In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  Najdan knew these people; he had been born among them, he had once been one of them. He knew that, by now, all but Josarian's own clan should be turning against him because of the suffering his activities were bringing down upon them. Yet the destruction the Valdani were now bringing to the shallaheen seemed to be having exactly the opposite effect of what Najdan—and probably the Valdani themselves—would have expected. The villagers Najdan spoke to in this district praised Josarian all the more reverently for the suffering they had endured—or knew they might soon endure—in his name. Every shepherd in these mountains seemed to redouble his loyalty to Josarian now that the bloodfeud was truly a matter of life and death. Mothers from here to Islanar were saying that Corenten's mother had done the right thing and that they, too, would defend their sons' right to die honorably in the face of Valdani barbarity. Some girl who hadn't even been officially betrothed to Corenten went into Sanctuary the day after his death, reportedly determined to become a Sister and honor his memory for the rest of her life.

  "Josarian is right," people whispered in the markets.

  "Josarian speaks the truth!" drunks proclaimed in the taverns.

  "He will not stop killing Valdani until they stop coming into the mountains," Najdan was vehemently assured. "We will be rid of them at last!"

  Not surprisingly, some shallaheen had even started saying that Josarian was the Firebringer.

  Well, why not let them wallow in their fantasies? Najdan had seen enough of Valdani power and strength to know that a few rebellious shallaheen couldn't change the world. The Society, with all its power, wealth, and experience, had been fighting the Valdani for years without getting rid of them. No matter how many victories the waterlords enjoyed, there were always more Valdani sent to replace the ones they killed. It made Najdan wonder how vast the homeland of the Valdani must be, that they could keep sending men to Sileria while simultaneously conquering the rest of the world. Didn't they ever run out of people? How fast could their women possibly breed?

  Surely it would take more than the Firebringer to kill so many men and make sure that no more crossed the Middle Sea to maintain the Emperor's power here. Not that Najdan believed in the Firebringer, anyhow. The zanareen were merely the lost, pathetic, half-mad remnants of what had once been men, so beaten by life that they retreated from the world to huddle around the lips of Darshon and pray for someone to solve all their problems for them. The shallaheen, too weak to seize their own destiny as the Society did, clung to the shallow hope and superstitious rubbish spread by the zanareen. Najdan believed a man solved his own problems, or died of them; there was no third way, and certainly no heroic savior coming to change Sileria's destiny.

  It was, of course, primarily a mountain superstition, since legend said the Firebringer would be mountain-born. Nonetheless, you could find men and women at almost every level of Silerian society who half-believed in the Firebringer—the way they half-believed in the Otherworld or the White Dragon or the Beyah-Olvari or fire-eyed demons who were cursed by Dar.

  The White Dragon... now that was one thing that Najdan did believe in, no matter how other men—even some assassins—scoffed at the ancient tales. Najdan was only a boy of fourteen when he first met Kiloran, and from that day, he had believed every dark legend ever whispered about the waterlords. He had never seen such power, and he didn't doubt that it extended into abilities beyond his imagination.

  He wondered what legends Josarian believed—and if he would eventually start to believe what the shallaheen whispered about him. In order to prove himself, the Firebringer would have to throw himself into the Fires of Dar and survive. It would be too bad if Josarian took the leap, since his death would undoubtedly end the little rebellion that was making the Valdani so frantic. However, if he died in the volcano soon, at least he wouldn't have long to mourn the friend whom Najdan would kill today.

  The rumors in Chandar, the village closest to Dalishar, were encouraging. Josarian, whose reputed loyalty to Tansen might foolishly motivate him to interfere in Society business, hadn't been seen in many days. His men said nothing of his whereabouts to anyone, but he was believed to be pursuing Myrell, the Outlooker ordering the massacres. A couple of quick, much talked-about reprisals against Myrell's men seemed to confirm this. Everyone seemed to think that Josarian, wherever he was at the moment, was nowhere near Dalishar.

