In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  "Surely you know it's an old Silerian custom," the impertinent shallah replied. "It's how the Society keep themselves in luxury when tribute is slow in coming."

  It was indeed an old custom among these wild people. Even now, with the pressure the Emperor had brought to bear upon the Society, it was still not uncommon for toreni and wealthy merchants—Valdani, Silerian, and foreign—to be abducted by the Society, held until a ransom was paid, and murdered if it was not. Indeed, the custom was so firmly established that many potential victims paid a ransom upon receiving a message suggesting that if they paid a preemptive sum now, then the Society wouldn't be forced to go through with the actual abduction. And the implicit threat was no bluff; anyone who refused to pay was abducted. But Myrell had never heard of a mere shallah attempting an abduction.

  "Who helped you abduct Toren Porsall?" Myrell asked.

  "I didn't need help. Any more than I needed help to get into his bedchamber and steal his gold."

  "Josarian," Myrell said with conviction.

  "No one but me knows where Porsall is, Myrell. If you kill me now, he'll die where I've left him. And it will be your fault."

  "I will not be held responsible for—"

  "Won't you? After all, I've just explained the situation to you in front of many witnesses."

  "I demand proof of this ridiculous claim!"

  "I thought you'd say that." Advising the thirty archers aiming right at him not to be nervous, Josarian unfolded a small bundle he'd been carrying and held it up.

  Myrell stared in perplexity for a moment before saying, "A bloodstained tunic? That's your proof?" His tone was scathing, but he was shaken.

  "Porsall's tunic." Josarian lowered the shirt and examined it himself. "Too bad about the blood, but he was a little difficult to abduct, I'm afraid."

  "I want to examine that tunic!"

  "By all means, Captain. Would you like to come out here and join me?"

  Myrell ignored the jibe and ordered a detachment of eight men to ride out of the gate to collect the tunic for examination.

  Tansen watched four Outlookers ride back into the fortress, carrying his once-immaculate Moorlander tunic with them. Besides being dusty and mended, it was now liberally stained with blood from the wound he'd re-opened on his left palm: a little something to reinforce the fiction of Porsall's violent capture.

  The other four mounted Outlookers remained with him. He had strapped his sword harness to his bare torso beneath the humble tunic he now wore. He had readjusted it so that both swords were sheathed against his back, the lump of their hilts concealed by his shaggy hair.

  Now he just had to stall long enough to give Josarian the time he needed. When the fortress gate re-opened to admit the four Outlookers carrying the tunic, he was encouraged by what he glimpsed within; a considerable number of men seemed to be preparing for his capture.

  After examining the tunic, Myrell called down, "This is Moorlander workmanship, shallah! Do you take me for a fool?"

  "Moorlander? Really?" Tansen said. "Does that matter?"

  "Do you seriously expect me to believe it belonged to a Valdani toren?"

  "I wouldn't know about the fashions worn by Valdani aristocrats, Captain," Tansen called back. "But since the toren gets all of his horses from the Moorlands, perhaps he favors their garments, too."

  Myrell paused to consult with someone, then shouted down, "You'll have to do better than this, Josarian!"

  "Perhaps you should send some men to Porsall's estate to confirm that he's missing," Tansen suggested.

  "It's nearly dark," Myrell pointed out with open irritation. "It would take my men half the night to get there."

  "That's hardly my fault."

  "All of this is your fault!"

  Tansen grinned. Counting the minutes, he judged it time to make his move. "I'll come back tomorrow, Myrell, and hope that you're prepared to be more reasonable then."

  "You're not going anywhere!" Myrell screamed down to the Outlookers surrounding Tansen, "Stop him!"

  Tansen moved to keep the mounted Outlookers between himself and the archers on the ramparts. Using the speed he'd spent years developing, he reached behind his head and inside the loose collar of his tunic to unsheathe his swords. He killed one Valdan with a quick slit of the throat, then dispatched another with an upward thrust through the belly and into vital organs before the remaining two Outlookers realized what was happening.

