Unperturbed, Tansen recited the events of the previous day, recounting how he had witnessed the supposedly bedridden Harjan's meeting with Myrell—the butcher of Malthenar, Morven, and Garabar. When he was done, the villagers watched Harjan with hard expressions, waiting for an explanation.
"The Outlooker captain had—had placed orders with me, siran," Harjan said. "It was a... a business meeting! Yes, yes, I know the Valdani are supposed to be our enemies now, but—please, siran! A man must be practical. I have a wife and children to feed! I have—"
"Zilar was the only village to receive news of the planned abduction of the toren named Ronall," Tansen interrupted. "You are the only man from Zilar to have seen Myrell yesterday. Myrell sent a runner to warn Ronall last night. This morning, Myrell's men rode to Ronall's estate to await Josarian."
"That—that has nothing to do with me!" Harjan cried, sweating profusely now.
"How else did Myrell learn—"
"How should I know how the Outlookers get their information?"
"Why did Myrell give you gold yesterday?" Tansen demanded.
Harjan was breathing heavily, almost panting. "What gold?"
"We saw you accept it from him, Harjan," said Tansen. "We saw you count it."
"He was paying me for... for the work I'd done for him!"
"What work?"
"I'm a tailor. He admired my work in... when the Outlookers were here in the spring, and he ordered—"
"You brought him no clothing," Tansen said. "You only talked with him."
"He paid me for garments already delivered!"
"When?"
"I—I—"
"Srijan," Tansen said, enlisting the support of the Society in front of the villagers. "The last time Harjan met with the Outlooker captain, did he deliver garments to him?"
"No," Srijan said. "He spoke to him, and he received gold, which I watched him count. The next day, sixteen shallaheen and four assassins died while attacking a tax shipment in the Amalidar Mountains. It was obvious that the attack was expected."
"You've been attacking lots of shipments," Harjan said frantically. "Of course the Outlookers—"
"How many times is Myrell paying you for those garments?" Tansen snapped. "You must have worked non-stop day and night since the day I was born to earn so much gold that you can't carry it all home in one trip."
A woman in the crowd pushed her son forward, surprising them all. As was proper, Tansen showed the mother respect and allowed her to speak.
"My son is Harjan's apprentice, siran," she told Tansen.
"Ah." He looked at the boy. "Speak up, then. Has your master indeed filled an order for the Outlooker captain?"
"No, siran," the boy said, wide-eyed and shaking. "There has never been such an order. We have never had a client from among the roshaheen."
Harjan made one last attempt to deny his betrayal. "An ignorant boy, siran. He doesn't know who my clients are!"
Disgusted by the performance, tired of prolonging the inevitable, Tansen struck him hard across the face. The wife in the doorway screamed. Harjan fell to his knees and started weeping.
"Answer the charge against your honor, sriliah," Tansen said quietly. "Get up and fight."
Harjan spoke with difficulty, forcing the words out between huge gulps of air. "I... can't... You are Tansen. You slaughtered twenty Moorlanders in a single night. You killed an entire ship of Kintish pirates."
Tansen recognized the ridiculous boasts he had spread through the mountains while seeking Josarian. Now that he had survived the bloodvow made by Kiloran, now that he fought at Josarian's side, people actually believed and repeated those absurd stories.
Harjan looked up at him with fear-glazed eyes. "If I answer your challenge, you will slay me before my hand is halfway to my yahr. And what use will a yahr be against your swords, anyhow?"
"Then I will kill you quickly," Tansen promised quietly. "And tomorrow we will purify your body with fire for your journey to the Otherworld." Today they would leave the corpse where everyone could see it and recognize the price of taking Valdani gold in exchange for betraying Josarian.
Harjan convulsed with sobs as Tansen's right sword hissed out of its sheathe and flashed brilliantly in the sunlight.
"Dar have mercy on my soul!" Harjan wailed. "They offered so much money. So much! And you must all die soon, anyhow! How much longer can it last? How much longer can mountain peasants defy the most powerful empire in the world?"
