In Legend Born (31 page)

Sanctuary sounded like a good idea to Mirabar, since the Society would certainly be looking for her by morning. They heard everything; if they didn't already know about her misadventure the other day, they would unquestionably hear about her demonstration in Islanar today. "I will only accept your kind invitation if you repeat it after I lower my hood, Sister."

There was a long silence, then some confused whispers. Finally the Sister said, "After you lower your hood? Are you... disfigured,
sirana?
Surely you know that the Sisterhood—"

"I am not disfigured," Mirabar interrupted. "But some might call me a demon, accursed and damned by Dar."

Having warned them, Mirabar lowered her hood, exposing flame-red hair and glowing fire-orange eyes to the astonished crowd, hearing their gasps, whispers, and protestations begin even as her first curly lock appeared beneath the blazing Silerian sun.

"I am no demon, but many are afraid of me. For no good reason," she added firmly. "I was born a
shallah
, the same as you. I am a Guardian and offer service to all who ask. I am blessed by Dar and sworn to uphold Her will, so long as I live."

Some people backed away. Others stared uncertainly. She saw one or two men seize their
yahr
. "The shades of the dead do not flinch from me. Your ancestors do not fear me. There are no demons, save those in your own hearts," Mirabar said. "But the Valdani would like nothing better than to see you kill me. If you would do their bidding, then kill me now." She watched their faces. "I will not fight you," she added for good measure. She was lying, of course, but it sounded good.

For a long, painful moment, things hung in the balance. Then, to her surprise, a child stepped forward, a scrawny, barefoot boy. Looking both confused and impatient, he said, "
Sirana
, can you Call my father? Can you? Can you? I won't let anyone hurt you. Can you Call my father?"

"Yes," she said, hoping she was telling the truth. "If I live till dawn, I will Call your father for you tomorrow."

"Live till dawn?" a young woman with three children clinging to her long tunic exclaimed. "
Sirana
, are we barbarians to believe the superstitious tales we heard as children?"

Mirabar eyed the
yahr
that an adolescent boy was slowly twirling at the edge of the crowd. "I don't know. Are you?"

To her surprise, a stoop-backed man clobbered the boy. "Save your blustering for the Valdani, as Josarian does, you fool! Would you do the their bidding, as the
sirana
accuses?"

"She's a demon! Look at her!" an old woman screamed. "A demon!"

"Has she not shown us the Otherworld today?" the Sister shouted back. "Would Goran and the others so embrace the fire of a demon, you silly old woman?"

"She is well-spoken for a demon," a fat man pointed out dryly. He had fine clothes; perhaps he was a merchant or skilled craftsmen.

The barefoot little boy pressed his scrawny body against Mirabar's legs, apparently intending to protect her as he had sworn to do. "She is not a demon! Demons wear gray tunics and ride dust-blowing monsters!"

This outburst silenced the bickering crowd for a moment.

"Outlookers?" Mirabar smiled wryly. "He has a point. What could I do to you that they have not already done?"

"That's what Josarian would say," someone said.

"Yes, those would be his words!"

"Josarian would tell you that she is not the enemy!
They
are! I have heard him say so in Malthenar!"

"Josarian's cousin was wounded at Britar, and Josarian left him in the care of another so-called demon," the Sister said.

That
got everyone's attention, including Mirabar's.

"Another... like me?" Mirabar asked in astonishment.

"He was dark-haired. A
toren
. A Guardian." The Sister looked around at the crowd. "But his eyes glowed like the heart of Darshon, and he was forced to flee Liron because Verlon, an eastern waterlord, sought to kill him."

"How do
you
know this, Basimar?" someone challenged.

The Sister colored ever so faintly, faltering for a moment. Then she rallied. "After Garabar, Zimran came to my Sanctuary for healing. He said that he had learned that those like the
sirana
here are not demons, but blessed by Dar and feared by the Society, the Conquerors, and the Valdani because they are too hard to enslave."

It was a stunning announcement, one which went against the popular misconceptions passed down for centuries in Sileria and traditionally embraced by the
shallaheen
.

"Cheylan, the fire-eyed Guardian, cared for Zimran, protected him, and kept him safe until Josarian could return for him. Are those the acts of a demon?" Sister Basimar said.

"Cheylan," Mirabar breathed. "Another like
me
."

"Would Guardians have taken in, sheltered, and initiated demons for centuries?" Basimar demanded of the villagers. "Would a demon stand before your now and offer her life for your trust?"

"Who knows
what
a demon would do?" a villager said with open suspicion.

"
I
know," snapped the stoop-backed old man. "I spent ten years in the mines, where demons rule the never-ending night. Do not speak to
me
of demons until you have lived day after day under the lash of their whips in the caverns of hell!"

That seemed to end the discussion. While it was clear that not everyone was comfortable with her presence, Mirabar was invited to remain in the village and was shown the gracious hospitality which even the poorest of
shallaheen
traditionally offered to a welcome guest.

Make them welcome your kind again,
the Beckoner had said.
It is the first step...

But
only
the first step, Mirabar knew.

Three days later, hiding in Sanctuary, she decided it was time to give a carefully-worded explanation of her quest to her small handful of new friends from Islanar. She told them that messages from the Otherworld told her she must find a great warrior who would drive out the Valdani. Since half the folktales told in these mountains were about someday getting rid of the Valdani, this news didn't raise many eyebrows.

"You've seen how difficult it is for people to trust me," she said. "So I need your help: introductions in other villages, places where you have relations."

"But this great warrior you seek,
sirana
... Surely it must be Josarian?"

