In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  She jumped and whirled to face him. "There you are!"

  He sighed. "What do you want?"

  Elelar's brows arched at his tone. "Are there hoards of bloodthirsty Outlookers in the hills?"

  "No. Is that all, torena?" He turned to leave.

  "Wait." She put a hand on his arm. He froze. Very slowly, he turned back to her.

  "Well?" he prodded after an awkward silence between them.

  "I would like to thank you for saving my life." Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she pulled her hand back and continued, "I was denied a trial. Myrell was taking me to the cellar for... death by torture. He promised he wouldn't let me die until I told him everything he wanted to know."

  "He won't be torturing anyone else." Tansen's voice was quiet. "Ever again."

  "So I... owe you my life."

  "I hardly recognize you when you're being humble."

  "You don't make humility easy," she countered.

  He smiled. "Ah, forgive me. Very well, torena. I pray you, don't mention it. I'd do the same for anyone."

  "Would you?" she whispered.

  He went absolutely still for a moment, then looked away, as if ashamed. She could hardly hear him when he replied, "No. And Mirabar knew it."

  The sudden shift in topic unsettled her. "Mirabar?"

  "She's the one who told me you were still alive. She brought the news from Derlen."

  "He escaped?" When Tansen nodded, she asked eagerly, "And my other servants?"

  "As far as I know, they're all safe. Probably all trying to reach Dalishar."

  Elelar wanted to collapse with relief. "Thanks be to Dar! I was so worried. I wanted to know, wanted to ask. But, of course, I couldn't. I couldn't risk letting the Valdani know whose safety I cared about."

  "It must..." Tansen's voice softened. "It must have been very hard for you in there."

  She nodded. "Now I know why men—warriors—say it's better to die quickly. Waiting, struggling against hope, trying to keep your worst fears at bay... It weakens you, drains you. Sometimes I wondered if Borell was doing it on purpose, even though he surely wanted me killed before I could disgrace him even more."

  After a moment, Tansen asked, "Was he vengeful?"

  She understood what he meant. "Yes."

  His expression was dark as he took her hand and said formally, "Shall I swear a bloodvow, torena?"

  "No. He's already dead," she said. "Suicide."

  "Suicide?" he repeated in surprise.

  "Yes. Because of the disgrace, I suppose."

  Tansen released her hand. Elelar suddenly realized how seldom he had ever touched her. She wondered what he was like as a lover. Yes, now that she was free to choose, based solely on who she wanted, she knew she would think of him more often. There was no trace in him of the skinny, ignorant, awkward boy brimming with painful infatuation. He was all man now, experienced, confident, and ruthlessly disciplined. He was a man of grace and courage, intelligence and honor. What a rare lover for her, she thought wryly. He was special, but the complexity of their lives had forced her to look beyond his qualities as a man—until now. Now she was free to think of him as any other woman might, and she was surprised by how pleasing the sensation was. Besides, it would also be a practical liaison; there was no one Josarian trusted more than Tansen, and she... Elelar almost laughed at herself, suddenly aware of what she was doing. Even now, she couldn't help considering how it would serve the Alliance if she took another lover.

  Old habits die hard.

  She decided to let the matter rest for a while. This was a man, she was starting to realize, to whom she might choose to open her arms with no hidden purpose. But she wasn't yet ready for such a relationship; not so soon after her complicated life and near-death in Shaljir. If Tansen wanted her despite everything, then she supposed he might still want her even if she made him wait a little longer. Yes, she would let the matter rest for a while.

  "Would he... have mourned you, do you think?" Tansen asked.

  She didn't know what he meant. "Who?"

  "Borell." Sensing her surprise, he added, "You said he wanted to marry you."

  "That was before he found out the truth."

  Tansen nodded. "He felt betrayed. He was vengeful. He would have ordered your death, no doubt, if not for the protests of your husband's family."

  "Yes." She couldn't interpret the expression on his face, which she could still see clearly in the twilight.

  "But that doesn't mean he wasn't still in love with you."

  "Still in love with me?" Elelar shrugged. "If he was, then he was a bigger fool than I took him for."

