"Yes, everyone knows that," Amitan said impatiently. "But a beast born of magical union between a wizard and water?"
"How do you think Harlon killed all those Valdani when the Society's feud with the Emperor began?" Falian prodded. "The White Dragon!"
"They drowned, you idiot," said Emelen. "Harlon pulled the lake up over their heads and—"
"And that doesn't bother you?" Zimran pounced. He pointed inside the main cave. "It doesn't worry you that someday the spring in there may rise up to drown us all? That it will cover your face like a mask, no matter how far you run, until you suffocate? That it will freeze like ice over your body until your parts fall off one by one? And all because we shelter him among us!"
Everyone looked at Tansen. Now Zimran spoke of horrors that no one doubted the waterlords could inflict on them.
"We are only outlaws," Emelen argued. "We are only shallaheen feuding with the Valdani, Kiloran's worst enemies. Why should he—"
"How do we know who Kiloran's worst enemy is, Emelen?" Zimran argued. "How do we know it isn't him?"
Tansen remained silent.
"Kiloran hates Baran more than he hates the Valdani," Zimran persisted. "Baran, who's trying to take the Idalar River from him. 'Something of great value,'" he mocked. "If this roshah stays among us, Emelen, then you'd better pray with all your might that there really is no White Dragon, or you'll die in never-ending agony, tormented beyond endurance until Kiloran, too, finally dies. And then there'll be no Otherworld for you, only oblivion. You'll never see Jalilar again, or—"
"Enough!" Emelen said. "That's enough! I can see what you're trying to do."
"You don't know, Emelen," Amitan argued. "We don't know what Kiloran will do, or how far he'll go to kill Tansen. If we get in his way—"
"Show a little courage for once in your life!" Lann snarled.
"Are you calling me a coward?"
"What would you call a man who turns away from a friend the first time there's trouble?" Lann snapped.
"This is more than trouble, you fool!"
"We've all sworn a bloodfeud together!"
"I swore it with Josarian, not a stranger from Gamalan!" Amitan shouted.
"We swore the same vow Tansen did, sriliah!"
Amitan's eyes bulged. "Take that back! Take it back or—"
"Stop!" Emelen stepped between the two men before they could come to blows. "Stop it now! Will you kill each other so the Valdani won't have to bother? Will you make less work for our blood enemies?"
There was a deadly silence. Uneasy expressions, shifting weight, fingers groping unconsciously for swords and yahr, loyalties divided, ancient fears called up from the depths of their hearts, from the darkest corners of their minds. Tansen saw it all and knew the time had come, knew he had no choice now.
"Tansen," Emelen muttered at last. "For the love of Dar... say something."
The shallah boy inside Tansen cried out for an ally, for someone to stand with him against the most powerful waterlord in the world. The shatai kept his expression impassive and settled coldly on the only logical decision. "I'm leaving."
"Leaving?" Emelen blurted, looking betrayed.
"Leaving!" Lann cried.
"What?" Amitan looked confused.
"Ah..." Zimran smiled triumphantly.
"What do you mean you're leaving?" Emelen snapped.
"Zimran is..." Tansen shrugged and said dryly, "Well, I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but Zimran may be right."
Someone laughed involuntarily. Zimran, who had been at odds with Tansen ever since they met, scowled. Emelen threw up his hands in disgust. Amitan still looked confused.
"I don't believe in the White Dragon," Tansen said. "I'm not even sure I believe in the Otherworld." He drew a breath. "But your fight now is with the Valdani. You cannot risk making enemies with the Society; they would finish you off like a dragonfish swallowing a guppy."
"I am not so easy to kill," Lann growled.
"When one waterlord is defied, others may well join with him to punish the offenders," Tansen said. "In such matters, the Society have often temporarily put aside their differences; it's what has always made them stronger than the rest of us." He glanced pointedly from Lann to Amitan. Then he continued, "Kiloran's fight is with me, and only with me, but I cannot deny that he may choose to make an enemy of anyone who seems to be my friend."
