In Legend Born (24 page)

"Then why did Marjan betray him?"

Today's lesson was an important one, Mirabar realized as she sat quietly in the tall grass and listened.

"The Yahrdan died, and when the Council of the Guardians met in Shaljir, they chose Daurion as the new Yahrdan."

"To hold Sileria with a fist of iron in a velvet glove."

"Yes," Derlen said, clearly pleased. "And Daurion was a great Yahrdan, a man of wisdom, courage, and conviction."

"What about Marjan?"

"He served as Daurion's right hand, as the Yahrdan's most trusted servant and advisor. They were as close as they had been all their lives. But..." Derlen frowned and continued, "Secretly, Marjan was discontent with his position. After all, he had served Sileria all his life, just as Daurion had. He had always fought as bravely as his bloodbrother. The Otherworld welcomed his Call as warmly as it welcomed Daurion's."

"So why had Daurion been chosen by the Council instead of him?"

"That's
exactly
what Marjan wondered." Derlen checked the fishing line, then shook his head. "When the Guardians chose a Yahrdan, they didn't chose him just by the length of his service, the strength of his arms, or the brightness of his fire. The Yahrdan was the most important, powerful man in Sileria, the ruler of all the people of this great island. He must not only be the strongest and most able of men, but also the wisest, able to rule with ruthlessness tempered by great compassion, able to judge all matters impartially regardless of his own personal needs and desires, willing to put the welfare of even the lowliest
shallah
before his own comfort and safety."

"Even a
shallah
?" Turan repeated doubtfully.

Mirabar rolled her eyes. Now
that's
the spawn of a merchant family talking, she thought derisively.

"Yes, Turan," Derlen said. "The Guardians knew that in order to lead the disparate peoples of Sileria, a Yahrdan must love each one of them more than he loved himself; and Marjan loved
no one
more than himself."

"But Daurion..."

"But Daurion was such a man. Daurion was everything a Yahrdan should be."

"But he failed," Turan protested. "A Yahrdan should be a great warrior and powerful—"

"He
was
," Derlen said. "He repelled the Moorlander invasions again and again, slaughtering those barbarians as they fled for the open sea, holding this island as he had sworn to do, slaying our enemies without mercy or fear."

"Until Marjan betrayed him."

Derlen sighed. "Yes, until then. For Daurion loved Marjan dearly, and so he didn't see the evil right in front of him. Marjan knew that he could never defeat Daurion in single combat or with fire, but there was another element even stronger than fire, one over which Daurion had no control."

"
Water.
"

Mirabar could hear the eagerness in Turan's voice. They were getting to the bloody part of the story now. Little boys were all such savages.

Derlen told his son how Marjan stumbled across the ancient mysteries of water magic, an art previously lost in the mists of time and only vaguely recalled in the ancient cave paintings and cliff carvings of the Beyah-Olvari, the strange race which had peopled Sileria before passing into legend eons ago. Somehow Marjan discovered the secrets of those long-dead half-human water wizards, and he used every spare second of his time to study and secretly practice this powerful magic, forsaking fire magic entirely in favor of the new force he had discovered.

In time, when he felt strong enough, Marjan took advantage of Daurion's love and trust to destroy him. To a people who had always known fire as the most powerful substance in their land, the battle between these two giants was horrifying, signaling the end of the world, for neither Daurion's sword nor his fire could combat the voracious waves which one night suddenly rose up from the Idalar River to flood the palace in Shaljir. Though the city itself was untouched, the palace was entirely submerged. Water formed thick masks over the faces of courtiers who tried to flee, drowning them even as they stumbled away from the palace. Translucent monsters took shape out of the waves, spreading slender tentacles to entwine and strangle all those who stood and fought. Daurion's great spears of flame and rivers of fire were doused as easily as the ocean extinguishes a single candle. And so the last great Yahrdan of Sileria died that night in Shaljir, murdered by one he had trusted.

Chaos followed Daurion's death and the destruction of the palace. When loyalists resisted Marjan's attempt to seize power, he curled the Idalar River back upon itself and starved Shaljir of water for so long that most citizens were forced to abandon the capital. They fled in great numbers, migrating south, east, and west, abandoning one of the world's greatest cities, inciting confusion and terror as they spread their tale throughout the land.

As the Guardians united against him, Marjan recruited a mercenary force of brutal assassins, arming each man with a
shir
, the water-born weapon he had invented which was useless to an assassin's enemies—unless they killed him and took it from his corpse. Together with his assassins, Marjan seized control of whole regions. The remaining ruling families of Sileria splintered into disenfranchised factions incapable of leading their people. And then the Moorlanders came again.

This time the Moorlanders swept across Sileria in the war which came to be known as the Conquest, the war which forever turned Sileria into a vassal state of the great kingdoms surrounding the Middle Sea.

"Marjan survived the Conquest," Derlen told his son. "Not only survived, but became so powerful that the Conquerors found it easier to deal with him, cooperate with him, than to fight him. And to protect his own power, he taught the Conquerors to hate the Guardians, particularly those people who could be instantly identified as being especially blessed by Dar—"

"Like Mirabar," Turan said.

"Yes," Derlen said slowly, "like Mirabar. Anyone whose appearance identified them as destined for the circle of fire was persecuted by the Conquerors at the urging of the so-called Honored Society. The Kintish, of course, were a more sophisticated and tolerant people. So, after they claimed Sileria as their own two centuries later, the Society changed their methods. Marjan's successors taught our own kind—our own kind, Turan—to hate and hunt anyone whose powers the Society feared. Someone like me or Tashinar, we are only dangerous after initiation, if we prove to have the gift. Someone like Mirabar, though... They know from the moment she's born that she will be powerful. From the time she is an infant, a gifted person like that is the Society's enemy: hated, feared, persecuted, and hunted." He held his son's gaze. "Mirabar and others like her are Dar's greatest gift to us, and we must never forget that. There are very, very few like her left, and they are all in mortal danger every day of their lives. All because of the Society."

