Must it always be this way?
"You have given Sileria to Kiloran," Tansen said bitterly. "You and your precious Alliance have made us all his slaves."
Her pacing stopped abruptly as she whirled to face him. "Haven't you heard anything I've been saying? Now the Valdani will leave Sileria, before every piece of it is destroyed by another year, two years, five years of warfare, before people are starving in the streets, before—"
"In destroying Josarian, you have become Kiloran's creature, just as Zimran was your creature."
"Kiloran has nothing to do with this!"
"Doesn't he?" Tansen pushed himself way from the wall and stalked forward. "You don't know what happened to Josarian."
She was staring at him intently. "I thought you came here because I do know what—"
"I got to him in time to save him from the ambush."
"You what?" Elelar sat down suddenly. "But I thought... Isn't he dead?"
"Oh, he's dead. I saw it myself. He's definitely dead."
She heard the change in his tone. The hatred. The horror. "If he didn't die in the ambush, then—"
"Kiloran," he said. "The White Dragon."
Elelar shot to her feet again. "You are lying."
"Am I? Ask Mirabar and Najdan. Ask Lann and the other shallaheen and some fifty zanareen. They were all there, too, and none of us could save him from that thing."
"The White Dragon? No... No, it's not possible."
She shook her head, backing away from him as she sought to deny his story. Tansen seized her shoulders, holding her in a grip that he hoped hurt like all the Fires, forcing her to listen as he told her how Josarian had died, sparing her nothing, painting a picture he wanted her to remember for the rest of her life. He wanted her to hear Josarian's screams of agony forever, just as he would.
"No!" she cried, shoving at him, shaking her head as if to rid it of the images, the sounds, the memories he wanted her to carry as a burden until the day she died. "No! How would Kiloran even know where he was? How would he—"
"He knew everything about the treaty, every move the Alliance and the Valdani made together."
Her eyes flew wide open. "No, you're wrong! Searlon... Yes, Searlon was my guide. He took me to the meeting where we made the treaty. But he wasn't involved! He never even asked me what we discussed!"
Tansen shook her, amazed that such a shrewd, scheming woman could have been so stupid. "You knew Searlon was connected to this thing, and yet you never wondered—"
"The Valdani simply contacted the Alliance through..." She gasped and stared at him, her mouth hanging open. Her knees buckled and she leaned against him. "The Valdani.." she panted. "They came to us..." A sob escaped her. "... through Kiloran."
"And who had betrayed Josarian to the Valdani once already?" He forced her to keep standing, using his voice the way he usually used his swords. "Who do you think told the Valdani that the Alliance could be convinced to betray Josarian? Who had the most to fear from the Firebringer's strength?" He shook her hard. "Who had the most to gain by Josarian's death?"
"Nooo!" she howled. She broke free of his hold and fell to her knees.
Servants knocked again at the door. "Torena! Torena!"
"Go away!" she screamed at them. "Go! Leave me alone!"
"He used you." Tansen forced her to hear him above her howls of rage and grief. "He knew where you were weak, what you wanted to believe, and just how blind to all else you would be when you thought you saw your goal in sight."
Tears streamed down her face as she raged at Kiloran and destiny, beating her fists against the floor until she was too weak to move. In the end, she simply knelt there, staring at nothing while her shoulders shook and sobs tore at her throat.
Elelar had shown no mercy to Josarian. She had shown none to Tansen tonight—Armian... And Tansen showed no mercy to her now.
"You've paved the way for Kiloran to rule Sileria by helping him destroy the only man strong enough to oppose him after the Valdani withdraw." Every breath made his wound scream in protest. "We were all better off under Valdani rule than we will be now."
"No..." she sobbed.
"I gave nine years of my life to prevent what you've just done to us all."
"No!" she cried.
