The Destroyer Goddess Page 7

  He stared at the ceiling again.

  She asked, "Does Kiloran know?"

  "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I've tried to keep him from finding out. But he..." Baran sighed. "No one knows better than I do how hard he is to fool, to trick, to defeat."

  "Tansen knows," she murmured absently, since Tansen was among the few who had ever succeeded. He had killed his bloodfather, Armian, thereby taking away from Kiloran all that Armian promised—unchallenged rule of Sileria. And then he had escaped the old waterlord's wrath. Mirabar wondered what Kiloran's next move would be if he knew about Baran's illness.

  "Ah, yes. Tansen." Baran perked up a bit as he asked, "Why does Kiloran hate him so much? Possibly even more than he hates me—which, I confess, makes me feel rather jealous and left out."

  "It's not for me to say." Mirabar decided to change the subject. And she had learned from Baran himself that shock tactics were usually effective in this respect. "Why did Kiloran murder your wife?"

  He drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils. "Does it matter now? I've promised you—"

  "Yes, yes, you'll protect me. But since I'm your wife now, I am more than a little curious about it."

  He had refused to say more about it that day in Velikar's Sanctuary. After making his startling announcement about the original source of enmity between him and Kiloran, Baran fell into a morose bout of brooding, rudely rebuffing any further attempts at conversation. Then Velikar had arrived and started an argument with Mirabar.

  Now Mirabar meant to know more. "Did you love her?"

  "I don't want to talk about this," he said.

  With a surge of impatience and a sharp gesture, she set his bed on fire. A violent enchanted inferno nearly destroyed it within moments.

  Baran shouted in surprise and leaped up, moving faster than he had moved in days. At his bidding, water came pouring through the open window, from the lake outside, to douse the flames, filling the chamber with smoke.

  The door to the chamber flew open. Two assassins came running into the room, their shuddering shir drawn and ready for combat. "Siran! Siran!" They started coughing, looking around for the source of danger as Baran and Mirabar stared at each other in consternation.

  Baran, who was patting his singed clothing, held up a hand. "It's nothing," he assured them. "Just a little argument with my bride."

  They looked warily at Mirabar.

  "He annoyed me," she informed them. "And that's never wise."

  One assassin bowed his head and backed out of the room without another word. The other looked questioningly at Baran.

  "I can handle my own wife," Baran said dryly. "You may go."

  When they were alone again, Baran suggested, "In future, if you could perhaps call me nasty names prior to attempting to kill me, I would appreciate—"

  "I wasn't trying to kill you. I was just trying to get your attention."

  He laughed. "I'd have remarried years ago if I knew it would be so entertaining."

  "Why did you marry the first time?" she pounced.

  Baran's face went suddenly serious and wistful. "Believe it or not, sirana, I was in love." He smiled when he saw her doubtful expression. "Even I was once young and full of hope, Mirabar. And, well, I used to be very different. I was even..." He considered his words and nodded. "Yes, I think most people would say I was a good man. Or at least a decent one. But that was a long time ago." He sat down on the edge of the charred, wet, smoking bed. "Her name was Alcinar," he said. "I met her on my travels."

  "What travels?"

  "Trading. Mostly with the Kintish Kingdoms. I was born to a merchant family. In a reasonably prosperous village north of Adalian." He brushed cinders from the ruined bed. "The village is abandoned now, of course."

  "Valdani?"

  "Kiloran. He was trying to make me let go of the Idalar River, which I had frozen all the way from Illan to Shaljir. He flooded my entire native village. Right up to the edge of a cliff, where the water just stopped, as if it had run into a solid wall. It stayed there for a whole season." Baran smiled. "He really is very good."

  "What did you do then?" she asked.

  "Oh, I retaliated. Then he retaliated. And so on."

  "And your village?"

  Baran shrugged. "Some lives were lost in the flood, and most dwellings were ruined. The village has been abandoned ever since."

  It sickened her that he was so indifferent to the suffering he had helped cause. She couldn't imagine that he had ever been, as he claimed, a decent man. "Did love make you so hard?" she asked in bewilderment.

