In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  "But didn't he... I've heard that he once swore a bloodvow against you."

  "Yes, that's true."

  "Then why does Josarian keep sending you to him?"

  Cheylan shrugged. "Because I am useful there. I know Verlon better than anyone except his most trusted assassins."

  She frowned. "But how? You're a Guardian, and he's a waterlord."

  Cheylan hesitated for a moment, then said, "Verlon is my grandfather."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The long rains brought water to a perpetually thirsty land, softening the fields for spring planting, conditioning the gossamer leaves for another harvest, and filling Sileria's rivers, lakes, and wells. The rainy season was the traditional time for most abductions, since it was when the Society most needed income. The waterlords' power was at its lowest ebb during the brief season when water was so plentiful in Sileria.

  If Kiloran planned to deprive Shaljir of water, Commander Koroll knew, he would have to wait until after the long rains had stopped. Nothing could turn back the Idalar River, not even Kiloran's power, when it was close to overflowing its own banks and rushing into Shaljir like a bridegroom coming to his bride's bed.

  This was, however, the only consolation that the season offered to Koroll. Otherwise, the war in Sileria had become such a disaster that even he no longer believed he could save himself with clever tactics and shrewd strategy.

  Just before the harvest began, the sea-born folk and the lowlanders had joined the rebellion. The Valdani hadn't realized this for a while, of course, since the rebels didn't send them an announcement. Koroll found out about it when the port of Cavasar was sacked by sea-born folk and an arriving Valdani warship was destroyed. Commander Cyrill, young, inexperienced, and already distressed by the disgrace and death of Borell, his uncle, still hadn't gotten the city back under control since the unprecedented attack.

  Now it was nearly spring, nearly the New Year. Almost one year exactly since Josarian had killed two Outlookers and commenced the most unexpected rebellion in history. No one had believed this could happen here. Not in Sileria, a land which hadn't been free since the ancient days when Valda had been an obscure village situated between two empires.

  Now Valdania, the greatest empire which had ever existed, was on the verge of losing one of its humblest possessions. One which previous empires had lost only to greater conquerors, not to a bunch of native peasants. It was a humiliation which would destroy Koroll's life and make his name reviled for centuries after his death.

  Since the start of the long rains, Josarian had struck out from Dalishar, conquering the surrounding region, expanding his territory day by day. At the moment, Koroll estimated that at least one-third of Sileria was now under Josarian's control. Probably more, since the rebellion's influence had spread into many isolated corners of Sileria which Koroll didn't have enough Outlookers to patrol and maintain.

  Unlike Koroll, Josarian wasn't having trouble feeding his men, either. The lowlanders had already seized over one hundred of the richest Valdani estates in Sileria, attacking with such shocking brutality that some landowners were now voluntarily abandoning their land before it was attacked, even if this meant returning to Valda as paupers. Some of these cowards were important enough to get an audience with the Emperor upon returning home, meaning the Imperial Council was regularly sending dispatches to Koroll demanding to know why the Outlookers in Sileria were no longer able to protect some of the Empire's wealthiest (or formerly wealthiest) citizens.

  The rebels left Silerian landowners alone—if they declared their loyalty to the rebellion and formally severed all connection with the Valdani government in Sileria. More toreni families were doing this than anyone would ever have expected—and not always out of fear for their lives, either. There was a rumor spreading through Sileria which dwarfed every other wildly improbable story Koroll had ever heard from these people. Now they were actually saying that Josarian had flung himself into the fiery heart of Mount Darshon's volcano and survived, proving that he was the Firebringer, the long-prophesied warrior who would drive out Sileria's conquerors and free his people from foreign domination.

  The legend was an old one. Koroll didn't know much about it, since even most Silerians had never seemed to give it much credit. He had seen mad, wild-eyed zanareen proselytizing and seeking new converts. But what society didn't have its strange cults and crazy fanatics, after all? It had never occurred to him that Josarian would find a way to make use of the legend, or that so many Silerians—including those who should know better—secretly half-believed the ancient prophecy and would succumb to the lies of the first charlatan who claimed to have fulfilled it.