  Tansen, on the other hand, was not only there, but sick. He was said to be suffering from some kind of strange, recurring fever. This surprised no one, since he was known to have traveled widely in foreign lands, where Dar-only-knew what kind of horrible illnesses preyed upon a decent shallah with no woman to care for him. According to rumor, Tansen was currently lying ill in one of Dalishar's sacred caves.

  Najdan thought it likely he could challenge Tansen without interference—and perhaps even come upon him by stealth and attack him without warning. Many young assassins would never consider such a course of action; traditional honor demanded that a bloodvow be fulfilled with proper formality. You'd have to go far and look hard, however, to find an assassin of Najdan's age and experience who still believed in such things. Tansen had already killed two assassins who'd approached him the "honorable" way, and Najdan hadn't survived twenty years in the Society by being a heedless fool.

  Josarian's men would undoubtedly be guarding Dalishar, so he circled to the far side of the mountain, approaching the caves from above rather than below. He saw no sentries posted anywhere, not even at what was evidently the famous entrance to the six main caves up here. A faint trace of ancient paintings could still be seen on the weathered rockface. An enormous woodless fire, taller than he was, burned furiously outside the cave—Guardian fire magic.

  If there was some sort of trap here, he doubted it was meant for him. Josarian's men were enemies of the Valdani, not the Society. He took a cautious step forward. To his surprise, his shir started shaking wildly against his side. Made by Kiloran himself, the blade was only supposed to do this when threatened by other sorcery. Najdan had heard that the Guardian fires up here were ancient and very powerful, and the one directly before him was blazing so wildly it almost seemed to be alive. Was it merely this ancient power that made his shir quiver like a live thing, or was there real danger for him here?

  His thoughts went no further, as a sight unfolded before his eyes that drove away thought, skill, and courage as brutally as it turned his bowels to water and made his throat close up with fear.

  She appeared in the fire, her arms whirling like the sails of a windmill. The flames did her bidding, moving as her hands directed, swirling around her face and form, born of her body as blood was born of men. No one should be able to survive in the nest of angry flames that surrounded her like a cocoon; but Najdan saw that she was not human. Her eyes blazed the same color as the fire, and the floating curls of her hair were so red they made his eyes water.

  Najdan's shir shuddered wildly as the demon looked straight at him and smiled—a terrible, sinister smile that burned with evil. He seized his shir, his hands clumsy for the first time since childhood. The demon laughed. Trying to control his shaking, he held the blade up: the enchanted blade of a waterlord's trusted servant, the deadliest weapon in the world.

  The demon flung out a hand. Lava shot from her fingertips, slender threads of liquid fire that reached out to wrap around Najdan's wrist. Screaming at the pain of the burn, he dropped the shir. Horrified, he turned to run. A wall of fire arose in his path, halting him. He turned again. The wall of flame spread faster than he could move, surrounding him, caging him. Capturing him. Terror weakened him for the first time in twenty years. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this. He sank to his knees, trapped, disarmed, and helpless.

  The roaring all around him gradually faded, dying away. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was still imprisoned, though no longer by flames. The walls of fire had changed to streams of lava which surrounded him in a gruesome parody of a birdcage. And he could see his captors now.


  There were five shallaheen, a Sister... and the demon woman. Except for the demon, they all looked terrified. Were they her slaves? Other captives? Swallowing convulsively, he tried to rise to his feet. His first attempt failed, humiliating him. Trembling, he finally succeeded in standing. He was an assassin; despite his shameful lapse, he wanted to die like a man.

  There was a long silence while the demon studied him and the shallaheen all watched the two of them. Finally, one shallah looked down and said, in a strained voice, "Another shir."

  "Bury it," said the demon.

  "Bury it?" the shallah repeated in surprise.

  "If he escapes, what do you think will be the first thing he'll try to get his hands on?" the Sister said. "Let's not make it too easy for him."

