In Legend Born (68 page)

Rebels poured into Alizar from every direction while water continued shooting skywards from the central well. The two enemy forces came together. Bodies clashed, metal rang. Screams of rage and pain promised that blood would soon mingle with the dust. Chaos and terror ruled the flaming night.

"Get the guards out of the mines!" Foridall ordered. "Get every man up here to
fight!
"

The Outlookers, though, never came out of the mines. The signal for the guards' evacuation was also a signal for a battle to begin in the belly of the earth. The guards down there were hopelessly outnumbered by the prisoners. Security had always been strict in the mines, but until now, until this very moment, rebellion had never been feasible underground, because hundreds of Outlookers were also out
here
, awaiting anyone who fought to escape the tunnels. Somehow the men in the mines knew what was happening tonight, knew that this was their chance. Someone had told them; someone had
organized
them.

The battle was over well before dawn. Foridall couldn't understand how this had happened. He had more men, better weapons, better training, better resources... Yet he had lost. Indeed, he'd recognized his defeat the moment prisoners starting swarming out of the mines. 

Now all of Alizar ran red with the blood of more than a thousand men. Almost all of the Outlookers were dead. But at least the rebels had not won without sacrifice. There were Silerian bodies littering Alizar, too, as dawn crept across the sky.

The fire in the hills had faded. The central well was... merely a well again. Foridall had never even seen the sorcerers who'd changed the shape of his life forever. 

He had lost his command. And he had lost the Emperor's diamond mines.

The rebels found him hiding in one of the storage sheds. His only consolation in this whole catastrophe was that no Outlookers were present to see him dragged outside, ridiculed, spat on, kicked, and knocked down. At least only these foreign peasants were here to witness his humiliation.

They presented him to a lean, hawk-faced man whose simple peasant clothes were covered in blood. Foridall saw the two swords the man wore and blurted, "You're the one Koroll wants almost as much as he wants Josarian! The one who stole those swords from his Kintish guest."

The man's mouth quirked. "Yes, that's me," he said in good Valdan. "And who are you?"

"I am Captain Foridall, commanding officer of Alizar."

"Ah. So
you're
in charge here." The man looked over his shoulder. He spoke in that guttural mountain dialect this time, but Foridall distinctly heard what he called the man who looked up in response to his comment:
Josarian.

The most-hunted outlaw in Sileria—in the entire history of Valdani rule in Sileria—fixed him with a hard stare. The notorious bandit and the two-sworded man exchanged a few more comments, then he—
Josarian
—limped over to where Foridall stood in the firm grasp of two
shallah
rebels.

"Can you believe this skinny, pale thing ran the mines?" Lann said, shoving the Outlooker captain forward for Josarian's inspection.

Someone had stabbed Josarian in the left thigh, and it hurt like all the Fires. He was glad the Sisters had arrived to tend the wounded, though some of their faces were set with grim disapproval. They abhorred violence, whatever the cause or provocation.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Tansen said blandly, glancing down at Josarian's leg. Without waiting for a reply, he added, "I told you—how many times have I told you?—you've got to stop leaving your left side blind. The way you cock your head to the right—"

"Tan, only women can get away with saying, 'I told you so,'" Josarian interrupted. "Go talk to Kiloran. Take Mirabar with you. We need to finish the job here."

Tansen nodded and left. Josarian studied their captive.

"Er, I don't suppose anyone else here speaks Valdan?" the man asked nervously.

"I do," Josarian replied. "So you were in charge of the mines? What's your name?"

"Captain Foridall. I, uh, I'm sure you understand why I hid to escape capture. It's my duty to try to... report to my superiors what has happened here. But I will take my place as your prisoner now."

Despite everything, Josarian almost pitied him. "Foridall, we're rebels in our own conquered land. We don't take prisoners."

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. Then panic flashed in those foreign eyes. "But... but you've won! You've got Alizar now—the Emperor's greatest source of wealth in Sileria! The mines are yours. You don't need to kill—"

"Actually, by morning, the mines won't be anyone's."

"What do you mean?"

"We're going to try to flood them."

"Flood them?" Incredulity made Foridall forget his fear for a moment. "
Flood
the richest mines in Sileria? Perhaps the richest in the world! Are you mad?"

"Not yet, but I do worry sometimes," Josarian said, thinking of his dreams.

They had decided that, after conquering Alizar, they couldn't spare the men to defend it. However, if they simply abandoned it, there was nothing to stop the Valdani from recommencing operations here, recruiting new slave labor and new Outlookers. Therefore, their best choice was to ensure that no one could mine Alizar again, at least not for a while. They would carry away all the considerable wealth in the storehouses which had been awaiting transport to the coast. Then they'd burn the buildings. Letting Kiloran use water magic to flood the mines created the risk that he would someday be the only one with access to them, but Josarian had been unable to come up with a better plan and had agreed with Elelar's insistence that they must concentrate solely on fighting the Valdani for now.

"Why did you attack the mines," Foridall demanded, "if not to take over production and reap the benefits?"

"The
roshaheen
are really something," Zimran muttered in disgust. His Valdan was better than Josarian's, and he had no trouble following the conversation.

Foridall clearly didn't understand. "What are
rosh
..."

