The savagery of it had turned Myrell sick with hatred and made him lust for vengeance. His entire command, his men, his career, his life... everything destroyed by these bloodthirsty Silerian savages, a race of illiterate slaves, a people little advanced beyond the sheep they tended.
While Myrell choked on the bile of his hatred, Koroll ordered two Outlookers to escort him to a guarded chamber, then dismissed Myrell, his voice rich with loathing.
After the former Outlooker captain had left his command chamber, Koroll picked up the bloody Moorlander tunic and examined it more closely. No, there was no doubt about it; this was the same tunic the shatai had worn.
Great merciful bloodstained gods! Had Josarian managed to kill even the shatai? Had that murdering, thieving shallah tangled with one of the most highly-skilled warriors in the entire world and won? How was such a thing possible? Perhaps there was some other explanation.
Koroll looked at the tunic again. What other explanation could there be? How else could Josarian have gotten hold of the tunic, and where had all the blood come from? He must have carried it as a trophy until one day he'd found a use for it. The outlaw had baited Myrell with it, using the fiction of Porsall's abduction to keep Myrell from capturing him immediately, thereby giving himself an opportunity to lead the Outlookers into the deadly trap he'd set for them in the mountains.
According to Myrell, the riders who hadn't plunged into the quarry had been killed in combat. Could Josarian have done that alone, or had someone helped him? Koroll suspected it was the latter. After all, Myrell had imprisoned twenty men from Emeldar. It didn't take much imagination to picture Josarian convincing others from the village to help him free those prisoners.
So now he had help; the outlaw was no longer alone. Indeed, all the survivors of the prison break had probably joined him now, too. He'd been troublesome enough by himself, but now he'd have a small band of men under his command.
Fear settled in Koroll's belly like a lump of ice. This shallah must be stopped! He had killed armed Outlookers in ambushes and in combat, eluded capture far longer than anyone had anticipated, somehow managed to murder a shatai, successfully attacked a fortress and freed its prisoners, and led over fifty trained men straight to their deaths. He must be stopped before he could do more damage.
The question was: What would it take to kill him?
This problem plagued Koroll as he fingered the tunic. For all that Myrell was a bungling fool who'd let twenty prisoners escape to kill most of his men and burn all of his supplies, he did have one good idea: convincing other shallaheen to turn on Josarian. If Koroll could make them suffer enough in Josarian's name, the outlaw's own people would kill him. For two centuries the Valdani had controlled Silerians by manipulating them into exercising their violent tendencies upon each other rather than upon their conquerors. It was time to bring this philosophy to a new level of efficiency.
Koroll contemplated how he could employ Myrell to further his own ends. He was one of the few living Valdani who had actually seen Josarian and could identify him, alive or dead. Moreover, Myrell had nothing left to lose, and Koroll had seen the hatred and fury burning inside of him. Left alone, Myrell would turn to drink, violence, and reckless pursuits in some forgotten corner of the Empire. But properly used... Properly used, he could become as brutal, focused, and fearless as the outlaw they sought.
"Where will you go?" Tashinar demanded, fear making her voice rough as she watched Mirabar bundle up her few belongings. "You can't simply walk down the mountain and assume no one will notice you!"
"I know," Mirabar said, her voice unnaturally calm under the circumstances.
"Then how do you expect to survive more than a few days?" Tashinar cried, resisting the urge to shake her initiate.
"I must..." Mirabar frowned absently. "I must rely upon the Beckoner to protect me."
"Protect you? All he's done is torment you ever since he first—"
"He wants me to live long enough to... to do whatever it is he wants me to do. So he will have to protect me from superstition and violence."
Tashinar tried another angle. "And Kiloran? How do you expect to find him? Do you think you can just go around the countryside asking for him?"
"I will be led to him. Somehow, I know I will be led." She sounded neither smug nor happy. But she did sound certain.
"And what about us? How will we know what happens to you? You can't expect me to simply wait and wonder—" She stopped abruptly when Mirabar burst into a peal of laughter.
