In Legend Born (44 page)

There were five
shallaheen
, a Sister... and the demon woman. Except for the demon, they all looked terrified. Were they her slaves? Other captives? Swallowing convulsively, he tried to rise to his feet. His first attempt failed, humiliating him. Trembling, he finally succeeded in standing. He was an assassin; despite his shameful lapse, he wanted to die like a man.

There was a long silence while the demon studied him and the
shallaheen
all watched the two of them. Finally, one
shallah
looked down and said, in a strained voice, "Another
shir
."

"Bury it," said the demon.

"Bury it?" the
shallah
repeated in surprise.

"If he escapes, what do you think will be the first thing he'll try to get his hands on?" the Sister said. "Let's not make it too easy for him."

"Uh...
might
he escape?" another
shallah
asked.

The demon smiled, another awful, evil smile. "Not before I'm done with him."

Fear ran through him, the water-cold chill of imminent death. He tried to speak, but his voice didn't work. The demon came forward, closing in on him. When she stood only inches from the molten bars of his cage, he realized with shock that she was small. Small and young. But then, perhaps demons were ageless. He had never believed in demons, not until now.
Now
it took all his strength to meet her eyes as she stared at him.

She leaned forward and wrapped her fingers around the lava-hot bars of his tiny prison. "Tell me your name or I'll kill you," she said simply, as if commenting on the weather.

"Then kill me." He had shamed himself enough already. He only hoped his death would be quick.

"Do you really want to die?" she whispered.

He didn't answer her.

"Ah. Stubborn." Her lips curved. "Before we're through here, you
will
want to die. I promise you."

A stream of lava curled away from the others that formed his prison. It glided through the air, seeking him. Najdan's breath quickened, but he stayed silent.

"You're an assassin, aren't you?"

He flinched involuntarily as the finger of lava came so close it scorched his cheek.

"Kiloran's assassin, yes?" she prodded.

He nodded. "My master is powerful." His voice sounded thin. Speaking more forcefully, he added, "He will punish y—"

"As if he could." Her voice dripped with contempt.

Feeling his resolve weaken as the thread of lava continued tormenting him, Najdan looked away, trying to avoid the fire-hot glitter of the woman's dreadful eyes. His gaze fell upon the small hands resting so casually on molten bars of his cage, and he started trembling again.

"He is..." He struggled for air. "... the most powerful..."

"Really?" She was mocking him.

"He will destroy—"

"Prove it."

"W- What?"

The lava thread circled his head, nearly setting his hair on fire. Trying to avoid it, he backed into the bars of his cage. He jumped away with a cry of pain.

"Prove Kiloran is more powerful than me," she said. "If you dare."

His blood was roaring in his ears. His eyes watered with pain, shaming him anew. "How?"

"Take me to him."

His eyes widened as he stared at her in disbelief. She had lured him here with cleverly planted tales about Tansen's weakness and isolation, then trapped him in this fiery prison... because she wanted to find Kiloran?

"You want me to lead you to my master?"

"Unless you're afraid I will become
his
master."

Najdan had feared only two things in the world: hunger and Kiloran. Now he had found a third thing, and whatever this creature was, she was more dangerous than anything he had ever imagined. But could she possibly be even more dangerous than Kiloran himself? Could she attack him and survive?

She leaned even closer to him, her face filling the space between two of the glowing bars. "Deny me, assassin, and you will burn like the belly of Darshon for all eternity."

What would she do to Kiloran? Was she really powerful enough to triumph over him? Najdan had never supposed anyone could be... but he hadn't known about this deadly female.

The wand of lava glided back and forth in front of his face. The pain of his burns clouded his mind.

"If you don't help me, I can make you
beg
me for death before I finally kill you," she promised. "Or maybe I'll choose not to kill you. Maybe your weeping will amuse me."

What should he do?

He'd like to think that her torture wouldn't break him, but he wasn't sure. He carried thirteen scars, all gotten in combat, all borne with courage; but he had never been tortured by a sorceress. His long years of association with a waterlord had taught him how powerless ordinary men were against such wizardry.

"Make up your mind," the demon advised.

If he didn't lead her to Kiloran, he had no doubt that she'd capture someone else who would. His burns throbbed and sweat poured down his face as he tried to form a plan. If he promised to take her to Kiloran, she'd wouldn't harm him much more than she already had; she'd need him to be well enough for the journey. And if he was well enough for the journey, then he'd be well enough to attempt escape and warn Kiloran about her. If nothing else, he could lead her around in circles for several days near Kiloran's lair, so that Kiloran would at least hear about her and be ready for her.

If Najdan couldn't escape her, perhaps several days in her company would at least reveal a weakness he could exploit, and he'd kill her before they reached Kiloran. If he died in the attempt, then so be it. He had already lived longer than most assassins, and he had always known he would someday give his life to serve his master.

If he failed and she killed him, Searlon would still stand between her and Kiloran. And if Searlon failed, too... Surely, he thought,
surely
she couldn't really destroy Kiloran?

"Very well," Najdan said at last. "I will take you to Kiloran."

"You're not putting me on one of those things, and that's final," Josarian said, folding his arms across his chest and glaring belligerently at his brother.

"It's not as hard as it looks," Tansen assured him, lying.

"I won't do it."

"You haven't even tried it," Tansen argued. "Just tr—"

"No." Josarian turned away from the horse that Tansen had been trying, for more than a little while now, to convince him to mount.

Tansen suppressed an irritated sigh. "The
torena
's party travels on horseback, Josarian. If you don't—"

Josarian scowled at him. "What part of
no
didn't you understand?"

