanted? Is that just
shallah
talk, or is there something to it?"

"I don't know yet. But the most interesting thing is that this boy is—
was
—sea-bound."

Kiloran leaned forward. "Sea-bound?" he repeated, scarcely able to hear his own voice above the sudden pounding of his heart.

"I've never heard of one coming ashore before." Searlon stroked his scarred cheek and admitted, "I find it interesting. Your instincts were right,
siran
. The boy is more out of place than we realized. I intend to find out more, but Tansen has disapp—"

"What clan?" Kiloran demanded.
 

"The boy? Lascari, they say."

After all these years, it was like being slapped without provocation.
 

"Lascari," Kiloran whispered.

"Yes." Searlon gave him a puzzled look. "What does that mean to you,
siran
?"

He stared at the fluidly solid walls of his underwater palace and pondered the possibilities. Perhaps it were merely coincidence. "But I don't like coincidences."

"And I don't believe in them," Searlon said. "However, I don't understand. What—"

"Is anyone else asking about this boy?"

"I don't know. Is that important?"

"Is
Baran
asking about this boy?"

Searlon frowned. "Not that I know of, but—"

"See if you can find out."

"Yes,
siran
."

"But without calling Baran's attention to the boy, if he's not already interested in him."

"Of course." Searlon waited. When Kiloran didn't speak, the assassin did. "May I ask what this is all about?"

Kiloran sighed, feeling his heart slowly return to a normal pace. "It may be nothing." He nodded. "In fact, it's
probably
nothing. But the Lascari..."

"Do you know them,
siran
?"

He shook his head. "I knew one of them once. She's been dead for years, though." He had tried to make sure. He had been obsessed with being certain. A soft shadow of doubt had remained for a while, only fading gradually as he watched from a distance while Baran grew more bitter and insane with each passing season. It was Baran's spiral into madness which had convinced Kiloran years ago that the woman was truly dead.
 

Impetuous acts and ungoverned passions always cost too much and should never be indulged.

And now... Now another Lascari had come ashore, after all these years.

Searlon asked the obvious question: "Do you think this boy has come ashore seeking vengeance for her death?"

"The sea-born aren't like
shallaheen
. Vengeance is not a way of life for them, and I'm not at all convinced it would be reason enough for one of the sea-bound to set foot on land. Besides..." Kiloran thought it through. "Would the Lascari have waited so long to avenge her? Even if they somehow learned her fate, would they have
wanted
to avenge her?" They had shunned her once she came ashore. "And even if they did, would they have sent a mere boy to do a man's work?"

"I will learn whatever else there is to learn about this boy," Searlon promised. "I will do whatever I must."

"What's his name?"

"Zarien."

It meant nothing to Kiloran. "I'll look forward to hearing what you learn." He had no intention of telling Searlon more unless it was necessary. So many things in the past were best left undisturbed.

"Meanwhile," Searlon said, changing the subject and Kiloran's pensive mood, "there is troubling news from the east. Verlon claims you're trying to move in on his territory."

Kiloran frowned. "Why would he claim that?"

"One of your
shir
was found alongside more than ten of his assassins, all dead."

Kiloran felt an icy fury sweep through him. "Damn that
insolent
shallah!
"

Searlon didn't have to ask whom he meant. Tansen had made very good use of the
shir
he'd collected from the bodies of Kiloran's assassins who had ambushed him after Josarian's death.

"And with Wyldon loudly claiming the same thing as Verlon," Searlon added, "they each give credibility to the other's story."

"You mean others are starting to listen," Kiloran surmised. "Meanwhile, Wyldon's assassins are attacking mine."

"I suggest a truce meeting with Wyldon."

Kiloran shook his head. "I've already tried that. While you were away. His refusal came yesterday—we found the body of my envoy, headless, with one of my
shir
sticking out of his belly. The
shir
, I assume, which Tansen left behind when he attacked Wyldon."

"That's discouraging," Searlon admitted.

"And annoying," Kiloran added. "It means we'll have to deal with Wyldon immediately."

"And Verlon?"

Kiloran thought it over. "He's a hot-headed fool who rarely listens to anything, let alone reason. However, he's powerful. It would be too much of a strain to fight him right now."