  Then, enacting the part of the plan that he really hated, he swung himself up onto one of the horses in full view of thirty archers, urging it into a gallop before he was more than halfway mounted. The sickening whine of arrows hummed all around him as he rode away from the fortress at top speed. The fletching of one arrow brushed past his cheek. He lay against the horse's neck, hearing the pounding hoofbeats of the two Outlookers who followed close upon his heels. One of the archers had the wit to aim for the horse, and the beast squealed and faltered as an arrow pierced its hindquarters. Tansen shouted and ruthlessly walloped it with one of his swords, desperate to keep it running until he was out of range of the archers. If that arrow was poisoned, he had only a few moments left.

  Sure enough, the horse began staggering just a few strides later. A dose of poison meant to kill or disable a man might not kill the horse—or at least not quickly—but the animal couldn't keep functioning. Hoping they were far enough away from the fortress by now, Tansen tugged on the reins, slid from the horse's back, and turned to confront the two Outlookers who were in hot pursuit. One of them cried out and fell when a stray arrow took him in the back; his horse kept running.

  Tansen estimated that he was now far enough from the fortress that only bad luck would make him the victim of an arrow at this range. Unfortunately, he believed in bad luck.

  He couldn't wound the oncoming horse of the remaining Outlooker, since he'd need it to escape from the mounted Valdani now pouring out of the fortress. He stood his ground, ducking the Outlooker's attack and letting him live to make another one, and another one after that. When he thought the horse had slowed down enough that he had a good chance of catching its reins when he killed its rider, he made his move. A deep slash across the Outlooker's sword-wielding wrist disarmed the man, and a quick thrust tumbled him from the horse. Tansen mounted the animal and, turning to make sure that the Outlookers wouldn't lose sight of him, he headed for the escape route he and Josarian had plotted out last night.

  Josarian had climbed the far northern wall of the fortress and crept across the roof of the barracks while Tansen had stood talking outside the fortress gate, keeping the attention of most of the Outlookers firmly fixed there. He'd then managed to sneak into the garish little Shrine of the Three where he'd forced a Valdani priest to tell him where the shallaheen were being kept. Then, with the ruthlessness that had been born in him the night he'd become an outlaw, he strangled the sobbing priest with his yahr rather than risk discovery.

  After stealing the priest's robe and concealing the body, he hid inside the shrine, waiting for the crowded fortress to empty out when the Outlookers pursued Tansen through the mountains and straight into the deadly trap he had chosen the night before: a long-forgotten Kintish quarry, abandoned centuries ago. Dozens of men galloping straight into that after sunset were not likely to survive. Josarian just hoped Tansen would be able to direct his own mount into the concealed hiding place they had constructed near the pit last night. Who was to say that a horse—fear-maddened, confused, and painfully stupid—wouldn't ignore its rider's commands and plunge straight ahead to certain death?

  However, Tansen insisted that he had learned a great deal about horsemanship from the Moorlanders and wasn't worried about that aspect of the plan. Tan thought he was a lot more likely to be killed by Valdani archers. If that happened, he had warned Josarian, the only chance to free the hostages would be while the Outlookers were swarming all over his corpse, and it wouldn't be a particularly good chance.

  Although locals estimated that half the Outlooker
s posted to this fortress were currently searching the countryside for Josarian, there were still nearly one hundred men inside the compound. That was far too many for Tansen and Josarian to fight. Nor could the two of them sneak the prisoners past such high walls and so many men. So they had hit upon a plan to make most of the Outlookers leave the fortress—by convincing them they were chasing Josarian, the solitary outlaw who was considered the only threat to this stronghold. Since Josarian didn't know how to ride a horse, and since the hostages were unlikely to respond with alacrity if freed and ordered to fight by the roshah who had come to Emeldar announcing he intended to kill Josarian, Tansen would have to pose as Josarian at the gates of the fortress.

  They had studied the fortress and the surrounding area for a full day before developing their plan. If Josarian could free the twenty hostages, he estimated that the shallaheen would still be outnumbered by two-to-one even after Myrell ordered the majority of his men to go out in pursuit of the man he believed was Josarian. Those were bad odds for unarmed men, but the best odds that could be offered by two men attempting to attack a Valdani fortress.