Mirabar shook her head. "I've met Josarian. A great man, truly. But he is not the one I seek."

"Then who,
sirana?
Who else could it be?"

"I don't know."

"Is it the Firebringer?"

"I don't know," Mirabar repeated. "I only know that..."

"What? Please, you are among friends. We wish to serve you as you have served us."

"To find him..."

"Yes?"

She took the plunge. "I must first find Kiloran."

There was a long, shocked silence. Finally Basimar said, "For that,
sirana
, you will need more than the Fires of Dar and the blessing of the Otherworld to shield you."

Mirabar nodded wearily. "I had a feeling you'd say that."

Koroll estimated that he had been locked in his cell in Shaljir's old Kintish fortress for nineteen days when four Outlookers appeared to release and escort him—to his utter astonishment—to the Imperial Advisor's Palace in Santorell Square. He had been there several times before, for Valdani religious festivities, celebrations of important victories against the Emperor's enemies abroad, or extravagant events staged to welcome dignitaries. He had never before arrived filthy, stinking, and ungroomed, and he was well aware of the curious stares he drew as his armed escort led him to the Imperial Advisor's counsel hall. A vast room of polished marble, luxuriant furniture, and imported tapestries, it seemed a place of utter chaos at the moment.

Advisor Borell, the most important man in Sileria, was bellowing at some servant when Koroll entered the crowded room, then continued sharpening his tongue on every man who crossed his path as he strode across the vast hall toward Koroll. He was an enormous man, broad enough around the girth to account for two healthy men. Yet, despite a life of luxury and a well-known taste for pleasure, he gave the impression that his enormous bulk was more muscle than fat. A mature man who still had many productive years left before him, he was shrewd, ambitious, and ruthless when it suited him.

His neatly-trimmed beard, Koroll noted, was just starting to turn gray, as was his close-cropped hair. Brushing off the servant who tried to hand him a goblet of wine, Borell glared directly into Koroll's eyes, his steely blue gaze sparkling with anger, and demanded, "Why did he have you arrested?"

Surprised, Koroll stammered, "Your Eminence? I don't quite underst—"

"It's a simple question, you fool!" Borell leaned close and repeated, as if speaking to a half-witted child with whom he had lost all patience, "Why did Daroll have you arrested?"

Treading carefully, wondering what was going on, Koroll answered, "We disagreed about the best way to handle the uprising in my district, Eminence."

"Indeed? And what were your thoughts on the matter?"

Something about Borell's manner suggested to Koroll that his very life depended upon his answer. Praying to the Three that it was the right response, he said, "I felt harsher measures were needed than did Commander Daroll. I felt that his plan to solicit information with bribes would prove largely unrewarding due to traditional Silerian—"

"You warned him about this? You told him—"

"Warned him about what, Eminence?" Koroll asked, desperate for information.

Borell's face darkened with renewed rage. "Yes, you've been locked up, haven’t you? You wouldn't know."

"Sir?"

"Daroll is dead. So are the one hundred fifty men he took with him!"

Koroll choked on his own gasp. "
Dead?
All of them?"

"Two have survived, but they're ill and will take a long time to recover."

"Wounded?"

"Poisoned."

"
What?
"

"We've been able to piece together what happened, based on the priests' examination of Daroll's corpse and the testimony of the two surviving men."

"Three Into One, how did—"

"This bandit... What's his name again?"

"Josarian."

"Ah. Yes." Borell frowned. "He stole a supply of poison—meant for our arrows—from some outpost. The theft was never reported because everyone there was killed and the place was burned to the ground."

"Yes, that is his usual—"

"The filthy peasant's native village was found to have been abandoned when Daroll arrived there with well over one hundred men. Suspecting a trap, for apparently eighty men had
already
been lost in an attack on the town, Daroll set up sentries, sent out search parties, and took all the precautions one would certainly hope he'd take after such a blunder."

Koroll held his breath, uncertain if Borell knew
who
had sent those eighty men to their deaths.

"There were no disturbances, however. Daroll then decided to use the village as his base for hunting down the outlaw, and he set up camp there." Borell ground his teeth together. "A day later, of course, the men's waterskins were all empty, so they started drawing water from the central fountain."

"And the gods grew thirsty," Koroll whispered, sinking into a chair without asking permission.

"The water was poisoned. Not enough to kill instantly. Josarian's no fool—he knew only a few would drink the water if the men who drank it suddenly died. It took five days for the first one to die, by which time all the men and horses..." Borell's shoulders slumped. "It was too late for them."

"How did two survive?"

"They were messengers sent back here on the third day after arriving in Emeldar. They fell ill in the mountains, and it took them many days to recover enough strength to continue the journey on foot—their horses were dead or stolen by then, we're not sure which. They stayed at one of those... Sanctuaries. The women there didn't let them die, but several
shallaheen
accepted payment from the two helpless men for messages which were, of course, never delivered to Shaljir."

"This is..." Koroll couldn't summon words big enough to describe such a disaster. He was already losing count of how many Valdani Josarian had killed.

"There's more," Borell said.

"
More?
"

"You've been locked up a long time." Borell went on to describe the scope of Josarian's recent crimes, which included robbing a grain shipment at Garabar which he then, incredible as it sounded, distributed to five
shallah
villages. Next, he had attacked a company of Outlookers carrying tribute for the Emperor from Adalian. No one had any idea where the gold, crops, and livestock had gone, but rumor suggested that he had distributed that, too. "Thus ensuring the loyalty of the
shallaheen
," Borell said.