"Bid your wife farewell," Tansen said, raising his sword. "And make your peace with Dar."
Harjan's wife leaned weakly against the doorway, weeping silently, tears streaming from her eyes as she kept a plump hand clamped over her mouth.
"Go to Liron," Harjan advised her with his last moments of life. "There is no rebellion there."
"Yes, there is," Tansen said. "You're a poor informant, Harjan. Seventeen clans in the east are already sworn to Josarian's cause, including the Lironi themselves. Soon they'll convince their cousins in the city itself to join them."
Shock washed across Harjan's face. "You're lying," he whispered.
"You chose the wrong side when you betrayed your own kind," Tansen told him, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. "We will win. And anyone who isn't with us is against us, and will pray the price."
His blade flashed as he brought his arms down, its sharp edge cutting through flesh and muscle, dividing small bones, releasing a torrent of blood as it separated Harjan's head from his shoulders. The body fell sideways and lay upon the cobblestones in a fast-spreading crimson pool. The head rolled once, then came to rest with blank, open eyes staring up at a sky more fiercely blue than any other.
Tansen gazed down at it for a moment, heart pounding, face expressionless. He flipped the blood off his sword, then wiped it on Harjan's gossamer tunic, willfully shutting out the screams of the man's wife.
He had never told anyone this—not his kaj, not Josarian, not anyone—since it would have seemed a strange thing for a shatai to say; but the truth was... killing always sickened him.
The body of the sriliah still lay where it had fallen when Mirabar and her three-man escort entered Zilar at sundown. The people here had heard of her by now, for the demon girl who had convinced the Society and the Guardians to join Josarian and Tansen was already famous—and infamous—throughout the mountains. Of course, even though they'd heard of her, people still had a tendency to recoil in shock when they first saw her. However, with Najdan at her side, fingering his shir and silencing any disrespect with the cold glare of an assassin, Mirabar scarcely noticed the Zilari as she watched Zimran bend down to examine the corpse lying on the cobblestones.
She immediately recognized the twists of woven rope Zimran held up for her to see, the strands dotted with the rough clay beads of a shallah: So die all who betray their own kind. So die all who betray Josarian.
Mirabar looked up at the villagers and asked the first one she singled out, "Who did this?"
Caught by her gaze, the man backed away in fear, saying nothing. Najdan stalked over, slapped him, and snapped, "Answer the sirana!"
"T... Tansen, sirana." The villager swallowed. "It was Tansen. Only today."
"He was here today?" she repeated.
"Y—Yes."
"Alone?" Lann asked.
"No." The man's face brightened. "Josarian himself was with him! And, uh, Srijan the assassin. After... after it was done, Josarian gave the widow money and said he would ensure that her children do not starve, now that their father is..."
Zimran rose to his feet. "Where did Josarian and the others go afterwards?"
The villagers looked at each other nervously and remained silent.
Najdan shook one of them impatiently. "We're with them, you fool. Now tell us where we can find them."
"The inn at the edge of town," the man said. "The one with the beautiful gardens."
Najdan's eyes narrowed. "The one that toreni use?"
His informant nodded and
added, "A torena is there right now, siran."
"Ah." Najdan glanced over his shoulder at Mirabar. "It seems you were right, sirana. We're needed in Zilar today."
Zimran grinned. "Now isn't a good thing that I convinced you all to come here when the sirana suggested it?"
Mirabar rolled her eyes and proposed that Najdan lead the way, since he seemed to know the place they were looking for.
Even the discovery of the sriliah's corpse and the news of her allies' presence here was not startling enough to distract Mirabar from the beauty of Zilar itself as she passed through the rest of the town. She had heard about Zilar's wealth, its beautiful views, its lovely foliage, and, of course, its vast gold-tiled temple. As she followed Najdan past the enormous Kintish structure now, she found it far and away the most impressive building she had ever seen. Though its size alone would have been extraordinary enough, the exquisite workmanship of long-dead Kintish craftsmen pleased the eye and stunned the senses even after centuries of decay. Nothing—not the repairs which were obviously needed, nor even the garish Sign of the Three the Valdani that had erected in front of the temple more than a century ago—could mar its beauty.