  Yet even in the heart of Shaljir, the most sophisticated city in Sileria, people seemed to believe the wild tales spread by the zanareen. In fact, Koroll had decided to issue a decree forbidding zanareen to enter the city anymore. Meanwhile, with the mountains, coasts, and lowlands now all under siege, slipping through the Empire's grasp, the cities, which had always been the heart of Valdani power here, were no longer secure, either.

  Liron's overland supply routes were now under rebel control. Between attacks by Kintish pirates and Silerian sea-born folk, no Valdani supply ship had managed to reach Liron's port since before the rains began. Without more support from the mainland—and soon—Liron would fall. The rebels were already starving the city. When they thought the time was right, they would storm it and slaughter every Valdan they found within its walls.

  Riots had begun in Adalian soon after Josarian had sent fifty Outlooker corpses to the gate of the city, and things had grown worse there in the following months. The last three ships to leave Adalian had never reached Valda. It was believed they were destroyed by Moorlanders who had been alerted by the Silerians.

  The Outlookers' thorough search of Torena Elelar's house had exposed evidence of a complex network of secret rebels, informants, and Silerian loyalists working against the Valdani. Months of investigation had revealed only a little more about this network, which apparently called itself the Alliance. Based in Shaljir, its tentacles spread across the island, organizing Sileria's disparate peoples into an effective force under Josarian's leadership. Since Elelar had apparently been an important member of this secret society, the Imperial Councilors were now very interested in it. They reasoned that if one aristocrat had been involved, then there must be others; and aristocrats, whatever their nationality, could reason with each other. Peasants, bandits, foreign wizards, and outlawed religious cults could not be expected to think or act sensibly. But an organized network of intelligent, literate aristocrats connected to Josarian? Yes, this interested the Council enormously in view of the growing disaster in Sileria. Koroll had been instructed to find out how the Council could contact the Alliance to negotiate an end to hostilities.

  Negotiate an end to hostilities...

  Koroll thought the phrase had an ominous ring to it. There could be no negotiation with Silerians, as he had tried to explain to the Emperor and his blasted Council in several recent dispatches. They were a violent, untrustworthy, superstitious people. Their history was nothing but a long list of betrayals—meaning they would certainly betray any accord reached with the Valdani. Torena Elelar had been the wife of one Valdan and the mistress of another, and yet look at what she had done to Valdania. She personified the treachery of her despicable race!

  Josarian and his followers had made it very clear ever since Commander Daroll's death in Emeldar that they had no interest in compromise and no wish to discuss living peacefully under Valdani rule again. They weren't interested in more lenient laws or paying less tribute to the Emperor. They wanted the Valdani out of Sileria, and they would not settle for anything less. This was not the time to negotiate. This was the time for all-out war against a conquered race now rising up against their masters. This was the moment when the Empire must demonstrate before the world what a terrible fate befell anyone who challenged Valdani supremacy!

  The Imperial Counci
l, alas, was interested in more glamorous conquests. The Councilors were convinced they could conquer the free Moorlands at last, if they could only free up more men, money, and weapons to do it. A major Valdani victory against the Moorlanders had recently strengthened their resolve and rallied a flagging populace to this cause once again. And Emperor Jarell... he saw the Throne of Heaven even in his sleep, Koroll suspected, so badly did he want it before he died. The northernmost city of the Kintish Kingdoms had just fallen, and this victory spurred the Emperor on, convincing him that his goal was within reach.

  In view of such glory, the Emperor and his Council were unwilling to make the necessary sacrifices to retain one impoverished province conquered long ago, especially now that the mines of Alizar yielded them no profits. Koroll sent dispatches reminding them how important Sileria was to control of the Middle Sea, as they had once reminded him not so long ago. He sent dispatches reminding them that he was still trying to do something about the mines of Alizar. The only response was a scathing request that he estimate just how much more time he expected to spend trying to break the power of some Silerian water wizard who was costing the Emperor a fortune every single day. Every dispatch Koroll sent was accompanied by a request for more men, money, weapons, and supplies. He received less than he requested on every occasion, and only very slowly. Sometimes he merely received stern advice to stop "wasting" the men and supplies he'd already been given.

