In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  "You've told me that Armian wasn't the Firebringer," Tashinar mused.

  "No. He wasn't."

  "Then couldn't it be Jo—"

  "Oh, do you really expect Josarian to throw himself into Darshon to—"

  Mirabar stopped speaking the moment they heard feet shuffling against dust and gravel. They both tensed as the soft footsteps came closer. Mirabar had already warned her that if an Outlooker found them here, they must be ruthless. Tashinar didn't know precisely what that meant, but she had seen the changes in Mirabar since the beginning of the year, and she realized that the girl not only knew what it meant, but had, of necessity, learned how to be more ruthless than most. Josarian's men had begun the first part of the plan soon after nightfall: killing all the sentries and patrols around Alizar. Tashinar tried not to think about her allies stalking men in the dark and strangling them or cutting their throats. She tried not to think about the quiet warrior called Tansen, the man Mirabar had sought for so long. She could tell that he knew far too much about killing other men.

  Her heart pounded as she marked the quiet approach of someone coming through the surrounding brush and scrub. She relaxed a moment later when she heard the soft flutterbird call that was the agreed-upon signal. Mirabar returned it, and their ally appeared a moment later: a handsome young shallah named Zimran.

  "Ah, ladies! Right where you're supposed to be and on time. Could a man ask for more?" He grinned and, even in the dark, Tashinar could feel the measure of his charm. Many girls must have lost their heart to this man.

  "Well?" Mirabar prodded.

  "Kiloran is ready," he said. "Josarian is ready. Tansen is ready."

  "The Guardians are ready, too," Mirabar confirmed.

  Zimran gave a gusty sigh. "And I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. So if you can begin..."

  "We'll give you enough time to get out of the way," Mirabar said. "Go."

  "As always, sirana, it's been a pleasure."

  After he'd departed, Mirabar muttered, "He irritates me."

  "So I observed," Tashinar said dryly. Facile charm had never appealed to Mirabar.

  "Are you ready?"

  "As Zimran said..." Tashinar squared her shoulders. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

  Tansen had received word from Zimran that the first part of the plan—eliminating the sentries and patrols around Alizar—was completed. Now Tansen crouched in the dark, waiting to signal the men at his back. Josarian was in the hills on the other side of Alizar, with more men. They had close to thirty rebels in the mines tonight, and they also expected some help from the prisoners once the battle began. There were hundreds of Silerians here tonight, far more than Josarian had ever before committed to a single plan.

  If Alizar fell, then thousands of Silerians would join the rebellion while the Outlookers tried to recover from the disaster. The Emperor would be furious, as well as financially wounded. The Imperial Council would want to send every military man in the Empire to Sileria; but almost every man in the Emperor's forces was already committed elsewhere. Oh, the Empire's resources were vast, and they'd unquestionably be able to send men—probably more men than the rebels had killed all year. But they wouldn't be able to send as many as they wanted to. They wouldn't be able to send enough to sweep clear across Sileria and end the rebellion.

  If Alizar fell, then the Empire would have a Silerian war on its hands. The long-conquered nation, the imperial province least likely to unite in rebellion, the most thoroughly humbled people in the three corners of the world would astonish men and women from one end of the Empire to the other. Born in shame and servitude, Silerians would carve out a new destiny on the map of Valdani conquests. They would claim their freedom in the rubble of the Empire's humiliation. They would smash the Sign of the Three in Santorell Square and live to see their own Yahrdan take his rightful place in Shaljir.

  Nothing will ever be the same.

  If Alizar fell.

  The alternative was not one Tansen cared to dwell on. If they failed tonight, then he, Josarian, and anyone else who could be identified would be sentenced to death by slow torture. And the rest of the rebels would have merely saved the Valdani the trouble of actually transporting them to the mines for lifelong imprisonment. Not that a life lasted long in Alizar. Indeed, Tansen thought he had never known a braver man than the former prisoner who had volunteered to be one of the men positioned inside the mines tonight. The years the man had spent there were carved on his face, but he had gone back, insisting that he'd be most useful to the cause down there.

