In Legend Born

by Laura Resnick

  The elaborate scar on his naked chest stood out boldly, only partially covered by the strips of cloth Basimar had wrapped around him to hold the fresh bandage in place over the terrible wound in his side. Mirabar had seen that exotic Kintish symbol blazing through her visions so many times before learning what it meant, before finally seeing it carved on a man's warm, living flesh.

  "Here." Tansen's voice was husky. He guided her hand to his torso, tugging a little when she resisted. "Go on," he murmured. "You can touch it if you want to."

  She did want to, she realized, so she let him drag her palm over his hard chest. She shivered a little when he flattened his hand over hers, letting it rest there, light as a feather, filling her with warmth. With heat.

  She swallowed and traced the ridges of flesh on his chest, the scars he had earned with hard work and pain.

  "Did it hurt much?" she asked.

  "Yes," he whispered.

  "The fires of initiation hurt, too," she told him.

  His gaze shifted to the body hidden beneath her clothes. "Did it leave scars, too?"

  "Not usually." A lot of heat. "Not on me."

  "The scar... honors a shatai."

  Mirabar nodded. She understood. She was a Guardian, after all. "The mark of your endurance," she murmured.

  "Yes." His hand started sliding up her forearm.

  "Your... courage."

  "Hmmm." His fingers slid under the loose hem of her sleeve.

  "Your..." The heat was spreading fast now. "... skill?"

  He inhaled, his breath light and shallow, but didn't answer her. His hand slid above her elbow, to the tender flesh which was suddenly more sensitive than she had ever realized. Exerting subtle pressure there, he started urging her closer. Their eyes locked. She suddenly wanted to weep and couldn't imagine why. He saw the sorrow in her eyes and froze. His hand slid away from her arm and rose to trace a dangling curl of lava-red hair.

  "Mira?" he said gently. "What's wr—"

  "Riders!"

  They both flinched when they heard the cry outside. Mirabar practically tumbled over backwards trying to get to the door. Tansen pushed himself into a sitting position, then fell back down.

  "My swords," he rasped, sweat breaking out on his brow at the pain caused by his sudden movement.

  She picked up the leather harness and tossed it in his direction. Sister Basimar burst through the elaborately-painted doorway, bumping into her.

  "Mirabar, the sentries have—"

  "Yes, we heard," she said. "Stay with him!"

  She ran outside, preparing to meet their enemies. By the time she reached Lann's side, though, she could see it was a false alarm. He was grinning as he peered down into the narrow road leading to the shrine.

  "Who is it?" she asked.

  "Zimran!" He paused and added, "And the torena."

  "Elelar?"

  "Yes. With an escort."

  "What's she doing here?"

  Lann shrugged. "I'm sure she'll tell us."

  "Oh, you're sure, are you?" Mirabar said sourly. Did anyone ever really know what Elelar was up to?

  The torena came bearing food, fresh bandages, almond milk, dried figs, and the best of last year's strawberry wine. A little too beautifully groomed to be convincing as a fugitive in a war-torn country, she pressed Tansen for details about the ambush in which he had nearly died. Above all, she expressed concern about his safety, insisting that he should be moved sooner than Basimar thought was reasonable.

  "How long do you think you can keep his presence here a secret?" Elelar argued when Mirabar supported Basimar's position—merely because it was in opposition to Elelar's position. "How well do you think you can protect him from Kiloran here with only eight men?"

  "I'm well enough to travel," Tansen asserted, eyeing all three women with an uneasy expression.

  Mirabar glared at him. "So you were just pretending when you nearly fainted a little while ago?"

  "Is he that bad still?" Elelar asked.

  "Yes," Basimar said. "And I think it's too soon to move him."

  "But what if he—"

  Tansen said, "Would you all stop talking about me as if I wasn't—"

  "Isn't it rather late in life for you to worry about what Kiloran might do to him, torena?" Mirabar snapped.

  Elelar treated Mirabar to a chilling stare. Tansen sighed. Basimar suggested all they discuss this later.

  "No, I can't stay," Elelar said.