  The only news of interest he'd received lately was that Valda was finally sending a new Imperial Advisor to replace Borell. Koroll had never thought he'd be pleased to see another smug aristocrat inhabiting Santorell Palace, but he had found the dual duties imposed by Borell's death to be a tremendous burden in the current circumstances.

  Depressed, discouraged, and exhausted, Koroll was preparing to quit work for the evening and retire to the pleasures of his Kintish courtesan. Her contract would be due for renewal soon, and he suspected she intended to raise her price; Kintish courtesans were even better businesswomen than they were lovers. He wouldn't be able to afford her anymore if she did increase her fee, so he intended to take full advantage of her remaining nights in his bed. He was just about to leave his command chamber when a mud-stained Outlooker was admitted bearing an urgent message from Liron.

  The man closed the door and handed the message to Koroll, who absently dismissed him as he opened the dispatch. It read:

  If you want to live, stay silent.

  He didn't even have time to inhale before he felt the icy touch of a shir against his throat, singeing his flesh with its frigid fire. An assassin—disguised as an Outlooker and speaking excellent Valdan. Koroll didn't bother to wonder how the man had gotten into Shaljir or past his own guards. This one was very good; Koroll had never even seen the attack coming from halfway across the room.

  Summoning all the courage he had ever possessed, he asked very softly, "Considering the situation, why would you want me to live?"

  "Now that, Commander, is a very good question." The assassin's Valdan really was excellent, Koroll noted. Then, of course, Tansen's had been, too. "I can see we're going to get along well."

  "I wouldn't go that far," Koroll said dryly.

  "Better and better." The man sounded coolly amused. "Before we proceed, Commander, let me make one thing quite clear. If you cry out for help at any point, even after we're done talking and I'm on my way out of your formidable headquarters, I will kill you. It would be fatal for you to doubt me on this."

  "I don't."

  The shir pressed against him a little harder. "And if I don't kill you, then my master certainly will, for he sent me to you in good faith."

  "He should have warned me, then," Koroll pointed out.

  "So you could arrange a suitable welcome for me?"

  Koroll didn't want to spend all evening in a verbal dance. "Are you going to tell me who sent you?"

  "Kiloran."

  Koroll drew in a swift, sharp breath and looked up into the face of the man who held a deadly, enchanted blade at his throat. He was a strong, fine-looking fellow, though his cheek was marred by a long scar. He was sleek, swift, and confident, and he smiled at the reaction Kiloran's name had provoked.

  "Kiloran?" Koroll repeated hoarsely. "Why did he send you to me?" If Kiloran hadn't sent the assassin just to kill him, then he couldn't imagine what the waterlord wanted.

  "Ah, Commander. You and my master have a mutual problem."

  "We do?" That was hard to imagine.

  The assassin nodded. "His name is Josarian."

  His heart was beating so heavily it hurt. Hope, withered by the disastrous defeats he had endured throughout the long rains, began to bloom again within his breast.

  Kiloran means to betray Josarian.

  He didn't ask why. He didn't care why. Silerians couldn't help themselves. It was in their nature, their blood, their history. They could never unite, not for more than a fleeting season.

  I can still win.

  The taste of victory was already in his mouth when he said, "Yes, evidently we do have a mutual problem. Have you perchance come to discuss how we can help each other?"

  "That's exactly what I've been sent to discuss, Commander."

  Koroll risked moving away from the shir. The assassin didn't try to stop him. "In that case, you won't need that. Please..." He paused before asking, "What's your name?"

  "Searlon."

  "Please, Searlon." Koroll gestured courteously to a chair. "Take a seat, and let's talk like civilized men."

  The assassin grinned. "Why, thank you, Commander."

  Kiloran's fury knew no bounds. Though Elelar could not sense such things, Mirabar had commented that the air vibrated with the chill of his rage. Elelar had only to look at the old sorcerer's face, though, to know he was on the edge of abandoning the rebellion.

