In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  In truth, even getting men transferred from a Kintish province conquered long ago, no matter how peaceful, hadn't been easy. The Kintish High King was now so old it was a wonder he was still alive, and his only heir was a mad princess who apparently could not be convinced to marry and get sons. Although the Empire was already straining under the burden of its huge size, the difficulty of policing so many subjugated peoples, and the immense cost of the Emperor's continuing wars of conquest, the Imperial Council had just decided that now was the time move against the Kints.

  The Kintish Kingdoms, a loose association of petty states with a history going back more than three thousand years, had sacrificed many outlying territories over the centuries to avoid an all-out war with Valdania. However, since enmity for the Valdani was the one thing that united the remaining Kintish nations, Emperor Jarell had chosen long ago to devote his reign and resources to more likely conquests: Nothing, after all, seemed capable of uniting the tribes of the Moorlands.

  Suddenly, however, the Emperor and the Council had changed the policies of the past fifty years, perhaps because Jarell, too, was now very old and longed to complete the conquest of the Kintish Kingdoms before he died. Ah, to enter the Palace of Heaven as its new ruler after three thousand years of Kintish supremacy, and to sit on the Throne of Heaven, the most coveted seat in the three corners of the world... It was a worthy ambition, and Koroll could not blame Jarell for seizing the chance now that he saw it. With no one to occupy the Throne of Heaven except a dying old man or a mad girl, this time the Kintish union would crumble completely under the Empire's onslaught. This time, the remaining Kintish Kingdoms would fall.

  This time, Kinto will be ours.

  It was a thrilling moment in history, a magnificent time to be a Valdan, and Koroll would give anything to partake of the glory. He had no hope of receiving a promotion and a transfer to the mainland, however, while mountain bandits wreaked havoc on this provincial backwater. Consequently, destroying Josarian now became more important than ever before.

  He was therefore less than pleased when Captain Myrell arrived in Shaljir, covered in dust and sweat, to inform him that Josarian was not only still on the loose, but growing stronger and more popular than ever. It was estimated that the number of Josarian's followers had increased tenfold just since the beginning of summer, and that dozens of men were now flocking to his cause every day. His raids against Outlooker targets were growing increasingly bold and costly. His disruption of regular trade routes was starting to damage the local Valdani economy. And now, Myrell reported, Josarian had discovered a new way of earning enough money to feed his vast band of rebels and to buy the continued silence of the mountains.

  "Abduction?" Koroll said in astonishment. "He's taken to abduction now?"

  "Yes, sir," Myrell confirmed. "He recently returned Toren Porsall's wife after receiving a ransom of two hundred thousand in gold. The torena says she was treated well, but she was so frightened she has been unable to give us any useful information about the identity of her captors or where they held her for twenty-seven days."

  "What can you expect of a woman?" Koroll said dismissively.

  "Toren Emmeran was not only safely returned after his family paid the ransom," Myrell continued, "but he became so fond of Josarian during the seventeen days he spent as his captive that he will give no evidence against him."

  "What?"

  "He is a Silerian, after all, and they are irrational—"

  "What do you mean, he won't give evidence?" Koroll demanded.

  "Emmeran now claims that he was merely meditating in Sanctuary for seventeen days, has never met Josarian, and had no idea that the outlaw was making ransom demands during his absence."

  "A toren is protecting a shallah?" Koroll stared at Myrell.

  "I'm afraid it gets worse, sir."

  "Go on," Koroll said woodenly.

  "I decided to have Emmeran arrested, thinking that would make him see reason. The eight men I sent for him were killed on their way to his estate."

  "Then send fifty men," Koroll snapped. "We can't allow this!"

  "I'm short of men, sir. They're busy combing the hills in search of two Valdani aristocrats who were abducted four days ago. The ransom demand is one million, in gold."

  "Josarian's mad," Koroll said, his mood improving a little. "The Society will never tolerate this. Abduction is their business. Josarian is ensuring his own assassination by intruding on their territory this way."

  "Actually, Commander..." Myrell looked pained.

  "Yes?"