  Tansen had wanted to volunteer, too, since he didn't like asking other men to do something he did not do. However, he couldn't possibly smuggle his swords into the mines, and—just as someone who knew those tunnels was most useful down there—a shatai was most useful in combat when he had his weapons. Killing Outlookers was the task at hand, not bolstering his own pride. Besides, he had needed to set a good example for Josarian, who all too often wanted to act like an ordinary rebel instead of the leader of the rebellion. Josarian could say what he wanted to about how the fight would go on without him, but Tansen knew the truth: Men followed Josarian more than they followed a dream of freedom. They wouldn't be hot with courage tonight if Josarian were imprisoned in the earth's belly rather than leading them into battle.

  It seemed a long time since Tansen had given the signal confirming that his men were ready, but he suppressed his impatience, knowing that every part of the attack depended on every other part. When everyone was ready, then they would move. And all of it would begin with an old woman and a demon girl up on the summit...

  Captain Foridall was working very late tonight, examining the most recent production records. The Emperor's war against the Kintish Kingdoms had gotten off to a bad start, so now there was pressure on Alizar to increase profits. The Emperor's demands, coupled with the strain of poring over these barely-legible documents well into the empty hours, had given Foridall a headache tonight.

  The production records were written in aggravatingly tiny handwriting, since parchment was so costly in Sileria. Everything worth having cost extra here. Foridall had spent a fortune acquiring a fifth-level Kintish courtesan last year. She could charge outrageous prices since there simply weren't enough like her to go around, not in this godsforsaken land. Then she had grown bored at Alizar and deserted him within a season. Foridall was feeling distinctly frustrated these days, true, but he still had no intention of standing in line along with his men to get five minutes on top of some miserable, diseased Moorlander woman. Besides, the bandit Josarian had already sacked two brothels, and a man didn't want to be worrying about some Silerian peasant cutting him in half at precisely the moment when his attention was rather firmly fixed on matters of the flesh.

  Those mountain outlaws—well, rebels, if truth be known, despite the official story—were generally making every aspect of Foridall's life a terrible trial. Traditional supply lines were frequently disrupted, the roads were no longer safe, costs had soared, and you practically needed to stage a riot to get the attention of Advisor Borell or Commander Koroll these days. While no one seriously supposed that the bandits would be foolish enough to attack Alizar, Foridall had convinced his superiors that there was no point in trying to predict what those bloodthirsty rebels would do. They would be wise, Foridall had insisted, to assign extra men to protect Alizar.

  Well, wouldn't you know it? Foridall had gotten his extra men, but not the funds to supply them with food, housing, extra uniforms, and their pay. Many of the men who had been reluctant to be posted here in the first place became resentful and insubordinate when Foridall couldn't magically make these problems disappear overnight.

  If it wasn't one thing, it was another. As soon as Foridall's term of service was over, he was going back home for good. Meanwhile, the mountain rebellion had made it impossible to convince another woman to join him at Alizar, even though he was prepared to offer a hefty fee. He was getting so desperate he'd even consider a disc
reet liaison with a Silerian woman, by the Three, except that he didn't relish the thought of what would happen if such an arrangement were discovered. Silerians were very touchy about their women. He'd heard such appalling stories of gelding and other atrocities that he considered the whole prospect far too risky. These people were barbarians! No wonder so many of them wound up in the mines.

  With his head aching and his mind unable to absorb another series of numbers, Foridall quit for the night, doused his lantern, and went outside. Above-ground, Alizar was easily as large as an important village. It was even bigger underground, which was one reason so many Outlookers were needed here. Silerian prisoners made terrible miners and had to be supervised even more closely than a man had to watch a Priest of the Three around his daughters.

  Or sons, as the case may be.

