In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  "Plenty of men want more than the one woman they've g—"

  "Plenty of men live their whole lives without finding the right woman."

  "Or finding the right woman twice?" Zimran guessed, his expression softening.

  Josarian lost his smile. "I still miss her."

  "I know."

  "Everything is so different now, too. It's been so long since I've seen the village we lived in, the house we shared, or the bed we slept in together. All I have left of her is her scarf," he said, briefly touching the place where he kept it pressed against his skin. "And my memories."

  "For a woman like that, memories should serve a man well enough."

  It was good to talk to someone who had known her, even though Calidar and Zimran hadn't gotten along well. Tansen listened with sympathy, with empathy, for he had lost loved ones, too, but he hadn't known Calidar. And no words could sufficiently conjure up the vibrancy of the woman who had been Josarian's wife.

  "Do you remember the cow she bought the year after you were married?" Zimran said.

  Josarian chuckled. "The meanest cow in all of Sileria."

  "Even it's milk was sour."

  "And how many people did it attack?"

  Zimran laughed. "I could never keep count. Calidar's legendary attack cow, more dangerous than any mountain cat!"

  "And Calidar, the only creature in Sileria more stubborn than that beast. Sweet Dar, how I begged that woman to give up her vicious cow!"

  "Begged her? I remember the time you gave Lann money to try to buy the damn thing from her. And she wouldn't sell. She was so determined to turn it into a good, docile milk cow, no matter how long it took."

  "Oh, and the cost of a cow." Josarian rubbed his forehead, smiling wryly as he remembered their fights about it. "It took everything we had to buy that worthless animal."

  "Even so, you tried to set it free one night while Calidar was visiting her mother."

  "And nearly got gored for my efforts," Josarian recalled.

  "Which was nothing compared to what your wife would have done to you for driving away her precious cow."

  "Thank Dar, the tribute collectors finally took it."

  "Ahhh, so the Valdani did have their uses, eh?" Zimran said.

  "Only that once."

  They grinned at each other and fell into reminiscing about earlier, happier days. It felt good to spend this time with Zimran, to feel close to him again. They had grown up almost as brothers together, and they'd been loyal to each other throughout their lives, from their first boyhood fibs all the way through the dangerous days of Josarian's outlawry. But a rift had grown between them ever since the start of the rebellion, ever since Josarian had chosen a different path in life. Ever since other men had chosen to join him.

  He knew that Zim didn't like Tansen and positively hated Josarian's friendship with the shatai. Josarian had chosen to make Tan his closest male relative when he swore the bloodpact with him, and he knew that Zimran felt betrayed. Nonetheless, if he could go back, he would do it again without hesitation. Not only was he proud to call a man like Tansen his bloodbrother, but he now needed Tansen in a way that... he would never need Zimran again. Tansen had been the first man to join Josarian's bloodfeud against the Valdani, and he had never wavered. He was a man of courage, intelligence, commitment, and extensive experience. No other man could support Josarian's leadership as Tansen could. He was invaluable. Without him, there wouldn't have been a rebellion. In fact, without Tansen, Josarian would have died with twenty other shallaheen at Britar, long ago, and life in Sileria would have soon erased even the memory of his bloodfeud against the Valdani.

  He trusted no one the way he trusted Tansen, the man who guarded his back, the man whom he consulted on every move, every plan, every idea. Of course, Josarian still loved Zimran, his lifelong friend and companion. He would go back into the fortress at Britar all over again to free him. But Zimran, he knew, was only a rebel because he had no choice. Josarian and the Valdani had forced him into a life he hadn't wanted and didn't believe in; and his lack of commitment meant he couldn't lead men in this cause. Josarian knew that Zimran also felt betrayed when he made leaders of Emelen and others while Zim simply protected Mirabar or Tashinar, intercepted Valdani couriers, and carried messages between Josarian and the Guardians.

  Zimran was a brave fighter and a loyal cousin, but even now, he still didn't truly believe in their cause. Even now, he would like nothing better than to make peace with the Valdani so that he could go back to his lucrative smuggling trade and his easy seductions.