  Tansen looked up quickly. Too quickly. "You can't?"

  "I only came to see how you were and to—"

  "Kadriah?"

  They all turned at the sound of Zimran's voice when he came through the doorway. He greeted them all briefly, then relayed some information to Elelar about a horse that had gone lame, suggesting she exchange it with one of the horses here if no one was going anywhere for a few more days.

  "Ah." Mirabar said to Elelar, "First you urge us to leave, now you want to strand us."

  "Mirabar." Tansen's voice held a warning note that she didn't like. He had no business trying to govern how she talked to Elelar—or anyone else.

  She took a deep breath, trying to cool her temper. "If you're well enough to travel," she said to him, "then we will leave at first light. Therefore," she said to Zimran, "we'll need all our horses." She disliked the creatures, but they were useful here in the lowlands. "So your lame mount will simply have to remain your problem, torena."

  Having concluded the conversation to her satisfaction, Mirabar turned and left the shrine.

  It was a relief to her when Elelar and her escort departed. Tansen was in a withdrawn mood afterwards, brooding and brusque.

  He will never be free of her.

  If it pained Mirabar to realize this, it positively tormented Basimar to know that Zimran had become so devoted to the torena. Mirabar found the Sister weeping in private that evening when she should have been preparing for tomorrow's journey, one which they all knew Tansen was unwise to make so soon. Feeling desolate and rejected, Basimar poured her heart out to Mirabar, telling her far more than she wanted to know about her former relationship with Josarian's cousin.

  "But now he's in love with a torena," Basimar sobbed. "Beautiful, elegant, rich... younger than me..."

  "She has..." Mirabar fumbled for words. "Men see something in her which... That is to say..." She gave up in the end and just let Basimar cry.

  Darfire, sometimes she genuinely hated Elelar.

  If Tansen still wanted the torena, then he was a fool who deserved the unhappiness she would surely cause him. And Mirabar would not demean herself by dwelling on those strange, exciting moments she had shared with him before Elelar's arrival. She would, instead, recall moments shared with the man who had never shown revulsion when looking at her, who had never backed away from her or avoided her eyes.

  Cheylan's gaze made her feel appealing. His attentions made her feel appreciated. His touch was unmistakably that of a man courting a woman.

  Verlon is my grandfather.

  Mirabar still remembered her shock upon hearing those words.

  "My mother's father," he had added.

  Cheylan's aristocratic father had offered his ancient name and status to Verlon's daughter. And Verlon had offered the family a portion of his considerable wealth in exchange for the advantages of such a prestigious marriage.

  Mirabar knew that such alliances were not unusual. In desperate times, an aristocratic family would do almost anything to save its estates and its prominent position. When the toreni couldn't find such salvation among their own kind, some turned to the Society rather than allying themselves to a Valdani family.

  But for someone like Cheylan to be born to such a union! It was astonishing to learn that a waterlord's blood could run through the veins of a golden-eyed Guardian. Mirabar wouldn't believe it if anyone other than Cheylan himself had told her of his relationship to Verlon.

  She had many questions, but had not had time to ask them. Searlon had emerged from Lake Kan
dahar within moments of Cheylan's confession, and then Mirabar had been obliged to pay her respects to Kiloran. Cheylan, of course, had left then, heading east. And who knew when she would see him again?

  Now she could only wonder in silence what sort of life his was, and why his own grandfather had sworn a bloodvow against him.

  If we both survive the war, Cheylan, she vowed, then I will know your secrets.

  I know how it can be done.

  Elelar's heart pounded with conflicting emotions as she finished her letter to Toren Varian. Tansen was indeed as weak as Josarian had told Zimran. She'd had her doubts, for she knew better than to underestimate the shatai, despite what a shir could do to a man. However, her brief visit to him had convinced her that he had not yet traveled far enough away from death's door to return to Josarian's side any time soon. And Mirabar would not leave Tansen's side until he was well enough to defend himself against assassins. Even if the woman wanted to abandon Tansen, Josarian had forbidden it, since he was worried about his bloodbrother's life should Kiloran learn of his current condition.