  Hiding inside the shrine, Josarian heard the sudden commotion outside: shouting, orders, swords rattling. Tansen had made his move. Josarian risked peeking outside. Judging by the speed with which the Outlookers were racing around, buckling on their sword belts, shouting for their horses, and galloping out of the main gate, it seemed that Tansen had escaped the archers. Josarian said a brief prayer of thanks; no one wanted to lose a brother so soon after gaining him. Then he donned the hooded robe of the Valdani priest and slipped outside.

  The hostages were being kept in a dungeon beneath the guarded command chambers. Never having seen the interior of the fortress, Josarian and Tansen had reluctantly concluded that once Josarian was inside, he'd have to rely on quick-thinking and whatever luck came his way. Now, as chaos reigned all around the command center, Josarian, dressed as the hooded priest, walked right past guards who were too confused and excited to pay any attention to him.

  Once inside the building, he avoided speaking to anyone; his Valdan wasn't bad, but he definitely didn't sound like a native speaker, let alone an educated priest. He descended the steep, winding stone stairs described by the priest, going deep into the underground chambers carved out of solid rock. Two guards stood at the end of the passageway at the bottom of the stairs. There was a locked wood-and-iron gate behind them, and beyond that lay the prison cells. Even had the priest not described everything for him, Josarian would have known he was approaching the dungeon now; the stench of sweat, urine, excrement, and centuries of human misery filled the air down here.

  He saw the iron keys to the heavy gate and the prison cells hanging on the wall, just as the priest had said they would be. He decided that with all the noise overhead, no one would hear what happened way down here.

  Josarian walked towards the guards. At the very moment that they realized there was something strange about him and grew alert, he pulled a yahr out of each voluminous sleeve of the robe and attacked. He struck the nearest guard across the face, momentarily disabling him. He used the moment to break the other Outlooker's wrist while the man was drawing his sword. He turned and killed the first one with two skull-shattering blows, then tripped the second one as he attempted to run away. Josarian picked up the Valdan's fallen sword and, handling it awkwardly, slit his throat.

  Swords. Tansen had told him—had fiercely insisted—that since he couldn't smuggle twenty yahr into the fortress, he and the hostages would have to fight with any weapons they could take away from the Outlookers.

  Swords. He looked down at the Valdani blade in his bloodstained hand. It felt heavy, strange, and clumsy, but... by Dar, he had never known how easy it was to kill a man with a sword! Silerians were only permitted to own bladed tools such as skinning knives, axes, and sickles. Neither Josarian nor any Silerian he knew—except Tansen—had ever even touched a sword, let alone wielded one to kill someone. No wonder the Valdani had disarmed Sileria after conquering it! They could never have so thoroughly subdued a people armed with such weapons.

  Heart pounding, he picked up the other dead man's sword, grabbed the heavy key ring on the wall, and chose the key most likely to fit the elaborate lock on the gate. He unlocked it, hung back for a moment in case there were more guards on the other side, then rushed into the dank corridor lined by prison cells. It was illuminated only by two heavily smoking lanterns, one at each end of the corridor.

  His brother-in-law Emelen was the first man to peer through a tiny iron grid in one of the doors to see who had entered their domain. "Josarian!"

  "Josarian?" said a muffled voice behind Emelen.

  "Where?" came a voice through the grid on the door facing Emelen's.

  "Josarian!" someone cried further down the corridor.

  "Quiet," he ordered as more familiar faces pressed up against the tiny grid of each of the dungeon's six heavy prison doors. Horror engulfed him at the thought of his friends and relatives enduring the past few days in this sunless, airless, fetid hole. He started pushing keys into the first lock, desperate to get the men out of here, even if only to die in the open air as they attempted to escape the fortress. "I don't want the Valdani to hear us. We haven't much ti— Ah!"

  The lock turned, the door opened, and Emelen and two other men poured out of the cell. Josarian handed Emelen one of the swords, picked it up when his bewildered brother-in-law dropped it, and ordered him to use it. Then he gave his two yahr to the two other men and started unlocking the next door.

