In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  Praise for...

  In Legend Born

  The Silerian Trilogy: Book One

  "In Legend Born is the kind of book that makes you say, 'Just one more page. I'm right in the middle of a good part and have been for the last 400 pages.' Laura Resnick's plot and characters work together seamlessly. The protagonists have complex histories, and, as Resnick deftly reveals their hidden motivations, their actions begin to make sense. These characters seem real... and readers will want to know what happens to them."

  —Starlog

  "For action-packed storytelling filled with prophecies, plot reversals, and conflict-haunted heroes, this is as good as it gets."

  —Philadelphia Inquirer

  "A rich brew of conspiracies... juicy romantic entanglements... blood feuds and massacres."

  —Publishers Weekly

  "A smoothly narrated, intricate tale of revolution and the human heart."

  —Library Journal

  "Creating a vast panorama that provides an intimate backdrop to the lives of her fascinating characters, Ms. Resnick writes with the shining wonder of truly great fantasy."

  —Romantic Times

  "Well-crafted . . . well told, absorbing, and intelligent."

  —Booklist

  "An epic debut, a book filled with color and excitement."

  —Abilene Reporter-News

  "A bang-up job, a sharp, satisfying read."

  —The Edmonton Journal

  Copyright

  In Legend Born

  Copyright © 1998 & 2011 by Laura Resnick

  ISBN: 978-1-61475-879-2

  Ebook published by Blonde Trifecta

  Maps by Elizabeth Person

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The copying, reproduction, and distribution of this ebook via any means without permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and refuse to participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's intellectual property rights is greatly appreciated.

  For my grandfather

  Foreword to the E-Book Edition of

  In Legend Born

  The Silerian Trilogy: Book One

  This ebook contains some extra features which were not in the original hardcover and paperback editions of In Legend Born.

  First and foremost are the color maps, which I commissioned from my friend Elizabeth Person. If you have a black-and-white e-reader and would like to see the color versions, or if you'd just like to see a larger image of the maps, they're posted on my website—along with an additional feature which is explained in the Author's Note at the end of this book.

  There's also a Glossary of various terms created for the world of the novel, as well as directories of Characters, Clans, Factions, and Place Names.

  In Legend Born has been out of print for a few years, and I am delighted to be able to make it available again. I hope you enjoy this novel—as well as the remaining two books of the trilogy, The White Dragon and The Destroyer Goddess.

  —Laura Resnick

  Prologue

  "I come to serve. Show me my duty."

  The Beckoner came for her in the night, while the others slept. Lying on her narrow pallet in the dark, Mirabar's chest tightened with fear when she sensed his presence. The other Guardians never heard the Beckoner; it was she alone whom he sought out and tormented.

  Knowing the Beckoner was here now, hearing him call to her in the familiar, silent language of the dead, but with a song uniquely his own, Mirabar ground her teeth together to keep from showing her terror. She had learned long ago that predators became more dangerous the moment they sensed fear.

  When she finally felt ready to face him without flinching, she opened her eyes and turned her head to seek him out. Moonlight flowed through the mouth of the shallow cave where she and her mentor, Tashinar, both slept. Relief mingled with disappointment as Mirabar's gaze swept the shadows; as always, there was no sign of the Beckoner. Nevertheless, the song inside her head was growing stronger and more compelling with each passing second.

  Tonight, she thought, it will be tonight.

  She glanced briefly at Tashinar's sleeping form, softly outlined in the moon glow, then pushed aside her woolen cloak and sat upright. Tashinar obviously did not hear the song, and Mirabar knew with certainty that no one else heard it either, not even the most gifted Guardian in these mountains.

  Come, the Beckoner called her silently, urgently. Come.

  She was afraid. She pushed herself off the ground and grabbed her cloak, whirling it around her shoulders to go out into the chill night and boldly confront this thing that wanted her for reasons which no one could divine; but her chest burned with fear. She set her features in a challenging glare, strode out of the mouth of the cave, and emerged onto the moon-drenched hillside, following the Beckoning even as her heart pounded with dread. It was a twin-moon night, and the snow-capped peak of Mount Darshon gleamed brilliantly in the distance. At the sight of it, she muttered a brief prayer to Dar, the goddess that she, as both a shallah and a Guardian, worshipped.

  Come to me, come...

  Mirabar stopped in her tracks and whirled around, seeking the Beckoner. The increasing urgency of his call reached out to her, stirring a response, inciting a compulsion that was almost sexual in its allure.

  Come to me, run to me...

  He had been calling to her like this for months now. Sometimes he would come two nights in a row, and sometimes many quiet days would go by before he would suddenly come again without warning and then fade away without explanation. But the song had never before been so strong, so urgent. Tonight, perhaps tonight, she would see him at last. And perhaps upon seeing him, she would finally know whether or not he meant her harm.

  Come...

  "Who are you?" she said aloud.

  Come to me, come...

  No one understood what was happening to her, why this thing was seeking her. Guardians summoned shades of the dead, but the dead did not summon Guardians. Not even Tashinar knew whether Mirabar was in danger from this strange, unseen visitant.

