In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  "Tan, only women can get away with saying, 'I told you so,'" Josarian interrupted. "Go talk to Kiloran. Take Mirabar with you. We need to finish the job here."

  Tansen nodded and left. Josarian studied their captive.

  "Er, I don't suppose anyone else here speaks Valdan?" the man asked nervously.

  "I do," Josarian replied. "So you were in charge of the mines? What's your name?"

  "Captain Foridall. I, uh, I'm sure you understand why I hid to escape capture. It's my duty to try to... report to my superiors what has happened here. But I will take my place as your prisoner now."

  Despite everything, Josarian almost pitied him. "Foridall, we're rebels in our own conquered land. We don't take prisoners."

  It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. Then panic flashed in those foreign eyes. "But... but you've won! You've got Alizar now—the Emperor's greatest source of wealth in Sileria! The mines are yours. You don't need to kill—"

  "Actually, by morning, the mines won't be anyone's."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We're going to try to flood them."

  "Flood them?" Incredulity made Foridall forget his fear for a moment. "Flood the richest mines in Sileria? Perhaps the richest in the world! Are you mad?"

  "Not yet, but I do worry sometimes," Josarian said, thinking of his dreams.

  They had decided that, after conquering Alizar, they couldn't spare the men to defend it. However, if they simply abandoned it, there was nothing to stop the Valdani from recommencing operations here, recruiting new slave labor and new Outlookers. Therefore, their best choice was to ensure that no one could mine Alizar again, at least not for a while. They would carry away all the considerable wealth in the storehouses which had been awaiting transport to the coast. Then they'd burn the buildings. Letting Kiloran use water magic to flood the mines created the risk that he would someday be the only one with access to them, but Josarian had been unable to come up with a better plan and had agreed with Elelar's insistence that they must concentrate solely on fighting the Valdani for now.

  "Why did you attack the mines," Foridall demanded, "if not to take over production and reap the benefits?"

  "The roshaheen are really something," Zimran muttered in disgust. His Valdan was better than Josarian's, and he had no trouble following the conversation.

  Foridall clearly didn't understand. "What are rosh..."

  "We wanted to wound the Emperor where he'll feel it most," Josarian said. "In his treasury." He leaned forward, despite the way his leg throbbed, and explained to the man he was about to kill, "But we have no wish to emulate him by enslaving men to fill our purses or pay for our war. No wish to rob men of their freedom and dignity. No wish to kill men slowly, day after day, until the years wear away their flesh and their will to live."

  "But... But they are... were prisoners!" Foridall protested. "You yourselves punish anyone who breaks your rules. We have a government to support, laws to uphold! They were criminals."

  "They were our brothers, our fathers, and our sons," Josarian said coldly. "And you ran the deathtrap that enslaved and killed thousands of them." He unsheathed his sword. "Make peace with your gods, Foridall."

  "I was only doing my duty! My duty! You can't kill me! You can't! I'm—"

  His wailing speech ended on a messy gurgle as Josarian slit his throat. Watching the wide-eyed corpse bleed a crimson river into the dust, Josarian instructed his men: "Cut off his head. Kill all the remaining Outlookers but one. Give him Foridall's head, and send him back to Shaljir on a fast horse. Then gather your wounded and get ready to leave. Spread out, according to your instructions. Everyone must be gone from here by mid-morning. Understood?" He tore his gaze from Foridall's body and added, "Tansen and I will stay behind long enough to torch the bodies of our dead."

  The losses had not been heavy, considering the target, but Josarian felt every single one of them. Men had died following him, trusting in him, believing in him. Not one hundred paces from here, young Kynan lay face-up, his long hair spread around his lifeless face, a Valdani sword sticking out of his chest. Many other shallaheen lay dead among the slain Outlookers, too. Meanwhile, the thousands of prisoners they had liberated from the mines now rejoiced at their freedom and called for blades that they might open their palms and pledge their lives to Josarian's cause.

