In Legend Born (101 page)

He will die soon, anyhow. He might as well die to end the war. To free Elelar. To pay for what he did to her at Golnar.

Zimran returned his cousin's smile as they made camp at dusk somewhere along the road to Zilar.

If he must die anyhow, then it might as well be so that I can have my own life back at last.

Being loyal to Josarian was merely a habit, he realized, nothing more. His cousin's madness had worn out Zimran's heart. Nothing was left except regret that it had all come to this in the end.

Who had grown up with Josarian, sharing his boyhood adventures, discoveries, fibs, punishments, and rewards? Who had moved into Josarian's house to keep him company in the grim months following Calidar's death? Who had invited Josarian into a lucrative smuggling trade so that he might improve his humble position in life?

It certainly wasn't any of the
zanareen
who now fawned and groveled, clustering so thickly around Josarian that Zimran could scarcely get a single moment alone with him these days.

When Josarian turned an ordinary smuggling raid into a mad night of violence and murder, who had remained loyal to him? Who had stayed by his side while he recovered from his wound in Sanctuary?

Not Tansen.

The
roshah
hadn't even been in Sileria then.

Zimran had risked his own safety time and time again to bring Josarian information and supplies during those early days of outlawry. He had never faltered once. And what was the thanks he got for it? The moment that two-sworded stranger had shown up, Josarian had become loyal to
him
, deliberately excluding Zimran from that day forward.

In fact, ever since then, Josarian had favored all of them over Zimran—Lann, Emelen, Amitan, Falian, and many more recent recruits. Even the demon girl had more privileges and respect within the rebellion than Zimran did.

Josarian has brought this on himself.

Angering Kiloran with his stubbornness, murdering Srijan, infuriating the Society, alienating Elelar and the Alliance... Alienating the cousin who had loved him, who once had been more loyal to him than any man alive!

I will mourn you, remembering you as you once were. But I will not let you go on ruining my life.

Watching the
zanareen
milling around his cousin now, Zimran tried once again to believe that the ordinary boy he had grown up with was the Firebringer. Even now, though, he simply couldn't. He'd never believed in the Firebringer anyhow, and
Josarian...

Zimran had been with Josarian the first time he'd ever gotten drunk, and he had held his head while Josarian vomited it all up the next day. Zimran had seen him go all calf-eyed and half-witted after meeting Calidar, who was no different from any other
shallah
girl. He'd even seen Josarian chased halfway through Emeldar by his wife's vicious cow, for the love of Dar!

How could such an ordinary man be the Firebringer?

Zimran had toyed with all of these thoughts for days, and it always came back to this moment. He knew what he had to do, and he knew he'd be safe. No one would ever know. No one would ever accuse him, Josarian's own cousin—certainly not when he would describe how he himself had barely escaped alive from the Outlookers' ambush. Josarian would lose the life he'd been throwing away for months anyhow, and Zimran would finally be able to reclaim his own life, with the woman he had chosen as his own, and return to a peaceful, profitable existence free of warfare, bloodfeuds, and bloodvows.

This evening, Zimran wore the yellow tunic that would identify him to the Outlookers waiting on the other side of the shallow Zilar River. Therefore, of the two
shallaheen
walking into their trap, they would know which one was Josarian, their enemy. They would know which one to kill. Then they would take the body to someone who could verify that the dead man was indeed Josarian. Once satisfied, they would turn Shaljir over to the Alliance. Then it would all end.

The war will be over.

All he had to do was play on the sentiments of a man who still trusted him.

"Good hunting land," Zimran said to Josarian, surveying the countryside around their camp.

"Yes." Josarian glanced up. "Lann claimed he once—"

"Please, it's enough that I have to hear Lann's boasts from
him.
Don't you start." He grinned when Josarian laughed. "There are still a couple of hours of good light left. Why don't you and I go get a stag? Fresh meat."

Josarian looked around hesitantly. "I'm not sure..."

"Oh, come with me. How long as it been since we've gone hunting together?"

Josarian sighed. "Ah, too long, Zim."

He picked up Josarian's quiver and bow, holding them out like bait. "Well, then?" Seeing that he nearly had him, he added, "Just you and me. Just like it used to be."

Josarian met his gaze, hesitated for only another brief moment, then grinned. "All right. Let's go."

Zimran smiled in response. "I think the land across the river looks best, don't you?"

Chapter Forty-One

They waded across the shallow waters of the Zilar River, then stalked through the dense brush in search of game. Josarian suggested they separate, but Zimran wanted to stay together. They weren't out here for long before Josarian began to suspect that his cousin hadn't really wanted to hunt, after all. Although a good hunter, Zimran was being as noisy as a whole pack of clumsy Outlookers, tromping around with heavy feet and speaking often and loudly.

Knowing they'd see no deer now, Josarian smiled. He realized that Zimran had just wanted to spend some time alone with him, something they hadn't done in so long. It saddened him that his cousin needed a pretense to get his company for a little while these days. Glad as he was to have Zimran back at his side, he had been too busy to pay any attention to him.

He would rectify that now, he decided, as the shadows lengthened and the forest grew dark. He slapped Zimran on the back and slung his quiver over his shoulder, talking idly as they ambled along, now making no pretense at hunting.

Even after focusing his attention on Zimran, it took him a while to realize that Zimran was... anxious. It was becoming increasingly obvious as evening descended. Zimran was looking around as if he had come to this forest as prey rather than as a hunter. He jumped at every little sound. He seemed nervous and strangely impatient. Now that he had Josarian's undivided attention, in fact, he hardly seemed to hear a word his cousin said and contributed little to the conversation.