"I have said that I am ready—"
"No," Tansen interrupted Lann. "You must fight the Valdani. For yourselves, for each other, for your families. That is your battle. I wanted it to be mine, too..." He shook his head. "But mine is with Kiloran, and until it's settled, I'm too dangerous an ally for you."
"Until it's settled?" Emelen repeated uneasily. "How do you propose to settle it?"
Tansen met his friend's gaze. "I must find Kiloran."
"Find Kiloran? Oh, now that's an excellent plan," Emelen snapped. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"He will kill you before you get halfway to Garabar," Zimran said, sounding satisfied.
"Shut up," Emelen ordered Zimran.
"Don't you tell me—"
"Overlooking, for the moment, that it's unquestionably the quickest way to get yourself killed, what makes you even think you can find him?" Emelen demanded of Tansen, ignoring Zimran.
"I can find him," Tansen replied. "I..." He sighed. "I know who to ask."
So he would ask for her help, after all. The part of him that didn't recoil in shame was sparked into blazing life at the thought of seeing her again after all these years. He would go to her because he had to, because he had no choice, because he needed her help. In truth, he would go to her because, in the end, he couldn't stay away. He was a fool, to be sure, but he would go to her again, just as a secretive, shameful part of him had always known he would.
"Even if you can find him," Emelen said, clearly unconvinced, "what are you going to do once you see him? What makes you think he won't kill you on the spot?"
"Nothing," Tansen admitted. "But I didn't come home after nine years to hide, praying that he'd forget about me if I cowered long enough. And I won't leave Sileria again. Whether it be tomorrow or forty years from now, I will die here."
"You certainly will," Zimran said sardonically.
"I waited nine years," Tansen said. "If he kills me now, he dishonors himself."
Emelen stared at him. "You can't seriously believe he cares about that?"
"Maybe he expects you to survive for nine years here before he'll let you live," Zimran suggested.
"Shut up," Lann told him. "They call themselves the Honored Society, after all. Others have gone into exile and been permitted to come home, after nine years, to live in peace."
"Yes, but that was long ago," Amitan said. "Before we were born."
"Those were richer days, easier nights," said Emelen. "Now even waterlords must scheme and scrape and claw to survive. Even they are too bitter to honor their own customs."
"I am not so easy to kill, either," Tansen reminded him.
"No, but Kiloran can kill anyone, Tansen."
"I won't stay here and risk making the rest of you his enemies. I won't go into hiding. I won't go back into exile. And although I could kill every single assassin who comes for me, that might get a little tiring as the years go by." He met Emelen's gaze. "What else is there for me to do? I will find Kiloran. He will make peace with me, or he won't. If he won't, one of us will die."
The silence which met this calm statement indicated that they all had no doubts about which one would die. Inside of Tansen, a shallah boy screamed that he wanted to live, and a warrior prepared to face his death even as he coldly calculated how he might preserve his life. From the moment he had come home, he had known that he must face Kiloran, return the shir, and stake his life against the honor of a man who had none and against the power of a man more powerful than any other. He had known that he would have to look full into the face of what he had done on that moonless night so long ago. He had come home t
o face the wrath of both Kiloran and Dar, for he could know no peace anywhere until he had done so.
"When will you leave?" Emelen asked at last, his expression resigned.
Tansen looked up at the sky. "Now. As soon as I gather my things. There's at least four good hours of walking left to this day."
Emelen nodded. "I'll... pack some food. And some money. There's plenty left from the Outlooker wages we stole."
"Pack enough for two." Josarian's voice, coming from outside of the gathered crowd of men, startled them all.
The crowd parted and Tansen looked past them to Josarian, who was seated on a rock. He'd assumed Josarian had gone off hunting—or brooding—after agreeing to withdraw from the argument. Instead, he'd been sitting right there, listening, the whole time.
"Why?" Tansen asked.
"Because I'm coming with you."
"How far?"
"All the way."