  They were meeting near Britar, at the same fortress that Josarian and Tansen had liberated in their first battle together. The shallaheen were using its burned-out interior to stable livestock which they grazed on the rich local pastures they had seized from Valdani landlords. The lowlanders were keeping stolen horses in many of the vacated fortresses and outposts that they took over; the mounts were more practical in the lowlands than in the heart of the mountains. Most shallaheen still preferred traveling by foot and letting sure-footed donkeys carry their supplies. The sea-born folk burned and sank every ship they attacked, but soon Liron would fall, and the sea-born folk would be granted control of the city's port as their reward.

  The toreni, merchants, and city-dwellers were finally flocking to the cause. Some believed the story of Josarian's triumphant leap into the volcano. Some merely feared what the rebels would do to them if they didn't join the rebellion. Others believed the end of Valdani rule was at hand and wanted to be part of their native land's victory over the foreign invaders. Many were influenced by friends, relatives, and associates within the Alliance who could, for the first time in their lives, be forthright about their mission.

  Elelar still couldn't return to Shaljir, of course, and the estate she had inherited from Gaborian was still in Valdani-occupied lands. When he judged it safe, Zimran had escorted her to the ever-growing territory controlled by the rebels, spreading out in all directions from Dalishar. Respected as a torena and a leader of the rebellion, Elelar, along with Faradar and several of her former servants who had reached safety, was housed at an abandoned Valdani estate near the village of Chandar. These were chaotic times, so she didn't have all the comforts to which she was normally accustomed, but she was far better off than she had expected to be. Besides, almost any place seemed luxurious after spending the rainy season in the caves of Mount Niran.

  She had come to Britar to discuss the assault on Shaljir now that the long rains were ending. It was nearly the New Year, nearly spring. It seemed incredible that the world had changed so much in only one year.

  It seemed incredible that a shallah was now hailed as the Firebringer and leading Sileria to a new age of freedom f
rom foreign rule.

  At the moment, actually, it just seemed incredible that Kiloran didn't call up the mythical White Dragon to consume Josarian on the spot.

  Since Kiloran's power, though great, was finite, he couldn't control the mines of Alizar (which the Valdani were trying to reclaim with all manner of engineers, priests, and exotic wizards) and stop the Idalar River from flowing into Shaljir. Consequently, Josarian was ordering him to release the river to Baran's control so that someone could starve the city of water and help the rebels begin their siege on the nation's capital.

  Since the Idalar River represented the Society's single greatest source of power, and since whoever controlled it was traditionally the most prominent and powerful waterlord of the Society, Kiloran was—to say the least—reluctant to follow orders. He and Josarian had been fighting ever since his arrival, and they were still no closer to a solution. Josarian insisted Kiloran give up either the mines or the river, and Kiloran emphatically refused.

  "We're getting nowhere," Elelar informed Tansen when he arrived from the east that afternoon, two days after her own arrival. "At this rate, Commander Koroll will retire before the Silerian rebels attack Sileria's capital city."

  She had only seen Tansen once since the events at Darshon. The story of Josarian's rebirth from Dar's womb seemed so wildly improbable, so typical of shallah legends and tales, that she wouldn't have believed it if Tansen himself hadn't told her about it. She sensed that his description of that day did it no justice and that there was a great deal which he kept to himself. There was a new scar on his forehead and a fading burn mark on his arm that he wouldn't discuss. The look in his eyes suggested that he, too, had met the goddess in his own way.

  Indeed... Tansen, Josarian, and Mirabar were all different after Darshon. Strangely, Josarian was the least altered of the three of them. He was more focused, more purposeful, and more intent than he had been when she'd first met him. Unfortunately, he was also more unyielding, uncompromising, and uncooperative. He could get away with it because, despite the reservations that some people might have about the events at Darshon, the shallaheen, lowlanders, Guardians, Sisters, zanareen, and sea-born folk now all believed wholeheartedly that he was the Firebringer, and they followed his orders without question or pause. A considerable number of toreni, merchants, and city-dwellers were convinced, too. And Najdan's manner suggested that even some assassins believed it. It gave Josarian a power which he now wielded ruthlessly against the waterlords. They didn't like it, but—so far—they bowed to his wishes.