  He knew he needed them to continue the fight. He knew that all the rebels had entered last night's battle knowing they might die. He would go on with the war, actively recruiting more men. No, he didn't doubt the path he had chosen.

  This morning, though, weary, blood-stained, and dizzy from the pain of his wound, Josarian wanted no more lives pledged in his name. This morning, he wanted no more Silerian deaths to his credit. As the sun rose today, he felt the unbearably heavy weight of being a man whom others followed.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  For eleven days and nights, Elelar waited in her cell at the old Kintish prison. Waited to die. Waited to be tortured. Waited for something to end the agony of waiting.

  To her surprise, an Outlooker had brought her clothing and toiletries from her own house on the third day of her imprisonment. On that same day, the Outlookers had stopped serving her their nauseatingly inedible prison food and started serving her meals prepared by her own cook and brought to the fortress in elegant baskets. The food, like the other items sent from home, was always thoroughly examined before being given to her.

  Despite these comforts, however, she was not allowed visitors. That didn't surprise her, since Koroll undoubtedly feared she still had information to share and would try to find a way to communicate with her allies. She would not, in any event, have risked the safety of anyone important by trying to get messages to the Alliance now that she was exposed and condemned. Indeed, she prayed that no one had been foolish enough to ask to see her; such a request would undoubtedly condemn the petitioner to death, too.

  It was the lack of news or action that she found most difficult to endure. After the painful and humiliating debacle at the Lion's Gate, she had been dragged here and thrown into this cell. Koroll had come here the following day. Not bothering to conceal his pleasure at her battered condition and humbled situation, he had questioned and threatened her for an entire morning, promising her that it would be "better" for her if she cooperated and told them what they wanted to know.

  Better for me, she thought with a sneer. Yes, it was positively touching how concerned the Valdani were for the welfare of a condemned woman.

  They were desperate to find out—before they killed her—what information she had shared with whom. Once she was executed, there'd be no way to unlock the secrets which would die with her.

  Hurry, hurry, hurry, she prayed to Death. She had already determined that escape was impossible. Dying with silence and dignity was her only goal. She focused on it as fiercely as she had focused on every other goal in her life.

  Myrell, the one with the crooked nose, had come here on her second day in prison, sent by Koroll. The butcher of Malthenar, Morven, and Garabar lived up to his reputation for brutality. She had welcomed his blows, fighting back, taunting him, trying to manipulate him into drawing his sword and killing her in a blaze of fury. Her death would come quickly that way—and she would take one more Valdan down with her upon dying, since Myrell would surely be punished for murdering such a valuable prisoner without authorization.

  She had nearly tricked him into doing it, too... but then he had hesitated and drawn back. Although the man was both a brute and a fool, even he apparently wasn't stupid enough to kill her without orders. What a pity.

  If only her cook would poison her food, she thought morosely. If only someone would tell the woman to do it. She wondered what was happening at her house now. She worried about the safety of the servants who were loyal to the Alliance; about the secrets the house contained, wondering which—if any—had escaped discovery; and about the Beyah-Olvari. She also wondered why, ever since her third day in this dank hole, she
was given the courtesy of food and clothing from home. Why hadn't Koroll and Myrell questioned her since then? She didn't like to think about it, but she knew that they had barely scratched the surface in terms of their attempts to make her to talk. If they were going to give up so quickly, then why hadn't they already executed her? Why hadn't she even been sentenced yet? Why was there no news? Did Borell simply intend to leave her alone in this cell until she went mad from boredom and inactivity?

  She had too little to do or think about in here. Her mind was normally prone to planning, not introspection. She was a doer, not a dreamer. She knew what she wanted and concentrated on how to get it, letting others trouble themselves with more ponderous questions of honor and morality. As a torena, she knew her duty to the people who lived under her care, and she never shirked it. As a rebel, she knew her duty to Sileria and committed herself and her resources to it completely, without hesitation or reservation. As a woman, she used the tools Dar had given her to accomplish every duty placed upon her shoulders.

