In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  The many hundreds of red-domed buildings left behind by centuries of Kintish rule pleased the eye, weaving brilliant splashes of vivid color through the stone city when viewed from this distance. And although Josarian hated the Valdani with a passion that never abated, he could not deny the beauty of the vast, ornately decorated Valdani palaces that Tansen pointed out to him from their vantage point.

  "What are all of those shacks and tents outside the city walls?" he asked his friend.

  "Shanties," Tansen replied. "The dwellings of people who've come to the city looking for work."

  "Shallaheen?"

  "Shallaheen, lowlanders, runaways, petty thieves, prostitutes, lunatics, escaped galley slaves from ships that docked here or foundered off shore... The poorest of the poor." Tansen gazed at the hovels huddling beneath Sileria's brassy sun for a moment before adding, "The Valdani clean them all out of there every so often, chasing them away and burning down the shanties. A few days later, those that survive start putting up shacks and tents near some other part of the city's walls."

  "They should never have left the mountains," Josarian said, looking at the slum sorrowfully. "That is no place for a shallah."

  "I don't think many of them come by choice."

  "And perhaps now you'll tell me why we are coming here. I've asked you before and gotten no answer. You've been sulking ever since we left Dalishar."

  "I do not sulk."

  Josarian grinned, pleased to see him looking offended. "Oh, I've had plenty of time these past few days to study your mood, and sulking is precisely what you've been doing. It got worse after I caught you trying to sneak off without me the other night."

  "I told you not to come," Tansen said irritably.

  "I told you not to try leaving me behind. I go wherever you go, even if you choose to be worse company than a wounded mountain cat."

  "Don't force your company on me and then have the gall to complain about my mood," Tansen grumbled.

  Without waiting for a reply, he started scrambling down the mountain. However, Josarian noticed that, once they reached the main road, Tansen seemed to have made some peace with his situation. He wasn't exactly affable, but at least he stopped sulking.

  Knowing they would reach the city gates today, they had hidden their weapons beneath their loose shallah clothing. The weight of Josarian's stolen Outlooker sword and its sheath were strapped to his back beneath his long, homespun tunic, his hair discreetly covering the lump of the hilt. Since it would take him a long time to get used that weapon, he also wore his yahr tucked unobtrusively in his boot.

  Considering how many swords and daggers they had stolen from Outlookers recently, they hadn't been surprised to hear that everyone entering the walls of Cavasar was being subjected to a thorough search. However, they had so far confined their bloodfeud to that district, and the Valdani were nothing if not arrogant. Consequently, Tansen had said it was unlikely that Outlookers were conducting body-searches at the gates of Shaljir, which was far from the fighting.

  Upon reaching the walls of Sileria's capital city, Josarian and Tansen were surrounded there by traveling merchants, foreign traders, and toreni coming and going through the gate in a noisy ebb and flow. Some of their retinues were amazingly large, including servants, horses, companions, household goods packed into carts, and fabulous quantities of luxuries and exotic goods which gleamed in the sunshine or spiced the air.

  One foreign man mounted on a fine horse led a group of a dozen Moorlander women, who all walked behind him in single file. Josarian had only ever seen a few, and he stared in fascination at their long, fair hair and the intricate tattoos so prized by their people. Their pale skin was already growing pink under a sky more fiercely blue than their native one. They were tall, robust women in fine health, yet their exotic blue and green eyes were dull, and their strong shoulders sagged dispiritedly. Josarian realized with shock that they were tied together; a long, thick rope wove through an iron waistband worn by each woman, linking one to another, and binding all of them to the rider who led them down the road. Four well-armed guards—Valdani mainland soldiers, a rare sight here in their red-and-gray uniforms—flanked the female prisoners, their expressions tough and forbidding.

  Josarian looked to Tansen for an explanation.

  "Slaves," he said briefly. "The spoils of victory from some battle in the Moorlands, or perhaps just captives seized by a rival tribe and handed over to the Valdani in exchange for more land."