  Sometimes, if he weren't my cousin, I even wonder if he would...

  Josarian chose not to complete the thought. It was far too ugly and dishonorable a thing to consider, even in the silence of his mind. Especially tonight, when he and Zimran felt close again, as they had throughout the long years before Josarian had killed those two Outlookers on a moonlit smuggling trail. Tonight, for a little while, the rebellion was somewhere out there, a thing to be escaped for a few hours. Here, in the glowing light of ancient Guardian fires, he and Zimran laughed and talked, once again as close as brothers.

  When morning dawned over Dalishar, Josarian awoke from fiery dreams of agony and ecstasy. Sweating with mingled desire and terror, gasping for air like a drowning man, he looked across the cave at Zimran. His cousin slept peacefully. Josarian sighed and closed his eyes, grateful that he hadn't shouted and howled in his sleep. So far only Tansen had seen him in that state. And considering how much it disturbed Tansen, he dreaded the thought of Zimran, Jalilar, Jalan, and the others finding out about it. About the dreams. About the madness and mystery claiming his mind.

  He rose silently to his feet, pulled on his tunic, and went out into the fresh air, trying to calm his ruffled nerves and reeling senses. Dalishar was high enough to afford him an excellent view of Darshon. The volcano was peaceful, as it had been all year. Only a slender wisp of smoke rose from the belly of Darshon today. The mountain stood vast and majestic against the dawn sky, its snowcapped summit piercing a thin, fragile cloud.

  She called him, as insistently as the Beckoner called Mirabar.

  "Dar," he whispered, as he used to whisper Calidar's name.

  Was he mad? Or insanely egotistic? Or doomed by the superstitions of his people? He knew what they said about him: Josarian, the Firebringer. He'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to know. But he didn't even believe in the Firebringer. And Tansen believed he himself had killed the Firebringer. Mirabar, blessed by Dar Herself and gifted with visions of prophecy, said nothing about his being the Firebringer—and almost seemed to sneer at anyone who did.

  Dar, are You really calling to me? Or am I drunk on power and victory?

  No answer came. He concentrated so fiercely that he didn't hear the footsteps approaching him until they were practically right behind him. He jumped as if he'd been stung and whirled round, swinging the yahr he had seized instinctively. He stopped when confronted by a shrieking young woman.

  "Don't do that!" she snapped in common Silerian.

  She was pretty and nicely dressed, but dirty and very unkempt. Then he recognized her: Elelar's maid.

  "Faradar?" he said in surprise.

  "They've taken the torena! Days and days ago!" she cried. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Koroll swung an arm violently and knocked drinking cups, lumpy candle stubs, an empty lantern, the remains of two meals, and an inkwell off his desk. "Damn the Emperor and his wars!"

  He glared at the Outlookers surrounding him, his gaze warning them that his words had better never leave this room. He had scarcely had a chance to leave it in more days than he could count.

  Damn the Emperor. Damn the Moorlanders and the Kints. Damn Borell. And DAMN Josarian!

  The rebel conquest of Alizar had been announced in Shaljir by the arrival of Captain Foridall's head in a sack. Koroll himself had led troops into Alizar, hoping to encounter Josarian but knowing full well
the bandit would be long gone. What he found there was an unparalleled disaster. The richest mines in the Empire had been flooded. Koroll immediately assumed this was water magic. If he'd had any doubts, they'd have been dispelled when one of his men, ignoring orders, touched the stuff. Though liquid, it was cold enough to damage a man's hand on contact, freezing it so severely it killed the flesh. Koroll had heard such wild tales of the waterlords' power but found them hard to believe. Now the sight of it sickened him to the bone. No wonder the Emperor had tried so hard to destroy the Society!

  So Alizar was lost to them, at least for now. His engineers had no idea how to drain the mines of enchanted water that no one could even risk touching.

  The Emperor's single richest source of income in Sileria, probably in the whole Empire—lost. Destroyed overnight. It was a catastrophe that might well have unhinged a lesser man.