  "The Society is cooperating with Josarian."

  "They'd never cooperate with Jo..." Koroll frowned. "Wait. How do you know that?"

  "That's the good news, sir. I finally have an informant."

  "An informant? Three be thanked! What can he tell us?" Koroll asked eagerly. "Does he know where Josarian's men are based?"

  "Some place in the mountains. It's called Dalishar," said Myrell. "I gather it's a holy site or something."

  "At last! Information."

  "Unfortunately, it really doesn't sound as if we can attack him there, sir. It's very deep in the mountains, inaccessible to riders, approachable only by a couple of narrow mountain paths, and..."

  "Well?"

  "There is talk of Silerian fire magic up there."

  Koroll frowned. "The—what do they call them—Guardians?"

  "I believe so." Myrell shrugged. "Just superstitious talk, of course, but many of my men are..."

  "Susceptible to such talk," Koroll concluded.

  "Exactly." Myrell hesitated, then said, "You've been here longer than I have, Commander. Is there any truth to it?"

  "I've never seen any of these fire sorcerers the Silerians whisper about," Koroll said. "They've been outlawed for centuries, you know."

  "The waterlords are outlawed, too, but they maintain a strong presence in this land."

  Koroll nodded. "I imagine that, as with the waterlords, some of what these peasants say about the Guardians is true, but most of it is wildly exaggerated."

  "My informant claims that Josarian has the support of the Guardians now, too."

  Koroll glanced sharply at him. "The Society and the Guardians? You're sure?"

  "Absolutely. He was quite clear about it."

  Koroll shook his head in exasperation. "Then I suspect your 'informant' is hand-feeding you lies that Josarian would like us to believe, Captain. If you would bother to learn something about these people—"

  Myrell stiffened. "I believe you're going to tell me that the Guardians and the Society have been enemies for centuries."

  Koroll nodded. "Exactly. Since long before the Empire conquered these people."

  "According to my informant, they have put aside their differences to help Josarian."

  "The Society and the Guardians?" he asked, stunned.

  "Yes, sir."

  Koroll leaned back in his massive wooden chair. A chill crept through him. He knew little about Sileria's secretive, outlawed fire magic cult, but even he knew that once, centuries ago, they had ruled this island in its wealthy heyday. Over a thousand years ago, three hundred spires had graced the skyline of Shaljir when Valda had been little more than a collection of thatched huts squatting in the mud. Ancient history, of course, but the Guardians... They had somehow survived the centuries, outlawed and hunted, enemies of both the Honored Society and the Valdani. And now, if this informant of Myrell's was to be believed, they had joined forces not only with Josarian, but also with their ancient enemies, the waterlords.

  The Society, the Guardians, and the shallaheen... The three factions of Silerian society which had the least to lose: two because they were outlawed, and the third because they were so crushingly poor. The Society, whose power even the Emperor feared; the Guardians, whose whispered sorcery was a mystery and whose strength could only be guessed; and the shallaheen, the most numerous of Sileria's diverse population—violent, vengeful, and increasingly committed to the bloodfeud that
Koroll had learned Josarian had sworn against the Valdani.

  "We'll need more men," Koroll muttered, dread settling into his bones.

  "I agree, Commander." Myrell cleared his throat. "There have been reprisals..."

  "Reprisals?"

  "Every time we raid a village to try to force someone to give us information about Josarian... He hits us back twice as hard as we hit his people." Myrell's jaw worked silently for a moment. "You know that I've lost many men this summer, Commander. Too many. More than even our worst estimates."

  "We'll need more men," Koroll repeated, his mouth dry. How had it come to this? One lone smuggler whom they'd clumsily let escape. Just one mountain peasant seeking vengeance. How had his outlawry become a widespread rebellion costing the lives of hundreds of Outlookers?

  After a heavy silence, Myrell continued, "My informant does not know Josarian's movements, but he has been able to give me the names of some of Josarian's most trusted men."