  Josarian turned to watch the women as they walked down the road, away from the city. "But... why are they here in Sileria? Where are they going?"

  "Most likely, they're being taken to fill Valdani brothels in the south." He met Josarian's appalled gaze. "They're a... a courtesy the Emperor grants his men, free of charge. Like the gray uniforms the Outlookers wear or the barracks they sleep in. The Valdani believe this practice prevents their men from brawling over a scarcity of women."

  "A courtesy..." Josarian couldn't think of what to say. "Those women..."

  Tansen glanced briefly over his shoulder at the retreating captives. "When the Moorlanders conquered Sileria, they raped, pillaged, and plundered. They enslaved thousands of our people, and they took unwilling wives from among our women. But Moorlanders seldom frequent prostitutes; it goes against their customs. Then the Kints, of course..." He shrugged. "Prostitution has been a specialized profession in Kinto for thousands of years. So the Kints brought their own women with them when they took Sileria from the Moorlanders."

  He led Josarian toward the crowd of people awaiting entrance to the city at the Adalian Gate. "But the Valdani have always used conquered women as prostitutes. Their brothels here are filled with women from other lands because they know Silerians won't pay any attention, whereas we'd never rest if those were our women dying of disease and exhaustion after a year or two of lying beneath grunting Outlookers."

  "I never knew." Josarian shook his head, staring blankly at the ground. Like any decent man, he had been raised to respect women. Yes, everyone knew about women who had no man to provide for them and, instead of becoming Sisters, made their living with their bodies. He'd even seen one or two, and he knew they were shunned and sneered at in public by the same men who brought them money or gifts in exchange for pleasure after dark. But he had never known about the monstrosities Tansen now revealed in a steady, quiet voice devoid of all expression. It struck him as even more disgusting than what went on in the mines of Alizar, where men were treated with appalling cruelty and where so many died without ever seeing the sky again.

  "Tan," he said suddenly, "how do you know about these things? Not just the Valdani brothels, but about what Kints and Moorlanders did here centuries before we were born?"

  Tansen's mouth curved slightly. "It's all written down. Everything that happened here. It's in scrolls and books and—"

  "Can you read?" Josarian asked in surprise.

  "Only in Kintish, and not very well at that," Tansen replied.

  "Then how—"

  "Someone who can read told me about it. All of this and much, much more. She taught me..." He seemed to fall into the memory for a moment. "And she made me want to learn more."

  "She?" Josarian asked.

  He could have sworn Tansen's face darkened with something like embarrassment, but the moment was too fleeting to be sure. "The woman I've come to Shaljir to find. The woman who can help me find..." He glanced around at the crowd and concluded discreetly, "Find the one I seek."

  "Really? And how does she know the one we seek?" Josarian asked.

  "Not here," Tansen muttered, indicating the bustling crowd.

  Josarian agreed it wasn't a good moment to discuss a delicate matter like their search for Kiloran. Instead, he contented himself with marveling at the sights, sounds, and smells of the most exotic place he had ever seen. To his relief, as Tansen had supposed, they were admitted into the city with little more than a cursory glance at the belongings they carried and a few disinterested questi
ons about their business here.

  "Is every street in Shaljir paved?" Josarian asked in amazement a little later as he followed Tansen through the city.

  "As far as I know."

  They walked a long way, and Josarian was too enthralled to ask where they were going. They crossed vast thoroughfares four times as wide as Emeldar's main road, and they passed at least three squares which he was sure were as big as his entire village. And the fountains. He had never imagined there were so many fountains anywhere in the world! Some were extravagantly beautiful, some old and crumbling, some strange and foreign-looking, and some positively indecent. Did no one feel embarrassed about collecting their water from a fountain where nude women carved in marble perched day after day in erotic poses? He grinned, thinking how Zimran would love this place.

  His astonishment deepened when Tansen advised him that many of the fine homes and ornate palaces they passed had their own private fountains, sometimes inside the house.

  "Are they waterlords?" Josarian whispered.

