Josarian glanced at Tansen, then crossed his fists and bowed his head. "I am honored, torena."
"You shouldn't be in Shaljir," she said. "If the Valdani find out you're here, you'll never escape. The city is walled and there are Outlookers everywh—"
"They won't find out," Tansen interrupted.
Elelar looked back at him, all formality forgotten. "You did right to notify us, but bringing him into the heart of Shaljir was not—"
"I didn't bring him. I have business here, and he insisted on coming."
"That was unwise," she told Josarian. "You're not safe here, and your first responsibility is to—"
"I choose my responsibilities, torena," Josarian said, frowning at her. "But I am curious. What interest do you have in my safety and responsibilities?"
Elelar looked at Tansen. "You haven't told him?"
"I didn't know if you would come," he said. "I didn't even know if you were still..." He shrugged.
"I see." She paused, studying him with the curiosity she had refused to reveal before. "I was sure you must be dead by now."
"You're bearing up well under the disappointment."
She ignored that. "When did you come back?"
"Earlier this year."
"And him?" She nodded to Josarian. "How do you know him? Are you responsible for—"
"No. Coincidence. The Valdani captured me in Cavasar, upon my return, because of these." He gestured to his swords, which he now wore unconcealed. "Commander Koroll hired me to find Josarian and kill him, because the Valdani were already so afraid of him."
"So you found him and helped him kill more Valdani?" she guessed.
"Yes." He tensed as she glided forward and, without asking permission, touched the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. Her scent wafted around him, subtle, luxuriant, intoxicating in the dank air of the caverns. The warmth of her skin reached out to him, turning him again into a boy who longed for her touch but was too proud to risk her rebuff.
"Where did you get these?" she asked. "This is Kintish workmanship, isn't it?"
"I left the Adalian coast on a ship bound for Kashala," he replied, looking down into her upturned face. He realized with vague surprise that he was now taller than she was; he hadn't been, back then.
She held his gaze for a moment, then turned away. "Kashala... I did sometimes wonder where you had gone. If you were alive. What had happened to you."
"Whether the Society had found me?" He heard the edge in his voice and clenched his teeth, reminding himself to keep his head.
"No, I would have heard," she reminded him.
"You know about Kiloran's bloodvow, torena?" Josarian asked, watching them both closely, his face dark with concentration as he tried to understand the tension between them.
Tansen's breath came out on a soft puff of laughter. "You might say the torena urged him to swear it."
"What?" Josarian's voice was shocked.
Elelar's eyes flashed, the aristocratic coolness of her manner melting away as anger bubbled to the surface. "What did you expect, after what you did?"
"What did you expect me to do, after all the things you said?" he challenged.
"I never said anything to make you do something so reckless, so destructive, so abysmally stupid!" she shot back.
"You were the one who showed me the way, who taught me my duty, who taught me what they really are." Nine years of anger, of burning resentment, flooded his veins. He heard it throbbing in his voice, exposing him, but suddenly he didn't care. How could she have done this to him?
"You can't blame it on me!" she shouted. "You could have gotten us all killed! You nearly did! As it was, you ruined everything! If not for you, we could have won!"
"Won what?" he snapped. "Another thousand years of slavery? Another ruthless conquest?"
"The Valdani are the only enemies that matter!" she cried.
"You're wrong." He had told her so then, too, and he saw that she still didn't understand. "And you were wrong to betray me, Elelar." He shook his head and added, "I thought you had more courage than that."
Elelar stepped back as if he had slapped her. Her face was pale with the shock of his insult. The mingled blessings, banishing prayers, and mourning chants of the Beyah-Olvari were reaching deafening proportions. Such hostile, emotional outbursts were deeply distressing to them. Tansen looked around at his wailing, swaying companions and cursed himself for having lost control. He knew better. He was a shatai. He must focus on the task at hand.
"I did what I did to save the Alliance," Elelar said, her voice quiet but shaking with anger. "In one stupid, irrational act, you destroyed Sileria's future. You nearly destroyed the Alliance, too." She glared at him, her gaze scorching. "I couldn't change what you'd done, but I wasn't going to let you destroy the work of years, the work to which my parents, my grandfather, and so many others devoted their lives."