The men exploded with protests. Tansen said nothing, since they were already saying everything he would say: Josarian was needed here, to lead them. Without him, their bloodfeud against the Valdani would fall apart. They couldn't plan and execute daring raids and attacks the way he could. What would they do if Kiloran killed him, too, and he never came back?
"What will happen to us?" Falian demanded.
Josarian pushed his way through the throng of panicking men and stood in the middle of the circle they formed.
"You will carry on without me." The strength of Josarian's voice refuted all argument, but the men still shook their heads and muttered reproachfully. He continued, "This is a bloodfeud, not my private quarrel. It will live beyond my death, and I pray Dar that it will live beyond all of yours, too."
"But we've only just begun it, and no one has ever—"
Josarian said, "Candan mar Dishon shah Sirdari died on the first day of the bloodfeud he began against Tansen's clan, the Gamalani, yet it lasted for more than forty years."
"The Sirdari were not fighting the Valdani!" Amitan protested.
"And the Sirdari did not have nearly one hundred fifty men sworn to their cause," Josarian countered. "I won't live forever. I probably won't even live long."
"You definitely won't live long if you go off with this roshah now." Zimran's voice was rough with mingled fury and fear.
"Zimran..." Josarian's expression softened with affection. "Zim, the Valdani are now offering ten times the money they first offered Tansen to kill me, and the price on my head will only keep going up. Outlookers scour every village, every Sanctuary, every farm and shrine and shepherd's hut in the district searching for me. Whether I go with Tansen or stay here, you cannot count on my living long."
"Don't," Zimran begged. "Don't even say that. It's bad luck. Gods hear men who speak so carelessly of their own deaths, and they—"
"I swore a bloodfeud so the fight against the Valdani would outlive me—would outlive all of us." Josarian looked around. "Are you telling me that if a Valdani arrow finds my heart tomorrow, you'll all quit and go home?"
"We can't go home," Lann pointed out. "We poisoned the water. Only a waterlord can fix that."
"Do be sure to ask Kiloran when you see him," Zimran growled.
"If Dar wills it so, then I will return," Josarian said. "If not, then you will carry on."
"And who will lead us while you're gone?" Amitan demanded. "Someone must lead us!"
"Yes, I agree," Josarian said. "There must be someone with whom the final decisions rest."
Zimran nodded and started to step forward, then froze with shock when Josarian announced, "Emelen will take charge until I return. In my absence, he speaks for me."
"And if you don't return?" Amitan demanded.
"Then you will choose a leader from among you, whether it be Emelen or another."
Tansen saw their reluctance, but Josarian's power of command was such that they would follow his will. All except, perhaps, Zimran, whose dark eyes burned with betrayal, anger, and hurt.
"We are agreed then," Josarian said at last, seeing that no one else offered any objections.
"Not quite," Tansen said. "I won't let you come with me."
Some of the men were clearly shocked by his words. Josarian merely laughed.
"What will you do?" Josarian asked. "Kill me? No, I don't think so. Leave me behind? Hah! You can't outrun me, Tansen, not in these mountains. Sneak away while I'm sleeping? I'm not such a light sleeper."
"I'll—"
"Save your threats for someone who has something to fear from you," Josarian advised. "I'm coming with you to find Kiloran."
Tansen looked helplessly at him. "Why?"
Josarian shook his head. "You're in Sileria again. You're a shallah again. You must forget about these foreign ways you learned."
"I don't..."
"I'm your bloodbrother, and—thanks to the Sirdari and the Valdani—you have no other family. You can't seriously expect me to let you seek out a waterlord, one who has sworn a bloodvow against you, by yourself."
"He will kill anyone with me," Tansen said through gritted teeth.
"And the Valdani will kill anyone with me." Josarian shrugged. "I suggest we both be very careful."
Chapter Thirteen
"Sirana... are you well now?"
Mirabar blinked and looked around in confusion. "Where are we?"
Sister Basimar, who had been her companion ever since she had left Islanar, said, "Beside Lake Ursan."