  Dar had blessed (or cursed) Mirabar with gifts of fire and prophecy, gifts so rare that they set her apart from all others. Josarian had been born to lead men in battle, to be respected and admired by them. Kiloran had grasped the cold power of water magic in an apprenticeship granted only to men. Tansen had shaped his destiny out of the bitter ashes of his boyhood, carving a new fate in stone and steel—with skills which were taught only to men.

  And I, born a woman, smarter and braver than most men... Bitterness flooded her, for what man did not look upon her and see only what Koroll had seen, and desire only what Borell had desired? The same attributes that were respected in a man—courage and intelligence—were considered mere ornaments, or even flaws, in a woman, whose role was only to be a vessel of men's pleasure and a breeder of more men. Elelar was not the right sex to be a warrior, statesman, assassin, or waterlord, and she had no gifts such as Mirabar's. But she had a woman's gifts; some were taught to her by her mother, and others were simply born into her flesh. So she had coupled those gifts with a cold mind and a brave heart to pursue a dream she would now never live to see. And because of this, men who slept with many women and who broke their marriage vows with impunity would call her a whore when she died.

  She prayed now only for a death that would honor her, such as any man might pray. Even more than she feared death by slow torture, she feared the humiliation of a woman's death, the sort of sentence the Valdani inflicted on the female Moorlanders they imprisoned in their brothels. If the Outlookers disemboweled her before vast crowds in Shaljir, she would bear it with more courage than any mere man would show, despite her fear and her pain. Only, please, Dar, don't let Borell give her to a hundred Outlookers who would rape her until she was dead and then leave her lying face-down in the mud until she rotted.

  Please, Dar, as I have been faithful and true—in my way—let my death honor me.

  Elelar was surprised to hear someone unlocking the door to her private cell. No one came here anymore unless it was mealtime, and she had been served a meal not long ago. Her heart pounded with mingled anticipation and fear, wondering who had come to see her and what news—or torment—he brought. She brushed back a stray wisp of hair and composed herself as the door opened.

  "Ronall?" she blurted.

  She didn't bother to hide her astonishment as her husband was admitted to her cell. She hadn't thought about him since the day the Outlookers had brought her here. Two Outlookers stood in the open doorway now, witnesses to the meeting. Elelar was used to them after eleven days, and Ronall had apparently drunk just enough not to care that they were there.

  He came forward, took Elelar's hand, then held it uncertainly for a moment, trying to decide whether to kiss her mouth, kiss her hand, or just forget the whole thing. After an awkward moment, he dropped her hand and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  "You are well?" he asked, his gaze searching her face.

  Leave it to Ronall to be banal at a moment like this. "As well as can be expected under the circumstances."

  The ice in her tone made his cheeks darken. He whirled away from her in an explosive move, only coming to rest when he reached the barred window. He gripped the ancient ironwork there, as if he were the prisoner, and looked down into the courtyard far below. Some prisoners were exercised in that yard, but not Elelar. Her captors were afraid to risk her making contact with anyone, even another prisoner or an Outlooker who hadn't been personally selected by Koroll for the task of guarding her.

  "What are you doing here?" Elelar asked at last, realizing that Ronall wasn't going to say anything without prompting.

  "I am still your husband." His voice was bitter.

  "Not for long," she said. "Presumably they've told you they intend to—"

  "They've told me a remarkable number of things." He didn't look at her, just kept clinging to the prison bars and staring out of the tiny window. "Before you returned to Shaljir, I was imprisoned and questioned for two days. Allowed no sleep or food during that time. Beaten unconscious at some point." He inhaled deeply. "I didn't know why. I didn't understand their questions."

  "Ronall..." She made a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. No one told me."

  "At first I thought it was because I had refused to give you a divorce. I thought Borell must have ordered the Outlookers to convince me to agree to it."

  "So Borell asked you to divorce me?" she asked, though it didn't matter now.

  "Asked isn't quite how I would phrase it."