"The work of years?" Tansen's voice was scathing. "In a few short months, Josarian has hurt the Valdani more than the entire fifty years of the Alliance's scheming and double-dealing and—"
"And without us, he'd continue wasting his efforts on minor targets," she snapped. "Violence without intelligence is nothing! Or haven't you learned that yet? Have you totally wasted these nine years?"
"He's a shatai," Josarian interrupted, his voice harsh with anger. "And no one may speak to him so, torena. He has used his time well, and you owe him more respect than—"
"A shatai?" She glanced from Tansen's swords to his face, her expression confused. "I have seen shatai, and you don't look—"
"I, uh..." Tansen looked wryly at Josarian. "I underwent a slight transformation after I joined Josarian. A shatai would be too easy to spot in the mountains." Seeing her dubious expression, he sighed and unlaced the front of his shabby tunic enough to expose the brand on his chest. Her astonished gasp pleased him.
She came forward and stared at the elaborate scar that he had earned with sweat, pain, and skill, and which he bore with pride. "You... became a shatai." Her voice was the barest of whispers.
"I know, you're disappointed." He closed his tunic. "For nine years, I've no doubt you've been picturing me as dragonfish bait."
She rolled her eyes. "For nine years I've been busy w..." She stopped and stared. "Nine years. The bloodvow! So that's why you came back."
"Yes."
She turned her palms up. "Then... it's over?"
"That's what I need to discuss with Kiloran," he said. "He seems to have forgotten to rescind the bloodvow, and the Society knows I'm back."
"They'll send assassins after you."
"Two have already found me."
She blinked. "And?"
"And if this keeps up, I'll soon have more shir than the Society."
She looked stunned. "But... they're assassins. How in the Fires did you—"
"I'm a shatai." He enjoyed the opportunity to show her a little condescension. "I am not so easy to kill."
Her gaze was intent, assessing. "You're not afraid of them."
"I can kill as many as Kiloran can send," Tansen said dismissively. "That's not the problem."
"The problem," Josarian said, "is that our fight with Kiloran interferes with our bloodfeud against the Valdani."
"Our fight with Kiloran?" Elelar's brows went up.
"Tansen is my bloodbrother now," Josarian told her. "His clan is gone. There is no one but me to fight at his side."
Elelar looked back at Tansen, her irritation evident. "Now that's just wonderful."
"I thought you would be interested," he said with satisfaction.
"You're needed in the mountains," she explained to Josarian. "More than you're needed at Tansen's side."
The notorious rebel clearly didn't appreciate being spoken to as if he were a child. "Tansen cannot go back to the mountains until this business with Kiloran is settled, so neither can I."
"There are more important considerations than—"
"If you betrayed him, torena, then you can hard
ly expect me to listen to your advice." Josarian's expression revealed contempt, and Tansen suspected that it was a novel experience for Elelar to be addressed this way by a shallah.
"Dar grant me patience," she muttered. She glanced at Tansen. "I can guess why you've come. You want me to help you find Kiloran."
"Yes."
"You can't truly believe he'll rescind the bloodvow?"
"It has been nine years," Tansen said, knowing the words were hollow. "Honor dictates—"
"Don't waste my time pretending that Kiloran cares about honor."
"I'm bringing back the shir."
"You've still got it?"
He nodded. "It's an honorable peace offering."
"Not after what you did." Her voice trembled with the emotions she was trying to keep from erupting once again. "He will never forgive you for what you did."
"Will you help me find him?"
"Tansen..." She put a hand on his arm, the first time she had touched him since entering the Chamber of the Sacred Pool. It was disgraceful, he thought, how much her touch could make him want to forgive her everything. "He's a waterlord. The waterlord. Even a shatai cannot survive a direct attack from Kiloran."
"Will you help me?" he repeated.
