In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  "Sir, the crimes of a lone shallah hardly seemed worthy of bringing to your—"

  "A lone shallah who killed two Outlookers as his very first crime, and has continued plundering and killing ever since, you blundering idiot!"

  Koroll tried not to wince, remembering how he had used those very words when addressing Myrell a few days ago.

  "We thought—"

  "We?"

  "I thought, sir, that the entire military force of Cavasar should be able to deal with one shallah."

  "I suggest that it is not the men who are at fault, Koroll, but their commander."

  "I have made every possible attempt to capture—"

  "You have done nothing useful!"

  "One Silerian amidst those mountains—"

  "Offer a reward, you fool! These people are hungry, like people everywhere. They'll turn him in."

  "We have, sir, but the chances of a monetary reward proving successful in Sileria are quite slim, since their culture prohibits them from revealing information to outs—"

  "I don't give a damn what their culture prohibits!"

  "I suggest—"

  "You've suggested quite enough, Commander," Daroll snapped. "Finish your report, if you please."

  Koroll did so, earning an even hotter glare from his superior officer.

  "Reprisals against Emeldar? That's your plan?" Daroll said scathingly.

  "Not my whole plan, sir. Merely what I was able to set into motion before proceeding here with all due haste to—"

  "Has it occurred to you that rather than imprisoning men and now butchering women and children from this obscure village, we stand a far better chance of catching this outlaw if we simply buy the information we need?"

  "As I've tried to explain, sir—"

  "Spare me your protestations about these noble savages."

  "It's not nobility," Koroll insisted. "These people live and die by certain rules, sir, and one of their most rigid customs is that they never reveal anything to outsiders. Even if someone wanted the money enough to come forward and betray Josarian, not only would such a man's entire community shun him, but the Honored Society would almost certainly assassinate him to enforce lirtahar—their code of silence. The Society would not let such a violation of traditional law go unpunished among Silerians, and the shallaheen know it."

  "The people in this country are now governed by Valdani law, Commander, not the barbaric rules of an outlawed water magic cult." Daroll silenced Koroll's reply with a curt gesture. "I have lost patience with your excuses, Koroll. If you were an officer of lesser rank, I would have you arrested for the mess you've created for the Emperor. However, it could adversely affect morale if the men saw the Commander of Cavasar thrown into a cell. Therefore, consider yourself lucky to be confined to quarters until further notice."

  Daroll summoned two Outlookers and ordered them to escort Koroll to his quarters within the palace. "He's not to be disturbed until I send for him again."

  Fuming at the insults he had endured from a mere boy, and sick with fear as he thought of what this disaster would do to his life, Koroll went to his quarters, a comfortable room overlooking the palace's inner courtyard. Deprived of his freedom, he cooled his heels in there for four days, alternating between fury and despair, scarcely touching the food which was brought to his door twice a day. By the time Daroll sent for him again, he was almost relieved. Anything, even disgrace and punishment, would be better than this eternal waiting.

  Upon entering Daroll's command chamber, he was surprised not to find the Imperial Advisor there; he had assumed he'd been summoned because Daroll had relayed his report to the Advisor and the two of them had decided his fate. Daroll's only companion, however, was an exhausted-looking Outlooker, his gray uniform coated with red dust.

  "This is one of my runners," Daroll said without preamble. "I sent two to Emeldar to find out the results of your—"

  "I'm expecting my own runner," Koroll interrupted. He didn't feel much need to be respectful to a man who'd already decided to ruin him.

  "Then you are destined to be disappointed." There was a coldness in Daroll's voice that Koroll had never heard before, not even during their last disastrous meeting in this room. "None of your men—not a single one—survived the attack on Emeldar."

  Koroll swayed slightly. "I... What did you say?"

  "Tell him," Daroll said to the runner.