  For the first time since the Alliance had made their secret treaty with the Valdani, Josarian was not protected by either Tansen or Mirabar—his personal sword and shield. Together, they made his safety almost impregnable. Even singly, each was a force to be reckoned with, a defense which could not easily be breached. Besides, they were both too valuable to Sileria to be sacrificed along with Josarian.

  The last of the hostage exchanges agreed upon in the secret treaty had been fulfilled by Kaynall's betrayal of Koroll. Elelar had just received word that, due to heavy losses in the west, the Valdani were surrendering Cavasar even sooner than planned. Unfortunately, Kiloran, rather than Josarian, would claim the city; but the Valdani would no longer have it, and that was what mattered most.

  Nothing was left now except the final provisions of the treaty: Josarian in exchange for Shaljir. When they gave up Shaljir, the Valdani would withdraw the rest of their Outlookers from the rural fighting which was still going on—with devastating losses on both sides.

  Josarian's life in exchange for Shaljir. In exchange for Sileria's freedom.

  Dar forgive me.

  Shaljir was a wealthy, well-defended, walled city protected by thousands of Outlookers. Without the support the rebels had originally counted on from the Society, taking the city would cost thousands upon thousands of Silerian lives. The Kints and the Moorlanders were both locked in all-out war with the Empire; neither would venture far enough from their native waters to help the sea-born folk keep Valdani ships out of Shaljir's harbor. If the rebels besieged the city, then the Outlookers' supply of men, food, money, and weapons from Valda could go on for one year, two years... It could well last until the war on the mainland favored Valdania, thus freeing enough men for the Valdani to launch a new conquest of Sileria from their foothold in Shaljir.

  Now is the time...

  The prophecy of the Firebringer, Mirabar's visions from the Otherworld, and common sense all told Elelar that they must drive the Valdani completely out of Sileria, and they must do it now.

  Josarian's life in exchange for Shaljir.

  There would never be a better time. The Valdani were ready, and Tansen and Mirabar were not at Josarian's side.

  I know how it can be done.

  Zimran's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Kadriah?"

  Elelar looked up from the letter she was writing. She smiled—warm, welcoming, sweet. She had prepared the way with this man, but she had never in her life needed to be more persuasive than she must be now. He wanted her complete devotion more than anything else in the world, and she must convince him that only "Josarian's war," as he called it, prevented that. She hadn't bothered to tell him that her husband was not only still alive but, according to a recent letter from Shaljir, had been released from prison. Ronall had reportedly entered the first tavern he could find and proceeded to drink himself unconscious. Some things never changed.

  There was too much at stake now to waste any more thoughts on her contemptible husband. Everything rested on Zimran. She rose to greet him as he entered the room.

  "Yes, my love?" she murmured.

  He eased his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair. "Hmmm. I thought I'd find you in here, writing more of your letters."

  She nuzzled him. "If only the war could end soon," she purred. "Then I could give you all the time you deserve. All the time I long to give you."

  "Why must we wait until the end of the war? Why not—"

  "We've discussed this before. I'm a torena. I cannot turn my back on my duties."

  "I know..." Zimran sighed. He didn't like the argument, but he had enough awe for her traditional status to let the excuse stand.

  "But if the war could end soon..."

  He shook his head. "Don't count on it, kadriah. The Valdani can hold onto Shaljir forever if they want to."

  Elelar said, "Toren Varian tells me they have repeatedly offered to give it up... on one condition."

  "What's that?" he asked without real interest.

  "Oh, it's not something we could..." She bit her lip and turned away. "Never mind. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

  Now he was interested. He didn't like her to have secrets from him. "No, tell me."

  "It would only upset you."

  "Elelar." Zimran took her shoulders and made her face him. "What is it?"

  "The Valdani will give up Shaljir in exchange for Josarian."

  "Hah!" He lost interest again. "They must take Varian for a fool, if they're telling him that."

  "You're right, of course," she said. "They can't be sincere."

  "They just want Josarian."

  She sighed. "Yes. They think his death would end the war."

  "Hmph."