  Walking toward his private quarters, Foridall morosely supposed that, in the absence of a woman, he could indulge in some of the Kintish dreamweed he'd brought back from his last trip to the coast. It had cost him a fortune and was only mediocre in quality, but at least—

  His thoughts ground to a halt as a burst of fire arose from a hilltop directly north of Alizar. One instant, there was nothing, then suddenly... there was a blaze that looked as tall as one man standing on another's shoulders. Even as he stared in surprise, it started spreading across the hill. Three Into One, had one of the sentries been smoking a little dreamweed of his own and set the brush on fire?

  "Captain!" an Outlooker cried.

  Foridall looked in the direction that the Outlooker was pointing and saw that another fire had started. And another! And yet another...

  "The bandits," Foridall choked, his heart constricting with fear. "It's Josarian!"

  "Captain, look, it's..."

  The fires were spreading like trails across the mountains, stretching out to greet each other. Surrounding Alizar. Surrounding them.

  Another Outlooker said, "Captain, he's brought his fire sorcerers with him! They—"

  "Sound the alarm!" Foridall shouted. "Wake everyone!"

  He had known this was a possibility, and he was not unprepared. Hah! Josarian was a fool to attack the best-guarded spot in Sileria outside of Shaljir! Even now, in the middle of the night, there were never less than two hundred Outlookers on duty above-ground, patrolling the area, guarding the storehouses, and watching the tunnels. Within moments, those two hundred men would be joined by all the others, and Josarian would suddenly find himself facing a force of over one thousand Outlookers. And Foridall would send runners to two nearby Valdani strongholds, too, so that even more men would be here by dawn to clean up what was left of the rebels.

  He ran back to his headquarters and started issuing orders, galvanizing his men and rallying them to action.

  "Captain Foridall?" said one of the Outlookers.

  "What?"

  "We're surrounded, sir. How will runners get through that?"

  The man pointed up to the solid wall of fire now surrounding them. It was starting to move downhill, Foridall realized, tightening around Alizar like as a noose.

  "It can't be real," he said, breathing a little harder. "It's a petty sorcerer's trick." But the way some of the men stood gaping belied his effort to diminish the extraordinary spectacle bearing down on them. He wondered if the Silerians meant to burn them out. "Water," he said. "We'll put out their fire."

  Following his orders, men ran to the central well, the main source of Alizar's water supply. They started hauling up buckets and passing them along a line, preparing to meet the fire. It was always good to focus frightened minds on a productive task. Foridall congratulated himself.

  Without warning, water geysered up from the well, erupting like an angry volcano, spewing sky-high. Men screamed and retreated from the well, their swords drawn and their faces distorted by confused fear. Foridall stared in blank shock, wondering what was happening. Then he realized: the waterlords. He'd heard the rumors, of course, that Sileria's mysterious Honored Society was in league with Josarian, but he'd assumed it was just another tale. He had also assumed that the stories of the waterlords' great and terrible sorcery were wildly exaggerated.

  As if responding to his doubts, the water took on a new shape and fury. Foridall watched in horror as the tower of water developed tentacles which writhed and reached out in search of victims.

  One of the Outlookers bellowed wildly and attacked an outstretched tentacle with his sword, trying to sever it like an arm. It evaded his blade with a quick flash of movement and then wrapped around his throat. Another man tried to help him; a shower of water poured down on him, and he screamed as if being consumed alive.

  "Get back! Back!" Foridall ordered, sickened and appalled. "Get away from it!"

  Ordering his men to retreat did nothing to quench the fury of the water shooting straight up from the well. It splashed onto another Outlooker's face and clung there, molding over his mouth and nose like a mask, suffocating him.

  Foridall's mind reeled, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He was incapable of coherent thought, frightened of the fire closing in on Alizar, terrified by the water magic attacking his men... And then he heard the war-cry in the hills. He looked up and saw the encircling wall of fire turn to slim columns of flame, swaying and parting like young saplings to permit men to pass through: hundreds and hundreds of men.

  With the firelight behind them, he could only see their silhouettes as they descended from the hills and entered Alizar. Ghostly dark shapes, they waved their stolen swords and crude native weapons as they whooped and hollered like all the demons of the underworld. Their shaggy hair flew wildly as they ran, long wisps of black against the glowing background. Behind them, the forest of fire-pillars exploded with new life and became a wall once again, permitting no further passage, allowing no more men to join or escape this battle.