  "Uh... might he escape?" another shallah asked.

  The demon smiled, another awful, evil smile. "Not before I'm done with him."

  Fear ran through him, the water-cold chill of imminent death. He tried to speak, but his voice didn't work. The demon came forward, closing in on him. When she stood only inches from the molten bars of his cage, he realized with shock that she was small. Small and young. But then, perhaps demons were ageless. He had never believed in demons, not until now. Now it took all his strength to meet her eyes as she stared at him.

  She leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around the lava-hot bars of his tiny prison. "Tell me your name or I'll kill you," she said simply, as if commenting on the weather.

  "Then kill me." He had shamed himself enough already. He only hoped his death would be quick.

  "Do you really want to die?" she whispered.

  He didn't answer her.

  "Ah. Stubborn." Her lips curved. "Before we're through here, you will want to die. I promise you."

  A stream of lava curled away from the others that formed his prison. It glided through the air, seeking him. Najdan's breath quickened, but he stayed silent.

  "You're an assassin, aren't you?"

  He flinched involuntarily as the finger of lava came so close it scorched his cheek.

  "Kiloran's assassin, yes?" she prodded.

  He nodded. "My master is powerful." His voice sounded thin. Speaking more forcefully, he added, "He will punish y—"

  "As if he could." Her voice dripped with contempt.

  Feeling his resolve weaken as the thread of lava continued tormenting him, Najdan looked away, trying to avoid the fire-hot glitter of the woman's dreadful eyes. His gaze fell upon the small hands resting so casually on molten bars of his cage, and he started trembling again.

  "He is..." He struggled for air. "... the most powerful..."

  "Really?" She was mocking him.

  "He will destroy—"

  "Prove it."

  "W- What?"

  The lava thread circled his head, nearly setting his hair on fire. Trying to avoid it, he backed into the bars of his cage. He jumped away with a cry of pain.

  "Prove Kiloran is more powerful than me," she said. "If you dare."

  His blood was roaring in his ears. His eyes watered with pain, shaming him anew. "How?"

  "Take me to him."

  His eyes widened as he stared at her in disbelief. She had lured him here with cleverly planted tales about Tansen's weakness and isolation, then trapped him in this fiery prison... because she wanted to find Kiloran?

  "You want me to lead you to my master?"

  "Unless you're afraid I will become his master."

  Najdan had feared only two things in the world: hunger and Kiloran. Now he had found a third thing, and whatever this creature was, she was more dangerous than anything he had ever imagined. But could she possibly be even more dangerous than Kiloran himself? Could she attack him and survive?

  She leaned even closer to him, her face filling the space between two of the glowing bars. "Deny me, assassin, and you will burn like the belly of Darshon for all eternity."

  What would she do to Kiloran? Was she really powerful enough to triumph over him? Najdan had never supposed anyone could be... but he hadn't known about this deadly female.

  The wand of lava glided back and forth in front of his face. The pain of his burns clouded his mind.

  "If you don't help me, I can make you beg me for death before I finally kill you," she promised. "Or maybe I'll choose not to kill you. Maybe your weeping will amuse me."

  What should he do?

  He'd like to think that her torture wouldn't break him, but he wasn't sure. He carried thirteen scars, all gotten in combat, all borne with courage; but he had never been tortured by a sorceress. His long years of association with a waterlord had taught him how powerless ordinary men were against such wizardry.

  "Make up your mind," the demon advised.

  If he didn't lead her to Kiloran, he had no doubt that she'd capture someone else who would. His burns throbbed and sweat poured down his face as he tried to form a plan. If he promised to take her to Kiloran, she'd wouldn't harm him much more than she already had; she'd need him to be well enough for the journey. And if he was well enough for the journey, then he'd be well enough to attempt escape and warn Kiloran about her. If nothing else, he could lead her around in circles for several days near Kiloran's lair, so that Kiloran would at least hear about her and be ready for her.