  You must come...

  She resisted the pull, the urge, the desire. Her will was strong, and she felt a tremor in the air as the Beckoner redoubled his efforts to lure her away from the mouth of the cave where Tashinar slept.

  Come, come to me...

  "No!"

  She drew in a startled breath when something stirred in the gossamer forest at the edge of their camp. All Guardians lived in hiding and with the continual threat of betrayal and death. Could Outlookers be circling the camp? Or was this another kind of predator altogether?

  "Who's there?" she said sharply.

  A wind stirred, tugging at her cloak, teasing her hair. The low-hanging branches of the gossamer trees parted, their veil-like leaves teasing her vision with glimpses of something deeper in the woods. A hand, an arm, the flash of eyes as golden as her own. Mirabar stumbled backwards, stifling a scream.

  No, you must come...

  She heard sharp, panting breaths—her own. Her limbs trembled with superstitious fear as he emerged from the veiling branches of the gossamer trees and she saw him revealed in the brilliant moon glow.

  He reached out to her.

  She backed away, her eyes watering with horrified recognition. "No! Stay away! Stay back or I'll... No! You're a... Stay away!" she choked in breathless, broken terror.

  His fire-golden eyes, as clear to her now as his demon-red hair, filled with pity. "No," he murmured. "No, don'
t be afraid. Not like this."

  He spoke aloud now, the song of the dead having faded to reveal the face and voice of a man. But Mirabar knew the look of one from the Otherworld; the mystical glow of the afterlife shimmered over his skin, his voice echoed through the woods, and his feet did not touch the ground.

  "Who are you?" she snapped, staring into those orange-yellow eyes with mingled fear and suspicion.

  He stared back. "Do you believe it, too? You?"

  She lowered her own golden eyes briefly, conscious of the fiery red of her own hair. The shallah superstitions which had made her an outcast in her childhood still ruled a dark corner of her heart. Ashamed, she lifted her chin and glared at him again.

  "That you and I were burned by the fires of Dar in the womb?" she said. "That we are accursed, half-demon creatures who must be hunted down and destroyed?" She shook her head slowly, feeling her breathing steady a little. "No, but I have never seen another like me."

  "There have never been many," he conceded.

  "Even fewer now," she pointed out bitterly.

  "Rare and special." He gestured gracefully to her.

  "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

  "I am sent to lead you to them."

  A chill seized her. "To whom?"

  He smiled. It didn't reassure her. "Come. They have waited a thousand years. Don't keep them waiting any longer."

  "Who has—" she began, but he had already turned away and was disappearing amidst the moon-drenched gossamer leaves.

  Come, you must come...

  "Damn you, I asked you a..." She swallowed the rest of her words and scowled. How often had Tashinar told her that the dead told you only what they wanted you to know?

  Mirabar, come, they are waiting...

  Mingled shame and anger sent her into the whispering trees in pursuit of her vision. Living in hiding amidst the highest mountains of Sileria, she seldom saw anything as luxurious as a looking-glass, but she knew full well how strongly she resembled the Beckoner. Yet she, of all people, had nonetheless recoiled at the sight of those burning eyes and that burning hair; she, who had been wounded by such reactions—and endangered by much stronger ones—her whole life. How could she have been so cowardly and superstitious, even when caught off guard like that?

  Besides, he would obviously continue to cut up her peace if she didn't follow him now and learn his purpose. Wishing she had thought to put on her worn leather shoes, she plunged into the forest, following the silent insistence of the Beckoning.

  Come...

  He lured her deep into the woods, so deep that even she, who had grown up wild in these mountains and possessed the instincts of an animal, soon lost all sense of distance or direction. The overhead branches grew ever thicker, until their arms entwined like lovers and blocked out the brilliant light of the two full moons floating amidst the stars.

  Using Guardian fire magic, Mirabar blew a flame into her palm, intending to use it to light the way. A fierce wind came up and extinguished her fire. She glared unseeingly into the night while the Beckoner urged her to hurry. Then, walking blindly, she stubbed her bare toes hard against a rock and stumbled to one side, cursing impatiently.

  Come, they are waiting...

  "Where are they waiting?" she snapped, nursing her foot. "On the other side of the world?"

  You must come...

  "This is ridiculous," she grumbled, gingerly picking her way through the darkness. "I'm a Guardian." After a lifetime of being an outcast, there was a wealth of pride in those words. "The dead come to me, you fool."

  She screamed a moment later when her foot encountered thin air where there should have been earth, and she plunged head first into an abyss. Instead of the quick, painful end she expected, she simply kept falling, ever falling, as if she really might find the other side of the world, as if this black, bottomless emptiness would simply keep swallowing her until she arrived there.

  Then, after a long time, tiny pinpricks of light penetrated her dazed senses. As she neared them, she thought they might be stars. It seemed as if the night sky itself had opened its gaping maw and sucked her off the face of the earth.

  Mirabar.

  As suddenly as she had fallen, she now found herself floating effortlessly in a celestial whirlwind, surrounded by a swirling chaos of unformed seas and unborn stars. Water and fire, she realized dazedly; the two most ancient and powerful forces in Sileria.