  "True, but..."

  "But what?"

  Tansen hesitated before saying, "Have you never loved someone you also hated?"

  "Never." She folded her arms against the descending evening chill. "I loved one man who betrayed me. From that moment on, I hated him. There can be no mingling of two such feelings."

  "Can't there?"

  She sighed with irritation. "Have you ever loved and hated someone at the same time?"

  Tansen stared at her for a long moment before replying, "Yes. More than once, torena."

  "If you—"

  He moved quickly. His hand over her mouth silenced her. Elelar went still and pliant, aware that he now stood alert, listening to something she couldn't hear.

  "Someone's coming," he whispered. "Go behind those trees and don't come out until I tell you to."

  She nodded and hid. The scared pounding of her heart slowed with relief a few moments later when she recognized Zimran's voice. He was very excited. Elelar spoke and understood the mountain dialect, having learned it in childhood from her shallah nurse. However, she had trouble following such fast, breathless conversation as this, and the two men were standing so far away she couldn't hear all of their words. They were discussing something to do with Josarian, but that was all she could make out. Wondering whether they were all in fresh danger, she remained prudently hidden until Tansen called to her.

  "I'm leaving," he said abruptly.

  Elelar blinked. "Now?"

  "Now," he confirmed. "There's no time to waste."

  "You can't travel these mountains in the dark," she protested.

  He ignored her comment. "In the morning, you and Faradar will continue on to the rebel camp at Mount Niran with Zimran. You'll be safe there for now."

  Tansen's voice was harsh with strained emotion as she and Zimran accompanied him back to the Sanctuary.

  "What's happened? What's wrong?" Elelar demanded, trotting to keep up with him.

  He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. A curt gesture silenced whatever Zimran was about to say. "You deserve to know," Tansen said. "You should be prepared."

  "For what?"

  "The rebellion may be over. We may lose everything."

  "What? Why?" She grasped his arms. "What has happened?"

  "Someone has convinced Josarian that he's the Firebringer," Tansen said tersely. "He's on his way to Darshon to prove it by flinging himself into the volcano."

  Elelar gaped at him in stunned horror for a moment before saying, "No! He can't! He mustn't." The rebellion was still too new and scattered. If the leader of the shallaheen died now, the whole movement could collapse. "You've got to stop him!"

  "Darfire, do you think I'm going to Darshon to give Josarian a push?" Tansen shook off her grasp on his arms. "Of course I've got to stop him!"

  "Josarian has gone mad," Zimran said. "What other explanation could there be?"

  "You heard this news in the village?" Elelar asked.

  Zimran nodded. "Josarian announced his intentions in Kiloran's camp and sent a runner to Dalishar. Word is spreading already."

  Elelar looked at Tansen. "He must be stopped. Can you catch up to him?"

  "He has a head start of a few days, but I know the zanareen," Tansen said. "My brother was one. He died in the volcano. The zanareen won't let Josarian simply walk up and jump. There are days of rituals and ceremo
nies they'll want to put him through. It could give me enough time to reach him before he... before he can do it."

  "Will he listen to you?" she asked desperately.

  "I'll make him listen," Tansen vowed.

  Elelar rubbed her forehead. "What could have happened? What is Josarian thinking?"

  "I don't know, torena." Zimran shook his head. "He is not the man I knew. He is no longer the cousin I grew up with."

  "We're wasting time," said Tansen. "I'll go get my things. Zimran, get me a traveling lantern and plenty of fuel." He almost smiled. "There are times when I actually miss Mirabar. Guardians come in handy in the dark."

  "If she's so handy, why didn't she stop him?" Elelar snapped.

  He sighed. "Who knows?"

  "I'll have the Sisters pack some food and water for you," Elelar said.

