Koroll, however, suspected that getting rid of Ronall was probably precisely why Elelar had sought an assassin and, through him, perhaps Josarian. He had no doubt that the Advisor's whore thought Borell would marry her if she became a widow. Josarian's men had already killed one Valdani abductee and were quite capable of killing another.
"Three have mercy," Koroll had added, "I think the woman may be right, too. I think Borell has become besotted enough to marry her."
Koroll had assigned his best spies to the task of discovering the torena's secrets while Myrell returned to the fighting in the mountains. Now that he had returned to Shaljir for another meeting, Myrell was astonished by what Koroll's spies had learned in his absence—and by what Koroll planned to do with the information.
Torena Elelar, it seemed, was far more than a woman who had broken the law by contacting those in league with the bandit Josarian, and her scheming went far beyond getting rid of an inconvenient husband.
The woman was clever, secretive, and discreet. At first, in fact, the spies had reported that they believed Koroll had been mistaken in his suspicions. They had persevered at his insistence, but every unusual action or unexpected visitor to the house in Shaljir had a plausible explanation. Koroll, however, remained unconvinced. Midnight couriers; unusually large expenditures; servants who could read and write; one or two shallaheen showing up every few days to solicit employment, then leaving Shaljir immediately after being privately interviewed and apparently found unsatisfactory... Koroll had perceived explanations which were not as innocent as the most apparent ones, but which he considered just as plausible.
Then a servant hired at summer's end had left the torena's employ in disgrace. Caught stealing in Elelar's private chambers, the young woman should have been grateful that she was only dismissed. Silerian aristocrats still had considerable power over the lower classes, after all, and the Imperial Advisor's own mistress could have had the girl executed for the offense, had she been vindictive enough. However, like most thieves, the girl wasn't sorry she had committed a crime, only sorry that she'd been caught. One of Koroll's men, dressed as a civilian, showed her a good time one evening and offered her a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. She had taken full advantage of his generosity on all counts, eager to complain about the strange household with its clannish longtime servants and unyielding rules.
And that was how they learned that a seemingly insignificant merchant—a man with graying hair and a precocious young son—who visited the torena often was, in fact, a Guardian.
The Guardians and the Society. A woman connected to both; both connected to Josarian.
"Elelar has Borell's trust," Koroll said. "She undoubtedly has had access to information which could benefit the rebels, since we had no idea that she was one of them. Who knows how much this damned woman has hurt the Empire while spreading her legs for Borell?"
"But how will we prove it, Commander?" Myrell asked as he sat with Koroll on a fragrant morning in Shaljir.
"I'm having her house searched today. I'm sure you'd like to join me in supervising the operation."
Myrell almost choked on his shock. "Borell's mistress? He'll have you sent to the farthest reaches of the Moorlands!"
"Are you suggesting that would be worse than being in Sileria?" Koroll muttered.
"Commander, I respectfully submit that the torena will run straight to Borell the moment you reveal your intentions, and he will—"
"The torena is still wandering the countryside somewhere. Unfortunately, my men lost her in the mountains, so we've no idea where she is or how long she intends to stay there." Koroll's face twisted with mingled skepticism and distaste as he added, "The official story is that she's gone into Sanctuary, as is her annual custom, to commune with the spirit of her dead grandfather."
So many Valdani were appalled by the extensive death cult in this country that the Guardians—who claimed they could actually talk to the dead—had been outlawed, as had fire magic. Even assuming that Silerians exaggerated the power of their fire wizards as much as they exaggerated most things, the Empire could not condone such dangerous sorcery among its subjugated peoples.
"Commune with... She admits to such things?" Myrell asked. "Why does Borell tolerate such primitive practices and su—"
"Because he thinks with an organ very distant from his brain when dealing with Elelar." Koroll sighed. "Besides, she's a woman and she's of another culture. The Advisor is a worldly man. I imagine he makes allowances for the strange rites and superstitions of a Silerian female, no matter how high-born—as long as she continues to please him."