  "We'll add their names to the wanted lists and the reward offers." Koroll reached for the list of names Myrell handed him and skimmed it briefly. He stopped suddenly on one name that leapt out at him like a striking snake. "Tansen shah Gamalani?" He looked up at Myrell. No, surely it couldn't be the same Tansen; it must be another of the same name.

  "An easterner." Myrell nodded. "From the district of Liron."

  "What else do you know about him?"

  "It's interesting that you should single him out, sir. He is apparently much talked-about in the mountains." Myrell shook his head. "Exaggerated tales, of course. They say he's a Kintish swordmaster, a..."

  "Shatai." Koroll's throat ached as he said the word.

  "Yes, that's it. Can you credit that? A shallah claiming to be a shatai!" Myrell indulged in a moment of amusement. "Apparently he does carry two Kintish swords, but I... Commander? Are you unwell?"

  "No... it's just... this damned heat." He swallowed, fighting an attack of nausea. "Go on, Captain."

  "Hot as all the Fires today, as the Silerians say," Myrell agreed morosely. "Anyhow, this Tansen must be a good fighter, even so. Who knows? Maybe he actually managed to kill a real shatai and take away his swords."

  "They say he's a good fighter?"

  Myrell shifted uncomfortably and lowered his voice. "They say he helped Josarian attack the fortress at Britar. It seems that he's the man I took for Josarian." His face reddened as he admitted, "They tricked me. The whole incident has become a popular folktale already."

  Koroll shot out of his chair. "Why didn't you tell me he used two swords, damn you?"

  Myrell's eyes grew round and stupid. "I... I didn't see, Commander! It all happened so fast. He... stood out there in front of the fortress, and... The next thing I knew, two men were dead and he was on a stolen horse, halfway to the forest. Two more men pursued him closely. One was killed by a stray arrow. The shallah killed the other rider, but it was too far away to see what was happening. Besides, he was on foot again, since his horse—"

  "Good God!" Koroll wiped a linen sleeve across his mouth. He felt beads of sweat trickling down his face, his back, his chest. "The shatai is out there with Josarian!"

  "Commander?"

  "Get out." He waved an arm at the door and shouted, "Get out! Get yourself cleaned up! Get whatever you need. Then..." He tried to control himself, tried to think. "Return here this evening," he said more calmly. "We have a lot of plans to make."

  He sank down into his chair and buried his head in his arms, whispering to himself, "What happened? What happened out there?"

  Had Josarian turned the shatai? Was he that convincing, that compelling, that he could win the loyalty of a mercenary? Or was the shatai more of a shallah than Koroll had realized? He had looked so un-Silerian. He had spoken so contemptuously of the shallaheen. He had seemed so reasonable.

  "Three have mercy," Koroll whispered against the sticky dampness of his own flesh.

  Had the shatai merely bided his time, playing Koroll for a fool until he was free? Or had Josarian woven some wizardry around him? If they'd fought together to free the prisoners at Britar, then the shatai must have become Josarian's ally soon after leaving Cavasar. The two men had been together all this time, and now the shatai was known to be one of Josarian's most-trusted men.

  Three Into One! It was a disaster! In turning loose a shatai-trained shallah, Koroll himself had helped arrange the slaughter at Britar—as well as Three-only-knew how many Valdani deaths since then! He had sent one of the finest warriors in the world into the mountains to join the most dangerous shallah who had ever lived.

  He prayed fervently that none of the Outlookers back in Cavasar ever made a connection between the shatai Koroll had housed in the fortress there for several days and the shatai now roaming the mountains with Josarian. He calmed down slightly upon realizing that Myrell had mistaken Tansen for Josarian. Even a fool like Myrell wouldn't have mistaken a shatai's distinctive appearance for an ordinary shallah.

  The conclusion was obvious: Tansen had altered his appearance after entering the mountains. So it seemed probable that only a Valdan who had spoken with him, actually spent time with him—only Koroll—was likely to recognize him as the same man who had been groomed as a Kint and dressed as a Moorlander months ago in Cavasar. If Tansen was dressed now as just another grubby Silerian mountain peasant... May the Three make it so! Perhaps Koroll's secret would yet be safe.