  Tansen nodded and went to get his satchel. Hurrying into the Sanctuary to get food for him, Elelar realized there would be no rest now, no time for living simply as a mountain rebel. This changed everything.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Josarian ignored the crowd of shallaheen following him as he trekked up the slopes of Mount Darshon. He and Mirabar had met Jalan at a Sanctuary at the base of Darshon, where the zanar had immediately started preaching to the local shallaheen. No one ever paid much attention when yet another zanar flung himself into the volcano, but hundreds of mountain peasants who heard Jalan's ravings evidently felt they couldn't miss seeing Sileria's most famous rebel do such an insane thing.

  Josarian also ignored Mirabar, who had been pleading with him, ever since leaving Idalar, to wait until she could consult the Beckoner about this madness. But her elusive Beckoner remained silent on the subject, frustrating Mirabar and confirming Josarian's conviction that only one thing could resolve his dilemma: He must jump.

  They were close to the snowy summit of Darshon when Mirabar interrupted his silent musings once again. "We must stop. I need... I need to rest."

  He would not be stalled or delayed. "You stop, then." He didn't even glance at her to soften his brusque tone. "I can't."

  "Josarian, please."

  He ignored her. Her voice was thin and weak, a puny human sound he could barely hear amidst the passionate roaring that filled his mind as they approached the mouth of the volcano: Dar was welcoming him. She knew he was here. She awaited him as eagerly as Calidar had awaited him on their wedding night.

  Pain rippled through his head, and he knew it was Dar reaching out to punish him for betraying Her now with even the briefest memory of his wife.

  He was resolved. There could be no turning back.

  Calidar, Calidar...

  One hot tear trickled down his wind-chilled face as he banished the last memory of her from his heart. Until they met again in the Otherworld, until then... he would belong to Dar and no other.

  I am coming, Dar.

  "Josarian comes! He comes!" Jalan cried as they approached Darshon's summit. "Welcome him!"

  Welcome me. Welcome me, for I have given up my heart for You.

  "Josarian!" Mirabar called as he quickened his pace to meet the crowd of zanareen coming down the slope to greet him. "Wait!"

  "Stay here," he ordered.

  "No!" She sounded breathless and scared. "I'm coming... with you... damn you."

  He would have smiled under other circumstances, accustomed by now to her sharp tongue. Now he thought only of what was to come.

  More zanareen appeared up ahead. He could hear them shouting his name, cheering, ecstatic with religious fervor. There were, however, also dissenters.

  "Go back!" one zanar screamed, startling him. "You are not one of us!"

  "He is the Firebringer!" Jalan cried. "Stand back!"

  "No, he is just some lawless peasant!"

  "I stand with Jalan!" someone else proclaimed.

  "I will jump and prove that Josarian is nothing but a pretender!"

  "No one may jump before Josarian does!"

  "He has no right!"

  "He has more right than—"

  "Oh, for the... love of Dar," Mirabar said. "Is there someone... in authority here?" She was breathing hard. The air was so thin this high up.

  "Who is this woman?" a dirty grey-haired zanar demanded.

  "She is a demon!"

  "She is beloved of Dar," another zanar insisted, studying Mirabar. "Just look at her and you can see that!"

  "She is my trusted advisor," Josarian said sharply. They all stopped bickering and stared, as if astonished he could speak. Taking advantage of their momentary silence, he continued, "I come here with all due respect. I bring reverence and devotion to Dar. I offer Her my life in exchange for Her favor."

  This statement inspired a new round of bickering among the zanareen.

  "You are not one of us!"

  "But nowhere does it say that the Firebringer must be one of us."

  "He is Josarian! If he is not the Chosen One, then who is?"

  "Yes, let him jump! Then we will know!"

  "It is sacrilege!"

  "Must you all shout?" Mirabar said testily. "My head is pounding."

  "He will not profane this sacred site!" A furious young man leapt forward and swung his yahr at Josarian's head with deadly accuracy.

  "No!" Mirabar cried.

  Josarian ducked, rolled to the ground, kicked the man's legs out from under him, and disarmed him. He tossed the weapon aside as he rose to his feet, leaving the humiliated attacker lying in the snow.

  "That was sacrilege," said the grey-haired zanar, glaring down at the young man on the ground.

