In Legend Born (61 page)

"But.. it— it's not right for a
torena
to rely solely upon her husband for wealth. My... family honor demands that I—"

"Do you think I would ever deny you anything you wanted? Do you think I could?" His hands were tender on her body, molding her, easing her into his plan. "If necessary, if nothing less will satisfy you, I will sign over some of my property and money to you, making it all your own."

"Oh, Borell..." She tried to swallow her panic, afraid she might be suddenly sick.
How could this be happening?

"My love..." He took her speechlessness as a sign that she was deeply moved, and he embraced her.

She tried one last time. "Ronall will never agree." She prayed that it was true. "No matter what his father says, he will never suffer the humiliation of—"

"Shhh." He kissed her gently. "Leave that to me, sweetheart. I'll take care of him. I'll take care of everything."

"But he won't—"

"Shhh, don't worry. One way or another, I promise you'll be rid of him by the end of the year."

Sweet Dar, would he murder Ronall to have her all to himself?

"I'm the Imperial Advisor," he reminded her. "I can do whatever I want."

Josarian, help!
The arrogance of their Valdani overlord united her with the mountain rebel as closely as if they were brother and sister. She didn't like Josarian, but in this moment, as Borell bore her into the pillows with passionate fervor, her mind reached out to Josarian in kinship. He and she were one with this land, in their ambitions, and in their separate hells. He slept alone, missing his dead wife, living on the run, in constant danger. She spread her legs for the questing hand of the Valdan who murmured endearments in her ear, and she knew all the loneliness tonight that the
shallah
did, all the fervent longing for freedom, all the willingness to risk everything in the fight for Sileria.

Borell's mouth was damp against her breast. "Let's start now."

"Hmmm?" She pulled her thoughts back from those wild mountains, from the ally who liked her no better than she liked him, but who she hoped would understand and respect the strength of will she needed to smile into Borell's languid eyes and tighten her legs around his thick waist.

"Let's start tonight." His hand moved over her belly, warm and caressing. "I want you to give me a son."

Not a daughter. Not a child. A son.

Not a Silerian. Not a
toren
. A Valdan.

She hid her revulsion behind a slow, wet kiss.

"A son..." She wrapped her fingers around his engorged penis. He would not use a sheathe, she realized; not now, not ever again with her. "Yes. Your son, Borell. Tonight."

Lifting her hips to meet him, she silently begged Dar to make her womb as barren as the rocky rainbow cliffs of Liron.

Heat and ecstasy melded together in his dreams. Fire engulfed him, melting his flesh, incinerating his soul, turning his bones into molten liquid. Agonizing pleasure. Glorious pain. Exquisite torment. The erotic churn and bubble of lava called out to him, luring him into its depths. The embrace of the explosive flames made him cry out, made him scream, his terror and his passion fusing into one single glorious sunburst of emotion. Exaltation. Rapture. Delirium. A joy beyond bearing.

Fire flooded him, pooling in his loins, roaring through his veins, spilling out of his mouth and ears and eyes.

Fire was in him, of him, one with him, and he would bring it to them. He would bring them the Fire. Firebringer.

"Josarian!"

Water, the icy chill of another power, another domain, quenched his mad passion, destroyed the glory of this holy union... and woke him up.

Sputtering and coughing, he blinked rapidly, shoving hair out of his eyes, shaking his head. He looked up in confusion. Tansen stood over him, his lean silhouette unmistakable against the light of the moons.

"Are you all right?" Tansen's voice was tense, worried, taut. He held the waterskin in his hands like a weapon, clearly prepared to throw more water over his brother if he thought it necessary.

"What do you think you're doing?" Josarian demanded.

"You've been screaming in your sleep."

"And you thought throwing
water
on me in the middle of the night was a reasonable response?"

Hearing how normal Josarian sounded, Tansen dropped the bucket and sat down quite suddenly, without his usual grace. Josarian was surprised to see that Tan's hand trembled as it raked through tangles of black hair.

"When you started screaming..." Tansen's voice was disturbed, a little breathless. "I spoke to you. Grabbed your shoulder. I shook you. I
hit
you...."

"You hit me?" And he'd slept through that?

"Three times, Josarian." He shook his head. "I... I thought you might even be dying.
Terrible
screams. I thought some kind of brain fever was upon you. Or you were being attacked."

"Attacked?"

"In other lands, there are wizards who can reach into the mind and..." Tansen shrugged. "I don't know quite
what
I thought."

"I was dreaming..." Frowning in thought, Josarian rose to his feet. He grabbed the now-drenched tunic which had been lying beneath his head and hung it up on a tree branch to dry. Sensations started returning to him, memories as strange as they were stirring. "Fire, lava, heat, flames..."

"A volcano?"

He nodded. "I was inside it."

"You've been... thinking about what people are saying about you?" Jalan wasn't the only
zanar
now demanding that Josarian prove himself by jumping into Darshon. And the
shallaheen
were listening. Listening and talking.

"It was... pain like you can't imagine, not even with that brand you bear," said Josarian. "Pain such as I have no words for."

"Yes, I suppose it would be."

"But it was ecstasy, too."

"Josarian..."

"Ecstasy like... like a woman can give you. Only greater, much greater."

