In Legend Born (71 page)

Turning his attention to something that was more within their control, Zimran said, "I told Sister Basimar about your wound. She sent some salve back with me."

Josarian rolled his eyes. "Jalilar has fussed with it enough already today."

Zimran grinned. "And nagged you the whole time about how you've neglected it, I'm sure."

"
And
nagged me about giving her an escort to go to her husband. I must have told her twenty times today, I'm not sending her
anywhere
until I'm sure it's safe for my sister to travel that distance." He sighed. "Dar alone knows how Emelen puts up with her."

Zimran nodded his agreement, but replied, "He must be missing her, though. That's a long time for a man to be without a woman. And while he may have been tempted in the east, he values his parts too much to risk what would happen if Jalilar found out he'd used them on another woman."

Josarian laughed but said, "Ah, he loves her. You wouldn't know about this, not yet, but when the right woman comes into a man's life, he still enjoys looking at others, but he needs no more than the one he's got."

"Plenty of men want more than the one woman they've g—"

"Plenty of men live their whole lives without finding the
right
woman."

"Or finding the right woman twice?" Zimran guessed, his expression softening.

Josarian lost his smile. "I still miss her."

"I know."

"Everything is so different now, too. It's been so long since I've seen the village we lived in, the house we shared, or the bed we slept in together. All I have left of her is her scarf," he said, briefly touching the place where he kept it pressed against his skin. "And my memories."

"For a woman like that, memories should serve a man well enough."

It was good to talk to someone who had known her, even though Calidar and Zimran hadn't gotten along well. Tansen listened with sympathy, with empathy, for he had lost loved ones, too, but he hadn't
known
Calidar. And no words could sufficiently conjure up the vibrancy of the woman who had been Josarian's wife.

"Do you remember the cow she bought the year after you were married?" Zimran said.

Josarian chuckled. "The meanest cow in all of Sileria."

"Even it's milk was sour."

"And
how
many people did it attack?"

Zimran laughed. "I could never keep count. Calidar's legendary attack cow, more dangerous than any mountain cat!"

"And Calidar, the only creature in Sileria more stubborn than that beast. Sweet Dar, how I begged that woman to give up her vicious cow!"

"Begged her? I remember the time you gave Lann money to try to buy the damn thing from her. And she wouldn't sell. She was so determined to turn it into a good, docile milk cow, no matter how long it took."

"Oh, and the
cost
of a cow." Josarian rubbed his forehead, smiling wryly as he remembered their fights about it. "It took everything we had to buy that worthless animal."

"Even so, you tried to set it free one night while Calidar was visiting her mother."

"And nearly got gored for my efforts," Josarian recalled.

"Which was nothing compared to what your wife would have done to you for driving away her precious cow."

"Thank Dar, the tribute collectors finally took it."

"Ahhh, so the Valdani did have their uses, eh?" Zimran said.

"Only that once."

They grinned at each other and fell into reminiscing about earlier, happier days. It felt good to spend this time with Zimran, to feel close to him again. They had grown up almost as brothers together, and they'd been loyal to each other throughout their lives, from their first boyhood fibs all the way through the dangerous days of Josarian's outlawry. But a rift had grown between them ever since the start of the rebellion, ever since Josarian had chosen a different path in life. Ever since other men had chosen to join him.

He knew that Zim didn't like Tansen and positively
hated
Josarian's friendship with the
shatai
. Josarian had chosen to make Tan his closest male relative when he swore the bloodpact with him, and he knew that Zimran felt betrayed. Nonetheless, if he could go back, he would do it again without hesitation. Not only was he proud to call a man like Tansen his bloodbrother, but he now needed Tansen in a way that... he would never need Zimran again. Tansen had been the first man to join Josarian's bloodfeud against the Valdani, and he had never wavered. He was a man of courage, intelligence, commitment, and extensive experience. No other man could support Josarian's leadership as Tansen could. He was invaluable. Without him, there wouldn't have been a rebellion. In fact, without Tansen, Josarian would have died with twenty other
shallaheen
at Britar, long ago, and life in Sileria would have soon erased even the memory of his bloodfeud against the Valdani.

He trusted no one the way he trusted Tansen, the man who guarded his back, the man whom he consulted on every move, every plan, every idea. Of course, Josarian still loved Zimran, his lifelong friend and companion. He would go back into the fortress at Britar all over again to free him. But Zimran, he knew, was only a rebel because he had no choice. Josarian and the Valdani had forced him into a life he hadn't wanted and didn't believe in; and his lack of commitment meant he couldn't lead men in this cause. Josarian knew that Zimran also felt betrayed when he made leaders of Emelen and others while Zim simply protected Mirabar or Tashinar, intercepted Valdani couriers, and carried messages between Josarian and the Guardians.

Zimran was a brave fighter and a loyal cousin, but even now, he still didn't truly believe in their cause. Even now, he would like nothing better than to make peace with the Valdani so that he could go back to his lucrative smuggling trade and his easy seductions.

Sometimes, if he weren't my cousin, I even wonder if he would...

Josarian chose not to complete the thought. It was far too ugly and dishonorable a thing to consider, even in the silence of his mind. Especially tonight, when he and Zimran felt close again, as they had throughout the long years before Josarian had killed those two Outlookers on a moonlit smuggling trail. Tonight, for a little while, the rebellion was somewhere out
there,
a thing to be escaped for a few hours. Here, in the glowing light of ancient Guardian fires, he and Zimran laughed and talked, once again as close as brothers.

When morning dawned over Dalishar, Josarian awoke from fiery dreams of agony and ecstasy. Sweating with mingled desire and terror, gasping for air like a drowning man, he looked across the cave at Zimran. His cousin slept peacefully. Josarian sighed and closed his eyes, grateful that he hadn't shouted and howled in his sleep. So far only Tansen had seen him in that state. And considering how much it disturbed Tansen, he dreaded the thought of Zimran, Jalilar, Jalan, and the others finding out about it. About the dreams. About the madness and mystery claiming his mind.

