In Legend Born (62 page)

It was late afternoon, the sun casting long shadows on the cliffs overlooking the road down which the
torena
and her escort would come. The fragrance of wild fennel sweetened the air, something he'd forgotten about during his years in exile. And now... the soft sounds of a woman's soft floated to him on the southern breeze.

Perplexed, he turned to scan the forest behind him, trying to pinpoint the sound. Choosing a direction, he stalked silently through the woods, searching for the intruder. Basimar's Sanctuary was isolated. That's why they had chosen it for this meeting. There shouldn't be anyone around here today who was not one of them. If the weeping he heard was coming from some jilted girl crying over a broken heart, he'd have to warn the others to be careful. This spot was not far from the humble hut where some of the most-hunted rebels in Sileria were waiting to meet with a
torena
whose loyalty to them, if discovered and exposed, would cost her life.

If the weeping were coming from a woman who was injured, ill, or abused and far from safety... Tansen repressed a sigh. His
shatai-kaj
had taught him well. He would have no choice but to assist her, whoever she was. But it would complicate things.

He brushed past a gossamer tree, the leaves of which were still wrinkled and withered from the brutal summer; they wouldn't be soft and lush again until the long rains had soaked the soil. The weeping was coming from just up ahead now. Broken-hearted, desolate, steeped in sorrow. He paused, worried that he might be intruding on a mourner. There was always so much death in Sileria.

He needed to be sure. He crept around an enormous tree—and found the demon girl sitting on the ground, weeping as if her heart would break. He gaped foolishly at her. He had seen her angry, tormented, annoyed, amused, frightened, and pensive, but he had never imagined her crippled with sorrow and sobbing like a child.

Her head was bent, her face turned away from him. Even here in the late afternoon shadows of the forest, her hair glowed like fire. It was curly and, as usual, unkempt. He had noticed that the wind liked to toy with it, almost as if pulling at the girl, seeking her attention. It was the fanciful sort of thought that struck him in her presence. She seemed more elemental than other people, closer to the earth—or to the Otherworld, he supposed. Nature seemed to flow through her, even though the Guardians were not a nature cult; yet although the Sisters were, he had never met a Sister who seemed as close to the earth's heartbeat as Mirabar.

She was wearing the ordinary
shallah
clothing she always wore, though she had apparently left her cloak back at the Sanctuary. She wouldn't need it until darkness fell—and perhaps not even then, not with southern winds this evening. The air ought to be soft and balmy all night, carrying the faint scent of distant jungles from across the Middle Sea.

She was only a little thing, he noticed once again, smaller than Elelar or Basimar, and much smaller than Jalilar. But muscular and sturdy—and brave. Yes, he had seen that. They had all seen that. Indeed, he had seen few men with such courage. Really, it was too bad she was so strange-looking, for she was a rare young woman, one that the best of men might have competed for had she been even passably pretty. Sad, too, that but for that hair and those eyes, she
would
have been pretty. Who knew? Perhaps some sophisticated city-dweller whose childhood had not been filled with fear of such creatures might want her someday—if she should ever leave the mountains and meet such a man.

Or perhaps Cheylan will want her,
he realized suddenly. Cheylan had asked Tansen about Mirabar several times during the summer, intrigued by the notion of another like him. A little jealous, too, Tansen thought, of her power, her growing stature.

Ah, well. He almost smiled, considering how he had once felt upon hearing about a Moorlander woman who was now one of the most famous fighters in the world, a captured slave who entertained the Valdani in combat arenas throughout the Empire. She had even beaten a
shatai
or two, it was said, and none of them liked the sound of that rumor. A woman! So Tansen supposed that Cheylan could be excused a little jealousy over the
shallah
girl whom even Kiloran bowed to at times.

He wondered if he should just leave now without disturbing her. Almost as if she had heard his thoughts or the whisper of his breath, she suddenly stiffened, sat up, and looked around. She choked on a gasp when she saw him.

"What are you doing, sneaking up on me?" she snapped.

"I heard you crying." He kept his voice even.

She looked away again. "Oh."

She scrubbed at her face. He realized he had embarrassed her.

"Do you need help?" he asked.

"N... N..." She shook her head. Her shoulders trembled with a fresh sob that she struggled to contain.

Unlike many men, he was not made helpless by a weeping woman. A
shatai
's work often brought him into the realm of tears, always so close to the realm of bloodshed. He would leave if Mirabar wanted him to, but he could stay if she needed him here. He was not some boy afraid to be alone in the woods with a demon as the sun slowly set.

"
Sirana
..."

"Oh, stop calling me that!"

"Mirabar." He crouched down, trying to see her face. "What's wrong?"

She put her head in her hands and rocked back and forth. "No, it's foolish."

He doubted that. He wished Josarian were here; his brother seemed to have a rapport with this girl. However, Tansen would do what he could.

"Is it something from the Otherworld?" he probed. "Visions? Proph—"

"No, no."

She shook her head, face still covered by her dark, fine-boned hands. He saw a healing scar, like a burn mark. Evidently she was not always impervious to fire. He didn't try to touch her, sensing that she would bolt. Besides, he privately admitted to a certain reluctance to touch her; superstitious, yes, but genuine.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

She made a terrible sound in her throat.

"Injured?" he persisted.

She lowered her hands. Her eyes were closed. She tilted her head back and took a huge breath, trying to smother her sobs.

"No," she said at last, sounding unbearably weary. "I am not injured."

She looked at him now, her eyes flashing brightly. He remained impassive, but their gazes locked. He suddenly recalled the first time he had ever seen her: his backward step, his unconcealed revulsion. The memory was in her eyes, too, and also in the breath she released on a watery sigh.