"Tansen, please..." She shook her head. "It wasn't your death I sought. It was the survival of the Alliance. And now that I see you again, I..." She looked away. "Let me help you get out of Sileria. I can help you get away safely."
"I only want you to help me find Kiloran." His heart pounded at her nearness, ached at her softening.
"He'll kill you," she whispered. "He will kill you. You must know that."
"I will see him, with or without your help, Elelar," he said above the wailing of the Beyah-Olvari. "We will make peace, or one of us will die."
"Please—"
"That's how it will be." A woman's pleas, he discovered, were harder to resist than his own fear. "There is no other way." Now was the time to bait the trap. "If you help me..."
"What?" She didn't even bother to look up.
He glanced at Josarian. "Then my bloodbrother might show his appreciation, even after my death, by joining the Alliance."
That got her to look up. Her eyes narrowed, for she knew the answer to her next question: "And if I don't?"
"You'll never see Josarian again."
Josarian recognized his cue. "If you help us now, torena, I'll swear a bloodpact with you."
Elelar held up a smooth, flawless palm. "If you come anywhere near me with a knife, I'll have you arrested."
Josarian's mouth quirked. "Forgive me, torena, I forgot that only shallah women can bear the knife with dignity."
Tansen wanted to laugh at the look Elelar flashed Josarian, since he had no doubt that she still prided herself on being able to bear anything.
"The point is, Elelar," Tansen said, "if the Alliance wants Josarian and the shallaheen to join them, whether I survive or not, then—"
"Then I must take you to Kiloran," she concluded bitterly.
"Those are our terms," Josarian confirmed. He met Tansen's gaze, his look clearly expressing that he'd require a lot of explanations about this scene.
"Do you want to die?" Elelar asked Tansen.
Instead of answering, he reminded her, "You traded my life for the Alliance once before. Why hesitate now?"
She lowered her head and sighed. After a long moment, with the wailing of the Beyah-Olvari echoing all around them, she finally nodded. "Very well. I will take you to Kiloran."
Chapter Seventeen
His name was Najdan, and he had been born to such bitter poverty that hunger was his earliest memory. His father had been taken to the mines soon after the birth of Najdan's youngest sister, where he died without ever seeing the sky again. At fourteen, Najdan had committed his first murder, slaying a sriliah sought by Kiloran. It had been risky, for assassins resented ordinary men who tried to reap the glory of fulfilling a bloodvow; they often killed such a man before he could petition a waterlord to initiate him into the Society. Of course, if he survived, as Najdan had, then he became one of them and was thereafter protected by their code. An assassin could kill almost any ordinary man with impunity, but only a waterlord could order the death of another member of the Honored Society. If one assassin killed another without such authorization, then his life was forfeit. Indeed, the punishment was even worse than death; it was said that the White Dragon came after an assassin who had dishonored the Society. The rights and privileges granted by the Society were great, but so were the penalties for violating its laws.
Najdan had never regretted that first assassination, nor the many he had committed since then. His mother and sisters, although he seldom saw them anymore, had full bellies and comfortable homes. He could never have accomplished that by breaking his back in lawful pursuits from dawn until dusk every day; hard work never changed the poverty of a shallah's existence under Valdani rule. His belly was full, too. He wore fine clothes, replacing them regularly with new ones, and his boots were specially made for him in Adalian. His mistress kept a comfortable house for him deep in the mountains, not far from Kiloran's lair. Now, twenty years after making that first kill and surviving long enough to be initiated into the Society, Najdan feared only two things in life: hunger and Kiloran.
True, an assassin was always in danger from the Outlookers. If they caught him, they would slaughter him, send him to the mines, or throw him into some prison cell to die slowly. But the Outlookers, after all, were merely Valdani—stupid, clumsy, and easily evaded. Besides, a man armed with a shir was no easy victim, not even when set upon by sword-wielding Outlookers. Najdan had killed three Outlookers over the years and knew that they were not invincible; there were just so many of them. Even Kiloran couldn't figure out how to kill them all.