"Nine years, wandering foreign lands, living among the roshaheen, fleeing the bloodvow you encouraged Kiloran to swear against me... Nine years of longing for Sileria, longing to come home. I killed my own bloodfather so that we wouldn't be ruled by the Society. And unlike you, torena, I loved the man I slaughtered for our freedom. Sometimes I miss him even now." He lowered himself into a chair, fighting the faintness, the darkness closing in on him. "Damn you, Elelar, did it never once occur to you that there's one person in Sileria even more clever than you?" After a moment, he sighed. "No, of course not. Kiloran counted on your arrogance. You and whoever else signed that damned treaty."
Elelar looked up at last, gazing at him through dark lashes which were spiky from her tears. Even in her grief and shame, she was still beautiful. It shouldn't move him, not now, not after all she had done... but it did.
"But Mirabar said..." Elelar gave a watery sigh. Longing filled her tear-streaked face. "The visions. Mirabar said we would be free."
"Perhaps we will." How weary life in Sileria made a man. "But not yet."
"I... I have no right to ask, Tansen, but I am afraid, and so I will."
"What?"
"After you kill me... Will you burn my body?"
Kill her. Kill Elelar.
He should do it. He knew he should. He had vowed to do it. Mirabar would never forgive him if he didn't.
Don't come back until it is done.
He rose to his feet and unsheathed a sword. Elelar met his gaze for a moment, bidding him silent farewell. She showed more courage than her lover had in his final moments. More courage than most men did.
Don't come back to me unless you can show me Elelar's blood on your sword.
He should do it. He must do it. She had betrayed them all by betraying their leader, the Firebringer, his brother.
So die all who betray Josarian.
He hadn't spared Zimran, not even when Josarian himself had begged him to.
There are... no exceptions.
Who could say what Elelar would do next if he let her live? She had betrayed him once, too.
Daurion, Armian, Josarian...
The tender flesh of her neck was exposed. Her hands were neatly folded on her knees as she waited for him to strike.
He raised his sword. One Silerian killing another in vengeance over bloodshed and betrayal.
Must it always be this way?
"Are we no more than this?" he finally said aloud, his voice hoarse with sorrow. "Will we never be more than this?"
She glanced up at him. "Tansen? I am ready."
"This is Sileria." He remembered the recent words of another traitor—one who had tried to save Josarian. "A man's friends are always more dangerous than his enemies."
"What?" she said faintly.
He couldn't do it. He looked down at the woman who had inspired love, hate, desire, contempt, and a myriad of other emotions in his breast, and he couldn't kill her. He gazed into that unmistakably Silerian face, and he could not take the life that had shaped so much of his own. He looked at the woman whose sins were so close to his own, and he found that he couldn't kill her unless he slit his own throat immediately thereafter—and he wasn't ready to do that. Not yet.
"We have work to do first," he said suddenly.
Prepared for death, she had trouble standing up, even with his arms to support her. "Work?"
"Kaynall was waiting for Josarian's body," he said briskly, leading her back to the bed. When she started trembling with reaction, he wrapped a blanket around her. "Searlon is supposed to identify it for him."
"B— B— But there will be no body. Not if the White Dr—"
"Exactly. I sent an Outlooker back to Shaljir to tell Kaynall that the tre
aty conditions have been met: Josarian is dead."
"You did what?"
"But I think it would be best if you go to Shaljir and pressure Kaynall to fulfill his part of the bargain and surrender Shaljir."
"Y—You want me to go to Shaljir?"
"Koroll's dead, and Kaynall has signed a treaty with you. You'll be safe enough. Besides," he added, "we can't have the Valdani changing their minds now, can we?"
She shook her head, teeth chattering. He found a flagon of wine on the table across the room and poured her a cup.
"Tell Kaynall and Cyrill that Kiloran is secretly part of the Alliance." He lifted one brow and added, "It should be a refreshing change for you, telling the truth."
"Very fu—fun—"
"Here." He pressed the cup against her lips and forced some wine down her throat. "Tell them that Kiloran finished what the Outlookers started. Find Searlon and convince him—I don't care how—to back you up when you talk to Kaynall. The one thing we all still agree on," he reminded her, "is that we want the Valdani out of Shaljir and out of Sileria."