"A house of water..."
Basimar blinked. "Yes. You were taken ill suddenly while staring into the water, and you kept saying strange things: 'A house of water. Fire in water. Find the shir and you find him.'" She paused and added, "You also kept saying something about an alliance."
"The alliance..." Mirabar tried to sit up, then groaned and lay her throbbing head back down on the soft ground. "I'm not mad," she said, hoping she sounded convincing.
"You are troubled, though."
"Tormented would be a more accurate word."
"By these visions?"
"Yes. By the visions. By powerful spirits from the Otherworld. By sights and sounds I don't really understand."
"It's good you didn't have this fit until after we were well away from the village."
Although they had gained cautious acceptance in several of the villages to which Basimar had guided Mirabar, too many people still seemed to be studying her for signs of a demonic curse.
"Yes," Mirabar agreed dryly. "Rolling around on the ground, screaming and uttering nonsense, would have created a bad impression."
"Truly, if you should have one of these fits in public—"
"I won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"The Beckoner wouldn't want me to. He knows I'd be killed on the spot, and he wants me to live. For the time being, anyhow."
She squinted up at Basimar, her eyes watering against the glare of the afternoon sun. "And I guess he knows you won't hurt me."
"I am a Sister," Basimar pointed out. "Respect for all living things is my creed. I couldn't harm you even if I were afraid of you."
"And you're not afraid?" Mirabar asked.
Basimar shrugged. "Perhaps your life has been harsher than mine, sirana, and your... gifts are certainly unusual. But we are both women and both shallaheen."
"You have a long-winded way of saying no."
Basimar laughed. "My husband used to say that, sirana."
"Stop calling me that," she said irritably. "My name is Mirabar."
"Given what I have seen so far, it seems disrespectful to call you—"
"How old are you?"
"What?"
"Thirty? Thirty-five?"
"Thirty-six."
"Well, we—Tashinar and I—we think I'm about eighteen. So doesn't it seem silly for you to call me sirana all the time?"
"I..." Basimar sighed. "I had a daughter who would be almost your age now, had she lived, sira... Mirabar."
"There, you see?"
After a reflective silence
, Basimar asked about the visions. When she felt steady enough, Mirabar sat up and poked her finger in the dirt to draw the mysterious symbol that continued to haunt her visions. "Have you ever seen this?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Oh, well."
"What is it?" Basimar asked.
"I don't know." Mirabar stared at it. "But I must find it. I must find the shir. I think they will be together."
"Do you think they belong to Kiloran?"
"I don't think so." She shook her head in confusion. "I don't know. I think they belong to the warrior that I seek."
"Then... is Kiloran the warrior?"
"Darfire! I hope not!"
"Well, does Kiloran have the warrior, then?"
"I don't know... He may have the warrior with him, or perhaps he can simply point the way."
"Is the warrior his friend or ally? An assassin?" Basimar frowned. "Another waterlord?"
"I don't know."
"So... the warrior could even be his prisoner, couldn't he?"
Mirabar's gaze flashed up to Basimar's round face. "His prisoner?" she repeated. "Dar help us, that's one I hadn't thought of."
The sky-reaching towers of Shaljir loomed against the horizon when Tansen and Josarian were still far from the city. Although Josarian had once been to Cavasar, he had never before seen anything so grand and awe-inspiring as the sight he now beheld. Standing on a summit, he and Tansen overlooked the broad, paved road where traffic flowed towards the Adalian Gate, the southern entrance to the city.
Of the three hundred spires which had graced the city in Daurion's time, only a handful were left. Josarian was so impressed by the sight of these graceful spirals of stone and marble reaching toward the heavens that his dazzled mind couldn't imagine even more of them filling the sky.
In any event, their absence was amply compensated for by the tall round towers the Moorlanders had left behind. They were topped by enormous stone dragons and impressive horned creatures, carved centuries ago by the hairy barbarians who believed such figures frightened away the demons they feared.
In Legend Born Page 22