"Tashinar, you of all people should be able to find out what happens to me!" Mirabar said, genuinely amused.
Tashinar blinked in astonishment. She had actually forgotten for a moment. Nearly forty years as a Guardian, and she had forgotten that she was a gateway to the Otherworld. But she was not soothed by the reminder. Her throat tightened as she said, "The next time we talk, I do not want to see you as a shade in the Otherworld."
"I don't either." Mirabar trembled briefly, and for the first time, Tashinar realized how terrified she was behind her determined demeanor.
"I'm coming with you," Tashinar said suddenly.
"You can't." Mirabar avoided her gaze and kept her voice toneless. "You're too old to make the journey. You would slow me down."
"How dare you talk to me that way!"
"It won't work, Tashinar," Mirabar said. "You may not come."
Tashinar saw with sudden sorrow that the Beckoner was replacing her as Mirabar's mentor and guide. Tashinar still had so much to teach Mirabar about being a Guardian of the Otherworld, but the girl was right: In this matter, she was just an old woman who would interfere with Mirabar's duty.
She suppressed the impulse to take Mirabar in her arms and shelter her as she had during the girl's childhood, when she'd been a bewildered girl in need of comfort and reassurance. "You may need money down below. I have some that I've kept aside for an emergency."
"Yes, I..." Mirabar looked around her in confusion. "I hadn't thought about that." She had never used money—had only even seen it a few times in her life.
"Always bargain for a lower price than is asked," Tashinar instructed after returning to her side with the copper and silver coins she kept in a little doeskin bag. "Down below, people are less likely to feed you just because you're a Guardian. So you'll need to use this wisely." The girl could trap, hunt, and gather all manner of food, but Tashinar doubted she'd ever even been in a marketplace. Even assuming traders would deal with her, there were just so many things about ordinary life she simply didn't know. "How will you— I mean, this is very—"
"There is a reason." Mirabar put her hand on Tashinar's shoulder and squeezed gently. "You must believe that."
A man's voice interrupted them. "Excuse me..."
Mirabar whirled to face the intruder. It was only Derlen, looking unusually hesitant. "What do you want?"
"Mirabar..." He shifted his weight. "I know you have resented me for—"
"That's in the past now, Derlen," she said gruffly. "I'm leaving."
"Yes, I know." He took a breath and continued, "It was never personal. Anything I have done or said has been for the good of the circle."
"I know."
"I don't understand what's happening to you, where your visions come from, or where they are taking you. But I sense that your task is enormous and that the risks will be great." He handed her a portion of knotted twine; the shiny black beads of a Guardian were woven into it beside the red ones of a merchant. "My family in Shaljir are wealthy and somewhat influential. If you need help of any kind, no matter how great or small, this jashar will open their doors to you."
Tashinar took the message from him and studied it, then handed it to Mirabar. Derlen had included a little personal news about himself and his son, but otherwise the jashar merely introduced Mirabar as a powerful Guardian on a sacred mission who must be aided in whatever way she required.
"Thank you, Derlen," Mirabar said, looking genuinely moved.
Unfor
tunately, Derlen got rather pedantic and fussy then, annoying Mirabar, who snapped at him and rudely turned away. After he left, Mirabar grumbled, "We will never get along."
"And I had such hopes," Tashinar said dryly.
Mirabar was startled into a shaky smile. "Well, perhaps when I return, we will both have mellowed."
"Will you return?"
"I promise."
A little while later, as she watched Mirabar, still so young, set her foot upon the path leading her away from the only safety she had ever known, Tashinar held that promise to her heart.
It didn't take a gift of prophecy to predict that the Outlookers' first move would be to punish Josarian and the escaped prisoners by hurting their families in Emeldar. So the band of outlaws traveled back toward their native village at top speed to save their loved ones from Valdani revenge. They knew they'd need supplies for their people, so along the way, they attacked and looted an Outlooker outpost by night.