  Mirabar.

  "What?" she gasped, wondering if she had been taken to the Otherworld. "What?"

  They are here. Can you hear them?

  "Hear who?"

  You must try!

  There was no need to hide her fear now. She was beyond fear. She was in a place where no feeling had weight, a place far beyond life and death, thought and fear.

  She didn't hear him, but she could see him now. She thought he might be a god, but she had never seen one and so wasn't sure. He was enormous, filling the expanse of emptiness that surrounded her whirling nest of fire and water, of unborn stars and borning rivers. His face was stern, but not frightening. His long black hair melted into the night, and his eyes were golden. Golden, she saw, as golden as her own, churning and shining with fire.

  And she knew then who he was, knew that the stories the Guardians had passed down for a thousand years were true, truly knew for the first time in her life that she was no demon.

  Humbled and awed, she crossed her fists over her chest in the traditional salute, then bowed her head. "Daurion," she whispered.

  Yes! the Beckoner said, his exultation trembling around her.

  Daurion, the last great ruler of Sileria, chosen by the Guardians to hold this vast, mountainous island with a fist of iron in a velvet glove. Daurion, the golden-eyed Yahrdan who had died a thousand years ago and whose monuments and painted image had been systematically destroyed by his enemies after his death, until only half-remembered stories and forbidden songs remained.

  When Mirabar could move, she lifted her head to look at him again, her eyes misting as they met his vast ones. It was true! Those fiery eyes, which now meant almost certain death in Sileria, had once, centuries ago, been birth signs which brought respect and even greatness.

  But so long ago...

  The voice was new, and it shivered through her blood like ecstasy. She saw two others sharing the sky with him now, one dark-eyed and dark-haired like most Silerians, and the other golden-eyed and crowned by a mane of flaming red hair: the long-dead rulers of a once-great land, the forgotten leaders of a proud people enslaved by the Conquest a thousand years ago.

  Mirabar...

  "Sirani," she choked in dialect. My masters. "I come to

  serve." She searched the sky. "Show me my duty."

  He is coming.

  She sought Daurion's face, which was already changing; no longer a face, but something else now. "Who, siran?"

  The sky twisted and heaved with new images. She fell into them, and they wrapped around her and flooded her senses. She saw weapons, sharp blades breaking heavy shackles, swords gleaming in the harsh Silerian sun. She sensed a ferocity which threatened even itself, tasted a dark pool of shame which stained a pure heart, and then choked on her own longing.

  He is coming.

  Blood and courage dripped through the stars, and her heart filled with an emptiness worse than starvation, a bitterness worse than hatred.

  "Who is coming?" she cried, torn by this pain, frightened by this terrible courage, shamed and exalted at once.

  Prepare the way.

  "What must I do?"

  He is coming!

  "How will I know him?" she asked.

  And then the sky caught fire.

  Tashinar found her at sunset the next day. Old, small, frail, and maimed from some long-ago torture by the Outlookers, Tashinar's strength had been worn down by hardship over the years. Now she nearly collapsed under the weight of her relief. Her young student was willful, foolishly brave, and gifted with powers she didn't yet know
how to control. When Tashinar had awoken to find Mirabar gone and then discovered her cloak caught on some branches just beyond the edge of camp, she had feared the worst.

  The strange, unidentified visitant whom Mirabar called the Beckoner had worried Tashinar for months. She knew that several other Guardians had even begun to doubt Mirabar's sanity, but she was primarily concerned with the young woman's safety. Nothing like this had ever happened among the Guardians—a persistent, mysterious vision which no one else could hear, see, or explain. Who could say where it came from or why it wanted their sharp-tongued initiate? For all they knew, this was some strange sorcery of the Society, even though it bore none of the familiar signs.

  They had searched for Mirabar all day, and Tashinar, who loved her, had grown increasingly desperate. No answers came from the Otherworld, and no explanation presented itself. Tashinar had no doubt that Mirabar had finally heeded the call of the Beckoner, and she was beginning to grieve with the certainty of loss when she literally stumbled over the girl's body in some leafy gully far from camp.

  "Mirabar!"

  She scooped the young woman into her arms and laughed with relief. Despite the chill in her skin, Mirabar's lifeblood flowed through her with vivid energy, pounding with urgency and force.

  She was damp and muddy, her thin sleeping robe was torn and streaked, and her bare feet were cut and bloody. Tashinar looked around her but could find no sign of what had drawn Mirabar to this spot in the middle of the night, alone and half-naked.

  Knowing she didn't have the strength to carry Mirabar all the way back to the small Guardian encampment, and unwilling to leave her here long enough to summon help, Tashinar began the unpleasant task of waking her. She had occasionally seen other Guardians in this heavily unconscious state and knew what it signified. It was the body's response to a profound contact with the Otherworld, a contact which had nearly left the individual stranded there. Awakening even under the best of conditions would be physically and emotionally painful; and these, Tashinar reflected with resignation, were hardly the best of conditions.