  We're hemmed in, he realized in panic. Trapped.

  Josarian's men had undoubtedly killed Foridall's sentries and patrols. So many rebels could not have gotten this close to the mines without inciting an alarm—not unless they had already slaughtered every Outlooker on Alizar's perimeter.

  No, there would be no runners, Foridall knew. No relief from other outposts. And no escape for him or anyone else.

  His men here should be in battle formation, ready to repel the rebel rabble descending on them. But dragging most of the Outlookers out of a sound sleep had taken a little time, and the fire and water magic had unhinged their minds and destroyed the value of their training. They were already panic-stricken, and now the sight of those howling, hairy barbarians swooping down on them...

  "Fight!" Foridall screamed, urging himself as much as his men. "Fight, damn you!"

  Rebels poured into Alizar from every direction while water continued shooting skywards from the central well. The two enemy forces came together. Bodies clashed, metal rang. Screams of rage and pain promised that blood would soon mingle with the dust. Chaos and terror ruled the flaming night.

  "Get the guards out of the mines!" Foridall ordered. "Get every man up here to fight!"

  The Outlookers, though, never came out of the mines. The signal for the guards' evacuation was also a signal for a battle to begin in the belly of the earth. The guards down there were hopelessly outnumbered by the prisoners. Security had always been strict in the mines, but until now, until this very moment, rebellion had never been feasible underground, because hundreds of Outlookers were also out here, awaiting anyone who fought to escape the tunnels. Somehow the men in the mines knew what was happening tonight, knew that this was their chance. Someone had told them; someone had organized them.

  The battle was over well before dawn. Foridall couldn't understand how this had happened. He had more men, better weapons, better training, better resources... Yet he had lost. Indeed, he'd recognized his defeat the moment prisoners starting swarming out of the mines.

  Now all of Alizar ran red with the blood of more than a thousand men. Almost all of the Outlookers were dead. B
ut at least the rebels had not won without sacrifice. There were Silerian bodies littering Alizar, too, as dawn crept across the sky.

  The fire in the hills had faded. The central well was... merely a well again. Foridall had never even seen the sorcerers who'd changed the shape of his life forever.

  He had lost his command. And he had lost the Emperor's diamond mines.

  The rebels found him hiding in one of the storage sheds. His only consolation in this whole catastrophe was that no Outlookers were present to see him dragged outside, ridiculed, spat on, kicked, and knocked down. At least only these foreign peasants were here to witness his humiliation.

  They presented him to a lean, hawk-faced man whose simple peasant clothes were covered in blood. Foridall saw the two swords the man wore and blurted, "You're the one Koroll wants almost as much as he wants Josarian! The one who stole those swords from his Kintish guest."

  The man's mouth quirked. "Yes, that's me," he said in good Valdan. "And who are you?"

  "I am Captain Foridall, commanding officer of Alizar."

  "Ah. So you're in charge here." The man looked over his shoulder. He spoke in that guttural mountain dialect this time, but Foridall distinctly heard what he called the man who looked up in response to his comment: Josarian.

  The most-hunted outlaw in Sileria—in the entire history of Valdani rule in Sileria—fixed him with a hard stare. The notorious bandit and the two-sworded man exchanged a few more comments, then he—Josarian—limped over to where Foridall stood in the firm grasp of two shallah rebels.

  "Can you believe this skinny, pale thing ran the mines?" Lann said, shoving the Outlooker captain forward for Josarian's inspection.

  Someone had stabbed Josarian in the left thigh, and it hurt like all the Fires. He was glad the Sisters had arrived to tend the wounded, though some of their faces were set with grim disapproval. They abhorred violence, whatever the cause or provocation.

  "Hurts, doesn't it?" Tansen said blandly, glancing down at Josarian's leg. Without waiting for a reply, he added, "I told you—how many times have I told you?—you've got to stop leaving your left side blind. The way you cock your head to the right—"