  The young Outlooker looked haunted and dazed. "We two were spotted by shallah sentries outside of Emeldar. They killed my partner, then hauled me into the village to see... to see the carnage." He swallowed hard. "Bodies everywhere. Dozens of them. All ours. Even more outside of the village—many more. They—the shallaheen—they had known the riders were coming. They set a trap in a mountain pass... Two huge woven nets. The riders rode into one as it rose suddenly before them. Then one rose behind them, too, preventing escape. The shallaheen on the cliffs rained rocks and boulders down upon them, then arrows. Then they descended to kill anyone who wasn't yet dead." The lad's teeth started chattering. "The riders who came from the other direction, who escaped the deathtrap in the mountain pass... Oh, Three have mercy! I've never seen a dead man before, and there were so many. I—I never—never—"

  "How do you know all this?" Koroll demanded hoarsely, his mind filled with horrifying images. "How do you know what the shallaheen did to—"

  "He told me."

  "Who?"

  "He did. Josarian."

  The name was like a curse, like an evil spell that deprived Koroll of peace or strength. "Josarian..."

  "How did he get there before your men? You said he had no horses," Daroll snapped accusingly, glaring at Koroll.

  "He doesn't." Slow-witted with shock, Koroll mumbled, "And he doesn't need them. He doesn't travel by road." Fighting through the horror clouding his mind, Koroll mused, "He's traveling over the mountains. He's a shallah. But what made him go back to Emeldar? He must have known I would send..." Koroll's blood chilled as he realized. "Yes, he knew. And he came to fight them!"

  It had never occurred to Koroll, not even after the attack on the fortress, that Josarian would willingly stand against eighty Outlookers at Emeldar. Not when there were so many options besides deadly combat with superior forces. Yes, even after the attack on the fortress, Koroll acknowledged with heavy self-recrimination, he had severely underestimated the outlaw.

  "A mere shallah," Koroll murmured to himself. "Who would ever have thought..."

  "He raided an outpost near Mal... Mal..." The young Outlooker stopped, shaking his head and breathing hard.

  "Malthenar?" Koroll guessed.

  "Yes. Everyone's dead there. All the Valdani, I mean. That's why it hasn't been reported. There was no one left alive to... to..."

  "Why did he tell you?" Koroll asked.

  "He wants you to know."

  "Me?"

  "All the Valdani," the Outlooker corrected. "Everyone. You, me, your men, Commander Daroll, the Imperial Advisor himself. He had a message for us all." The young man's face crumbled with remembered fear. "It's why he let me live. It's the only reason. He wanted me to bring a message back to Shaljir."

  "What is the message?" Koroll asked tersely.

  "He says he will not stop killing Outlookers until we stop coming into the mountains." The young man was shaking by now. "He says he will not stop taking back what we have stolen from his people, not unless we give back everything that we have spent two centuries stealing."

  "He's a madman," Daroll said.

  "Did he seem mad to you?" Koroll asked the Outlooker, though he doubted he'd get any useful impressions from one so young and scared.

  "The people there... they seem to love him. He..." The Outlooker thought for a long moment before saying with obvious confusion, "I know he's killed many of us, but he didn't seem like a killer."

  "You mean he seemed like an ordinary shallah?" Koroll asked with a frown.

  "No." The young man shook his head. "Not ordinary. He was not a man y
ou'd mistake for any other, even though those mountain peasants all look alike. There was something different about him." After a moment, the Outlooker shrugged, teeth still chattering. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what..."

  "Enough." Daroll dismissed him brusquely, watched him leave the chamber, then turned to Koroll. "You've just lost another eighty men with your brilliant strategies, Commander. How long before Josarian kills every Outlooker in your entire district?"

  The disaster was so total, so astonishing and overwhelming, Koroll had nothing left to say. He had sent eighty of his men to their deaths, and he had allowed a mountain bandit to become a famous rebel. His life was now ruined, and he knew it would soon be over.

  "I cannot decide on your official fate until the Advisor returns from Liron," Daroll said, eyeing him with distaste. "Until then, I'm placing you under arrest."

  "But I'm the Commander of Cav—"

  "Not anymore." Daroll seized the military insignia which was affixed to Koroll's tunic and tore it off with a sharp yank. "I am leaving for Emeldar in the morning, and I will not return until I can bring Josarian—or his head—with me. Then, Koroll, I will deal with you."