  If things were running smoothly in Valda these days, Koroll would certainly loose his position, and quite possibly his life, for allowing this to happen. However, the Imperial Council was somewhat preoccupied with the unsuccessful war against the Kints, the increasingly costly war in the Moorlands, and the riots in Valda due to food shortages resulting from a minor revolt in the north. Indeed, the Emperor's current problems almost made Koroll's seem manageable. Almost.

  Three Into One! He'd had over one thousand men guarding the mines. The greatest single concentration of Outlookers in Sileria outside of Shaljir! He'd granted extra men to Foridall as a precaution, knowing it to be a wise move. But he had also reasonably supposed that Josarian, who had confined his attacks—after Britar—to modest targets, would never attack the second best-protected site in all of Sileria. Now the bodies of those thousand Outlookers were a hill of charred bones and ashes. The rebels had burned their corpses, presumably along with the Silerians killed in the battle. Koroll shuddered at the thought; burning bodies was anathema to the Valdani. These Silerian barbarians didn't know that a corpse should be left intact after death for resurrection by the Three.

  The description given by the battle's sole survivor, an Outlooker who sounded as if he'd never be quite sane again, created blood-curdling visions of fire magic, water magic, and a prisoner-uprising which were all coordinated with an attack by a rebel force far larger than Koroll had realized Josarian could raise. This alliance between the shallaheen, the Society, and the Guardians was no casual thing, no mere matter of the Society permitting the rebels to commit abduction and the Guardians letting them use a holy site as their base camp. They were fighting side by side. They had cooperated in a huge, devastating, and astonishing military assault that had required extensive planning.

  And the torena helped them, Koroll fumed.

  He didn't doubt it for a moment. The evidence they'd discovered in her house revealed a complex network of contacts and informants—none of whom, unfortunately, were careless enough to identify themselves in their correspondence. Nor had he or Myrell been able to convince the torena to talk during the brief period they'd been allowed to question her. Koroll acknowledged with considerable frustration that his men had also blundered their opportunity to capture several people whom he suspected were involved in Elelar's secret business. The Outlookers had killed the torena's two manservants at the Lion's Gate and could answer no questions about what had happened to her maid, having paid her no heed: She was only a woman, after all, Commander. Although spies believed that several servants—as well as the Guardian who was posing as a Shaljir merchant—were in Elelar's house when the Outlookers arrived to search it, they were never found inside and had not been seen since. Obviously, they'd escaped the house somehow, though Koroll had ordered his men to watch every exit. Now every exit from the city was being watched. Descriptions of the hunted individuals were circulated, and the few people who were permitted to leave Shaljir these days were searched and questioned.

  Meanwhile, the family of Elelar's idiot husband was protecting her, preventing further interrogation and demanding she be treated as a Valdani aristocrat—and even given the privilege of a trial before three Imperial Councilors! Three have mercy, next they'd be insisting that Koroll release the traitorous trollop!

  He had loathed having to permit Elelar's cuckold of a husband to visit her once; but Ronall's family had brought pressure to bear on Borell, who had in turn pressured Koroll. No, Elelar's drunken sot of a spouse wasn't connected to her treachery. Koroll had never really suspected the fool, there was no evidence whatsoever against him, and two days of relentless interrogation had proved to Koroll's satisfaction that Ronall was as ignorant as he was stupid. One of the Outlookers assigned to witness the meeting between Elelar and her husband understood common Silerian; an unusual and very useful trait. The meeting had been maudlin and emotional, revealing little of interest besides evidence that their marriage was every bit as dreadful as Koroll had always supposed.

  Nonetheless, Koroll didn't like letting that woman have contact with anyone except his own hand-picked men. She had deceived all of Shaljir for years; he couldn't even begin to guess for how long, actually. She had bewitched and betrayed Borell, hoodwinked her husband and his family, and even (he was appalled to recall) briefly convinced Koroll himself that she was a loyal subject of the Empire. There was no telling what that woman was capable of doing, how far her treachery would go, or what kind of damage could arise from permitting her even the most seemingly innocent meeting.