The inn at the edge of town was far more elegant than the few buildings Mirabar had ever set foot in before. Worried about the reaction her appearance would cause here, she started to pull a long, gauzy scarf over her flaming hair, but Najdan forestalled her.
"Kiloran owns this place," he told her, too quietly for Lann and Zimran to overhear, "and the keeper is loyal to us."
"Kiloran?" she whispered.
"No one knows." He added, "Probably not even the torena."
"It's Elelar, isn't it?"
"Probably. She comes here to alert Srijan when she wants a meeting. She has done so for..." He shrugged. "Several years, anyhow."
"And they're here, too..." Eager to find out why they had all been gathered together again, except for Kiloran, she preceded the men into the inn.
Her appearance in the entrance hall caused considerable consternation, but Najdan's orders were obeyed quickly and without question. The party of four was shown into a reception room where Tansen, Josarian, Srijan, and Elelar were absorbed in conversation.
Josarian greeted them with surprised pleasure and affection, particularly his smooth-talking cousin. Tansen was cordial to Lann and distantly polite to the rest of them. Srijan nodded briefly to Najdan and ignored the rest of them. Despite the circumstances, Elelar nonetheless displayed the ritual courtesy of a torena. Zimran, who had never seen Elelar before, was instantly transfixed by her. Having spent considerable time around Zimran, Mirabar found his intense reaction to the beautiful torena no more surprising than heat in summer. Mirabar cut short the greetings by asking Elelar what she was doing here.
"The Valdani have attacked a fortress on the northern border of the Kintish Kingdoms," Elelar answered. "They met with unexpectedly strong resistance. The Kints, it seems, expected the attack and were prepared to repel it." Elelar smiled with satisfaction. "The Palace of Heaven has acknowledged the attack as an act of war and is withdrawing all its ambassadors from Valdania and the Empire's provinces."
"War," Josarian said. "And a harder one than the Valdani expected."
"Yes. Meanwhile, the Empire's western armies are still fully engaged in the Moorlands," Elelar added.
"The Valdani are over-extended," Najdan guessed.
Josarian nodded. "There will be a shortage of men available to come fight in Sileria."
Mirabar nodded, staring at Elelar. "You wanted a meeting."
"I won't bother to ask how you knew," Elelar replied dryly.
"You have a plan."
"The Alliance has a plan."
"Well?" Mirabar prodded.
Josarian grinned, clearly relishing what he was about to tell her. "Ah, sirana, what's the one target in Sileria that would cripple the Valdani here overnight? A blow that even the Emperor himself would feel? The victory that would encourage all Sileria to join us now?"
"I don't know." Mirabar shrugged. "I'm a Guardian, not a..." She gasped, suddenly realizing what he was suggesting. Her jaw dropped as she looked from Josarian, to Elelar, to Srijan. She looked finally at Tansen, trying to interpret what little his expression gave away. If he believed it could be done, then she would believe it, too.
"By all the Fires," Mirabar said. "You're going to attack the mines of Alizar!"
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was a cool evening in Shaljir, the northern winds blowing with unseasonable force. Rain would follow the wind, and if Elelar couldn't get out of the city ahead of it, she would be stuck here until the roads dried. She stifled her impatience as she lay beside Borell in his comfortable bed. It was his fault she was still here when she had so much to do elsewhere, so many plans to make in preparation for the attack on Alizar.
However, tomorrow was an important Valdani holy day, and Borell wanted her here in Santorell Palace with him for the festivities. He had been insistent about it. She gritted her teeth and silently reminded herself that in exchange for everything Borell unwittingly contributed to the Alliance's goals, he was occasionally entitled to demand that Elelar act like a mistress.
Sensing her restless mood, Borell rolled towards her, gathering her to him. "What are you thinking about, my love?"
She didn't feel like talking to him, so she replied, "Ronall." That would shut him up. He disliked any mention of her husband.