  "Keep an eye out!" he ordered. "If any Outlookers come down those stairs, let them come all the way down, then take them by surprise. Kill them and take their weapons. Take their swords."

  Attempting to swing the sword like a yahr, Emelen nodded and led the other two armed men down the dark passageway. Three more prisoners burst free from a cell as Josarian unlocked the door. They spread his instructions from cell to cell as Josarian attacked the next lock with his keys.

  "Lann," he said, upon freeing a boyhood friend, "make sure everyone knows the plan. We kill everyone upstairs first, get as many weapons as we can before we go outside. That's important: Get their weapons and use them. Do you understand me? And the archers are still up on the ramparts and will fire when they realize we've escaped, so watch out for them!"

  "Right, Josarian!"

  Another door opened. Josarian moved on to the next one. "Set the supply building on fire. Set everything that can burn on fire—give them plenty to worry about besides us."

  He opened another door. More men poured into the corridor. Josarian finished in a rush, "As you leave the fortress, go off in all directions, no more than two or three men at a time. Make them split up to chase us. Don't go home, it's the first place they'll look. We'll all meet tomorrow night at the Dalishar Caves." It was an ancient holy site, famous among Silerians; even hunted men who'd never been there before should be able to reach it by this time tomorrow.

  He unlocked the final cell and was shocked by what he found there.

  "Zim!" His cousin's pretty face was bruised and battered, his tunic was torn and covered in dried blood, and he held his left arm at an awkward angle. "Zimran..."

  One of Zimran's eyes was swollen shut, but the other sparkled with excitement. "What took you so long, cousin? I was supposed to meet a lady two days ago."

  Tansen had never liked relying on horses when his life was at stake, but this one was holding up well. If he lived, maybe he'd even keep it. He led the Outlookers through a series of winding passes, some of them quite steep with sheer drops on one side. As sunset turned to night, he slowed his pace accordingly so that he wouldn't lose the Valdani who followed him.

  A scream in the distance made him suppose that some Outlooker's horse had misstepped and sent him hurtling to his death. That made one less whom Tansen had to kill.

  He wondered if Josarian had succeeded in freeing the hostages—and if he were even still alive. Their plan lacked
precision. They were too uncertain of what lay beyond the high, forbidding walls of the Valdani fortress. A better plan would have been for Josarian, who knew these mountains so intimately, to lead the Valdani on this chase while Tansen, who was more likely to survive close combat with so many Outlookers, infiltrated the fortress, but the circumstances made such a plan impossible. Now he could only carry out his part of the scheme and hope that his bloodbrother—his friend, he realized with surprise—survived. He wouldn't know until he reached the Dalishar Caves.

  He continued following the path Josarian had guided him over last night, keeping an eye out for the landmarks his friend had pointed out for him to memorize. Numerous trails and paths intersected, criss-crossed, and paralleled each other along this route; choosing the wrong one at any moment would mean he'd miss the abandoned Kintish quarry and fail to execute the plan. If the Outlookers following him caught him or else gave up and turned back, then they would be free to pursue the escaped hostages upon returning to the fortress and learning what had happened there. The fewer Outlookers who were searching for them, the better chance the shallaheen had of disappearing and reaching safety.

  If Tansen made a mistake and missed the quarry, he could still elude a pack of clumsy Valdani in the mountains after dark, but he would let down Josarian and the hostages.

  These thoughts weighed heavily on his mind as he reached a three-way fork in the path that he was sure hadn't been there the night before.

  Which way? he wondered, hearing the Outlookers behind him.

  Stay calm. Think it through. A shatai was cool in combat, clear-headed in danger, free of emotions that shackled lesser men to failure and death.

  The path looked wholly unfamiliar. Had he taken a wrong turn earlier? Surely Josarian wouldn't have failed to point out this three-way junction to him. Surely he himself wouldn't have overlooked it last night. What was wrong? Why didn't he know which way to go?

  Which way, damn it?