Chapter Twenty-Seven

 

 

There was no day or night in the mines, no sun or moons, no dawning sky or twilight glow. There was only the obsidian maw of the earth's belly and the sickly glare of smoking lanterns. Once upon a time, employment in the mines had been an honorable trade, a hard and dangerous profession which attracted men because of the rewards they could reap. In another era, many young men came here for a few years to earn enough to pay a bride price, buy land, or establish a business. In that distant time, hope had flowered almost daily at Alizar and dreams had filled the air.

Or so they said. Najdan was always skeptical about the stories people told. If you listened to the whisperings of the mountains these days, after all, you'd learn that Tansen had slain an entire shipload of Kintish pirates in a single night, Mirabar was an immortal spirit, and Josarian was the Firebringer. There was nothing the shallaheen loved better than a good story.

Anyhow, whatever life at Alizar had once been like, it was now a never-ending nightmare of hellish misery. While the shallaheen kept their children under control by threatening to feed them to the fire-eyed and flame-haired demons that roamed the mountains, the Valdani menaced Silerians with the threat of a sentence in the mines of Alizar. The other mines in Sileria—minerals and precious metals—were small, private operations. A few were still Silerian-owned, but the majority of them belonged to wealthy Valdani, whether taken from Kints two centuries ago or stolen more recently from over-taxed and disenfranchised Silerians. When people referred to "the mines," however, they invariably meant Alizar: the huge, enormously rich mines owned and run by the Emperors of Valdania for the past two hundred years.

Alizar was where Silerians served criminal sentences for most major and minor crimes. Yes, some crimes so enraged the Valdani that they sentenced the offender to death; but most of the time, they found it more profitable to send a man to the mines, where he worked until his sentence was served or he died—whichever came first. Yes, some criminals were simply imprisoned; but they were not safe from the mines, for they were usually just being held in reserve in case the mines suffered a shortage of workers after a cave-in or accident. Almost anyone caught breaking Valdani law in Sileria could count on being condemned to servitude in the mines of Alizar. Bribery was the only way out, and most couldn't afford it.

Of course, even a law-abiding man wasn't necessarily safe.

Despite harsh laws and a disobedient populace, the Valdani didn't always have enough prisoners to keep the mines operating at their full capacity. When this happened, the Outlookers would simply raid villages, round up men, chain them like slaves, and take them to work in the mines. That was how Najdan had lost his father. Many of these men were eventually released. Sometimes, though, they died in the mines, as many convicts did. It was worst of all, of course, when a family could never even find out what had happened to a man. The Valdani seldom deigned to answer questions about their prisoners at Alizar. So the men who survived the mines and returned home were always questioned by people trying to discover if a loved one still lived. The shallaheen willingly walked for days to reach a village where a man was rumored to have recently returned from the mines, just to ask: Have you seen my father? My brother? My husband? My son?

No one had ever been able to reveal the fate of Najdan's father. Najdan was a practical man and therefore did not torment himself with foolish hope. Petty criminals often drew sentences of only a year or two, and so survived the mines. But Najdan's father, who had committed no crime, had been gone for over twenty years; no man had ever survived that long in the mines. Some people, however, held onto hope even longer than that. A man would have to have a heart of stone not to pity them.

Those that did manage to survive long terms in the mines seldom lived long upon returning home. They must have been very strong men to have survived for years in Alizar, but the struggle always took its toll. 

Now Najdan was here in the black pits of hell, where whip-cracking devils ruled the never-ending night. The rebel plan of attack required men on the inside. When the fighting began, rebels down here would need to lead the prisoners in an underground fight. Najdan was one of thirty rebels who, posing as ordinary men, had willingly been caught in some petty crime during recent days. Unfortunately, some were still awaiting sentencing tonight, but most of them had already been transported to the mines and sent deep into the elaborate earthworks of Alizar.

It had taken courage to give himself up to the Outlookers and the mines. Najdan had wanted to do it, to prove to himself that despite what had happened that day at Dalishar, he was still a brave man who could coldly face death. Now that he was down here, he saw courage in a new light and encountered bravery such as he had never seen among the assassins. In this shadowy world of pain, hunger, exhaustion, loneliness, and slavery, men still somehow found the courage to survive. In this underground world of darkness and hopelessness, they still recited the names of their children, recalled the women they loved, and spoke of going home after they'd served their sentences. When the Outlookers weren't watching, shallaheen cut open their palms with their mining tools to swear bloodpacts with each other. When one drink of water could mean the difference between life and death, a shallah might give up his ration to save the life of a bloodbrother.

Then again, there was also depravity down here unlike anything that even a Society assassin had ever seen. While most Outlookers were merely indifferent to the suffering of their prisoners, Najdan had already encountered one who positively enjoyed it, and he'd heard stories about several others. Nor were the prisoners all men he looked forward to freeing. There was one he'd already decided to assassinate when the fighting began. The sriliah routinely betrayed his fellow prisoners for extra rations, and Najdan didn't doubt that he would side with the Outlookers when the attack on Alizar commenced—at least until the battle clearly favored the Silerians. Then there were others who had been made petty, vicious, and cowardly by their lives down here; but perhaps some of them had always been that way. Finally, there were those who had gone mad. Anyone too deranged to work was usually executed; but, over the years, Najdan had seen a few madmen wandering the mountains, released early from the mines due to the insanity which made them useless as workers. Some long-term prisoners therefore risked pretending madness, gambling that they'd be released instead of killed. Najdan would make no move against any of the madmen here, real or feigned, unless they jeopardized the battle.