"I let... Srijan..." She shook her head. "I let him upset me."

"Srijan?"

She laughed shakily at his contemptuous tone. "You see? I told you it was foolish."

He frowned. "Did he attack you,
sir
... Mirabar?" Srijan was about as subtle as an earthquake when he approached a woman, and he was growing restless and impatient as they all awaited Elelar in this isolated spot.

"No. I am in no danger of that from him." She looked away, her complexion darkening. "He said that... it was too bad I am so strange-looking, because I am not so ugly otherwise, and some man might have wanted me if not for the curse Dar laid upon me in the womb."

Tansen drew breath through his teeth, disgusted by Srijan's casual cruelty, sorry for Mirabar, and, above all, ashamed that he and Srijan could have similar thoughts about something.

Mirabar looked down at her hands. "You get used to people shying away. You get used to them... not wanting to meet your gaze. Not wanting to touch you. Being afraid of you. You get used to the looks and the stares and the whispers... You never get used to them stoning you and chasing you and wanting to
kill
you, of course..." She sighed. "I did not choose to be what I am. I am, however, used to it. I understand it as the price I pay for the power I was given. In another time, in a long-ago era..." She made an impatient sound and scrubbed again at her face. "I only weep when I think of what might have been."

"Everyone does that, Mirabar." He, too, could cry like a woman if he let himself dwell on what might have been.

She ground her teeth together. "And I... I am a fool to do so. I might have been born like other women, paying for my food and shelter by serving my husband, rather than by Calling shades of the dead. I might have had the privilege of dying in a river of blood and pain, trying to bear him a child..." Her eyes shimmered with tears as she added more truthfully, "I might have been loved by my mother, my father, by... some man, someday..."

"You're still young," he pointed out. "And prejudice, like enmity, can change into acceptance. With time."

She looked at him knowingly. "Enough for that? When even the warrior I am destined to serve backs away from me in disgust?"

He shrugged, a casual denial. "I was startled." He lifted one brow. "Anyone would have been startled. That was quite an entrance you made that night."

"It was me, not my
entrance
, that you protected the
torena
from. I saw you."

It was true. He nodded. He would not insult her again with false denials. "I was born to a violent, superstitious people. Some things are reflexes, even though I know better."

Her eyes narrowed. "You are still backing away, Tansen."

He avoided her gaze, but he would not lie to her. "I'm sorry, Mirabar."

"Reflex." After a moment, she added in a voice that sounded bitterly amused, "Well. At least I shall never have the
torena
's problems."

He felt his face flush with embarrassment, a reaction that few people could evoke in him. Judging it time to change the subject, he said, "I must go back to the clearing and watch for her arrival. She doesn't know how to find the Sanctuary."

She rose to her feet. "While you wait..."

"Yes?" he asked uneasily.

"I know that you were in the east with Cheylan. I was wondering..."

He smiled, relieved. "He asks about you, too."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tansen had already noticed the way Zimran watched Elelar, and he didn't like it. He also noticed that Basimar didn't like it, either. Zimran shared the Sister's bed while they were all camped here at the Sanctuary, but Tansen suspected that he dreamed about the
torena
. Srijan watched Elelar, too, of course, but he was so uncouth that Tansen paid him no heed. Zimran, though... He was a man who knew what women wanted, what they liked; he knew how to please them. He knew far better than any other man present—or any other man Tansen could recall—how to offer a woman a subtle compliment, a thoughtful gesture, a private smile. He exercised his skills on every woman, young or old, plain or pretty, available or not.

Like most things,
Tansen thought wryly,
it takes practice.

Basimar was obviously enamored of Zimran. Mirabar tolerated him without much interest, but even she seemed to appreciate the gestures of man-to-woman courtesy he showed her. Elelar had undoubtedly known too many artful seducers to fail to recognize this one for what he was; but there was enough invitation in the smiles she shared with Zimran to make Tansen's belly clench with unwanted jealousy.

With their plans now in place, their resources committed, and their duties assigned, the allies would break camp the following morning to set in motion the ambitious scheme they had first discussed in Zilar. Tansen was glad. The season for planning had come to a close; the season for action was upon them. And Tansen would also be glad to see distance come between Zimran and Elelar now. He didn't like the way he felt when they were near each other. Nor did he like suspecting that Mirabar somehow knew how he felt.

"You're even quieter than usual tonight," Josarian chided, coming to sit beside him at some distance from the fire.

"I'm thinking." He avoided Josarian's gaze, expertly running one of his cherished honing stones along the blade of one of his swords.

"Thinking?"

"Focusing. Preparing." The stone whispered over the blade. "Soon we will face our enemies. We must be ready."

"Our enemies?" Josarian laughed softly and gestured to some of the people who had gathered here for this meeting. Speaking only loud enough for Tansen to hear, he said, "Look at our allies.
Torena
Elelar, who dislikes me and who betrayed you. Najdan the assassin, who went to Dalishar to kill you. Mirabar, a Guardian whom most people take for a demon. Srijan, who dreams of murdering us both, but who may be respectful enough to let his waterlord father do it instead. Falian, who perhaps still secretly hates me for ruining his life. And the others... No, Tan, I'm not worried about the Valdani." Josarian looked back at his bloodbrother. Even in the dark, Tansen could see something fierce glittering in his eyes as he concluded, "I can take care of my enemies, but Dar shield me from my friends."

Tansen nodded. "I suppose it
is
a little like mating with a Widow Beast."