  "Love? No." He closed his eyes, remembering. "Love made me happy. Made me whole and content. Love gave my existence the real meaning it had lacked, the joy without which life isn't worth living." He opened his eyes and surprised her by saying, "You can't imagine how much I loved her."

  "Did she love you?"

  He blinked. "Yes." Then he seemed to understand the question, and he grinned. "I know. You find that hard to believe, to understand. But I've told you—I was a very different man then. So different, I doubt you can imagine who I was. Just as I know Alcinar would never believe who I have become."

  "So she married you, and then... What happened?"

  "My family's business had always required me to travel a great deal, and I didn't want to be away from her."

  "And she couldn't travel?"

  "Alcinar had... made certain choices in order to marry me, and it seemed best for her peace that we settle down somewhere. So we went to live in the hills near Lake Kandahar."

  "Why? Didn't you know it was Kiloran's lair?"

  He nodded. "That's why we went there. Kiloran, who had taken an interest in me several years earlier, had always been frustrated by me. I loved water and wanted to explore my gift, my talent; but I had no interest in becoming a waterlord. I came and went, never staying at Kandahar for long. And he always said that if the time ever came that I was prepared to settle down, live nearby, and devote myself seriously to my apprenticeship, then he would welcome me."

  "So you changed your mind? You were ready to become a waterlord?"

  "No. I've told you, I lacked focus. I also lacked ambition. I just knew I didn't want to be a traveling trader anymore." He sighed. "We were so young, Alcinar and I. Even foolish. We thought we could live simply in the mountains, far from her past, and find a new future together. I knew from Kiloran that my talent was special, extraordinary, even for a waterlord. I could develop it, hone it, and eventually use it to be... I don't know. Something new, different. Something besides a waterlord." He shook his head, his expression sad. "I was dreamy-eyed, impractical, and naive."

  "Well, naive to think Kiloran wouldn't pull you into his web," she agreed. "But these were... worthy ideas, Baran." Mirabar thought briefly of the Beyah-Olvari. "Water magic itself isn't inherently evil; it's just the Honored Society which is."

  "That's what I thought," he said softly, looking away. "But you have no idea how seductive water magic is, Mirabar."

  "Then it seduced you?" she guessed.

  "Not then. Not while I had such love in my life. Only later, after she was dead. Only after I... went mad with grief and hatred."

  "Why did he kill her?"

  "I don't actually know," Baran admitted, surprising her. "I suspect it was an accident."

  She frowned. "An accident?"

  He glanced at her, his dark eyes tormented now. "Kiloran fell in love with her. Well... not love," he amended. "He became obsessed with her. He wanted her for himself. Wanted her so badly that—I've come to realize—it was a desire which overruled his usual cold rationality."

  "And you didn't get her away from him?" she asked in astonishment. "Away from Kandahar?"

  "I didn't know. He concealed it from me. Even from her. She'd have told me if she knew." Baran's face seemed to age moment by moment as he continued his story. "One day Kiloran sent me to Lake Ursan for a training exercise. I was away for ten days. When I returned home, Alcinar was gone. Missing. I was t
errified beyond coherent thought. I knew she hadn't left me." He glanced briefly at her. "We were so happy, Mirabar. The two of us... What a place the world would be if everyone was as happy as we were."

  "Did you suspect anyone?"

  "I thought it must be Outlookers, or bandits, or some savage shallah who thought abduction was the way to get a woman." He absently touched the necklace he always wore, that beautiful ornament of Kintish silver and jade. It had never before occurred to Mirabar, but now she knew it had once belonged to a woman. She felt sure it had once been Alcinar's. "I imagined horrible things," Baran continued, "things that drove me straight to Kiloran to beg for his help. I knew if anyone could get her back for me, it was the greatest waterlord in the Society."

  Already realizing what he had discovered next, Mirabar sank down onto the ruined bed beside him. "But Kiloran was the one who had taken her."