  Elelar let the idea sit with him for a few moments. She could never ask him to do it. She must guide him to the idea, let him believe it was his own.

  When he spoke again, it was what she had hoped to hear. "Kiloran will kill him soon enough, anyhow. Even if what they say happened at Darshon is really true, no one is more powerful than Kiloran. No one."

  "No... And it's too bad really."

  "After the danger Josarian put you in at Golnar, you can say that?"

  She smiled at him sweetly, sadly. "I just mean that if he's going to die anyhow..."

  Zimran stared at her. "You really think the Valdani would give up Shaljir in exchange for Josarian?"

  She knew he didn't care what happened to Shaljir. She concentrated on what he did care about. "I don't know. I only know that the Valdani won't care if one Silerian—even Kiloran—has another killed in a personal bloodvow. In fact, it might encourage the Outlookers to strike while we're weak with internal feuding, renewing the fighting and dragging the war on forever. But if the Valdani take Josarian..." Elelar ran her fingers along the seam of the costly tunic she had recently given him. Zimran valued such fine things, especially when he took them as a sign of her devotion.

  "Yes?" he prodded, listening intently now.

  "They say they'd have something to bring home to Valda. Something to make up for losing Sileria in the end."

  Zimran frowned, his eyes dark with thought. "Do you really think that would end the war?"

  "How could the war possibly go on then?" she asked artlessly. "Josarian is the war." It was no longer true, but she knew that Zimran believed it.

  Elelar knew she had him when he let go of her, almost forgetting about her while he wandered around the room, absently touching things as he mulled this over. "I don't think he would give himself up, Elelar."

  "You're right, of course." She knew how he liked hearing those words. "It would have to happen..." She paused just long enough to set his mind on the problem, then shrugged and said uncertainly, "... in battle, I suppose."

  "In battle..." He mused. "Or an ambush. A better one than they tried at the Sanctuary."

  "Outlookers are so clumsy," she murmured.

  "Such fools."r />
  "And Searlon underestimated Josarian."

  "Yes..."

  "He wasn't clever enough to take him," she added.

  "Searlon didn't... know him well enough."

  "And now Josarian's even more careful," Elelar said. "I don't think the Valdani will get another chance." She measured her words carefully. "Whether he stays alive or Kiloran kills him, the war will go on for..." She sighed sadly. "Years, I sometimes think."

  "And us?" Zimran asked, his dark gaze resting on her with almost brokenhearted longing.

  "We have our duty, and it comes first, doesn't it?" she said.

  "Until the war ends..."

  "It almost makes one wish the Valdani could take him now, doesn't it?"

  He stared at her for a long, desperate moment. Finally he said, "Maybe they can, kadriah."

  It was a glorious spring night in Cavasar. Scented blossoms perfumed the air, soft breezes swept in from the ocean, and water poured freely from every fountain in the city. Two full moons rose above Cavasar, casting their luminous blessing over the celebrations in the city's main square. The rebels had burned their honored dead days ago, after watching the last overloaded Valdani ship sail out of the harbor. Now there was only joy in Sileria's westernmost city. Now fire-eaters, jugglers, acrobats, musicians, singers, dancers, and poets entertained the crowds day and night, celebrating victory, the end of martial law and curfews, the end of Valdani rule in Cavasar.

  Right now, no one cared that it was Kiloran rather than Josarian who had liberated them in the end. For now, people here cared only that no Outlookers would ever again patrol the streets of their city or carry them off to the mines. This evening, a newly-freed people celebrated joyfully and turned their backs on a thousand years of suffering and humiliation. Tonight in Cavasar, no one thought about what tomorrow might bring.

  No one, that is, except Najdan the assassin. When the city fell, he had been part of Kiloran's personal escort here. Now he attended his master, who had set up temporary residence in the ancient fortress overlooking the city.

  While Cavasar celebrated its freedom, Kiloran made plans. The Society had controlled many mountain villages and routinely extorted tribute from every major city in Sileria. Kiloran, however, was the first waterlord ever to achieve uncontested control of an entire city. The people of Cavasar did not yet know it, but they had a new master.