"Zim?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is something wrong?" Josarian asked.

It was getting too dark to be sure, but Josarian thought his cousin's face flushed. "No."

He wondered if Zimran was worried about being alone out here with a man marked for death by both the Valdani and Kiloran. It was getting close to nightfall, after all. Perhaps they should turn back. Josarian said as much.

"No!"

The outburst surprised him. "Zim, I don't think—"

"We're not going back!"

He knew then. Even before he saw the first Outlooker, poorly disguised as a Silerian, descending from a concealed ledge in the rocks; even before he saw two Valdani appear behind Zimran or heard two more come up behind himself, he knew.

"
Zim.
"

It was there in his cousin's face now. The betrayal. The hatred. The guilt. The triumph.

It broke his heart.

Zimran? No!

The Outlookers ignored his cousin, as Zimran ignored them. Josarian jumped back and unsheathed his sword. He would not be taken alive. Zimran jumped back, too, a flash of fear in his face revealing that he thought Josarian meant to kill him.

"Come for me," Josarian snarled at the hesitating Outlookers. "Come for me now!"

Josarian saw that they were willing to ambush an unsuspecting
shallah
, but not ready to risk their lives bringing down an armed and fighting rebel.

They never changed.

He swung out at the nearest one, then whirled around, holding half a dozen men at bay, fighting with both his sword and his
yahr
.

Dar, let me take many of them with me as I die!

He heard thundering in the distance. Horses. Hoofbeats. More Outlookers?

"Josarian!"

He recognized the distant voice. Tansen!

Josarian grinned wolfishly, seeing sudden panic take hold of his attackers. They were deep in rebel territory, and they had come here to kill a single, isolated man. More Outlookers were emerging from hiding—there seemed to be at least a dozen now—but there were not nearly enough men here for a battle.

"Josarian!" Tansen shouted, closer already.

"Here!" he responded. "Hurry!"

Two Outlookers came for him, intent upon killing him fast enough to escape from the approaching rebels. The ground shook as the riders drew near.

"No!" Zimran screamed.
"No!"

"Tansen!" Josarian shouted. "I'm here!"

He thrust his sword into the body of one attacking Outlooker, then struggled to yank it back out before someone killed him. He struck his second attacker across the face with his
yahr
, then braced his foot against the chest of his first attacker to withdraw his sword.

Mounted riders thundered into the scene, separating Josarian from most of his attackers. He saw the familiar flash of Tansen's two blades, saw Lann cut a man down with the absurdly long Moorlander sword he favored, saw his friends sweep through the Valdani with violent energy and deadly intent. They launched themselves off their horses and entered the battle, howling their war cries as they rescued their leader from this trap.

Josarian ducked the whirling blow of a skillfully-handled
yahr
, then met his cousin's hate-filled gaze.

"Zim, no!" he begged.

He parried a thrust of Zimran's sword. Ducked another swing of the
yahr
. Fell back a few steps. Tansen had warned him never to fight defensively. He should always seize every opportunity to wound or kill. But he couldn't. Not this time. He couldn't kill this man.

I can't!

"Zim,
please...
"

Josarian took another step back and ducked the
yahr
again. As boys, they had trained together in the use of the
yahr
. He knew every counter to every move that Zimran knew, for they had shared the same teacher and had practiced together for years. They were evenly matched with a
yahr
. But not with a sword... Zimran had never practiced enough with that new weapon.

"Please don't make me kill you," Josarian pleaded, parrying another thrust.

Sweating and gritting his teeth, Zimran snarled with rage and came at him again.

I can't. Please don't make me!

Josarian fell back another step, knowing he would have to stop retreating. He would have to fight Zimran. He would have to kill a man whom he had loved his whole life. He must do it or die.

"How could you betray me?
Why?
"

Zimran paused for only a moment. Panting with mingled fear and rage, he said in a low, unfamiliar voice, full of venom and bitterness, "I never wanted your war."

Josarian stared at him, everything forgotten except the dark heart now revealed to him. He had never foreseen this. He couldn't believe it, not even now that it was happening. He wanted it to be just a nightmare from which he could awaken.

"Zimran, no..."

Josarian couldn't seem to raise his arm to defend himself, not even as he watched Zimran's sword come at him. Everything was happening in slow motion, and only the burden of his sorrow seemed real right now.

Zimran's eyes suddenly widened with astonished pain, and he dropped his sword as a blow to his legs drove him to his knees. Tansen stood directly behind him, blood-splattered, sweat-drenched, and breathing hard. His gaze was unyielding as he met Josarian's bewildered, tear-filled eyes.

"Bid him farewell, Josarian." Tansen's voice was harsh and breathless.

"Tan..." Josarian shook his head. "Don't. Let me talk to him."

"Make your peace with Dar,
sriliah
," Tansen advised Zimran, raising one sword.

"No!" Zimran screamed.

"Tan!" Josarian lunged forward. 

Too late.

Tansen was faster. He had always been faster. He slit Zimran's throat with a single, merciless swipe. Josarian caught his cousin's body before it hit the ground. He held Zimran's gaze in his last moments of life.

Standing over him, gulping for air and holding the bleeding wound at his side, Tansen said, "So die all who betray Josarian." His voice was hollow and exhausted. "There are... no exceptions."

Tears streamed down Josarian's face as he stared into the lifeless eyes of another boyhood friend who had died because of him.

"It could have been different," he whispered to Zimran. "I wish..." It
should
have been different.