"Her husband is gone from home, too?" Myrell asked.
Koroll shook his head. "He's here in town. But, as Commander of Shaljir, I happen to know that a contingent of eight Outlookers is about to escort him from his home to Santorell Palace, by force if necessary, for a personal meeting with the Advisor."
"Why?" Myrell asked in puzzlement.
"I was not informed why." Koroll's voice was rich with contempt as he explained, "I assume it is in relation to the Advisor's personal life. I have heard that Ronall was dragged to the Palace to face Borell once before over matters regarding the woman who is wife to one and mistress to the other. Apparently neither man is... very good at sharing."
Myrell studied his superior officer, admiring him. "So there will be no one at home except servants when we arrive today. They will have just seen their master dragged off by Outlookers, and they'll be so frightened—so convinced of total disaster—that they will not resist when your men start searching the house."
Koroll nodded. "The less we say, the better. If there are those among them who knows Elelar's secrets, let's encourage them to assume that we know what we're looking for, that we're merely collecting material to validate an arrest which cannot be escaped or avoided."
Yes, Myrell admired this man. Koroll had wrestled glory out of the disaster at Britar, rising to the post of High Commander of Sileria, and was now second in importance only to Borell himself. He had achieved this feat by mastering situations such as this one, calculating every plan down to the finest details, predicting and accounting for every contingency. Oh, yes, there were few men who could have turned the tide as Koroll had done, creating success and promotion out of defeat and certain disgrace. And he had given Myrell another chance, too, which was why Myrell would always be loyal to him.
Yes, Myrell's commanding officer was a genius, a visionary who was also a practical man. Together, they would rise to incredible heights, just as soon as they had finished off Josarian and his mountain rabble. Together, they would someday return to Valda in triumph: heralded, honored, and admired. All they had to do was kill a bunch of Silerian peasants first.
Elelar approached the Lion's Gate late in the day, just before sundown. Faradar and her two most-trusted manservants rode with her. They were all tired, for she had pushed hard to reach Shaljir today. Borell expected her at Santorell Palace tonight and, weary as she was, she would go. It was her duty, after all.
Seated on her horse, she looked down at the Outlookers guarding the gate and prepared to announce herself and her business in Shaljir. A bath, she thought wryly.
But no words had time to escape her lips.
In that instant, four more Outlookers burst through the door of the guardhouse and, to her astonished horror, roughly pulled her off her horse, handling her like some brothel-slave, and dragged her toward the building.
She heard fighting behind her as she was hauled away; her servants were trying to defend her. Terrified and desperately hoping this was some idiotic mistake, she prayed that Faradar kept her wits and remembered what to do. They had talked about it often.
You are "only" a woman, Elelar had told her numerous times. If I am taken, it is unlikely that anyone will pay attention to you. Not at first, anyhow. You must use that time to slip away. Whatever happens to me, you must escape. Warn the others. Warn Josarian. Tell Tansen. He knows who to contact in the Alliance if I die.
Yes, she hoped this was a mistake... but deep down, she knew her time was at hand. Nonetheless, she fought as she had been trained to fight, as an aristocrat.
"Take your filthy hands off me, you ham-fisted clods!" she snarled at the Outlookers trying to force her through the doorway of the guardhouse. "Let go, you fools! Advisor Borell himself will geld you for this! Do you know who I am? I am Torena Elelar yesh Ronall mar—"
They bodily threw her through the door and slammed it behind her. Her head hit hard wood as she fell to the floor in a heap, where she lay dazed and winded.
The voice which addressed her next was one that she recognized all too well, one that she had heard in anger and in passion, in public and in private, in fury and in tenderness. It chilled her blood and proved that this was no mistake.
"Yes, they know who you are," Borell sounded unbearably weary. "And you have lost the right to invoke my name or my support, torena."
She would brazen it out. What else could she do? She lifted her throbbing head and wailed, "Borell? What's happening?"