Mirabar, sitting as still as a deer scenting hunters, was startled to feel a hot tear roll down her cheek.

"This is how the waterlords became your enemies, son." Derlen's voice filled with fire. "This is why we can never trust them, why we must oppose them every day of our lives, until we drive them out of Sileria.
Forever
."

Mirabar was on her feet before she had even realized she intended to rise. Startled by her sudden appearance, Turan jumped up just as quickly. Derlen's face went blank with surprise as she stalked closer to them, tears streaming inexplicably down her cheeks.

"Yes, they are our enemies," Mirabar said, hearing how low and hoarse her voice sounded. "And no one—
no one
has more to fear from them than I do."

Derlen rose slowly, watching her with wary concern. "Mirabar, why are you—"

"But they are born of
us
. They are part of Sileria, too!"

"No, they are—"

"I tell you
we need them
," she cried, her insides churning with helpless frustration, fury, and fear.

"Don't you shout at m—"

"Do you think I
want
to unite with the Society? Do you think I
want
to go in search of a waterlord?" She gasped, startled to realize for the first time that that was precisely what the Beckoner expected of her. "Do you think I expect to live through this?"

Derlen said nothing now, gaping at her in stunned silence.

"The Valdani," Mirabar rasped. "It is the
Valdani
who don't belong here. It is the Valdani whom we must drive out of Sileria, now and forever! They are our worst enemies! They will destroy Sileria, taking everything from us to fuel their wars, to conquer the whole world!" She flung ribbons of fire into the air to punctuate her words, ignoring the way Turan flinched. "
No one
has ever been as dangerous as they have become, not even the Society!"

Derlen's city-born complexion was turning even paler than usual. "How can we trust the Society? How can we possibly—"

"I don't know! Don't you think I've asked?" she raged. "Don't you think I've
begged
for an answer?"

"You can't go in search of a waterlord. You can't, Mira."

Her fire collapsed in on itself, sizzling into a stream of black smoke. Her fury drained away from her as she finally stopped fighting her destiny.

"I have to." She bowed her head. "I didn't ask to be born this way. I didn't ask to be sent visions from the Otherworld." She looked at her throbbing hand, absently noting she'd burned it in her careless anger. "But the circle of fire is the only place in this entire world for someone like me. I'm a Guardian because I can be nothing else, and I serve the Otherworld because there is no other life for my kind."

"I never thought... I mean, I've always envied you your gifts," Derlen said haltingly.

She had enough strength left to be surprised. That anyone in the three corners of the world should envy
her
... "How strange," she murmured. Her thoughts scattered like petals in a storm, and she said unthinkingly, "He was like me, you know."

"Who?"

"Daurion."

Derlen swallowed. "You've seen Daurion?"

"Seen him?" She nodded. "Yes, I've seen him. And I think it very likely that I will soon die for him." She turned away.

"Mirabar?"

She paused. "Yes?"

"Where will you go?"

"Yes, I must go, mustn't I?" she said vaguely, realizing the time had come.

"How will you find a waterlord?"

"I don't know."

"Which one will you look for?"

"The greatest one, of course. Marjan's legacy to us. Harlon's successor." She nodded. "I must find Kiloran."

It was well after dark by the time Tansen, traveling on foot, reached the Dalishar Caves. He'd spent all of last night playing hide-and-seek with fifty Outlookers after losing his way on the path to the old Kintish quarry. Now a sentry spotted him as he approached the first cave at Dalishar, then relaxed upon seeing he was a
shallah
.

"I'm Tansen," he said, keeping his hands in sight and coming close enough to the other man's hand-held torch for his
jashar
to be easily seen.

The man nodded. "He's expecting you." He called ahead to warn another sentry, and Tansen was directed to go to the fourth chamber of the third cave.

The place was a marvel, as Josarian had promised him it would be. An ancient holy place, the caves were illuminated by perpetual Guardian fires, breathed into life eons ago. Many of the interior walls were covered with paintings made by the Beyah-Olvari, whom most people believed had been extinct for centuries beyond reckoning. Easily guarded and blessed with good lookout points, the caves were readily defensible. Moreover, considering how uninterested the Outlookers were in
shallah
religion and traditions, it was doubtful they even knew of the existence of this place. Yes, the escaped prisoners should be safe here.

The interior of the caves was a darker, richer shade of the honey-colored stone that made up the surrounding mountains. Fresh spring water bubbled up through several sources, neglected by the Society for centuries. His bloodbrother couldn't have chosen a better spot for them to hide out in.

Another sentry stood at the entrance to the fourth chamber. He stopped Tansen with a Valdani sword. "I know your face," the man said, "but I don't know you."

Tansen heard Josarian's laughter a moment before he saw him.

"No, don't stab him, Emelen. It's
him
: Tansen!" Josarian pulled Tansen into a rib-crushing bear hug, held him away to look at him, then hugged him again. Now feeling as embarrassed as he was tired, Tansen pulled away.

"I was worried," Josarian told him. "Everyone else got here hours ago. I was starting to think maybe they'd caught you. Or perhaps the horse—"

"No, I'm fine. There was just—" He winced as Josarian grinned and slapped him hard on the back. "That's
right
where my arrow wound was," he pointed out.

"Ah, as long as there are no
new
wounds!" Josarian slung an arm around his shoulders and dragged him into the next cave. "Come! I have told them all about your exploits, and they've been waiting to meet you."