Unfortunately, Borell was in an unusual mood tonight. "What about him?"
She had little enough to say about her husband, actually, to whom she usually gave less thought and attention than she gave to the cats in her stables. She searched for a comment.
"He's been so edgy ever since learning that the bandit Josarian was planning to abduct him," she offered.
The official story in Shaljir was still that the mountain uprising was nothing more than a bunch of bandits who'd grown too bold, too numerous, and too strong. Koroll and Borell knew better, of course, but they were trying to save face and preserve their reputations.
And that will be our weapon, she thought with satisfaction. They are beaten by their own pride and ruled by their conceit.
"Ronall is still whining about that?" Borell frowned. "That was at summer's end! He should act like a man."
She resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. After all, Borell still complained about the minor robbery that several of Josarian's men (Najdan, Lann, and Zimran, actually) had committed at his country estate around the same time that Ronall had heard the rumors of his own planned-abduction. She briefly wondered what Ronall or Borell would do if they knew how closely she worked with the men who had so offended them.
"The Outlookers still haven't caught Josarian," she pointed out, rubbing a little salt into her lover's open wound. "So Ronall is afraid to leave Shaljir. He hasn't been away from the city since then, when he fled here in terror."
Borell went still. She thought he was thinking about Josarian, so his next comment surprised her. "Ronall's been here since then? The whole time?"
"Yes."
"I didn't realize." After a tense pause, he asked, "Has he had you since coming back to Shaljir?"
Had me. As if she were a piece of meat. She loathed the expression. She loathed the idea. Sometimes, she truly loathed men.
Borell's grip on her tightened. "Tell me."
"I'm his wife," she pointed out. A possession, she acknowledged bitterly, one that both men resented sharing.
"How many times?"
Not: Has he hurt you? Not: Does your flesh crawl when he touches you as a husband? Not: Do you want to talk about it?
Only: How many times has he enjoyed my plaything?
She wasn't feigning her reluctance when she said, "Borell, I don't want to t—"
"How many times has he had you, damn it?"
She sighed. "I don't know. Often."
"How often?"
"I don't know." She didn't like this conversation. Mistress or not, her con
jugal relations were none of Borell's business. "One every few days since his return."
To her surprise, Ronall had been sober and rather polite about it the first time, coming to her room, calmly asking Faradar to leave, and then reasonably suggesting they attempt to get an heir. There was far too much bitterness between them for her to enjoy the coupling, but at least it hadn't hurt or been humiliating. In fact, she was painfully aware that he had tried rather hard to make it enjoyable for her several times since then, occasionally even staying all night and holding her while they slept. She didn't resist him, but her body remained unresponsive under his touch, her mind busy elsewhere. It surprised her, though, that she had briefly considered pretending pleasure for his sake on one or two recent occasions. Since his return to Shaljir, there was something subdued and, well, rather sad about Ronall. He had admitted to her one night that learning of Josarian's plan to abduct him had made him confront his own mortality. The incident seemed to be having a sobering effect on him; but Elelar knew it wouldn't last.
"Every few days?" Borell sounded angry. He lifted his head and scowled. "He's trying to get an heir, isn't he?"
"I imagine so," she replied, knowing a more affirmative response would only anger him.
"He thinks I'll give you up if he plants his seed in you."
"Won't you?"
The sudden grip on her arms surprised her as he hauled her off the soft sheets and said fiercely, "I'll never give you up!"
"A mistress eight months pregnant with her husband's child would be a rather inconvenient woman," she pointed out. Since she doubted there was much chance of her conceiving any man's child, she wasn't particularly worried.
"But my wife bearing my child?" Borell suggested. "Now that would be different, indeed."
Her wits were unusually slow tonight. "Are you planning to marry again?" she asked in some confusion. She knew his first wife had died before he ever came to Sileria. He hadn't mentioned plans for a new one, though.
"Perhaps." His foreign blue gaze held her. "Marry me, Elelar."
She couldn't have been more shocked if he'd thrown a bucket of cold water on her. "Marry? You?"
In Legend Born Page 40