In Legend Born (59 page)

"Oh, they die as easily as Valdani, you'll find." Srijan smirked.

Josarian ignored him. "I wish..." He sighed. "Oh, well. It cannot be helped. I will make enemies here today. Everyone honors
lirtahar
. Everyone understands assassination and knows why I will kill the
sriliah
... But surely someone here cares about him, and so I will make enemies."

It was true, Tansen realized. Now that they were here, now that they had found the traitor, they were caught in the paradox of Silerian culture. If Josarian did
not
kill Harjan today, he would lose respect and influence overnight. Women would doubt him, and men would despise him. There would be more betrayals, too, because the risk of betrayal would start to seem negligible, and betraying such a weak man wouldn't be considered nearly as great a sin as betraying a respected one. And the Valdani were offering so much gold for any break in the silence... However, if Josarian killed Harjan, then, yes, he would make enemies. Everyone disapproved of a
sriliah
; but even among those who reviled Harjan's betrayal and understood Josarian's actions today, there would nonetheless be those who, probably because of a blood-tie to Harjan, must become Josarian's enemies after this. From there, discontent would spread. Not seriously, perhaps, but the rebel alliance was too young to shrug off
any
threat to the unity of the
shallaheen
. Just as they couldn't afford any appearance of weakness in Josarian, they also couldn't afford a single
shallah
resenting his sword or claiming personal vengeance against him.

Tansen knew what he must do.

I did not come home to kill
shallaheen
...

Was this Dar's vengeance, that he must do this hideous thing today, that he must become like the assassin—the bloodfather—he had murdered in silence on that dark, windy cliff nine years ago?

Please, there must be another way, another answer. I do not want to slaughter my own kind.

Even as he silently cried out for escape from his duty, the
shatai
in him focused on the task at hand.

"You will make no enemies here today," he said to his bloodbrother. "You must... stand as the injured party. I will do the rest."

Srijan jerked with surprise. 

Josarian shook his head. "No, Tan. It is my office."

Tansen kept his voice low. "You can't perform it," he said tersely. "You can't afford enemies, and you know that we cannot walk away from this."

"I am the one—"

"Who must lead the rest," said Tansen.

"A man faces his own—"

"I told you once before," said Tansen. "Never let pride lead you into a fight."

"And what about honor?" asked Josarian.

"Yours must be served in a different way." Keeping his voice low, he stopped and looked hard into Josarian's troubled eyes. "Think like a leader instead of a
shallah
, and you'll see that I'm right. If this were Arlen and the aftermath of Malthenar, you could do no wrong, for no one knew or cared about him, and everyone craved vengeance then. But this..." He shook his head. "This is a native son of a comfortable village on a quiet day. No one here has seen the bloodshed Harjan has caused. No one here has suffered because of him."

Josarian looked down, looked away, looked everywhere but at Tansen. "This is not how it should be."

"I agree. But this is the way it is."

Srijan sneered at them both. "Tansen is a hired killer, anyhow, Josarian. What's the problem?"

They ignored him. 

Face crumpling with emotion, Josarian finally nodded. "Yes, Tan," he said at last, his voice borne on a note of sorrow. "You're right."

Tansen turned and continued walking to Harjan's house, saying to his brother, "Stay silent. You stand only as the injured party." 

It was a position usually reserved for one who had petitioned an assassin to seek justice on his or her behalf. By custom, the injured party could seek the death of an offender without, in most cases, instigating a bloodfeud.

"You are not an assassin," Srijan muttered contemptuously.

"No," Tansen agreed. "I'm a
shatai
, a son of the greatest warrior caste in the world, honed in stone and steel, honored by the gods of Kinto and the sorcerers of the Stone Forest, respected by all men, and feared by most.
You
," he concluded with bitter satisfaction, "are merely a murderer with an enchanted blade." He strode up to Harjan's house and left Srijan sputtering behind him in outrage.

Josarian took his place, in plain view behind Tansen, and stood by silently while Tansen called Harjan out of his house. Straightening his gossamer tunic, Harjan came outside and gave Tansen a smile that was nervous and quizzical. His wife stood in the doorway of their home, a plump woman with a wrinkled forehead and thick fingers. Tansen didn't allow himself to wonder if she loved her husband, if there were children inside the house, or if the man's brother was somewhere in the watching crowd. He focused on what he must do.

"Harjan. Here stands Josarian mar Gershon," Tansen began, "whom you have injured with betrayal to the Valdani."

Though they were undoubtedly expecting the accusation, the crowd gasped collectively and began arguing in agitation. Harjan's wife brought her hands up to her mouth, her face contorting with fear. Harjan shook his head and starting babbling denials.

Unperturbed, Tansen recited the events of the previous day, recounting how he had witnessed the supposedly bedridden Harjan's meeting with Myrell—the butcher of Malthenar, Morven, and Garabar. When he was done, the villagers watched Harjan with hard expressions, waiting for an explanation.

"The Outlooker captain had—had placed orders with me,
siran
," Harjan said. "It was a... a business meeting! Yes, yes, I know the Valdani are supposed to be our enemies now, but—please,
siran
! A man must be practical. I have a wife and children to feed! I have—"

"Zilar was the only village to receive news of the planned abduction of the
toren
named Ronall," Tansen interrupted. "You are the only man from Zilar to have seen Myrell yesterday. Myrell sent a runner to warn Ronall last night. This morning, Myrell's men rode to Ronall's estate to await Josarian."

"That—that has nothing to
do
with me!" Harjan cried, sweating profusely now.

"How else did Myrell learn—"

"How should
I
know how the Outlookers get their information?"

