The White Dragon (103 page)

Baran saw the bright cloud of Mirabar's volcanic hair as she reached the open door, then she grunted as Najdan elbowed her aside and entered the Sanctuary.

Najdan saw Baran, made a wordlessly vicious noise, drew his
shir
, and leaped forward.

"We're in Sanctuary," Baran protested mildly.

Najdan stopped as if he'd been frozen on the spot. He stared at Baran with a fierce, glowering expression. "What are you doing here?"

Mirabar saw Baran and gasped. He looked from Najdan to her. Those eerie Dar-blessed eyes were wide open in her sun-kissed face. She was, as he recalled, rather pretty in her Otherworldly way. A little small, perhaps, but then many
shallaheen
were; they usually didn't get much to eat as children, and she had probably gotten less than most.

"What a pleasure to see you again," Baran said politely. "Was your journey successful?"

"No," she answered absently, staring at him. Then she realized what she had said and blinked. "I mean—"

"Too late," he chided.
 

"What are you doing here?" Najdan repeated, still poised for attack.

"Tansen sent Velikar to me as an emissary," said Baran. "But I thought to myself, really, why should we all speak through intermediaries?"

"Because we don't trust each other?" Mirabar suggested.

"And how can we foster trust if we don't speak face to face?" Baran countered.

"Where's Velikar?" Najdan growled. "What have you done with her?"

"I don't think I like your tone," Baran pouted. "Surely you're not suggesting that I would harm a Sister?"

"Where's Velikar?" Mirabar snapped.

"Out gathering... something or other," Baran replied. "We only arrived yesterday, so there's a great deal for her to catch up on."

"Velikar only got back...
We?
" Mirabar frowned. "She's been with you at Belitar all this time?"

"I'm every bit as capable of hospitality as the next murderous sorcerer, you know."

The one they called Pyron hesitantly approached the door again, armed with a Valdani sword now. From the far side of the threshold, he asked his companions, "Has he killed you? Has he killed Velikar? Is he alone? What should we do?"

Najdan snapped over his shoulder, "You could start by calming down."

"Good advice," Baran agreed.

"Shut up," said Najdan.

"I thought you wanted my friendship," Baran admonished.

Najdan's jaw worked. He took a steadying breath and said, "
Sirana?
"

Mirabar took a deep breath, too. It delighted Baran to see how afraid of him they were. Ah, there were still some good things left in life.

"Yes," Mirabar said, composing herself. "We want to talk to you face to face, and we want your friendship. We're just a little... surprised to come upon you so suddenly, without warning."

"I'd have written," Baran said, "but you're all illiterate."

"And we'd be more polite," Pyron said, "but you're crazy."

"Wait outside," Mirabar ordered Pyron.

"I
am
outside."

Baran shook his head in wonder. "These are the forces that hope to defeat Kiloran?"

Najdan's expression got darker. "
Sirana
, if we kill him n—"

"This is Sanctuary!" she reminded the assassin.

Najdan looked ashamed, but Baran said, "There's a first time for everything."

"Not for this," Mirabar said.
 

She approached the assassin and placed a hand on his arm. Baran noticed how Najdan's
shir
, already trembling from Mirabar's presence, shook even harder when she got that close to it. Najdan, however, seemed quite accustomed to the phenomenon.

"Najdan," she murmured, "I'd like to speak alone with him."

Baran said apologetically to Mirabar, "I'm making him agitated, aren't I? I seem to have that effect on some people."

"You have that effect on everyone," Najdan said, his tone unflattering.

Baran shrugged. "I can't understand it, myself."

Mirabar ignored him and said, "Najdan, please."

"No," the assassin replied.

"It's Sanctuary," she reminded him again. "What can he do?"

"I don't know," Najdan said. "But I know
him
."

Baran objected, "I hardly think that your killing a number of my men over the years qualifies as a social acquaintance."

Mirabar said to Najdan, "I'm not helpless, and he knows it."

Baran added, "In fact, I find it your most enchanting quality,
sirana
."

Najdan stepped forward, raised his shaking
shir
, and touched the fine fabric of Baran's clothing with it. Baran clenched his teeth but gave no outward sign of how powerfully, bitterly cold he found the
shir
which Kiloran had made so long ago for the assassin whom he would one day lose to Mirabar.

Najdan's voice was low and deadly as he ordered, "You will show the
sirana
respect."

"Always," Baran assured him.

"If you even insult her, never mind hurt her—"

"Yes, yes," Baran said, steeling himself to show no pain when he placed a hand on Najdan's wavy-edged blade and pushed it aside.
Damn,
that would hurt for days. But it was worth it. Najdan looked surprised and Mirabar looked impressed. "I understand the terms. Now, can I be left alone with the
sirana?
I have a matter of some delicacy to discuss with her."

He watched Najdan and Mirabar exchange a glance, and he recognized what he suspected Kiloran would never realize, because Kiloran could never accept it: There was great devotion between those two; an assassin and a Guardian.