He rose silently to his feet, pulled on his tunic, and went out into the fresh air, trying to calm his ruffled nerves and reeling senses. Dalishar was high enough to afford him an excellent view of Darshon. The volcano was peaceful, as it had been all year. Only a slender wisp of smoke rose from the belly of Darshon today. The mountain stood vast and majestic against the dawn sky, its snowcapped summit piercing a thin, fragile cloud.

She called him, as insistently as the Beckoner called Mirabar.

"Dar," he whispered, as he used to whisper Calidar's name.

Was he mad? Or insanely egotistic? Or doomed by the superstitions of his people? He knew what they said about him:
Josarian, the Firebringer
. He'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to know. But he didn't even believe in the Firebringer. And Tansen believed he himself had
killed
the Firebringer. Mirabar, blessed by Dar Herself and gifted with visions of prophecy, said nothing about his being the Firebringer—and almost seemed to sneer at anyone who did.

Dar, are You really calling to me? Or am I drunk on power and victory?

No answer came. He concentrated so fiercely that he didn't hear the footsteps approaching him until they were practically right behind him. He jumped as if he'd been stung and whirled round, swinging the
yahr
he had seized instinctively. He stopped when confronted by a shrieking young woman.

"Don't
do
that!" she snapped in common Silerian.

She was pretty and nicely dressed, but dirty and very unkempt. Then he recognized her: Elelar's maid.

"Faradar?" he said in surprise.

"They've taken the
torena
! Days and days ago!" she cried. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Koroll swung an arm violently and knocked drinking cups, lumpy candle stubs, an empty lantern, the remains of two meals, and an inkwell off his desk. "
Damn the Emperor and his wars!
"

He glared at the Outlookers surrounding him, his gaze warning them that his words had better never leave this room.
He
had scarcely had a chance to leave it in more days than he could count.

Damn the Emperor. Damn the Moorlanders and the Kints. Damn Borell. And DAMN Josarian!

The rebel conquest of Alizar had been announced in Shaljir by the arrival of Captain Foridall's head in a sack. Koroll himself had led troops into Alizar, hoping to encounter Josarian but knowing full well the bandit would be long gone. What he found there was an unparalleled disaster. The richest mines in the Empire had been flooded. Koroll immediately assumed this was water magic. If he'd had any doubts, they'd have been dispelled when one of his men, ignoring orders, touched the stuff. Though liquid, it was cold enough to damage a man's hand on contact, freezing it so severely it killed the flesh. Koroll had heard such wild tales of the waterlords' power but found them hard to believe. Now the sight of it sickened him to the bone. No wonder the Emperor had tried so hard to destroy the Society!

So Alizar was lost to them, at least for now. His engineers had no idea how to drain the mines of enchanted water that no one could even risk touching.

The Emperor's single richest source of income in Sileria, probably in the whole Empire—lost. Destroyed overnight. It was a catastrophe that might well have unhinged a lesser man.

If things were running smoothly in Valda these days, Koroll would certainly loose his position, and quite possibly his life, for allowing this to happen. However, the Imperial Council was somewhat preoccupied with the unsuccessful war against the Kints, the increasingly costly war in the Moorlands, and the riots in Valda due to food shortages resulting from a minor revolt in the north. Indeed, the Emperor's current problems almost made Koroll's seem manageable.
Almost.

Three Into One! He'd had over
one thousand
men guarding the mines. The greatest single concentration of Outlookers in Sileria outside of Shaljir! He'd granted extra men to Foridall as a precaution, knowing it to be a wise move. But he had also reasonably supposed that Josarian, who had confined his attacks—after Britar—to modest targets, would never attack the second best-protected site in all of Sileria. Now the bodies of those thousand Outlookers were a hill of charred bones and ashes. The rebels had burned their corpses, presumably along with the Silerians killed in the battle. Koroll shuddered at the thought; burning bodies was anathema to the Valdani. These Silerian barbarians didn't know that a corpse should be left intact after death for resurrection by the Three.

The description given by the battle's sole survivor, an Outlooker who sounded as if he'd never be quite sane again, created blood-curdling visions of fire magic, water magic, and a prisoner-uprising which were all coordinated with an attack by a rebel force far larger than Koroll had realized Josarian could raise. This alliance between the
shallaheen
, the Society, and the Guardians was no casual thing, no mere matter of the Society permitting the rebels to commit abduction and the Guardians letting them use a holy site as their base camp. They were fighting side by side. They had cooperated in a huge, devastating, and astonishing military assault that had required extensive planning.

And the
torena
helped them,
Koroll fumed.

He didn't doubt it for a moment. The evidence they'd discovered in her house revealed a complex network of contacts and informants—none of whom, unfortunately, were careless enough to identify themselves in their correspondence. Nor had he or Myrell been able to convince the
torena
to talk during the brief period they'd been allowed to question her. Koroll acknowledged with considerable frustration that his men had also blundered their opportunity to capture several people whom he suspected were involved in Elelar's secret business. The Outlookers had killed the
torena
's two manservants at the Lion's Gate and could answer no questions about what had happened to her maid, having paid her no heed:
She was only a woman, after all, Commander.
Although spies believed that several servants—as well as the Guardian who was posing as a Shaljir merchant—were in Elelar's house when the Outlookers arrived to search it, they were never found inside and had not been seen since. Obviously, they'd escaped the house somehow, though Koroll had ordered his men to watch every exit. Now every exit from the city was being watched. Descriptions of the hunted individuals were circulated, and the few people who were permitted to leave Shaljir these days were searched and questioned.