  "No fire," Mirabar gasped, her hands stretched out in front of her. She looked strangely pale. "I have... no fire."

  "This is Darshon," said Jalan, "where we all stand helpless and humbled before the goddess."

  Mirabar hugged herself, shivering in the cold wind that swept across the mountaintop.

  "Enough of this," Josarian said. "It is Dar, and not the zanareen, who will determine whether or not I am the Firebringer."

  "Yes! That is true!"

  "Let him jump!"

  "No! I will jump! I will jump now, and you will know him for the liar and pretender that he is!"

  "Stop," Josarian said as a zanar turned to go to his death. "If I die in the volcano, then you'll know. Then you can jump. Don't throw your life away now."

  The zanar cursed him, then turned and started ascending the slope as fast as he could.

  "I guess you said... the wrong thing," Mirabar surmised.

  "Stop! You are not purified!" the grey-haired zanar called after the young man. "I will not condone..." He gave up shouting after the retreating figure and returned his attention to Josarian. "You are correct. Only Dar can decide."

  "Then take me to Her," he said.

  "Josarian..." Mirabar's voice was pleading.

  "Let him go." Jalan stepped between her and Josarian, separating them. "You must. Surely you know that by now?"

  She stopped and stared at Jalan, her hot eyes glowing in a face gone sallow with cold and fatigue.

  Jalan turned to address the growing crowd of zanareen. "All of Sileria awaits the answer now. The war, the future of our people, our freedom... All of it now depends upon what happens here."

  "That's true," said Josarian, raising his voice to be heard above the wind. "That's why I have come. Sileria will have the answer, even if it means my death. I ask for your blessing, but I will enter the Fires without it if I must."

  "No," said the grey-haired one. "You must be purified first. It would not be fitting to offer yourself to the goddess without proper preparation."

  "I am ready," Josarian replied. He had expected this, and he would cooperate. Dar and the zanareen had waited for centuries, and he would not dishonor them by rejecting the rites and rituals of Darshon.

  "Let us waste no more time," Jalan said, taking his arm and leading him away. "Come."

  "Josarian?"

  He heard a catch of panic in Mirabar's voice and looked ba
ck at her. Four men were blocking her path as she tried to follow him. "She goes where I go," he told them.

  "No woman goes where you are going now." Seeing his hesitation, Jalan added, "No one will harm her. But she may not come with us."

  Josarian met Mirabar's worried gaze. She had run out of words and pleaded only with her eyes now, those eyes which glowed like the heart of Darshon.

  "Go back to the Sanctuary down below," he told her. "Wait there."

  "Wait for what? News of your death?" she protested. "Josarian! Come back! Josarian!"

  He turned his back on her, steeling himself against her pleas as he went in pursuit of his destiny.

  Koroll was admiring his newly-acquired shir when one of his men admitted Shaljir's new prison chief to his command chamber. The former prison chief was on his way back to Valda, under armed escort, to face formal charges. He was accompanied by a courier carrying a carefully-worded dispatch from Koroll explaining that this incompetent fool had permitted rebels to break into the prison and steal Torena Elelar. Unable to mitigate the disaster, Koroll did the next best thing and cast blame elsewhere.

  The new prison chief, mindful of how precarious his position would be if anything went wrong, had come to make a full report to Koroll. It was possible, he advised the commander, that the rebels had entered the prison through the sewage system, though how they got into the system in the first place, or how they knew which outlet led into the prison, was anybody's guess. The chief discussed several other possibilities, but Koroll rather favored the image of the torena wading through waist-deep sewage as she made her escape.

  Koroll ordered all water and sewage conduits to be secured with heavy new equipment and double locks. There was no point in trying to track the torena's escape route, though. There were too many possible directions for her to have gone, and it wasn't as if she would have left a trail in the subterranean sewage canals. The Outlookers were still conducting a house-to-house search of Shaljir for her, but Koroll had no doubt that she was far from the city by now.

  Meanwhile, her worthless husband was in a small cell on the top floor of the prison. He was guarded day and night by no less than four men at all times. He was forbidden visitors and never allowed outside of his cell.