In Legend Born (56 page)

Childhood superstitions lingered in Tansen's heart, too, more powerful than they should be. Sometimes, if he caught a flash of those flame-gold eyes in the dark, if his mind was wandering or if he awoke suddenly, his hands reached for his swords before he realized what he was doing. Cheylan had noticed, and Tan had a feeling that the Guardian despised him for it. Tansen had once tried apologizing for the instinctive reaction, but the apology had only made things worse. Cheylan also seemed to despise anyone who acknowledged a mistake.

They had spent the summer traveling through the eastern mountains, gathering support for the rebellion, strengthening old alliances, forming new ones, and ending old enmities. The combined strength and conviction of the Society, the Guardians, and the
shallaheen
, along with Josarian's growing legend, served their cause well. A bloodfeud begun by one lone peasant had now become a true rebellion, with a scattered army whose strength numbered in the thousands. Several successful attacks on Outlooker targets in the district of Liron had drawn even more
shallaheen
, waterlords, assassins, and Guardians into their ranks. Leaving Emelen, Cheylan, and a high-ranking assassin of Baran's behind to continue the good work, Tansen now traveled back to Dalishar to report to Josarian.

He had met with Elelar two days ago, prior to heading west into the mountains. She had passed most of the summer living openly with Advisor Borell, the most important Valdan in Sileria. Tansen didn't ask, but he couldn't help wondering what manner of man her husband was, that he tolerated such behavior in his wife. Tansen knew by now why she slept with Borell, of course. As a result of her relationship with the Imperial Advisor, there seemed to be nothing that Borell knew which Elelar could not find out. Now she had news that confirmed the visions the demon girl had spoken of at Kandahar, the prophecy that Armian's shade served: Valdania and Kinto were about to fight an all-out war, the Kintish Kingdoms resisting the Empire's attempt to crush them at last after centuries of awaiting the right opportunity.

"Valdania's armies will be fully committed to the wars in Kinto and the Moorlands, with Outlookers left to hold the rest of the Empire." Elelar's voice had been rich with promise. "The Valdani won't have enough weapons, men, and money available to suppress a full-scale rebellion in Sileria."

She had gripped his forearm in her excitement, the soft unscarred palm of a
torena
pressing against his skin. She had whispered to him like a lover, "There will never be a better time."

So now, at summer's end, he returned to Josarian's side to share the information and make new plans. Elelar had been ordered to return unfashionably early to Shaljir, before the northern winds had finished cooling the summer-baked city. She was needed there to act as a link between Josarian and the Alliance as they gathered support and information for the rebellion's boldest move yet. Tansen approved the Alliance's new plan, and he believed that Josarian, the Society, and even the Guardians would, too. After the Empire entered into its first violent engagement with the Kintish Kingdoms and became irrevocably committed to the war there, then the Silerian rebels would strike a blow that would be felt in Valda itself.

Camped deep in the mountains south of Britar, Zimran relieved Lann in the empty hours of the night, taking over the sentry duty as the others slept. Clumsy as the Outlookers were, they had nonetheless raided a rebel camp four days ago, killing nine people—including two Guardians.
So much for the Otherworld
, Zim thought; he didn't see much point in communing with shades of the dead if they didn't bother to mention that you were about to
become
one of them.

Mirabar had wanted to put a ring of protective fire around the camp's perimeter tonight. Zimran thought few things were more likely to attract Outlookers than a vast circle of magic fire blazing away in the middle of the night, but it was actually Najdan who had talked her out of it, convincing her that good vigilance would suffice. Zimran tried to picture Amitan's description of how the assassin and the demon girl had met, but he couldn't really; by the time Zimran had joined up with them, Najdan had become—at Kiloran's order—Mirabar's constant shadow.

Mirabar... well, she wasn't a bad girl, really, not once you got used to her. Zimran could think of women he'd rather be spending his days and nights with—a brief memory of the "abduction" of Porsall's wife made him smile—but he didn't really mind Mirabar. Recuperating in Cheylan's camp after escaping from the fortress at Britar months ago had taught him that superstitions about demons, like all other superstitions, were just children's nonsense. Admittedly, Mirabar was even stranger looking than Cheylan. That
hair
... Lann had practically fallen to his knees and started praying when Josarian had first brought her back to Dalishar to meet them.

Josarian had told them all incredible tales about journeying to Shaljir, meeting with a
torena
who had introduced him to something called the Alliance, going to Zilar to meet Kiloran's son Srijan, and finally finding Kiloran himself. The story of that night strained Zimran's credulity: a palace of water beneath the surface of Lake Kandahar, a ball of fire plunging through the water and turning into a girl, the shade of Armian greeting them from the Otherworld, prophecies of destiny and freedom... The other men at Dalishar had swallowed it whole, though, letting this wild tale slide down as smoothly as ripe summer melon.

Remembering it now, Zimran shrugged. Exaggerated though it probably was, it was the most amazing story he'd ever heard, and it brought men to Josarian's cause by the hundreds. That was just as well, because as the Outlookers stepped up their efforts to suppress the rebellion, men were dying faster, too.

When will it end? When will Josarian be satisfied?