At first, the people in Malthenar, the nearest village, were furious as they worried about the punishment they might receive as a result of this. Josarian spoke to them by firelight in the village square.
"You've broken no laws here tonight!" he reminded them. "The Valdani know who I am and what I've already done, and soon they will know just how much harm I mean them. Tell them who did this! Tell them who killed Outlookers and stole their supplies here tonight!" He paused, looking around at the faces in the crowd. "Tell them I have sworn a bloodfeud against them."
Standing behind Josarian's right shoulder, ready to defend him against anyone who might actually attempt what Falian had merely threatened to do in the caves of Dalishar, Tansen was heartened by the rallying effect that Josarian's announcement had on the villagers. He had well over a dozen loyal men with him now, and word was already spreading about what had happened at Britar. Josarian's legend, born on the bloody night he had killed for the first time, was growing fast.
"Yes!" a woman cried, forcing her way through the crowd to face Josarian. "Yes! A bloodfeud!"
Another woman grabbed at her, but the woman—thin and far from youth, with bitter lines carved into her face—shook her off. "They've taken everything from me! Everything. My husband, three strong sons, my father—all killed by Outlookers or taken to the mines." She seized the small knife she wore on a frayed rope around her neck and sliced open her left palm. "I cannot use a yahr or raise a sword, Josarian, but a woman can hate. A woman can help. A woman can still find a way to kill!"
Everyone watched her in astonishment, for a bloodfeud was not normally women's business. But Josarian held her gaze, then nodded and took her hand. He led her to the blazing torch that Lann held.
"If your vow is sincere," he said to the woman, "then this fire will serve."
She held her hand over the flames as Lann lowered the torch for her. "I don't know the exact words," she admitted, her eyes riveted on Josarian's face.
"Then repeat them after me," he said. "I swear by Dar, by my honor, and by the memory of my slain kin..."
Two dozen other villagers wound up joining Josarian's bloodfeud that night. Most chose to stay in Malthenar and await Josarian's instructions, but a few of the younger men—ignoring their mothers' pleas—decided to accompany Josarian and his men into the mountains. Before leaving, Josarian gave the people of Malthenar almost half of the food and supplies he had just stolen from the Outlooker outpost.
Among the supplies they now hauled with them on their way to Emeldar were more swords. Tansen realized that he'd have to teach these men how to use them properly, or they'd cut themselves to ribbons. Josarian agreed with him when they discussed it the next night, the two of them still wakeful after most of the other men had fallen asleep.
"What do you think we should do in Emeldar?" Josarian asked. "Fight, or abandon the town and scatter everyone throughout other villages?"
"Both," Tansen said. "Even with your powers of persuasion, too many people will refuse to leave at first. And the Valdani believe in swift reprisal. They'll attack the village as soon as they can."
"So if we fight, this will convince the villagers of the danger they're in," Josarian concluded.
"Battles and blood are very convincing. When they see men die, when they are faced with killing men themselves, they'll know that they can never go back." Tansen nodded. "They'll follow your orders then. And when they spread news to other villages about the battle at Emeldar... "
"Other villages will know that they, too, can fight back."
"Perhaps," Tansen said. "It seems incredible, though."
"That we should fight the Valdani?"
"That we should fight anybody but each other."
As much as Koroll hated to reveal these setbacks to his commander, he knew that the death of so many Outlookers at Britar could not go unreported. Moreover, such news was disastrous enough that he must report it in person in order to deal with the questions which would now certainly arise about his ability to continue governing his district in this pathetic excuse of a country. So, having ordered one of his captains to take eighty riders and make a lasting impression on Emeldar, Koroll set out for Shaljir with a bodyguard of six men. He followed the ancient coastal road, originally built by Silerians and repaired over the centuries by successive waves of conquering peoples.
