In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  The same price I have always paid.

  This time, it seemed a higher price than ever before, even though she didn't dislike Zimran, whereas she had loathed Ronall and Borell. It was harder this time because she had been foolish enough to believe everything had changed.

  Such a fool.

  She realized by now that she may have been foolish in her choice of lovers, too. It seemed that Zimran no longer had Josarian's ear, either. Elelar closed her eyes, wishing she were alone now, wishing she could weep in private.

  "Kadriah..."

  She opened her eyes at the sound of Zimran's voice. His fingers brushed her cheek, possessive, familiar.

  "Are you unwell?" he asked.

  "Just tired."

  He scowled. "Josarian should not have made you travel so far so quickly, and without any warning."

  "He still won't tell you what going on?"

  Zimran shrugged. "I haven't even seen him today."

  "It's as if they've all disappeared."

  "I don't understand why he—"

  They heard horses outside the window. Elelar looked outside and saw four riders: Srijan, a servant, and two assassins. The four men dismounted. The assassins led the horses around the inn, taking them to the stables out back.

  Elelar heard Srijan's voice in the entrance hall. The door to this chamber swung open a moment later. To her astonishment, Srijan sprang into the room with his shir in hand, ready to fight. Zimran stepped in front of Elelar as she rose to her feet, his yahr already in hand.

  "What's he doing here?" Srijan snarled, looking ready to attack as he glared at Zimran.

  Elelar blinked in surprise. "I always bring an escort. You know that."

  "Why him?"

  "What?" she said, perplexed by Srijan's hostility.

  "The keeper said a shallah was in here with you. Why him? Why Josarian's cousin?"

  "Srijan, what are—"

  "I go where the torena goes." Driving the point home, Zimran added, "Day and night."

  Srijan looked from Zimran to Elelar, then back again. After a long, uncertain moment, he laughed. "So she finally let someone besides a Valdan between her legs, eh?"

  Zimran moved as if to attack, furious at the insult. Elelar stopped him.

  "Don't," she said. "His words mean nothing to me."

  Rigid with outrage, Zimran obeyed her. He always obeyed her. It was his greatest virtue.

  Srijan was clearly enjoying the moment. Elelar was still afraid the two men would tangle, so she suggested everyone sit down; everyone except Srijan's wide-eyed servant did so.

  "So, torena," Srijan said. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence here? Not bad news, I trust."

  Elelar stared at him, her perplexity shifting into vague alarm. Something was wrong. Her instincts warned her that something was very wrong, but she had no idea what. "Bad news?" she repeated.

  Srijan didn't take the bait. He shrugged. "Good news, then?"

  Elelar found his casual attitude... unconvincing. "Actually," she said, watching him carefully, "it was Josarian who wanted to see you. I just—"

  "Josarian?"

  "Yes." The assassin's disbelieving stare made Elelar ask, "Why does that surprise you? He—"

  Srijan shot out of his chair, his face distorted by mingled confusion and fear. "But he's dead!"

  Zimran rose, too. "What?"

  "He's supposed to be dead!" The assassin pulled out his shir again. "Where is he? When did you see him?"

  "What are you talking—"

  The door flew open, and Josarian burst through it, armed and attacking. Srijan whirled to confront him, but Josarian was a much better fighter than the ordinary peasants Srijan had spent his youth terrorizing. The assassin screamed as Josarian disarmed him and drove him to his knees with a sword thrust through his belly.

  Elelar was screaming, trying to shove past Zimran, who was blocking her way and shouting, "What are you doing? Stop! What are you doing?"

  Srijan's obsequious servant moved, and Josarian turned and struck him unconscious with his yahr.

  "Are you mad?" Elelar screamed.

  "You will die for this," Srijan snarled between gritted teeth. "My father will hunt you forever for this."

  Elelar shoved past Zimran and ran to kneel at Srijan's side, coming between him and Josarian. She glared up at the shallah. "This will not convince Kiloran to do your bidding."

  "The time for that is past," Josarian said. "Kiloran has already betrayed me and become my enemy."

  "What?"