"We wanted to wound the Emperor where he'll feel it most," Josarian said. "In his treasury." He leaned forward, despite the way his leg throbbed, and explained to the man he was about to kill, "But we have no wish to emulate him by enslaving men to fill our purses or pay for our war. No wish to rob men of their freedom and dignity. No wish to kill men slowly, day after day, until the years wear away their flesh and their will to live."

"But... But they are... were
prisoners!
" Foridall protested. "You yourselves punish anyone who breaks your rules. We have a government to support, laws to uphold! They were
criminals.
"

"They were our brothers, our fathers, and our sons," Josarian said coldly. "And you ran the deathtrap that enslaved and killed thousands of them." He unsheathed his sword. "Make peace with your gods, Foridall."

"I was only doing my duty! My
duty!
You can't kill me! You can't! I'm—"

His wailing speech ended on a messy gurgle as Josarian slit his throat. Watching the wide-eyed corpse bleed a crimson river into the dust, Josarian instructed his men: "Cut off his head. Kill all the remaining Outlookers but one. Give him Foridall's head, and send him back to Shaljir on a fast horse. Then gather your wounded and get ready to leave. Spread out, according to your instructions. Everyone must be gone from here by mid-morning. Understood?" He tore his gaze from Foridall's body and added, "Tansen and I will stay behind long enough to torch the bodies of our dead."

The losses had not been heavy, considering the target, but Josarian felt every single one of them. Men had died following him, trusting in him, believing in him. Not one hundred paces from here, young Kynan lay face-up, his long hair spread around his lifeless face, a Valdani sword sticking out of his chest. Many other
shallaheen
lay dead among the slain Outlookers, too. Meanwhile, the thousands of prisoners they had liberated from the mines now rejoiced at their freedom and called for blades that they might open their palms and pledge their lives to Josarian's cause.

He knew he needed them to continue the fight. He knew that all the rebels had entered last night's battle knowing they might die. He would go on with the war, actively recruiting more men. No, he didn't doubt the path he had chosen.

This morning, though, weary, blood-stained, and dizzy from the pain of his wound, Josarian wanted no more lives pledged in his name. This morning, he wanted no more Silerian deaths to his credit. As the sun rose today, he felt the unbearably heavy weight of being a man whom others followed.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

For eleven days and nights, Elelar waited in her cell at the old Kintish prison. Waited to die. Waited to be tortured. Waited for something to end the agony of waiting.

To her surprise, an Outlooker had brought her clothing and toiletries from her own house on the third day of her imprisonment. On that same day, the Outlookers had stopped serving her their nauseatingly inedible prison food and started serving her meals prepared by her own cook and brought to the fortress in elegant baskets. The food, like the other items sent from home, was always thoroughly examined before being given to her.

Despite these comforts, however, she was not allowed visitors. That didn't surprise her, since Koroll undoubtedly feared she still had information to share and would try to find a way to communicate with her allies. She would not, in any event, have risked the safety of anyone important by trying to get messages to the Alliance now that she was exposed and condemned. Indeed, she prayed that no one had been foolish enough to ask to see her; such a request would undoubtedly condemn the petitioner to death, too.

It was the lack of news or action that she found most difficult to endure. After the painful and humiliating debacle at the Lion's Gate, she had been dragged here and thrown into this cell. Koroll had come here the following day. Not bothering to conceal his pleasure at her battered condition and humbled situation, he had questioned and threatened her for an entire morning, promising her that it would be "better" for her if she cooperated and told them what they wanted to know.

Better for me,
she thought with a sneer. Yes, it was positively touching how concerned the Valdani were for the welfare of a condemned woman. 

They were desperate to find out—before they killed her—what information she had shared with whom. Once she was executed, there'd be no way to unlock the secrets which would die with her.

Hurry, hurry, hurry,
she prayed to Death. She had already determined that escape was impossible. Dying with silence and dignity was her only goal. She focused on it as fiercely as she had focused on every other goal in her life.

Myrell, the one with the crooked nose, had come here on her second day in prison, sent by Koroll. The butcher of Malthenar, Morven, and Garabar lived up to his reputation for brutality. She had welcomed his blows, fighting back, taunting him, trying to manipulate him into drawing his sword and killing her in a blaze of fury. Her death would come quickly that way—and she would take one more Valdan down with her upon dying, since Myrell would surely be punished for murdering such a valuable prisoner without authorization.

She had nearly tricked him into doing it, too... but then he had hesitated and drawn back. Although the man was both a brute and a fool, even
he
apparently wasn't stupid enough to kill her without orders. What a pity.

If only her cook would poison her food, she thought morosely. If only someone would
tell
the woman to do it. She wondered what was happening at her house now. She worried about the safety of the servants who were loyal to the Alliance; about the secrets the house contained, wondering which—if any—had escaped discovery; and about the Beyah-Olvari. She also wondered why, ever since her third day in this dank hole, she was given the courtesy of food and clothing from home. Why hadn't Koroll and Myrell questioned her since then? She didn't like to think about it, but she knew that they had barely scratched the surface in terms of their attempts to make her to talk. If they were going to give up so quickly, then why hadn't they already executed her? Why hadn't she even been sentenced yet? Why was there no news? Did Borell simply intend to leave her alone in this cell until she went mad from boredom and inactivity?