  "He knew I would come. His assassins ambushed me. I survived, but then I knew. I knew." He lowered his head. "He had her. She was his prisoner. His victim." His face contorted terribly. "And I was the one who had brought her to Kandahar in the first place."

  Now Mirabar knew. Now she understood what had driven Baran mad. Now she realized how the demon inside him had been born and taken control of his soul. "And Kandahar is impregnable."

  "I tried." He covered his tormented face with his hands as he spoke. "I was very talented, and I already had some skill. But nothing worked. I couldn't breach Kandahar. Couldn't get to Alcinar or help her. Couldn't kill Kiloran or stop what he was assuredly doing to her night after night... after night..."

  Horrified, Mirabar was starting to wish she had never asked, had never pursued this subject.

  "I offered him anything," Baran continued. "Everything. My life. My family's wealth. The lives of other people. I'd have gone to Valda itself and brought back Emperor Jarell's head if it would have saved Alcinar."

  "But Kiloran didn't want anything except her," Mirabar guessed.

  "Oh, he wanted one thing," Baran said. "My life. And I'd have given it up gladly. I wanted to die. But not before saving her from him. I wasn't going to let him kill me so he could go on raping her in peace and safety for the rest of his life."

  "How did you find out she was dead?"

  "He told me. In a letter. Of course, I didn't believe him at first. For months, I... I believed she was still alive and he just wanted me to give up trying to get her back." He took a few shaky breaths. "Finally, though, I knew it was true. Kiloran chose another mistress and brought her to Kandahar."

  He paused for a moment before continuing, more calmly, "I had already killed more than twenty of his men, including all the most trusted ones. Of those left alive after that, none whom I captured or interrogated even knew Alcinar's name when I asked about her."

  Mirabar briefly wondered where Najdan had been throughout all this. He would have told her if he knew about Baran's brief apprenticeship under Kiloran, or Kiloran's capture of Baran's wife. She supposed that, whatever Najdan had been doing during those months, he had been nowhere near Kandahar. She knew that, throughout his twenty years in Kiloran's service, he was capable enough and trusted enough to work far from Kiloran's supervision for long periods of time. And given how things had turned out at Kandahar, she supposed that after Alcinar died, anyone left alive who knew about these events was too afraid of Kiloran's wrath to gossip about them.

  Baran added, "Even assassins who betrayed Kiloran for generous bribes, now and then, assured me that his new mistress was the only woman at Kandahar. Yes, there had briefly been another woman before her, one assassin told me, but no one knew what had happened to her."

  "Alcinar."

  "I later realized that she had probably died well before Kiloran told me about it. And I think he only told me because he hoped it would make me reckless, impetuous, even crazier with rage and bloodlust."

  "So that you'd do something careless or stupid," Mirabar said, "and be easier to kill."

  "I surprised him, though, just as I've been surprising him ever since."

  Baran might be educated and worldly, but he was still a Silerian. Mirabar surmised, "Vengeance gave you something to live for."

  "Exactly so." He lifted his head, clearly trying to shake off the horrifying memories. "So I disappeared. He undoubtedly began to hope I had killed myself."

  "And you eventually came to Belitar."

  "Yes. Where my destiny unfolded. As yours will, too."

  "There's something here," Mirabar murmured. She would have mistaken it for Baran's strength, his power, had she not already discovered how quickly that was fading.

  "Ahhh..." He nodded. "I wondered if you'd feel it."

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Are you afraid?"

  "I'm not sure," she admitted.

  "Well, I was," he confessed, surprising her again. "But I had nothing left to lose, and I was desperate. Desperate enough to come to this gloomy, haunted ruin."

  "Why?" she asked. "Why did you come in the first place?"

  "This was the seat of Harlon's power, who was once almost as great as Kiloran, and who fought the Valdani to a standstill for years." Baran hesitated, then added, "And long before that, this was Marjan's home."

  "Marjan," she breathed. "The first waterlord, who betrayed and murdered Daurion, the last Yahrdan."

  "So they do teach Guardians history?"

  "Then Marjan really did live here, that's not just a tale?" she asked.

  "He really lived here. A thousand years ago."