Although Myrell might now well be the best man to lead the raid, Koroll thought it would be imprudent to release him from confinement until he had dealt with his own superiors in Shaljir. Koroll wouldn't be able to avoid any blame for the mess at Britar, even though he had known nothing of Myrell's actions or intentions at the time; Myrell was under his command and was therefore his responsibility. Nonetheless, he had no intention of letting Myrell's miscalculations ruin his career. Strategy suggested that he blame himself more than was necessary when he reached Shaljir, thereby—he hoped—prompting his superiors to be the ones to point out that he shouldn't be demoted, disgraced, or executed for something he couldn't possibly have prevented. It was always better to manipulate others into speaking up for you than to speak up for yourself, Koroll found.
If his position as military governor of Cavasar remained secure, then he could release Myrell and find special work for him. Meanwhile, Koroll had arranged for a runner to meet him in Shaljir after the attack on Emeldar. It would look good to be able to advise his superiors of quick reprisals and a show of force.
Commander Daroll was considerably younger than Koroll and, in Koroll's opinion, shouldn't have been given the highest military office in Sileria as his very first position. He was military governor of Shaljir and its district, and thus High Commander of Sileria, overseeing both Koroll and the military governor of Liron. Inexperienced and unproven, Daroll was a younger son in one of Valda's oldest, most powerful families. Although Sileria was a backwater province of the empire, Daroll's current position was a prestigious one for someone who was barely a man.
Koroll was fifteen years older than Daroll and had served with distinction in the Emperor's wars before coming here, yet now he must report to Daroll, a callow youth, and treat him with the deference and obedience due a superior officer. The post in Shaljir had become vacant last year when an aging commander retired after half a lifetime here. Koroll knew the post should have been his, knew that he was more capable and deserving than the young fool who'd gotten it instead and who would remain there for several more years for seasoning. Now, with that avenue closed to him, Koroll's only hope of getting out of Cavasar and Sileria was to distinguish himself sufficiently to be promoted past Daroll and sent, at long last, to another part of the world. Such were the disadvantages of rising through the ranks, rather than being born beneath the Emperor's gaze.
Handsome, educated, and arrogant, Daroll greeted Koroll with the formal courtesy of a Valdani aristocrat when he entered the command chamber in the fortress at Shaljir. Rather than make do with oft-repaired Moorlander ruins, as Koroll did, Daroll commanded his forces from a luxurious Valdani palace which had been built right next to
the old Kintish fortress. Koroll's gaze fixed momentarily on the Seal of Shaljir, the fabulous gold and jewel-encrusted symbol of Valdani power in Sileria, which hung from Daroll's neck. Envy licked at his insides like bitter flames, and he forced himself to look away from the prize that should have been his.
Since Daroll was alone, Koroll said, "I had hoped for an audience with you and the Imperial Advisor, sir."
It was what he had requested upon arriving in Shaljir, and Daroll damn well knew it. The Imperial Advisor was the Emperor's personal representative and reported directly to him. While Koroll didn't relish the thought of his news being conveyed to the Emperor, he was even less pleased with the thought of Daroll reporting it to the Advisor in Koroll's absence. Who knew what this young goat-molester would say about him behind his back? Koroll wanted the Advisor to hear about this from his own lips and no one else's.
"I'm afraid the Advisor still in Liron," Daroll said dismissively. "However, if you've come all this way to tell me anything of political import, I will be sure to inform him."
I'll bet you will, you woman-faced fool, Koroll thought.
"Very well, sir," he said smoothly. "I'm sure it's best left to your judgment. I've come personally from Cavasar to report the most grievous events."
He proceeded to describe the situation, omitting his unauthorized hiring of a shatai, but stressing his earnest attempts to have Josarian captured or killed. He also blatantly lied, pretending that certain of Josarian's exploits had been brought to his attention only within the past few days. He concluded by taking full responsibility for Myrell's actions and the loss of so many men.
"You're damn right you'll take full responsibility!" Daroll thundered. "Why was I not informed of this problem from the very beginning?"
In Legend Born Page 18