"I thought..."
"What?"
"Wh—When Kaynall said we must give up Josarian, Varian convinced me... I convinced myself," she admitted more honestly, "that this must be Josarian's destiny. This was how the Firebringer would finally drive them out. There is nothing in the prophecy..."
"That says how he must do it," Tansen concluded.
Elelar nodded. Tansen felt sorrow cloud his eyes.
Josarian.
"There will be civil war now," he said.
"Yes." She swallowed more wine. "I know." Tears streamed down her face again, but she did not break down this time. "At least now..."
"What?"
"For the first time in a thousand years... It will be just us. Only Silerians in Sileria."
"Free to slaughter each other at will," he said bitterly. "If we're going to win our own land once and for all, we must do it before any of the mainland powers become strong enough to attack us again. If they do it while Sileria is still in turmoil..."
"I will leave for Shaljir at first light." Her eyes sought his. "You are not well, Tansen. You should rest here until—"
"I have to go to Dalishar." And he would have to tell Mirabar he had spared Elelar. He'd almost rather face the White Dragon again.
"Your injuries," she protested. "You must re—"
"No one can rest now, Elelar."
As he turned to leave her, she said, "You were wrong about one thing."
He paused. "What's that?"
"There is one other man strong enough to oppose Kiloran." She nodded slowly. "You."
He held that dark, troubled gaze. "May Dar make it so," he said.
Tansen left Elelar alone with her demons, knowing that his own would follow him. He ignored the wide-eyed stares of the torena's servants as he passed them in the corridor, and he left her house without a backward glance.
He was unspeakably weary and in more pain than even a shatai could bear with grace. But he was right—no one could rest now. All of Sileria was at stake, and the Society had held sway here for far longer than the Valdani. They would be even harder to defeat. Now there would be civil war, and if he couldn't win it, Sileria would know slavery beneath the cruelest yoke of all.
He had killed his bloodfather to prevent it nine years ago. And if he had to, he would take Josarian's place to prevent it now.
The night air was sweet and cool, perfumed by wild fennel and rosemary. The moon-streaked shadows invited him to lie down and sleep, and the serenade of a soft breeze sweeping through the trees soothed his senses. Sileria at her most enticing.
Tansen resisted her allure and, focusing on the task at hand, set his foot on the road leading toward Dalishar and his destiny.
Epilogue
"Our work is not yet done."
The Beckoner came for her in the night, while the others slept.
Here at Dalishar, the gateway to the Otherworld, his silent voice was very loud, reverberating through Mirabar's senses, storming the walls of her resistance, mocking her efforts to ignore him. Her head pounded so brutally with his insistence that she finally surrendered and acknowledged him.
"Go away. I will not serve you anymore," she said to the darkness.
Come, the Beckoner called her silently, urgently. Come.
She didn't want to wake the Sister who was sleeping near her in this cave, so she got up and went outside. In the wake of Josarian's death, the rebel camp at Dalishar was heavily guarded. The usual number of sentries had been doubled. No one knew what Kiloran planned to do next, and everyone was afraid. Tansen had been right, though; if Mirabar could be safe anywhere, it would be here at Dalishar, a site sacred to the Guardians and steeped in their power.
Mirabar had brought the news of Josarian's death to Dalishar. Now the shocked rebels mourned him. But there was no body to burn and no hope that he would ever reach the Otherworld, so no one could decide what rituals to perform to mark his passing. No one knew what to do in remembrance of a victim of the White Dragon.
Slipping through the darkness, Mirabar encountered a sentry—who nearly jumped out of his skin before he recognized her and settled down. She could smell the fear on his skin as she passed him. What would Kiloran do now? Who would be next?
Come to me, come...
The Beckoning led her into the darkness, far from watchful eyes and curious ears. Mirabar followed it, also wanting privacy from the others at Dalishar, but her resolve remained firm. "Leave me alone. You are not welcome here."
Your work is not yet done.