  "And you wanted whatever it was that Marjan and Harlon had found here. Whatever had bolstered their strength."

  "Yes. I wanted that. I came here looking for it, believing in it. I braved the ghosts and the fog and the damp. And I remained here even after, like you, I realized there was something here. Something very strong. Maybe stronger than me." Baran met her gaze. "I'd have done things which frightened me far more than that, in order to avenge Alcinar."

  And he had become far worse things, she realized, than he had ever imagined.

  She thought of Elelar, thought of the vengeance she wanted against the torena for betraying Josarian. She looked at Baran... and saw where the lust for revenge could lead a person. Especially someone as gifted and powerful as Baran. Someone like herself.

  Baran studied her expression. "I've upset you," he said apologetically.

  Mirabar wanted to get away from him. "It's late." She rose to her feet, as eager to escape as if his bloodlust, his insanity, were contagious.

  His gaze sharpened, assessing her mood. "You're not going to invite me to share your bed tonight, are you?" He glanced down and added, "Even though you've destroyed mine."

  "There must be other beds in this vast place. Besides," she pointed out, "you said you were tired."

  "I was, but now I don't think I'll sleep anytime soon. Not after this conversation. So perhaps you and I could... comfort each other for a while."

  Their gazes locked.

  She was afraid of him again. More so, perhaps, because now his eyes urged her to remember he could be kind, could even give her pleasure. And she didn't want to be that close to him again, lest his sickened soul somehow infect her own struggling one.

  Mirabar shook her head slowly. "Not tonight. I'm..."

  "You've made sure I don't want to be alone tonight," he murmured, his eyes taking on a dark glow. "And you are my wife."

  She didn't want to be alone tonight, either; but her husband wasn't the man whose company she wanted now. Torn between fear and duty, tormented by what she wanted and couldn't have, she felt herself starting to tremble.

  "Come, sirana," Baran coaxed, his voice growing seductive. "Why not share a little human warmth on a night when we both find ourselves in need of it?"

  "I don't—"

  "Don't you?" he challenged.

  Mirabar stared at him in tumultuous silence, no longer entirely sure she wanted to say no, yet also afraid of what he might do if she tried to leave now.


  There was a knock at the door, dissolving the moment.

  Baran sighed and called, "Come in."

  Velikar entered the room, holding a cup of some smelly brew. She froze when she saw the bed, then whirled on Mirabar. "What have you done to the siran?" she demanded.

  "Our first marital spat," Mirabar said.

  Velikar began, "You mustn't—"

  "It's all right, Sister," Baran interrupted. "I knew I was marrying a spirited..." He glanced at some floating cinders and amended, "Er, fiery woman."

  Velikar said, "It's a disgrace, siran!"

  Baran took the tisane from her. "Velikar, would you be so kind as to find me a fresh bed for the night while I..." He peered into the cup and grimaced. "While I attempt to choke this down without dying on the spot."

  "I don't want to leave you alone with this wild arsonist!" Velikar protested.

  Mirabar rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I'm leaving."

  Velikar shook her head, "How the two of you ever thought you could make marriage work..."

  "Now Velikar," Baran said. "Any half-wit can get a child, and I'm sure the sirana and I will work that out before long. As to the marriage itself... Well, I trust I've given my wife rather welcome news tonight."

  "That all depends, Baran," Mirabar said from the doorway. "If you die before we can defeat Kiloran..." She shook her head, depressed and worried. "Tansen was counting on you. We're not sure anyone but a strong waterlord can stop him."

  "Well then," he said. "We'd better get serious about that child, hadn't we?"

  She met his gaze. A wary acceptance unfurled within her; a need, like his, for comfort in the dark. The kind of comfort he had already shown her he knew how to give.

  "Oh, very well," she said with ill grace, though she was now more nervous than reluctant or afraid. "I suppose you had better stay with me tonight."

  Yes, he had changed her mind. Water magic was not his only gift.

  "My dear!" Baran grinned. "Far be it from me to reject my eager bride." He raised his cup and added, "I'll be there shortly."