  Tansen laughed. "No. Just filthy rich. Valdani, toreni, Kints, merchants, a few pirates who've turned respectable."

  Apart from the splendor of the city itself, Josarian was captivated by its inhabitants. He had never seen such an extraordinary array of human beings, had never guessed how much variety there was in the world, let alone in his own land. Aristocrats rubbed elbows with foreign mercenaries and common beggars in the crowded streets. Acrobats, actors, and musicians filled the squares. Painters displayed their art outside of wealthy villas, trying to attract patrons. Exotic strangers from far-away lands brushed past shallaheen who had shorn their hair for city life. Well-groomed Silerian men swaggered through the streets with the unmistakable air of assassins; but here, in the stronghold of Valdani rule, they wore ordinary clothing and concealed their shir rather than risk arrest by displaying their loyalty to the outlawed Society. Wild-eyed zanareen sought recruits amidst the populace. Sisters welcomed the sick, wounded, and frightened into ancient Sanctuaries. And the sea-born folk went about their business with open disdain for anyone who was not one of them. At one point, Josarian nearly lost sight of Tansen, so enraptured was he by his first glimpse ever of a Kintish courtesan, the exquisite lines of her body draped in gilded veils which, though they covered her head-to-toe, seemed scarcely enough for decency.

  For the first time, he realized how narrow his own world was. Although he loved those merciless mountains and would never want to be away from them for long, part of him suddenly envied Tansen for the strange lands he had seen, the unimaginable worlds he had known, and even the sure way he now strode through the bustling streets of Shaljir.

  After some time, they came to a section of the city where the buildings huddled together around streets barely wide enough for two broad-shouldered men to walk together. Streets began twisting into and away from each other, dividing, multiplying, doubling around and back, going over or under other streets in a series of layers that had taken centuries to evolve. The odors here reflected the density of the population in this quarter and offended a nose long accustomed to fresh air.

  "When was the last time the wind got in here?" Josarian muttered, side-stepping a man he suspected was a thief.

  "Who knows?" Tansen smiled wryly. "Eons ago, I suppose. This is the oldest part of the city. Old beyond reckoning, beyond anyone's memory, beyond any written record."

  "And how does a shallah from Gamalan know Shaljir so well?"

  "I spent some time here, after my village was destroyed."

  "Why here? If you needed to go to a city, Liron would have much closer and more familiar to you."

  "The decision wasn't mine."

  Josarian recognized the tone and expression. Tansen didn't want to talk about it. As usual, Josarian persisted. "Whose decision was it?"

  "The one I was with."

  "And who was that? The woman?"

  "No. This was..." Tansen sighed and then said, "He was looking for the same man we're looking for."

  "Does everyone who wants him seek out this woman?"

  Tansen almost laughed. "No. That is, I doubt it very much. He and I weren't seeking her. We were seeking..."

  "Who? What?"

  Tansen looked around to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear. Then he answered quietly: "The Alliance."

  "An alliance." Mirabar frowned as she stared into the fire she had blown into life on some hillside. "A house of water..."

  She was aware of Basimar's gaze on her while she mumbled aloud to herself like some lunatic. Well, why not? It was a twin-moon night, two fat full moons glowing in the velvet sky; everyone knew that madness seized the weak-minded on such a night.

  Basimar gestured to the basket of food they had collected after Mirabar's Callings in some village that day. It was filled with bread, cheese, fruit, pickled vegetables, salty olives, wine, and the first almond milk of the season.

  "You must eat," Basimar insisted. "You taxed yourself hard in the village, and then you had another fit at sundown. You must replenish your strength, Mira."

  Mirabar continued muttering to herself. "An assassin linked to a Kintish symbol... a shir linked to—"

  "What did you say?"

  Mirabar jumped. She blinked stupidly at Basimar, who was looking at her with saucer-wide eyes.

  "I... I don't..." She faltered. "A shir linked to the Kints."

  "An assassin and a Kintish symbol and a shir and..." Basimar gripped her arm. "A Kint?"