  It was a horrible story, one she could scarcely follow as her mind reeled away from the catastrophe inherent in every word. An ambush by Outlookers deep within the heart of rebel territory, at the site of a private meeting which Kiloran had requested with Josarian.

  "They knew Searlon," Josarian said. "They were going to show him Falian's corpse to see if it might be mine."

  Elelar wanted to protest, to find another explanation for the disastrous events he'd described. But Srijan was a fool whose own words had already condemned him: He's supposed to be dead.

  She knew what Josarian intended, and she couldn't let him do it. This would be the end of the rebellion, the end of everything she had worked for her whole life. This would be the end of Sileria.

  "No." She was so frightened she could hardly breathe, let alone speak. "You can't kill him."

  "Get out of my way," Josarian ordered her.

  "You can't!" she cried. "For the love of Dar, think, damn you! Kiloran will never forgive this! He will never make peace with you after this!"

  "Zimran," Josarian said, his voice harsh with warning. "Get her out of my way."

  She shot a desperate glance at Zimran. "Talk to him! Don't let him do this!"

  "Josarian, please..." Zimran begged, clearly torn by conflicting loyalties.

  "Get her out of here!" Josarian shouted.

  "There are two more assassins," Zimran said desperately. "In the stables. If you do this, none of us will leave Golnar alive."

  "They're dead by now," Josarian said.

  Elelar gasped. "The other men you brought. This is why you haven't let anyone in Golnar see any of you." He had used her, making her an unwitting part of the mad vengeance that would destroy them all. "No!"

  "Zimran," Josarian prodded through gritted teeth.

  "Don't hurt her," Zimran warned. "I can't le—"

  "Falian's dead. Lann's barely alive." Josarian raised his sword. "I was supposed to die."

  "My father will destroy you all!" Srijan screamed, struggling to get out of reach. He fell away from Elelar's protective grasp.

  "No!" she screamed. "No! N—"

  Josarian's blade came down with a sickening sound, slicing through the air before it severed Srijan's throat. Blood splattered onto Elelar's face, warm, sticky, wet. She jumped back, her red-stained hands warding off the sight of Srijan's death throes. She screamed again and again in helpless horror as her whole world collapsed in a single moment of madness.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The news didn't reach Tansen until ten days after the fall of Liron. He had expected to spend the spring consolidating rebel power in the east and sweeping across the land toward Adalian, a city already trembling before its imminent fall. But now he knew he must return to Dalishar.

  When Liron fell, Tansen, like everyone else, had been caught up in the euphoria inspired by the greatest victory since Alizar, perhaps the greatest since the beginning of the rebellion. To wander through the empty palaces of Liron and know that they would never again be inhabited by Valdani; to watch ships leave the port overloaded with the city's last few fleeing Valdani civilians and disarmed Outlookers; to walk through the streets of Liron and know that no Outlooker could ever again stop him here, question him, abuse him, arrest him... He had once told Josarian that it was a dream worth dying for. Now he discovered that it was a dream worth living for, too, an achievement worth every sacrifice it had required.

  Thank You, Dar. Thank You fo
r letting me live to see this.

  She still hadn't revealed Her intentions for him, but he felt that She had declared a private, temporary truce when She let him survive that day at Darshon. It return, he supposed it was only fitting that he offer Her an occasional prayer. Mirabar had assured him that, despite his having murdered his bloodfather and having tried to keep Josarian from Dar, it wouldn't be a sacrilege.

  "No one can ever profane Dar with prayer," she had said.

  Since such matters were Mirabar's realm and not his, he was willing to take her word for it.

  Mirabar...

  Tansen had wondered often about her since leaving Dalishar with Jalilar. Mirabar had changed after Darshon. No longer a girl, he realized. And no longer a demon. Among other things, he wondered if she had returned any more of Cheylan's "very passionate" embraces since Darshon. He had seen Cheylan here in the east, of course, but he would cut out his tongue before he'd discuss such matters with him. It was a relief that Cheylan, having met Mirabar himself, no longer asked Tansen about her. Tansen sometimes wondered where she was, what she was doing, if she was well.