Baran pondered the ramifications of the relationship as he watched the assassin head for the door to wait outside. Thinking of Vinn, he realized that this could make things even stickier; the prospect amused him.

When the door closed behind Najdan, Mirabar turned to face Baran, her glowing eyes wary and watchful. He didn't know her well, but he had met with her often enough to know she was a direct woman, impatient with implication and inference, so he got right to the point.

"To oppose Kiloran is unhealthy," he said.
 

"Yet you've survived this long."

"Longer than Josarian, certainly, who was even betrayed by his own."

She flinched. "You mean Zimran?"

His interest sharpened. "Who else might I mean,
sirana?
"

She recovered. "I can never tell, with you."

He smiled,
very
interested now. "Ah. So Zimran wasn't the only one of Josarian's people plotting against him."

"Did you come here just to discuss Josarian's death?" But her face darkened, and he knew he was right.

"Let me guess: the Alliance?" He watched her sink slowly onto a bench, staring at him as if
he
were the demonic one. Seeing that he was right, but also that she wouldn't supply the specifics, Baran shook his head. "Well, what did you expect?
Toreni
, wealthy merchants—people with something to lose. People who had dealt with Kiloran for years before Josarian came along to steal everyone's thunder." He considered this and mused aloud, "And who in the Alliance had the most influence over Zimran? Could it be the
torena
who was sharing his bed?" He grinned when Mirabar's expression revealed he'd guessed the truth. "Ahhhh... She is an interesting woman, isn't she,
sirana?
"

"What do you want?" Mirabar asked suspiciously.

"Oh, what everyone wants, of course," he said, letting her change the subject. "To resurrect my loved ones, to correct the mistakes that blighted my youth, to—"

"To drink Kiloran's blood from his own skull."

He made a face. "Do you take me for some Moorlander savage? I'd be quite content just to see him dead."

"No," she said. "I think you want to see him suffer first."

Baran shook his head. "I've seen him suffer. The satisfaction is modest and fleeting. He doesn't suffer like other people. You might say he's just not good at it."

"And do you suffer well?" she asked, watching him with those glowing eyes.

"
Sirana
, I suffer so well, they say it drove me mad."

"And he's the one who made you suffer," Mirabar guessed. When Baran didn't deny it, she asked, "So you will join us now? Because you want him dead and believe this is the way to accomplish it?"

"Yes," he said. "But only if I get what I want, in return."

"Kiloran's death is not enough?"

"It would be," said Baran. "But you can't guarantee it."

"What
can
I guarantee that will satisfy you?" Something about the way she said it gave him hope, made him believe that she was willing to do almost anything to win him to her cause.

He sat down next to her and felt her go tense. When he took her hand, she tried to pull it away. He held onto it, and her eyes glowed almost yellow with astonishment as she realized what he wanted even before he said it.

"You could guarantee me the future, in case we fail now," said Baran. "Give me a child."

She looked ready to jump out of her own skin. "A child?" she repeated, her voice scarcely audible.

"Think of it, Mirabar—may I call you Mirabar?" he asked solicitously.

"Oh, stop it." Her reply was too breathless to carry the snap she had intended.

 
"Think how strong, how powerful a child of ours would be," he said. "If we don't survive, then this child would be Sileria's future, Sileria's hope—"

"Your hope. For vengeance." But her protest sounded weak.

"Which, as it happens, coincides with your hope of freeing Sileria from Kiloran."

"But you are of the Honored Society, and I'm—"

"Times change," he said philosophically.

"How do I know times won't changes
back
as soon as Kiloran is dead?"

"Marriage means something even to me, Mirabar. I wouldn't kill my own—"

"Marriage?" she blurted.

"Surely you don't imagine I was proposing to dishonor you? Or that I want our child to be a bastard?"

She looked dizzy. "You want me to marry you and give you—"

"A child of fire," he whispered. "A child of water."

Tears welled up in her eyes, surprising him.
 

Baran asked gently, "Is the thought that repellent to you?"

"Fire and water..." She kept staring at him, those golden eyes dazed and glistening.

"Yes. You and I can do what no one in Sileria has ever done, what no one has even thought of doing."

"Belitar..."

He nodded. "There are things there that you should know about. That perhaps only you can fully appreciate." Baran paused and then added, enjoying the tumult he envisioned, "Najdan can come with you."

"A child of water. A child of fire." Mirabar looked at him, waiting, as if expecting him to say more.

"I can shield you from Kiloran."

"Shield me..." She placed her hand over her belly and held it there, her face lost in thought.

"Yes. We can shield each other."

"Shield him," she murmured. "Welcome him. Welcome your fate."

"I beg your pardon?" he said.

She came to a decision. Banished the dazed look from her face. Met his gaze. And vowed, "I'll do it."

Chapter Thirty-Eight

All joy is born in sorrow and suffering.

      
      
      
      
      
—Silerian Proverb