"It was a
dream.
"

He heard the snap in Tansen's voice and looked at him in surprise. He came down from the heights of memory and realized with astonishment that Tansen was...
afraid
. For him.

"I'm not losing my mind yet," Josarian assured him dryly. Perhaps he should keep his dreams to himself in future.

"Have you..." Tansen cleared his throat. "Have you had this dream before?"

"I'm not sure." He shrugged. "Probably not. You would have noticed, eh?"

"Maybe you don't always scream." Tansen's voice was so soft Josarian had trouble hearing him.

"And maybe I just shouldn't have drunk so much almond wine tonight." Before going to sleep, they had consumed a bottle of the stuff given to them by a villager. As usual, Tansen had drunk very little, which meant that Josarian undoubtedly had drunk too much. He slapped Tansen on the back. "Let's get some sleep. It will be a long day of hard walking tomorrow, if we're to reach Baran before sundown." He added ruefully, "Do you know, there are some days I almost miss the
torena
's horse?"

Tansen sat quietly in the late afternoon sunlight, waiting and watching, his mind troubled by these recurring dreams of Josarian's. They had come four times now, by his count, since that first night he'd doused Josarian with cold water. Mercifully, nothing unusual had happened during the night they had spent in Baran's lair, a crumbling old castle surrounded by a deadly, enchanted moat which could only be crossed with the waterlord's blessing. 

Baran's behavior had, as always, matched his widespread reputation for both madness and shrewdness. Fortunately, as hoped, the mercurial waterlord had agreed to their plans for attacking Alizar. He had pledged his full support and assured them he could carry out his part of the scheme. Baran was much younger than Kiloran, but no less impressive. His participation would be a tremendous advantage in the battle for Alizar. But Baran was dangerously unpredictable. Although he was their ally in this, it would nonetheless be risky to evince weakness in his presence. So it was a relief that Josarian had slept peacefully in Baran's gloomy lair. 

However, the dreams had come again after they left Baran's abode, tormenting Josarian once every few days, ripping the nights open with fear. Normally the most cheerful and earthy of men, Josarian looked haunted and distracted in recent days, as if he saw visions similar to the demons girl's. Tansen kept an eye on him, worried and perplexed. Was this some sorcery? Some madness? Was it truly destiny?

The Firebringer.

If Tansen believed at all in the Firebringer, then he also believed he had murdered him. He awaited Dar's vengeance for this, as he awaited Her punishment for killing his own bloodfather. He doubted that any man since Marjan had so offended the goddess. He had already faced Armian's shade, though, and he could face Dar when She came for him. He could face anything after what he had faced in Mirabar's prophetic fire.

Could he have been wrong about Armian, though? It had been easy enough for an ignorant boy to believe that the godlike figure of the celebrated assassin was the Firebringer. It was much harder for a worldly warrior to believe the mad ravings of the
zanareen
and the fervent whispers of hopeful
shallaheen
when they spoke of Josarian.

Oh, there was no question that Josarian was a great man, whereas Armian had merely been a privileged one; or that Josarian was a courageous man, whereas Armian had primarily been a violent one. Josarian was worthy to be chosen by Dar to lead Sileria to freedom; whereas Tansen had willingly committed a heinous crime against Dar and all decency, so convinced was he that Armian would lead Sileria straight into the cruelest slavery it had ever known.

Yes, if there was a Firebringer, then Dar would do well to choose Josarian rather than Armian. But mystical heroes of legend like the Firebringer were harder for an experienced man to believe in than they had been for a mere boy. Conversely, Tansen's heart couldn't easily relinquish any portion of the shame it had harbored for years, believing he had already slaughtered the Firebringer—though murdering one's own bloodfather would be shame enough to satisfy most men.

Ah, but a
shatai, he thought ruefully,
is not
most
men.
If his glory was greater, than so must be his burdens, to maintain balance and harmony... Not that Tansen had known much of either.

Could a man really fling himself into Darshon and survive? Men had been jumping into the volcano for centuries, and they died one after another. The legend of the Firebringer was man-made and mountain-born. Some said it was goddess-inspired... but then, people said a lot of things. Who could possibly sort out the real from the imaginary among the people of Sileria, the greatest storytellers, liars, and myth-makers in the three corners of the world?

After all, Tansen knew that people in these mountains already told the most extravagant, extraordinary tales about
him.
Who was to say that the legend of the Firebringer hadn't been born, as had Tan's own lesser legend, from the ridiculous boasts of an afternoon? Who was to say that the precious scriptures of the
zanareen
were founded on anything more than drunken, credulous gossip from a tavern which had crumbled into dust centuries ago? Was there really a single word of truth in the improbable prophecies with which wild-eyed fanatics and superstitious peasants now badgered Josarian? And these dreams that were taking hold of Josarian's mind... Couldn't they simply be the product of weariness, guilt over Calidar, and Josarian's own private fears?

Tansen wished he knew. He wished
someone
knew. He wished there was someone he could ask.

He was on sentry duty now, awaiting Elelar's arrival at the Sanctuary of Sister Basimar. They were closing in on their most ambitious target ever, and this meeting would confirm their final plans for the attack on Alizar. It was a terrible risk. Failure could cost them everything, destroying their rebellion in its infancy. Victory, however... He pushed away the temptation to dwell on such thoughts, focusing instead on the task at hand.