  Chapter Eleven

  "You left me here with a demon." Zimran's first words upon being united with his cousin were spoken with an injured air.

  "I left you with Guardians," Josarian corrected.

  "Fire-eating mystics," Zim said. "Although there is one..." A reminiscent smile curved his mouth. "She pitied my wounds and nursed me back to health. A most tender woman."

  "I'm so glad to know your convalescence was not entirely tedious," Josarian said. "Tell me about the demon. Does he have strange visions or sudden fits?"

  Zimran looked at him curiously. "Not that I've noticed. Why?"

  "I met another one who did."

  "Another one?" When Josarian nodded, Zimran said, "This one is powerful, no doubt about it, but no fits or spells. I hope you at least made certain he wasn't evil before leaving my unconscious carcass in his care."

  "Actually, I was in such a hurry that night..." Josarian grinned at his cousin's expression. Then he asked, "You've been well since then? They have taken proper care of you?"

  "I wouldn't care to stay longer, but they've been kind," Zimran confirmed.

  He and Josarian had been given some privacy upon Josarian's arrival at the Guardian encampment where he'd left his cousin many days ago. As Cheylan had promised, the Outlookers had not found Zimran; and as Josarian had promised, he had finally returned for him. Now as he recounted the extraordinary events which had taken place since their last meeting, he watched the emotions that crossed his cousin's face in rapid succession: skepticism, surprise, astonishment, confusion, shock.

  "Eighty Outlookers?" Zimran choked at last. "You've killed eighty men?"

  "They came to attack women and children and elders," Josarian replied. "They came to punish us by attacking our loved ones. I only wish I could kill them all twice."

  "Is it possible to kill so many?" Zimran whispered. "Are you dreaming? Are you mad?"

  "They die as easily as all the shallaheen they have killed."

  "But what will happen to Emeldar now? The Valdani will send more men, and more after that. The village will never be at peace, never be safe from—"

  "The villagers have abandoned Emeldar. Lann and the other men are helping them move to other villages, places where they have relations. Tansen is staying behind with Emelen to—"

  "Tansen," Zimran repeated with distaste. "This roshah whom you've made your bloodbrother."

  Hearing his cousin's disapproval, Josarian said, "I've told you why he—"

  "Some foreign-looking mercenary appears out of nowhere and you—"

  "He could have killed me at any time, and he didn't."

  "The year is young!"

  Josarian sighed. "I could never have freed you from the fortress without him. He made it possible."

  "I'm sure that's what he tells you," Zimran spat. "What he wants you to believe."

  "That's what I'm telling you." Josarian held his temper in check. "He's not with the Valdani, Zim. He killed more than fifty of them that night."

  "You weren't there. You didn't see."

  "I know what the Valdani are saying. I know what's going on in Britar now. I know that it happened, and he did it." Seeing his cousin's uncomfortable shrug—Zimran hated to lose an argument—Josarian pressed home his point. "While we trapped and killed the Outlookers invading Emeldar via the pass, Tansen led the fight in Emeldar itself. Those who were there say he fought like a sorcerer, like ten men, like nothing they had ever seen before." He paused, then concluded, "He is with us, Zim. He is with me."

  "If you say so," Zimran grumbled. "But just because you trust him does not mean that I have to. Not yet."

  "You will learn to," Josarian said confidently. "As I have. Now—are you ready to leave?"

  "Where are we going?" Zimran asked.

  "Garabar."

  "Sweet Dar, why there of all places?"

  Josarian grinned. "Because a Valdani caravan is carrying grain north to Cavasar, for shipment to Valda. By tomorrow night, they should be camped outside of Garabar."

  "And you plan to attack them?" Zimran said incredulously. "Didn't Emelen's father die by night on Mount Garabar? What makes you think we won't?"

  "There'll be moons. Enough light to see the whites of their eyes."

  "You are mad," Zimran said slowly.