The old wizard had expressed some interest in the young shallah who had managed to kill so many lately. Indeed, there were many things about Josarian that intrigued Kiloran, not the least of which was how, when, and why he had joined forces with Tansen, the mysterious mercenary who had appeared out of nowhere when the year was still young.
The waterlords of the Honored Society had already agreed that they didn't mind this unexpected mountain rebellion. It made their enemies, the Valdani, suffer—and even look incredibly foolish on occasion. It drew attention away from some of the Society's activities, thus increasing profits and power. Above all, Josarian offered no offense to the Society and did not challenge their supremacy.
It was unfortunate, however, that a man now reputed to be among Josarian's most trusted companions just happened to be an enemy of Kiloran's. Moreover, Tansen, the only surviving son of an extinct clan, had already somehow managed to kill two assassins sent to fulfill the bloodvow, thus adding to the insult of his continued existence in this world. This had given everyone cause to pause and seriously consider the situation; no one could remember the last time a mere shallah had killed an assassin.
Kiloran was furious. He had recalled Najdan from business on the western coast and ordered him to find and kill Tansen, quickly and efficiently. Najdan prided himself on being one of Kiloran's best and most trusted assassins. He had never possessed the qualities which might have enabled him to study the mysterious art of water magic, the secret sorcery upon which the might and power of the Society had been built, but he was exceptionally good at carrying out the Society's more practical business. True, he was not as clever as Searlon, the assassin whom Kiloran valued most of all; but Searlon came from a wealthy merchant family and was educated. However, although Najdan lacked Searlon's imagination and sophistication, he was very good at killing people, and this made him valuable to Kiloran. He acknowledged this without particular pride or regret; it simply meant that, as a mere boy of fourteen, he had chosen the right path in life. It was more than most men could say.
There was some talk about the shallah he sought. Strange talk about foreign swords, extraordinary abilities, a private bloodpact with Josarian—whose head
he had once sought—and a past full of violence and mystery. Many members of the Society were curious about why Kiloran wanted the roshah dead, and no one seemed to know who the man was or what he had done to earn the waterlord's enmity. Kiloran himself had only told Najdan, "He destroyed something very valuable that should have been mine; something that can never be replaced."
Najdan didn't actually care what Tansen had done. He had always considered curiosity an unhealthy vice. It was enough to know that Kiloran wanted the sriliah dead, and that he was apparently hard to kill. At least he shouldn't be too hard to find, though; careful questioning in various villages revealed that Josarian's men were based up in the Dalishar Caves. A good choice for outlaws trying to avoid the Outlookers, Najdan supposed. Even Kiloran's lair was not as remote as those haunted, echoing, eerily-painted caves with their eternal fires. Najdan had never been there, but every Silerian had heard them described. Although the Society had long ago surpassed the might and influence of the Guardians, Dalishar was one of the rare places where Guardian magic still reigned supreme; centuries ago, the waterlords had quietly abandoned their attempts to control the site.
Najdan didn't relish going there, but he wasn't afraid. He had killed men in worse places.
As he tracked his quarry, he discovered that Tansen's reputation was spreading through the mountains as fast as Josarian's. Village taverns echoed with extravagant tales of the many men the stranger had killed here and abroad. He reputedly carried two Kintish swords which were said to be so powerfully enchanted that they leapt out of their sheathes by themselves and slaughtered his enemies before they had time to blink. People respected, feared, and even admired him. It was Josarian, however, whom they loved.
As Najdan ascended Mount Dalishar through rugged terrain, he supposed it was a lucky thing that Kiloran hadn't sent him here to kill Josarian. Passing through these western mountain villages, Najdan couldn't recall having ever seen anything unite the shallaheen like their love for Josarian. Some of it, of course, was gratitude; many bellies were fuller this season, thanks to Josarian's peculiar habit of giving away virtually everything he stole from the Valdani. But there was something else at work here, too, something that gave the shallaheen courage in the face of violence, and strength in the shadow of grief. The Outlookers had recently staged a hideous massacre at Malthenar after the villagers refused to betray Josarian, and now there were rumors of another massacre at Morven, though reports were still vague.
In Legend Born Page 28