  "I don't know." She drew the symbol again in the moonbright earth. "Another Guardian told me he believes this is a Kintish symbol." Seeing Basimar's perplexed frown, she asked, "Why? What's wrong? You told me you've never seen this before."

  "I haven't, and I wouldn't know a Kintish symbol from a sea gull."

  "But?" Mira prodded, hearing the confusion in the Sister's voice.

  "There is a man. A warrior. From Kinto."

  "What?" Mirabar sprang forward and grabbed Basimar by the shoulders. "Who? Have you seen him?"

  "No. No, I haven't."

  "How do you know about him?"

  "He came... he came to kill Josarian. He was hired by the Valdani."

  "No! Kill Josarian? No, that can't be!" Mirabar's heart pounded with excitement, her head ached with confusion. "A warrior come from Kinto! He's the one I want! I must find him!"

  "He... he fights at Josarian's side now," Basimar breathed.

  Mirabar shook her in frustration. "You just said he came to kill him! Make up your mind!"

  Her harshness brought tears to Basimar's eyes. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she apologized and released her death-grip on the woman's shoulders. She tried to moderate her voice as she asked for an explanation.

  The answers came haltingly, the process sorely trying what little patience she possessed. The story unraveled rather than weaving together. Basimar was confused and upset, and also trying to conceal her (prohibited) carnal relationship with Zimran, cousin of Josarian, from whom she had learned what she little she knew.

  Despite her creed, the Sister didn't really care that the stranger, a mysterious mercenary seeking Josarian, had killed her brother-in-law, a nasty boy who had grown up to become an assassin. Her description of the stranger's blades, which were covered with Kintish symbols, as well as the revelation that Kiloran had sworn a bloodvow against him, set Mirabar's blood on fire. She wanted to slap Basimar for her silliness! The days they had wasted wandering around these hills, all because Basimar, despite her constant chatter, had never bothered to mention that her shir-carrying brother-in-law had been killed by a Kintish warrior sought by Kiloran.

  "But... the stranger..." Basimar protested. "He didn't take the shir! In fact, they say it's still lying right where my brother-in-law fell."

  Mirabar rolled her eyes. Just how literal did the Sister think visions from the Otherworld were? "Never mind. So the stranger's search turned out to be just a trick, a trap, to get Josarian to reveal himself?"

  "Yes."
/>
  Mirabar wasn't quite sure what to make of succeeding events, since the story was colored by both Zimran's and Basimar's impressions. However, it was clear that Josarian trusted the warrior, who had been fighting at his side for some time now, an integral part of the growing band of men wreaking havoc on the district and making the Valdani frantic.

  "Why did you never mention this?" Mirabar snapped, abandoning her intention to treat Basimar with patience. "Why didn't you tell me—"

  "He's a roshah!" Basimar cried defensively. "You didn't say you were looking for a roshah! I thought you were looking for the Firebringer! How could a ro—"

  "Never mind." Mirabar silenced her with a dismissive gesture. "I must find him. I must see him."

  Basimar bit her lip and looked away.

  "Zimran told you so much..." Mirabar said slowly. "He must have told you where they're hiding."

  Basimar's face quivered with uncertainty. "I swore I wouldn't tell. I—"

  "They'd want you to tell me," Mirabar said firmly. "I am supposed to prepare the way for the warrior who will free Sileria." She still had no idea how, but this didn't seem the best moment to admit that. "Basimar—tell me."

  The Sister swallowed, then whispered, "The Dalishar Caves. That's where they're living."

  "Dalishar!" Mirabar sighed with relief.

  "You know where it is?"

  "Of course! It's a Guardian holy site. I was initiated there." She jumped to her feet and started gathering her few belongings.

  "What are you doing?"

  "We're leaving for Dalishar. Now."

  "We can't leave now, it's the middle of the n—"

  "If smugglers and bandits can travel beneath a twin-moon, then so can I." Mirabar bundled their food into her satchel and turned to leave. She glanced once over her shoulder and said absently, "Coming, Basimar?"

  Chapter Fourteen