"Why did Myrell give you gold yesterday?" Tansen demanded.

Harjan was breathing heavily, almost panting. "What gold?"

"We saw you accept it from him, Harjan," said Tansen. "We saw you count it."

"He was paying me for... for the work I'd done for him!"

"What work?"

"I'm a tailor. He admired my work in... when the Outlookers were here in the spring, and he ordered—"

"You brought him no clothing," Tansen said. "You only talked with him."

"He paid me for garments already delivered!"

"When?"

"I—I—"

"Srijan," Tansen said, enlisting the support of the Society in front of the villagers. "The last time Harjan met with the Outlooker captain, did he deliver garments to him?"

"No," Srijan said. "He spoke to him, and he received gold, which I watched him count. The next day, sixteen
shallaheen
and four assassins died while attacking a tax shipment in the Amalidar Mountains. It was obvious that the attack was expected."

"You've been attacking lots of shipments," Harjan said frantically. "Of
course
the Outlookers—"

"How many times is Myrell paying you for those garments?" Tansen snapped. "You must have worked non-stop day and night since the day I was born to earn so much gold that you can't carry it all home in one trip."

A woman in the crowd pushed her son forward, surprising them all. As was proper, Tansen showed the mother respect and allowed her to speak.

"My son is Harjan's apprentice,
siran
," she told Tansen.

"Ah." He looked at the boy. "Speak up, then. Has your master indeed filled an order for the Outlooker captain?"

"No,
siran
," the boy said, wide-eyed and shaking. "There has never been such an order. We have never had a client from among the
roshaheen
."

Harjan made one last attempt to deny his betrayal. "An ignorant boy,
siran
. He doesn't know who my clients are!"

Disgusted by the performance, tired of prolonging the inevitable, Tansen struck him hard across the face. The wife in the doorway screamed. Harjan fell to his knees and started weeping.

"Answer the charge against your honor,
sriliah
," Tansen said quietly. "Get up and fight."

Harjan spoke with difficulty, forcing the words out between huge gulps of air. "I... can't... You are Tansen. You slaughtered twenty Moorlanders in a single night. You killed an entire ship of Kintish pirates."

Tansen recognized the ridiculous boasts he had spread through the mountains while seeking Josarian. Now that he had survived the bloodvow made by Kiloran, now that he fought at Josarian's side, people actually believed and repeated those absurd stories.

Harjan looked up at him with fear-glazed eyes. "If I answer your challenge, you will slay me before my hand is halfway to my
yahr
. And what use will a
yahr
be against your swords, anyhow?"

"Then I will kill you quickly," Tansen promised quietly. "And tomorrow we will purify your body with fire for your journey to the Otherworld." Today they would leave the corpse where everyone could see it and recognize the price of taking Valdani gold in exchange for betraying Josarian.

Harjan convulsed with sobs as Tansen's right sword hissed out of its sheathe and flashed brilliantly in the sunlight.

"Dar have mercy on my soul!" Harjan wailed. "They offered so much money. So much! And you must all die soon, anyhow! How much longer can it last? How much longer can mountain peasants defy the most powerful empire in the world?"

"Bid your wife farewell," Tansen said, raising his sword. "And make your peace with Dar."

Harjan's wife leaned weakly against the doorway, weeping silently, tears streaming from her eyes as she kept a plump hand clamped over her mouth.

"Go to Liron," Harjan advised her with his last moments of life. "There is no rebellion there."

"Yes, there is," Tansen said. "You're a poor informant, Harjan. Seventeen clans in the east are already sworn to Josarian's cause, including the Lironi themselves. Soon they'll convince their cousins in the city itself to join them."

Shock washed across Harjan's face. "You're lying," he whispered.

"You chose the wrong side when you betrayed your own kind," Tansen told him, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. "We will win. And anyone who isn't with us is against us, and will pray the price."

His blade flashed as he brought his arms down, its sharp edge cutting through flesh and muscle, dividing small bones, releasing a torrent of blood as it separated Harjan's head from his shoulders. The body fell sideways and lay upon the cobblestones in a fast-spreading crimson pool. The head rolled once, then came to rest with blank, open eyes staring up at a sky more fiercely blue than any other.

Tansen gazed down at it for a moment, heart pounding, face expressionless. He flipped the blood off his sword, then wiped it on Harjan's gossamer tunic, willfully shutting out the screams of the man's wife.

He had never told anyone this—not his
kaj
, not Josarian, not anyone—since it would have seemed a strange thing for a
shatai
to say; but the truth was... killing always sickened him.

The body of the
sriliah
still lay where it had fallen when Mirabar and her three-man escort entered Zilar at sundown. The people here had heard of her by now, for the demon girl who had convinced the Society and the Guardians to join Josarian and Tansen was already famous—and infamous—throughout the mountains. Of course, even though they'd heard of her, people still had a tendency to recoil in shock when they first saw her. However, with Najdan at her side, fingering his
shir
and silencing any disrespect with the cold glare of an assassin, Mirabar scarcely noticed the Zilari as she watched Zimran bend down to examine the corpse lying on the cobblestones.

She immediately recognized the twists of woven rope Zimran held up for her to see, the strands dotted with the rough clay beads of a
shallah
:
So die all who betray their own kind. So die all who betray Josarian.

Mirabar looked up at the villagers and asked the first one she singled out, "Who did this?"

Caught by her gaze, the man backed away in fear, saying nothing. Najdan stalked over, slapped him, and snapped, "Answer the
sirana
!"

"T... Tansen,
sirana
." The villager swallowed. "It was Tansen. Only today."