  He soaked a gossamer cloth in scented water and ran it over his face. Tansen's shir... The Society. What was the link? Had he convinced the Society to support Josarian?

  Koroll felt ill. The Society, the Guardians, the shallaheen, Josarian, and the shatai.

  How much bigger would this thing get? How much worse? Who would join them next?

  Accompanied by Faradar and two trusted men, Elelar was weary by the time she arrived at the summer home of the Kintish High King's ambassador to Sileria. After ten days in Borell's luxurious cliffside villa north of here, she had made excuses and left. She was a landowner and another man's wife, so getting away from Borell was seldom problematic. He might not appreciate the apparent demands on her time, but he understood them.

  Ambassador Shiraj's summer villa was set amidst some of Sileria's most dramatic and heart-stoppingly beautiful scenery. Sitting on the mountainous coast north of Liron, the villa's eastern rooms provided splendid clifftop views of the sea. The western rooms looked out at Darshon, whose vast slopes filled the sky and whose snow-crusted peak looked almost close enough to touch from here.

  Tansen had originally come from this part of the country, she knew, from an impoverished village destroyed by the Valdani during their search for Armian nine years ago. Now, after all the years in exile, he was spending a good part of the summer roaming these eastern mountains again, seeking support for Josarian from among the mountain clans around Liron and Darshon. Josarian's brother-in-law was with him, and so was a Guardian named Cheylan. One of Baran's assassins rounded out their party.

  Cheylan was not only a Guardian, Elelar had been told, he was also a toren from this district, though his family had kept him hidden away for years before eventually turning him over to the Guardians. While his appearance wasn't supposed to be quite as startling as Mirabar's, he was nonetheless rumored to be unmistakably demonic-looking.

  Demons. Such fears were common among the lower classes, Elelar knew, but it appalled her that even many members of her own class, with all their access to education and culture, still harbored such barbaric superstitions. She knew relatively little about the Guardians, who had retreated to Sileria's most remote mountains centuries ago, but she did know that they had ruled this land wisely through centuries of prosperity before the Conquest. If the Guardians said that so-called demons like Mirabar and Cheylan were specially gifted by Dar and sent to serve Her people, then Elelar was willing to believe them.

  And the Guardians did say so; most emphatically. Derlen, who was now the link between the Guardians in the west and the Alliance in Shaljir, w
as most insistent on this point—despite his apparent personal dislike of Mirabar.

  Well, Elelar couldn't say that she blamed him. She hadn't spent much time with the girl, but she was developing a hearty dislike for her, too. No one could deny Mirabar's courage or commitment; abducting an assassin and going to Kiloran's lair to serve the Otherworld represented a suicidal level of bravery. But the girl had all the charm, tact, and patience of a hungry mountain cat. On the other hand, Elelar supposed magnanimously, being regularly tormented by prophetic visions was bound to make anyone a bit testy.

  They had all camped at Kandahar for another day after that cataclysmic night in Kiloran's watery palace. As once before, Armian had proved to be the one messenger Kiloran would trust, and so even the crafty old waterlord had joined in their planning and cooperated with their ideas. From Kandahar, they had set out to alert their allies and make peace with their various enemies.

  Elelar had so far spent most of the summer establishing a reliable network among old enemies, picking and choosing the right emissaries to go from one faction to another. Mirabar linked the Society to the Guardians, since she was probably the only one brave and crazy enough to venture voluntarily into the shadowy world of the waterlords; she also had the ability to Call forth Armian, which helped to persuade those members of the Honored Society who cherished their private feuds more than they treasured any dream of freedom. Tansen had gone east with Emelen and Cheylan; among other things, they were meeting with the Alliance's leaders in Liron. The assassin traveling with them must not only get the support of Verlon, Liron's powerful waterlord, for the rebellion, but he must also convince him to call off his bloodvow against Cheylan. No one seemed to know precisely why Verlon wanted Cheylan dead, but Elelar had learned from Derlen that the Society feared anyone marked with power the way Cheylan and Mirabar were.