They were arguing in the stable yard behind Elelar's palatial home. It had not taken her long to sort out her affairs in Shaljir and organize their journey into the interior to find Kiloran. The official story was that Elelar was traveling inland to inspect an estate which a bankrupt
toren
had put up for sale. While Silerians could still inherit ancestral lands under Valdani law, only someone who was at least half-Valdan could purchase land. With more and more old Silerian families becoming impoverished by heavy taxes and discriminatory laws, more and more of their lands were ending up in Valdani hands. Elelar's marriage gave her the legal right to acquire such lands in her husband's name.

Tansen briefly wondered where Elelar's husband was. She had yet to mention him, and he made no appearance among them as servants bustled around the stable yard preparing for Elelar's journey. Tansen and Josarian were supposed to be part of the
torena
's four-man escort. The other two men, who eyed them with open suspicion, were city-dwellers, natives of Shaljir. He had already ascertained that, like more than half the members of Elelar's household, they were part of the Alliance. That slippery bunch of schemers, planners, and plotters drew their support from among many of Sileria's disparate peoples, but they had never gained the support of the
shallaheen
, the wild, violent race who distrusted anyone who was not of the mountains—and usually anyone who wasn't a blood or bloodpact relation, too.

"
Shallaheen
do not ride horses," Josarian said firmly. "I'll walk."

"Everyone else will ride," Tansen warned him.

"Are you suggesting I can't keep up?" Josarian looked insulted.

"We're not in the mountains now."

"We're going back into the mou—"

"You don't know that, and neither do I." Elelar had told them virtually nothing about their destination. "Nor do I imagine the
torena
will choose a route which will require her to abandon six expensive mounts and climb like a
shallah
."

"I can keep up with these dumb beasts."

"Not on a paved road or good path, you can't."

"They smell bad," Josarian muttered.

Elelar's pretty maid servant laughed as she bustled past them. "Some would say that
shallaheen
do, too," she pointed out.

Josarian glared at her before saying to Tansen, "They are unreliable and easily frightened. They are dangerous beasts used only by lazy men."

"Fine," Tansen snapped. "Have it your way."

Why was he urging Josarian to ride the horse, anyhow? Kiloran, in his rage, might well kill Josarian when he killed Tansen. After Elelar had left them in the tunnels, the two men had argued fiercely about Josarian's coming with Tansen, causing the Beyah-Olvari such renewed distress that the underground chambers had practically vibrated with their wailing. Josarian would not leave him to face Kiloran alone, with no one to accompany him except a woman who had somehow betrayed him once before. Nothing Tansen said to him—about the bloodfeud with the Valdani, the other outlaws, or pointless death—could shake Josarian's stubborn resolve.

"I swore a bloodfeud so the fight would survive beyond my death," Josarian had reminded him. "I have known since the night I killed my first Outlooker that I could not live very long. If my time is at hand, then so be it."

"Fires of Dar, will you
liste
n to me?"

"If he kills you," Josarian had said more quietly, "who will honor your death? Who will burn your body? Who will ask the Guardians to guide you to the Otherworld and Call you forth on the anniversary of your death? Who will take your swords back to your
shatai-kaj
so they can be returned to the Stone Forest?" Josarian nodded. "It is my place to do these things."

"Josarian..."

But his brother slapped him on the back and grinned. "And who's to say we both won't live? You never can tell."

Now, as he turned away to adjust the saddle on his own mount, Tansen realized that Josarian was unwittingly giving him the opportunity he needed to leave him behind. Tansen knew Elelar would cooperate—especially since she and Josarian didn't seem to like each other any better today than they had at their first meeting. When they reached a place where Tansen knew Josarian could safely find his way back into familiar territory, he'd urge the riders to disappear down the road at a gallop, leaving Josarian in the dust. If Tansen survived his meeting with Kiloran, then he'd apologize for the ruse when he returned to Dalishar.

Elelar glided into the yard, giving last-minute orders to her steward as she pulled on a pair of riding gloves. As befitted her station, she wore an elaborate headdress of knotted, woven silk cords threaded with shiny aquamarine beads—the
jashar 
of a
torena
—announcing her rank, family, and lineage. The cords of the headdress modestly covered her face, protecting it from both the sun and the staring eyes of strangers. Though he couldn't really see her eyes, Tansen could tell when her gaze touched him. They had talked briefly in private today. She had advised him that Koroll was now Commander of Shaljir due to Daroll's death at Emeldar. She seemed to know a great deal about what the Valdani knew (or thought they knew) about Josarian—as well as the fact that Koroll and the Imperial Advisor were concealing from the Emperor just how much damage Josarian had done so far. But then, Tansen had learned long ago that the Alliance's web of informants was widespread and far-reaching.

"Josarian's life is extremely important to Sileria right now," Elelar had told Tansen, as if this fact might somehow have escaped his notice.

"I agree." Knowing what she intended to ask, he explained Josarian's unassailable determination to stay by his side and assured her that he had already tried to make Josarian return to the mountains without him. "But he won't."

"Because he's your bloodbrother. Because he thinks it's his duty." She sighed. "I hate idealists."

"It's a little matter of loyalty." Tansen had let the comment stand between them like a wall, and Elelar, for once, seemed unable to make a stinging reply.

Now he felt her gaze on him and was relieved that, this time, he could ride a horse with skill and handle himself like a man. How humiliating he had found it, years ago, to struggle ineptly as he mounted a horse for the first time and then to sit atop the great beast like a gawky, frightened girl.