  Borell was frantic now that an imperial trial had been requested. Ronall might only be a half-caste drunkard, but his family was powerful enough that their request might be granted by the Council. Koroll assumed Elelar would try to proclaim her innocence, despite the evidence against her. Borell feared she would instead choose to ruin as many of them as possible—starting with Borell himself—while admitting her guilt. Borell had the most to lose, of course. Besotted with Elelar, he'd evidently been less discreet about state secrets in her company than a Moorlander horse trader was when boasting in a tavern about his sexual conquests.

  Well, Borell deserved to go down for that, and Koroll had no intention of stretching out a hand to try to save him. Nor did he intend to let Borell have the woman killed before Koroll had sufficient opportunity to find out precisely what secrets she had shared and with whom. Moreover, Elelar unquestionably knew more about Josarian than anyone Koroll had ever encountered; he wanted whatever she knew, and he didn't care what he had to do to get the information from her.

  First, however, they must await news from the Council, because Ronall's family could destroy Koroll if he harmed Elelar now. This was very inconvenient; although Borell had the most to lose by letting Elelar remain alive, Koroll wasn't immune to damage from her. If that woman did descend in flames at her trial, he knew she would take down as many men as she could. He had been careless around her more than once, discussing the Emperor's planned attack on the Kintish Kingdoms in her presence, revealing his schemes to combat Josarian while she sat at Borell's side... Yes, he could blame Borell, claiming that the Advisor had ordered him to speak freely in front of the woman; but it wouldn't look good to the Councilors, even so.

  Damn Elelar. Damn Ronall and his family!

  If only Koroll could have tortured her, gotten what he wanted, and then just killed her. Everyone would be much better off that way. Instead, the Outlookers were forced to treat an adulteress and traitress like visiting royalty who just happened to be staying in their prison.

  All things considered, Koroll didn't see how things could get any worse in Sileria... but he suspected with dread that they would.

  Josarian had cleared out the storehouses at Alizar before burning them down. Every officer at Alizar was dead. All the production records were destroyed, too, when the rebels torched Foridall's headquarters. Consequently, no one knew how much wealth Josarian had taken away from Alizar. A lot, presumably, since he had timed his attack only days before the next heavily-guarded shipment from the mines was due to leave for the coast, where it would be loaded into a ship bound for V
alda.

  Josarian would presumably divide up the spoils. The Society would insist on claiming a share, and he'd be a fool to refuse. He'd probably also keep some hidden away somewhere, gradually selling it in small quantities to Sileria's merchants and gem cutters. The lion's share of the haul, of course, he'd sell to foreign smugglers at prices below market value. There were plenty of smugglers among the shallaheen and Josarian would have ready access to their contacts. Even with a reduced profit based on selling the gems below value, the rebellion would be very rich. They could buy silence, smuggled weapons, supplies, loyalty... They could ultimately threaten Shaljir itself.

  They had been busy, too, since their assault on the mines. They did so much damage in the days following Alizar, from Cavasar all the way to Liron, that Koroll had been forced to send dispatches to Valda admitting that the mountain uprising had become a full-scale rebellion capable of threatening Valdani rule in Sileria. He requested thirty thousand men, hoping he'd get fifteen. He was given only five thousand and no estimate of when more might be sent. He requested additional money to reinforce defenses around Liron, Shaljir, Adalian, and Cavasar; he was given barely enough to repair the damage already done by civilian riots in every city except Shaljir.

  He was tersely informed that this was not a convenient time for trouble in Sileria, since the imperial armies were encountering unexpected resistance in the Kintish Kingdoms. Meanwhile, the war in the Moorlands dragged on, growing increasingly costly as the Emperor's forces plunged deeper and deeper into that lush, green land, extending their supply lines ever further from Valdania. Now, when the Empire was so close to achieving its greatest day of glory—conquest of the free Moorlands and the remaining Kintish Kingdoms!—the Emperor counted on his provincial Advisors and military governors to keep his subjugated peoples under control. Particularly, one dispatch had added with disdain, a long-conquered province of perpetually feuding factions, an impoverished backwater which had been someone else's conquest when the Valdani had seized it two centuries ago. The Imperial Council sincerely hoped they didn't have to remind Koroll that control of Sileria was essential for control of the Middle Sea, without which the Empire could not easily control the rest of its possessions.