"You're under arrest." Now he sounded positively ill. "The charges are extensive. In fact, we don't even know them all yet."
"What?" Elelar pushed herself into a sitting position, removed the traditional headdress which had already fallen off most of the way, and rubbed her aching head. She gazed at her lover with wide, limpid, confused eyes. "You're... arresting me? I don't understand!"
Commander Koroll was there, too. So was a gloating Outlooker officer whom she had never seen before; the fellow had a stupid face and a nose which had been badly set after being broken. Her mind worked furiously, wondering what she could do. How much did they know? A lot, she assumed, if they had convinced Borell to arrest her. Darfire, the damned man had lately talked of nothing but wanting to marry her!
Borell looked older to her, as if he'd aged ten years since her departure from the city. His eyes were red-rimmed, evidence of sleepless nights. They were also... glassy, bleak, unfocused. Like a man in shock, a man who'd just suffered a loss so sudden and devastating that his mind couldn't yet cope with the grief.
But she knew this man well. However much he thought he loved her, he loved himself more. Her betrayal would destroy his career, and he would make her pay for that—especially if he thought that exposing and punishing her himself might mitigate the damage to his reputation.
Borell had been easy to beguile, despite his intelligence. Elelar's apparent admiration for him had merely echoed his opinion of himself, and he had adored her for it. But she had always known how dangerous he would become if she ever hurt him. And what, after all, could hurt a proud man more than this—the discovery that the woman he loved had used and betrayed him over and over—coldly, rationally, and ruthlessly—from the very beginning?
Elelar met her lover's gaze, and she saw the knowledge burning in his foreign eyes, etched in his Valdani face, turning his fair skin as white as chalk. He knew.
This was very bad. No matter how much Koroll might suspect her, she would have been safe as long as Borell chose to believe in her innocence. But now that she had lost Borell's support, Koroll was free to arrest, imprison, and even execute her. The Emperor's laws did not protect subjugated races from the Valdani. As a Silerian in Sileria, she had fewer rights than a goat.
"We've observed your movements for well over a twin-moon, torena," Koroll said, breaking the loud silence between her and Borell. "We conducted a thorough search of your house two days ago. We have found considerable evidence of your traitorous activities against the Empire, the Outlookers, and the Advisor himself."
She kept her expression under control, radiating innocent confusion and ignorant fear, concealing how much this news shocked her. She wanted to ask what they had found, but she was half-afraid that her own questions might reveal too much, might ultimately lead them to something they hadn't already found. There was so much to hide: the Alliance, the rebels, the dispatches from Kintish contacts, the path to Kiloran's lair, their Moorlander associates, Derlen and Mirabar, the secret chamber in her house, Ambassador Shiraj, the loyal servants who knew too much for their own safety, the body buried in her wine cellar... The Beyah-Olvari.
Her chest hurt so much she could hardly breathe. Blood roared in her ears. She struggled to make sense out of the chaos of her thoughts, knowing that panic would guarantee failure.
Ronall, she thought in fearful distraction. Where in the Fires was Ronall while the Outlookers were searching the house? Had he discovered her secrets? Or was he merely a liquor-fogged bystander, as usual? Was he under arrest, too? Dead? Cleared of all suspicion?
She struggled to pull her mind back to important matters. Ronall was not her problem or her responsibility. Many lives rested on her silence now, many plans. The rebellion, the attack on Alizar... She had dedicated her entire life to the events which were about to come to pass. She would not fail now.
"Borell..." She let a pleading note creep into her voice. "I don't understand. What traitorous activities? I would never betr—"
"I could believe you." Borell's voice was hoarse. He nodded, gazing at her, his expression hard with misery. "Yes. You sound convincing. You look... like the woman I loved. The woman who told me how much she feared the mountain bandits, how little she knew about the Society, how much she loved me..."