  Ronall looked at her briefly. His wounded expression startled her. Male pride, she thought derisively. In a moment like this, as I await death in prison, he resents a blow to his pride.

  He looked away again. "When they showed me things they'd found in the house, I was sure at first that there'd been a misunderstanding. I thought they must have found those things in someone else's house. The Outlookers are such fools, it seemed like a mistake they could make."

  "No, it was my house," she said wearily.

  "Yes. So I learned."

  "Since they've allowed you to see me," said Elelar, "I assume they know you were never involved."

  "I don't think Koroll ever really thought I was. But he wanted to be sure."

  She nodded, wishing he would leave. She shouldn't have to put up with Ronall anymore. "No, why would they suspect you? You're half-Valdan, after all."

  His brief laugh was quite humorless. "To you, I'm half-Valdan. To them, I'm half-Silerian. A half-caste man belongs to no one in this country, Elelar."

  "You'll forgive me if your self-pity doesn't move me to tears at this particular point in my life."

  He winced. Closed his eyes. Leaned his head against the bars of the window. "Of course. I've forgiven you far worse, haven't I?"

  She folded her arms across her chest. "I recall resentment, anger, accusations, blame, and quarrels. I recall a beating. A few rapes." His head seemed to lower with each word she uttered. "But I don't recall a single word of forgiveness from you, not once in five years of marriage."

  "Marriage?"

  His shoulders started shaking. She heard him gasping unevenly and making a strange, choked sound. To her astonishment, she realized he was laughing. After a few moments, he tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling. She saw tears gleaming in his dark eyes.

  "Marriage?" he repeated. "We weren't married, Elelar. We were locked in combat, like two caged mountain cats, neither of us able to escape."

  "Then why did you refuse to divorce me when Borell ordered you to?" she said impatiently.

  He laughed again. It unsettled her that laughter could sound so unhappy. "Because I still loved you."

  Her shocked expression made him laugh even harder. She gaped at him, watching him laugh while tears slipped from his eyes. "You're going mad," she surmised.

  "Oh, Elelar..." He gasped again for air, wiping at his eyes. "Surely I've been doing that for years."

  "I won't dispute that."

  "Ah
, my dear wife, your contempt seems to be the one constant in my life, even when everything else has been turned upside down."

  "You've earned it," she snapped. "And I am free of the need to pretend to be your wife any longer."

  "You are my wife," he pointed out. The vehemence in his tone and the possessive expression on his face were more familiar to her than the sad, strangely giddy man he had been a moment ago. "And I might add that it's the only reason you're still alive."

  Elelar frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "As the wife of a Valdan—half-Valdan, that is—you are entitled to certain rights not granted to Silerians, no matter how high-born."

  "I rather doubt that Borell and Koroll care about such distinctions now," she said.

  "My father, who is not without influence, made them care. After I was released, I insisted that no matter what you had done, you were my wife and therefore entitled to courteous treatment after your arrest. Considering the charge of high treason, you are also entitled to a trial before three members of the Imperial Council."

  She blinked. "Your father agreed to this?"

  "I... convinced him that Borell had arrested you and made these claims because you wouldn't divorce me."

  "And your father believed you," she breathed, stunned that Ronall would lie to protect her.

  "Since I had been dragged before Borell, ordered to divorce you, and then imprisoned after refusing, it was a rather convincing story," Ronall said dryly.

  "Are you telling me that Borell agreed to your father's demands?" she asked incredulously. Borell, who would lose everything if Elelar had a chance to reveal to the Imperial Council how arrogantly careless he had been around his Silerian mistress?

  "Not at first. But his accusations against you were so... slanderous that my father became convinced of his treachery. Borell did not seem to be in control of himself." Ronall smiled bitterly before continuing, "So Father sent his own messenger to Valda two days after you were arrested, then warned Borell that he had done so. It will look very bad for Borell if anything happens to you before the Council decides whether to grant my father's request that you be tried as the wife of a Valdani aristocrat."