"What work?" she cried. "What do you want? Why did you let him die?" A tear trickled down her face. Her throat filled with bitter hatred. "I did everything you asked of me. And you have betrayed us."
Visions filled her head, flowing through her blood, clouding the night with the will of the Otherworld. She fought it, but the Beckoner was more powerful, and so she saw what he wanted her to see.
"The Sign of the Three..." It lay smashed, the shattered ruin of what had once been a monument to the power and glory of the Valdani.
She didn't want to acknowledge it, didn't want to ask anything of the Beckoner. But she had to know. "They are leaving?"
Leaving Sileria forever.
"Then... he did free us."
When he died.
"When he died," she repeated. Her shoulders slumped with renewed sorrow. "But it was wrong. He should not have died. Not that way."
Your work is not yet done, the Beckoner told her again.
"No." She shook her head. "I will not obey you anymore. I will not lead more good men to their deaths. I will not— No! Stop!" She screamed as he drove her to her knees, inflicting pain on her as he sought to bend her to the will of the Otherworld.
"Sirana!"
She heard sentries shouting in panic. They crashed around in the darkness, seeking her, ready to fight their enemies. The sky overhead turned black, blotting out the light of the moons, smothering all of Dalishar in velvety darkness. The shouts in the distance grew more frantic as powers beyond the rebels' understanding swept through the night.
Fire streamed across the sky, then curled and twisted until it formed a shape she knew well by now: the symbol of a shatai.
"Tansen?" she whispered, staring up at the sky.
You and he must prepare the way.
"I don't..." Her head pounded. "For what?"
The fiery symbol dissolved against the black sky, drifting and reshaping itself into two separate balls of fire. She watched as a face formed around those two glowing eyes. Like the symbol, she had see this face before.
"Daurion," she murmured.
The voice that addressed her was a new one, not the Beckoner's. It filled the whole sky.
He is coming. Prepare the way.
"Who is coming?"
The sky exploded in flames, shards of firelight scattering into infinity to mingle with the stars. Mirabar shielded her eyes against the stingin
g brilliance, flinching against the thunder that roared through the heavens like a victor's triumph. It echoed through the night, then slowly faded, leaving her too weak to move.
She was still huddled on the ground when Najdan found her. "Sirana! Why didn't you answer? Haven't you heard us calling you?"
She looked up at him. The soft light of a twin-moon night once again crept through the shadows, and she could see the strain in the assassin's face. "No, I... Sorry, I..."
"Your screams woke everyone," he said, hauling her to her feet. "And then..." Najdan shook his head. "I would not believe it if I had not seen it myself."
"What?" Her legs felt weak and her stomach was churning.
"In the sky. It was..."
"A face?" she prompted.
"No." He took her arm and started to lead her back toward camp. "It looked like a fist."
"A fist?"
"Yes."
"A fist..." Her knees buckled, and she would have fallen back down if not for Najdan's support.
"What is it? Are you ill?" he asked.
"You all... saw a fist?"
"Yes."
"Daurion," she gasped. "A fist of iron in a velvet glove. We must prepare the way."
"Sirana?"
She had never expected to feel hope again. Now it flooded her, renewing her strength. "He is coming."
"Who is coming?" Najdan demanded.
"The next Yahrdan." She smiled tremulously. "Our work is not yet done."
The End
Author's Note
"Where do you get your ideas?" is the question people always ask a writer. In the larger sense, we see story ideas everywhere we look, or we wouldn't be writers. That's just how our minds work.
In the specific sense, though, In Legend Born grew out of the fascination with Sicilian history which I developed when I lived for a year in Palermo, the capital of Sicily, Italy's largest province.
One of the famous historical figures who particularly intrigued me was Salvatore Giuliano, the bandit king of the western mountains who became a freedom fighter and ardent separatist. Giuliano was active 1943-1950, a very tumultuous period in Sicily's tempestuous history. Corruption and mystery still surround Giuliano's brutal death, just as romance and controversy still surround his violent life.
In Legend Born Page 71