"So we must make sure that Wyldon's fate gives him pause."

Kiloran nodded. "So that he'll pause long enough for us to deal with the rest of our business, untroubled by him."

"How shall we draw Wyldon out?" Searlon asked.

"I've been considering that," Kiloran replied. He reached for the bracelet he had not, until forming this plan, touched in longer than he could remember. Kintish silver with jade inlays. A solid, elegant thing. Brought onto Silerian soil, years ago, by a Lascari. The bracelet was too small for a man's wrist, of course, but Kiloran believed Wyldon would recognize that it matched the necklace Baran always wore. "Wyldon wants Baran's friendship," Kiloran said. "Let's convince him he has it."

"Ah." Searlon took the bracelet and smiled, the scar on his cheek flowing down into the dimple that so unexpectedly suited him. "And then,
siran?
"

"Then we'll teach Wyldon the price of turning his back on
my
friendship."
 

 
Baran felt adrenaline flow through him, energizing his ever-weakening body, when Vinn entered the simple stone dwelling to tell him that Mirabar and her party had been sighted approaching Sister Velikar's Sanctuary and would be here momentarily.

"Get out of sight," Baran advised Vinn. "Najdan will be with her, and you know how jumpy he is." Kiloran's former assassin, who had slain so many of Baran's men over the years, was likely to kill Vinn before remembering that they were on Sanctuary grounds.

"I will be just behind that door," Vinn said, indicating his proposed hiding place. Then he paused awkwardly and made a few stumbling attempts to address Baran.

"Yes?" Baran prodded dryly. "Something on your mind?"

"
Siran
... Are you sure about this?"

"I admit," Baran replied blithely, "it's not really the done thing—"

"It's insane!" Vinn blurted.

"Then I'm living up to my reputation."

"Begging your pardon,
siran
."

"No, no," he said. "I'm not sensitive about it."

"What we're about to do—can this really be right,
siran?
"

"These are very difficult times, and we must be innovative about solving our problems, Vinn." Baran smiled cynically. "You surely don't imagine Kiloran is sitting around just doing the same old thing these days, do you?"

"No..." Vinn shrugged and looked around the Sanctuary. "But
this
is nothing I ever thought we would do."

"Me, neither," Baran admitted. "Yet if the world persists in giving me unpleasant surprises, then I must keep returning the favor."

"This is more than an unpleasant surprise." Vinn's voice dropped to a whisper. "This has never been done."

"Yes," Baran agreed. "That's what I like best about it."

"Do you think—" Vinn stopped speaking, listened, and then met Baran's eyes. "I hear them," he said, before disappearing out the back door of the Sanctuary to eavesdrop and make sure his master's plan went smoothly.

Baran stood up and waited, briefly concerned about not having heard the new arrivals when Vinn did. The world, once so full of vivid sensation, was fading with every passing day, almost as if he now lived at a distance from it.

However, he felt Mirabar's power now, felt that pleasingly disturbing presence which so few had, that intangible signature of extraordinary sorcery which identified only the best—the most skilled, the most innately powerful—to each other.
He
had once had it, but he suspected it was now fading, too, like everything else about him.

Their voices came to him a moment later. Mirabar's voice, warm and feminine, so different from that of Sister Velikar, the only woman Baran had spoken to lately. Najdan's voice, deep, dark, a little rough, revealing all the sharp violence of the man. Another man's voice, too—energetic, facetious, saying something about Josarian's almond wine at Dalishar.

It was this second man, the one Baran didn't know, who pushed open the door to the Sanctuary and called, "Sister Velikar? Oh, Velikarrrrrr?"

"She's not here," Baran said.

The man's head turned in startled surprise, and their eyes met. "Oh! Hello. We didn't reali... Uh... Ah! Hah!" His face contorted into a comical expression of fear as he recognized Baran. The man staggered backwards, speaking over his shoulder to someone else, "It's—It's—"

Mirabar's voice came faintly from outside, irritated now. "What? Oh, Pyron, just get out of the way, will you?"

"
Sirana
... wait!" Najdan's voice.