  Now he just wondered if she knew about Josarian. The moment he and Emelen learned what had happened, Tansen knew he must return to Josarian's side.

  After killing Srijan, Josarian had dragged his body out into the street and left it there as a warning to everyone, including Kiloran: So die all who betray Josarian. Srijan's wounded servant had been left alive to return to Kiloran with the news of his son's death. Tansen couldn't imagine what had gone on that day at Kandahar, how Kiloran had responded, what had been said. And he could hardly bear to think about what Kiloran would do now; but he knew he must.

  Tansen set out from Liron immediately. He would go to Josarian's side and stay there. Kiloran would never forgive Josarian for this, would never accept peace between them now. Tansen understood why his brother had done it. After Kiloran's betrayal of Josarian, everyone must choose a side. There could be no middle ground. Josarian knew his people. Though he was the Firebringer, many Silerians would only choose him over Kiloran if he made it clear that he was as ruthless as the greatest waterlord in Sileria, unafraid of his wrath and unforgiving of his treachery.

  Josarian had never taken a bigger risk, not even when he had jumped into the Fires of Darshon. Yes, Tansen understood why Josarian had done it, but he wished he hadn't. Now Kiloran would never stop trying to kill Josarian, no matter what it cost him.

  So Tansen was returning to Josarian's side now. A man protected by a shatai was very hard to kill. It was small consolation, but it was all Tansen had.

  "Don't take it out on me, Commander," Searlon snapped, fingering his shir in the lantern light. "It was your men who made a mess of what should have been a perfectly smooth—"

  Koroll snapped back, "Since you weren't even there—"

  "We cannot violate Sanctuary."

  "A fine distinction, since you led the ambush party straight to—"

  "The distinction is that we do not fight or kill on land claimed by the Sisterhood," Searlon said coldly. "Josarian knows this, and it's why he should have been as vulnerable as a baby when he—"

  "Then what went wrong?"

  "Your men bungled the attack!" Searlon sneered at him. "My master was right. All Outlookers are fools."

  Koroll's face burned at the insult. He longed to have this assassin hauled off to prison right now, but he couldn't. Kiloran, though enraged, had not withdrawn his cooperation. Koroll longed to have Searlon killed before his very eyes, but he still needed the assassin and his master.

  "Do you have access to this thing they call the Alliance?" he asked Searlon, rigidly controlling his temper.

  The assassin lifted one brow. Koroll had learned that the gesture signaled surprise in his cagey companion. "Yes." Searlon's smile was insolent as he added, "I even have access to Torena Elelar shah Hasnari."

  Koroll's belly churned with humiliation. He knew that Searlon was laughing at him again. Though they were allies for the moment, the assassin never bothered to hide his contempt. Wanting to spit into that smiling face, Koroll merely said, "I see."

  "Why do you ask, Commander?"

  "The newly-appointed Imperial Advisor has arrived."

  Wealthy, aristocratic, arrogant, and very demanding, Advisor Kaynall was one of the Emperor's many nephews. His distinguished career in the Palace of Heaven had been interrupted by the war, so the Emperor found another use for him and sent him to Sileria. Quite a disappointing assignment after ten years in the Palace of Heaven, Koroll imagined. He might feel sorry for Kaynall if he didn't dislike him so much.

  "And?" Searlon prodded.

  Actually, Searlon rather reminded Koroll of Kaynall. "And he wants to hold a secret meeting with someone who can speak for the Alliance. Under flag of truce, of course."

  "To discuss what?"

  "I have no idea," Koroll lied, just as he was certain Searlon was lying every time he claimed ignorance of Kiloran's plans and intentions. "Can it be arranged?"

  "I will ask my master."

  It was the answer Koroll had expected. He suspected that Searlon had far more power and autonomy than he admitted to, but the assassin kept his own skin safe and his master's reputation intact by pretending to the Valdani that he was a mere messenger.

  "Since you have access to Elelar," Koroll said, "you might tell her that her husband is in custody here."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes. She might not recognize him, though. I doubt she's ever seen him quite so sober."