  Josarian just laughed, feeling exultant, confident. "You'll see. You'll understand soon enough. I know you will."

  Mirabar had very few worldly possessions, but she found they were growing heavy by the time she arrived at the first real village she had approached in many years. Thirsty and tired, she considered waiting until the following morning to make her first contact with the villagers. Surely tomorrow would be better...

  No. That was just fear talking, she decided, not weariness. Although she wanted to turn around and run, she forced herself to keep walking towards the cluster of hovels clinging to the mountainside. Waiting one more night wouldn't make confronting the people in this village any easier. She had to start dealing with ordinary people sooner or later, so it might as well be here and now.

  She walked past the burnt offering-ground at the edge of the village, where the sacred lava stone lay shining beneath the afternoon sun. Three small children were playing outside the nearest house. Two girls and a boy. Pretty children, with shining black hair and sunny smiles. Mirabar warmed to them as she watched them laughingly chase some toy around and around.

  Maybe things would go well here, she thought. She walked closer, preparing to greet them.

  One of the girls seized the toy she'd been chasing. She hoisted it over her head and whirled around in a full circle, cheering. Then she spotted Mirabar—and stopped as suddenly as if she'd turned to stone. Her dark eyes grew round. Her jaw dropped. The boy seized the toy from her and ran off laughing. She didn't seem to notice, just kept staring at Mirabar.

  Mirabar smiled reassuringly. "Hello..."

  The child screamed. The other two children scrambled around in surprise. The girl kept screaming. Now she pointed at Mirabar. Finally noticing her, the other two children started screaming, too. They ran away, howling for their mothers. The first little girl simply stood there, pointing and screeching.

  "It's all right," Mirabar said, coming closer. "I won't hurt you."

  Tears welled up in the girl's eyes. Her extended arm started shaking violently as she continued screaming.

  "Please, don't be afraid. I promise I won't hurt you."

  The girl's legs buckled and she fell down, still staring up at Mirabar with wide, watering eyes. Her screaming changed into horrified wailing.

  "My name is Mirabar." She knelt beside the girl and took her hand. "I won't—"

  Another piercing scream caught her attention. She looked up to see a woman running towards them, her face contorted with fear. "Don't touch her! Don't you touch her!"


  Mirabar let go of the child's hand and backed away as the woman rushed forward. Scooping the wailing child into her arms, the woman kept screaming, "Don't touch her!" over and over.

  "I'm sorry," Mirabar said, raising her voice, trying to be heard. "I didn't mean to frighten—"

  "Over there!" It was a man's voice this time.

  Mirabar looked away from the woman and child. She saw that many people were now emerging from nearby houses in response to the screams. Three men were already running toward this spot, one of them shouting, "Get away from it! Get away!"

  Her stomach churning with fear, Mirabar rose to her feet and held out her hands. "The little girl is just frightened," she said clearly. "I startled her. My name is—"

  "She was trying to eat my daughter!" the woman screamed.

  "No!" Mirabar said. "That's not true!"

  One of the three men led the woman and her daughter away. The woman kept shrieking that the demon had tried to kill her child, and the growing crowd was responding with cries of fear and rage. To Mirabar's horror, the two men closest to her now pulled out their yahr and started circling her.

  "Don't!" She shifted on her feet as she tried to keep both men in view. "I'm a Guardian! I've come to—"

  "No one wants your kind here," the taller man snarled.

  "No one wants your kind anywhere," the other added.

  "I don't want to hurt anyone," she insisted.

  Other people were growing bolder now, twenty or more of them coming forward to confront her. She risked looking away from the two men circling her to see if she might find a possible ally among the other villagers. But every face she saw was contorted with fear and hostility. A young man started ostentatiously tossing a rock up and down while he glared at her.

  "I meant no harm to anyone." She tried to keep fear out of her voice, sensing that they would descend upon her if she showed the slightest weakness. "I will go now."

  Unwilling to turn her back on the crowd, she took several steps backward. No one tried to stop her yet. After a few more backward steps, she tripped on a rock and stumbled.