Without warning, he burst into motion, flinging a stool across the room, and came after her. "Now I know why your husband beat you!" he roared. His big hands seized her throat, his pale face suddenly red with murderous rage. "Now I know what you can drive a man to do, you lying, whoring, traitorous BITCH!"
He throttled her, shaking her roughly, and she flopped around like a rag doll, scrabbling frantically at his hands, struggling for air as her vision darkened and her lungs burned, barely able to hear his bellows of rage above the pounding of her own desperate heart. She saw flashes of the faces of the other two men, heard fragments of their shouts. They didn't want him to kill her, not yet. They wanted to know what she knew, what secrets she had shared with whom. They wanted her to talk.
Knowing Valdani methods of persuasion—Malthenar, Morven, Garabar—Elelar suddenly gave herself over to Borell's hatred. This would be a quicker and kinder death than the one they had planned for her. Let him choke her, let him break her neck. It would be over in a moment. She only hoped someone would burn her body. The Valdani custom of putting their dead in the ground sickened her. How could a spirit reach the Otherworld when it was covered by dirt and worms? How could it be purified while rotting in a hole in the ground?
She was so close to unconsciousness that she didn't realize Borell had let her go until she became aware of the cold, hard wood of the floor beneath her cheek. Cheated of her chance to die quickly, she hauled air into her aching lungs and rubbed her watering eyes. If she had to face Borell again now, she would face him as a torena, as a Hasnari, as she had promised herself a thousand times she would face this moment when it finally came. She heard him shouting at Koroll and at the other man to get out, get out and leave the two of them alone.
The door slammed, and then she felt Borell's hands on her. She briefly thought he had sent the two men away so he could kill her, after all—but them she felt him tugging at her tunic, brutally ripping off her pantaloons, and she knew why he had wanted to be alone with her one last time. She had lain with him so many times, but now she was flooded with even more disgust than she'd felt the time Srijan had tried to bed her. Borell had arrested her and tried to strangle her, and he thought he could have her one last time? He surely intended to have her executed, but he wanted her to pleasure him first? He knew that she had never loved him, had only slept with him to serve Sileria—and now he thought she would still give her body to him?
She fought him. She sank her teeth into the lips that sought hers, relishing the taste of this fat Valdan's blood. She clawed and scratched at the hands that ripped away her clothes and moved roughly, insultingly over her flesh. She fought for her life, fought to kil
l him rather than let him abase her this way.
An enormous hand slapped her, making her head snap to the side. Her vision swam. Then a big-boned, heavily-muscled forearm pressed down on her throat and shoulders, pinning her to the floor, restricting her air supply. She fought the weight of Borell's heavy, dense body as it pressed her into the unyielding wood. She struggled to breathe, trying to defeat him with the sheer force of her hatred.
"No!" she screamed furiously, feeling him probing between her legs. She tried to twist away, tried to evade the plunging, painful invasion, the humiliating violation, the grotesque profanity of his body forcing its way into hers.
"Nooo!" she screamed again as Borell heaved frantically on top of her, groaning, panting, his eyes rolling as he gritted his teeth and grunted again and again.
"No!" Elelar raged as she gasped for air.
She felt the hot torrent of his release, the sickening sensation of his seed flooding her womb, and the ecstatic shudders of his body as his hips jerked convulsively.
Elelar wanted to kill him, and she would look for an opportunity to do so every single minute between now and the moment she died.
He lay panting on top of her, his lungs heaving, his flesh damp, his muscles limp.
She wanted to geld him—and that, at least, she could do.
"It was no different from all the other times," she said, staring at the ceiling, blinking back tears as her body throbbed with pain. "I wanted to vomit every time you ever touched me. My skin crawled every time you put your hands on me."
Borell stiffened, his spine going rigid. He tried to control his breathing.
"You're so proud of that pathetic thing between your legs." Her voice would have chilled even Kiloran. "You don't know how the Palace servants laugh about it. Such a little weapon on such a large man."
In Legend Born Page 43