  Searlon shrugged. "I doubt the torena will care. I understand that she has a new man these days."

  "What a surprise," Koroll said dryly. Her husband was in prison and Borell was barely cold in his grave, but Elelar already had a new lover. "Some things never change."

  "And some fools never learn." Searlon leaned forward, his expression cold as he said, "We are not pleased about the recent massacres, Commander."

  "We did not do it to please you."

  "If you want my master's cooperation— "

  "He is still the enemy," Koroll snapped. "I will not tolerate a waterlord trying to dictate Valdani policy in Sileria."

  Hoping to crush the rising spirits of the peasants in the remaining Valdani-occupied portions of Sileria, Koroll had ordered a wave of brutal attacks along the borders of rebel-held territory.

  Searlon's dark eyes glittered with loathing. "You are clumsy and savage."

  Koroll kept his expression equally cold as he pointed out, "Yet you came to me for help against Josarian."

  Searlon shrugged. "As my master has so often said, allies need not be friends."

  "Indeed, if they were," Koroll murmured, "then I would pity Josarian his friends."

  Tashinar was ill and keeping to her cave on Mount Niran when she heard the news. Mirabar had scarcely left her side these past few days, she was so worried about her. The long rains had been a bad time for Tashinar this year, making her joints ache terribly. Her lungs had succumbed to the damp, too, and she couldn't seem to get rid of this liquid cough that wracked her body day and night.

  I'm old. How did I become old so soon?

  She was touched by Mirabar's concern and solicitude. Unfortunately, when it came to watching over a sick old woman, the girl—woman, Tashinar corrected herself, for Mirabar had changed a great deal in recent months—was about as calming and gentle as a volcanic eruption. Mirabar's fears about Tashinar's health made her tongue even sharper than usual. Just last night, she had once again caused the Sister tending Tashinar to burst into tears. Moreover, the men camped up here routinely entered the cave one after another all day long to talk to Mirabar about the rebellion, the Otherworld, Josarian, Tansen, the fall of Liron, the latest news about Adalian, and numerous other plans that overwhelmed Tashinar's mind and disturbed her rest. Najdan the assassin was never far from Mirabar's side, and Tashinar would never be able rest anywhere near a shir. She didn't know how he could rest, either; his enchanted dagger often twitched and
shivered in Mirabar's presence as if it were alive.

  All things considered, Tashinar had been trying to think of some way to convince Mirabar to leave Niran without hurting her feelings. But this... No, this wasn't how she had wanted it to happen. The news had just reached them: Josarian had murdered Kiloran's son.

  Dar have mercy, we are finished.

  The information had brought chaos to the camp within moments. Assassins and rebels were squaring off, choosing sides, and launching bitter accusations against each other. Kiloran had betrayed Josarian, some said, and this was the Firebringer's revenge. No, Josarian had gone mad, others said, drunk on power and glory.

  Baran's enmity with Kiloran was too deeply ingrained for his people to care what happened to Kiloran or his men. Given a choice between the Firebringer or a waterlord who was their own master's chief rival, they preferred Josarian. The lowlanders, sea-born folk, and Guardians would remain staunchly loyal to Josarian, since they had never pledged themselves to Kiloran. However, some shallaheen would be torn and divided by these events. Many of them still feared Kiloran too much to oppose him, and some clans had sworn loyalty to him many years before they'd ever even heard of Josarian.

  This will destroy the rebellion.

  Tashinar felt immensely weary as she listened to Mirabar and Najdan argue in hushed, desperate voices. Mirabar's eyes were hot and yellow with panic. Najdan seemed to have aged ten years since this morning. Tashinar didn't understand the loyalty between these two, but from the first moment she had seen them together after the birth of the rebel alliance at Lake Kandahar, she had seen how strong their bond was. Now it was dissolving in the disastrous tide of events beyond their control.

  "This is the end of the rebel alliance," Najdan told Mirabar, his voice weary and full of regret. "It's over, sirana."

  "No!" Mirabar shook her head, fighting the destiny that had already overtaken her own plans and dreams. "I will go to Josarian. You will talk to Kiloran. We will convince them—"