  If Najdan couldn't escape her, perhaps several days in her company would at least reveal a weakness he could exploit, and he'd kill her before they reached Kiloran. If he died in the attempt, then so be it. He had already lived longer than most assassins, and he had always known he would someday give his life to serve his master.

  If he failed and she killed him, Searlon would still stand between her and Kiloran. And if Searlon failed, too... Surely, he thought, surely she couldn't really destroy Kiloran?

  "Very well," Najdan said at last. "I will take you to Kiloran."

  "You're not putting me on one of those things, and that's final," Josarian said, folding his arms across his chest and glaring belligerently at his brother.

  "It's not as hard as it looks," Tansen assured him, lying.

  "I won't do it."

  "You haven't even tried it," Tansen argued. "Just tr—"

  "No." Josarian turned away from the horse that Tansen had been trying, for more than a little while now, to convince him to mount.

  Tansen suppressed an irritated sigh. "The torena's party travels on horseback, Josarian. If you don't—"

  Josarian scowled at him. "What part of no didn't you understand?"

  They were arguing in the stable yard behind Elelar's palatial home. It had not taken her long to sort out her affairs in Shaljir and organize their journey into the interior to find Kiloran. The official story was that Elelar was traveling inland to inspect an estate which a bankrupt toren had put up for sale. While Silerians could still inherit ancestral lands under Valdani law, only someone who was at least half-Valdan could purchase land. With more and more old Silerian families becoming impoverished by heavy taxes and discriminatory laws, more and more of their lands were ending up in Valdani hands. Elelar's marriage gave her the legal right to acquire such lands in her husband's name.

  Tansen briefly wondered where Elelar's husband was. She had yet to mention him, and he made no appearance among them as servants bustled around the stable yard preparing for Elelar's journey. Tansen and Josarian were supposed to be part of the torena's four-man escort. The other two men, who eyed them with open suspicion, were city-dwellers, natives of Shaljir. He had already ascertained that, like more than half the members of Elelar's household, they were part of the Alliance. That slippery bunch of schemers, planners, and plotters drew their support from among many of Sileria's disparate peoples, but they had never gained the support of the shallaheen, the wild, violent race who distrusted anyone who was not of the mountains—and usually anyone who wasn't a blood or bloodpact relation, too.

  "Shallaheen do not ride horses," Josarian said firmly. "I'll walk."

  "Everyone else will ride," Tansen warned him.


  "Are you suggesting I can't keep up?" Josarian looked insulted.

  "We're not in the mountains now."

  "We're going back into the mou—"

  "You don't know that, and neither do I." Elelar had told them virtually nothing about their destination. "Nor do I imagine the torena will choose a route which will require her to abandon six expensive mounts and climb like a shallah."

  "I can keep up with these dumb beasts."

  "Not on a paved road or good path, you can't."

  "They smell bad," Josarian muttered.

  Elelar's pretty maid servant laughed as she bustled past them. "Some would say that shallaheen do, too," she pointed out.

  Josarian glared at her before saying to Tansen, "They are unreliable and easily frightened. They are dangerous beasts used only by lazy men."

  "Fine," Tansen snapped. "Have it your way."

  Why was he urging Josarian to ride the horse, anyhow? Kiloran, in his rage, might well kill Josarian when he killed Tansen. After Elelar had left them in the tunnels, the two men had argued fiercely about Josarian's coming with Tansen, causing the Beyah-Olvari such renewed distress that the underground chambers had practically vibrated with their wailing. Josarian would not leave him to face Kiloran alone, with no one to accompany him except a woman who had somehow betrayed him once before. Nothing Tansen said to him—about the bloodfeud with the Valdani, the other outlaws, or pointless death—could shake Josarian's stubborn resolve.

  "I swore a bloodfeud so the fight would survive beyond my death," Josarian had reminded him. "I have known since the night I killed my first Outlooker that I could not live very long. If my time is at hand, then so be it."