Driving out the Valdani was a nice dream, but Zimran was very skeptical that it could be accomplished. The Valdani ruled the world. They had ruled Sileria for two centuries. That was how it was. Could the fierce Moorland tribes drive them out of the Moorlands? No; and there were more Moorlanders than Silerians. Could the conquered Kintish states make them leave? No; and the Kintish were wealthier than the Silerians.

Zimran hated the Valdani, to. Of course he did! He'd been out risking his life and smuggling goods past the Outlookers for years while Josarian sat at home with his wife and urged his neighbors to keep the peace. They'd caught Zimran twice, too. The first time, he'd beggared himself paying bribes to stay out of the mines. The second time... Josarian had killed two of them.

One impulsive act of madness, and Josarian had run wild. Now Zimran could never go home—even if the Outlookers would let him, Emeldar's water was poisoned. So he and the others all lived like bandits in the mountains now, risking their lives every day, fighting the Valdani, killing, looting, burning, stealing... and then giving away whatever they stole.

All spring, even into summer, Zimran had prayed for peace. Even after Britar, he had continued to hope. The Valdani undoubtedly wanted this costly insanity to end. The mountain clans would soon grow tired of suffering in Josarian's name. The merchants and
toreni
would weary of the inconvenience of a rebellion in their backyard. The Society would eventually object to the increased numbers of Outlookers patrolling the mountains.

Someone
would insist on a truce before long, and Josarian would come to his senses and agree. Bloodfeuds were started in anger and ended in the cold light of reason. Josarian himself bemoaned the way the Sirdari had destroyed themselves with their endless bloodfeuds. He knew that the season for violence must be a short one. Zimran had clung to this belief and, loyal to the cousin he loved, had fought by his side in the meantime.

Josarian had abandoned them at summer's birth to honor his bloodpact with Tansen. Much as Zimran loathed the
roshah
, he had to admit that his cousin had done what a man should. Humiliated by Josarian's betrayal—leaving
Emelen
in charge—he had nonetheless remained loyal in his cousin's absence. He and Emelen had inflicted vicious reprisals on the Outlookers for the massacres at Malthenar, Morven, and Garabar. They stood by those who stood by Josarian and brutally punished those who didn't. Zimran still felt nauseated when he remembered the way he and Emelen had killed Arlen; but they had to make sure no one would be tempted enough by Valdani gold to follow in Arlen's footsteps.

Zimran blamed Josarian for killing those first two Outlookers on the smuggling trail; but Josarian had saved
him
from capture that night. Zimran blamed Josarian for getting him and twenty other men thrown into prison; but Josarian had risked death to free him from the fortress at Britar. Zimran was a smuggler who didn't like being a rebel any better than he had liked being an outlaw. But he would stand by Josarian, just as Josarian had stood by him, for that was how a man lived.

The new moon lay on her back in the lush sky, ending the nights of total darkness. Zimran briefly recalled the widow he used to visit during the dark-moon. She was displaced, like everyone else now, her home abandoned, her life shattered. 

The first northern breezes crept through the mountains tonight to soothe the heat-cracked earth. The nights were becoming cooler, the days softer. The season was advancing, and Zimran knew they were running out of time to make peace. The Outlookers, who suffered under Sileria's summer sun, would find the days more bearable now. They would not tire so quickly now as they had in the heat of summer. They would not give up as easily now. The northern winds would give them heart, and the fighting would grow even worse.

Zimran hadn't been particularly surprised that the Guardians had joined Josarian, for his cousin was a persuasive man—and who could expect sense from a bunch of ghost-talking, fire-breathing sorcerers anyhow? But the Society... Zimran had never expected
that.
And now this thing called the Alliance, made up of merchants and city-dwellers and
toreni
!

Now men spoke of war instead of a bloodfeud. Now they spoke of making the Valdani leave Sileria forever, instead of just leaving the mountains alone. Now they spoke of freedom and glory and...
now
there was no end in sight for any of them. Would this mad dream of Josarian's would go on until they were all dead, slaughtered by Valdani swords?

Zimran, who had loved his life, wanted to weep for its loss.

A crazed
zanar
stumbled into Dalishar sometime after dawn. Sentries had already warned Josarian of his approach, as they had warned him of Outlookers patrolling all access routes to this site. As was bound to happen, someone had finally told the Valdani where Josarian was based. He'd had his men trying to find out
who
for nearly a twin-moon.

Wondering what had brought a
zanar
here, Josarian invited him to enter one of the sacred caves. His sister Jalilar, who had come to live here this summer after growing tired of sleeping without her husband, offered the man food and drink. Even a
zanar
probably wanted some refreshment after the long climb to Dalishar.

Skinny, unkempt, and shaking with fatigue, the
zanar
drank deeply but refused the food. Then he stared long and hard at Josarian. Finally he asked, "Are you the Firebringer?"

Jalilar burst out laughing. Josarian cleared his throat. The
zanar
looked like he had expected no better.

"You know that they're saying you are," the
zanar
said.

"They also say that I'm dead, that I'm a disinherited Valdani prince trying to get revenge, that I'm the ghost of Daurion..." Josarian shook his head. "They say a lot of things."

"What do you intend to do about it?"

Josarian shrugged. "Nothing."

"
Nothing?
" The
zanar
rose to his feet, sputtering. "You may be the Chosen One! The Awaited One! You may be the one destined to lead us out of bondage, to drive out the Conquerors—"