He was a strong, healthy man, so although the poor rations left him hungry, he was still able to do the backbreaking work down here. His wrists and ankles were already chafed and sore from the iron finery of an Emperor's miner, but he was an assassin and contemptuous of pain. For this reason, he could also withstand the lash without much trouble. He ignored the human stench and misery all around him, since he considered himself apart from it. He had come here to do a job, and when the rebels attacked, he would either die or go free. There was no possibility in his mind of spending more than a few days down here.

The one aspect of his term down here that troubled him, however, was the feeling of being closed in. He felt the earth pressing down on him, suffocating him. Sometimes his chest constricted, as if he were smothering, and it took all his self-discipline not to lash out like a madman, battering at the rock-solid walls, floors, and ceilings that engulfed him. Some men who returned home from the mines were never able to sleep inside again; now he knew why. When he got out of Alizar, he'd be much more amenable to Mirabar's preference for sleeping under the stars when they traveled.

Mirabar. He thought of her up on the heights surrounding Alizar, gathering strength with the other Guardians. He had already lost track of time down here. It was impossible to mark the hours in a place where there was no day or night. Now he had no way of knowing when the attack would begin. But he thought it would be very soon. Hoping he was right, he carefully began to spread the word, making sure that no one he deemed untrustworthy found out what the rest of them needed to know.

 

 

Tashinar's knees ached from the long journey to Dalishar, but she didn't tell the others. I'm getting old, she thought. Her youth seemed to have been in full bloom only yesterday. Now she was already an old woman, an elder of her sect, someone whose aged presence was needed to hold the Guardians together in this unprecedented moment. The mystic sorcerers who conjured fire from their own breath and flesh, who communed with shades of the dead, and who hid like children from Outlookers, waterlords, and assassins... the Guardians were about to enter into battle.

Naturally, Tashinar knew the history of the Guardians. She knew that they had once governed Sileria, that there had been many thousands of them, and that there had even been many like Mirabar. She knew that there had been warriors among them—  including Daurion himself. Yet the thought of Guardians entering into battle against the Outlookers... Well, it was almost as extraordinary as the thought of them working together with the Society.

She knew from the moment Mirabar first returned to their circle of companions—with an assassin in tow—that something extraordinary had happened. The Guardians had already learned from their own communion with the Otherworld that a new age was at hand, that their entire world was about to change. Fire, water, and the blood of thousands would mingle to herald a new beginning in Sileria. Then Mirabar had found them again, had come home, bringing peace-offerings from Kiloran himself on behalf of the Society. Two of Josarian's men came with her, too, and they spoke of something called the Alliance, a secret society now pledged to Josarian. Confident, impatient, and driven, Mirabar had become the leader of her former mentors. At her instructions, they had spread through the mountains, alerting other Guardian circles, forging links with the Society and the shallaheen, cooperating with emissaries from the Alliance, and sending their own companions into the heart of danger when necessary.

Derlen, Tashinar thought suddenly. He was supposed to be here tonight. He had not come, and no one knew why. Shaljir was such a treacherous place, the very heart of Valdani power in Sileria... Tashinar sent up a silent prayer to Dar that Derlen was all right.

When Mirabar had first told her of this plan, Tashinar thought it would be difficult to convince the Guardians to assault the most heavily-guarded site in Sileria outside of Shaljir. The diamonds of Alizar were the Emperor's single most important source of income in Sileria, and he protected the mines with a force of over one thousand well-armed Outlookers. Almost every Guardian, however, knew someone who had been sent to the mines; and many knew someone who had never come out. There were also those who had seen the round-ups, when the Outlookers would seize innocent men and force them into service because there was a shortage of prisoners at Alizar. With their confidence bolstered by Josarian's victories against smaller targets and their fear of the Society temporarily appeased, most of the Guardians had proved readily willing to contribute their special talents to the battle at Alizar.

Kiloran was here, too, tonight. Kiloran himself. Tashinar didn't know precisely where he was, and she'd be just as happy not to encounter him—tonight or any other night—but she could feel him. Oh, yes, she knew he was here, and she suspected he wanted her to know it, wanted them all to know it. He honored the truce between them, but there could never truly be peace between the servants of fire and the masters of water. Eternal enmity was in their flesh, their blood, their bones, and Kiloran let the Guardians preparing for battle at Alizar know that he had not forgotten. A subtle vibration of power chilled the air and warned them: We are allies, not friends.

Emerging from the darkness, hugging the shadows and moving stealthily, Mirabar joined Tashinar on a summit overlooking Alizar. They exchanged a brief, silent greeting, then Mirabar noticed her nervous twitch as Kiloran again stung the night with his cold venom.

"Ignore it," Mirabar said. "He's just showing off."

"He's not to be underestimated," Tashinar murmured. They both kept their voices low, wary of any remaining Outlookers patrolling the area. "Or trusted."

"No, but he knows there are assassins down there tonight. Some are imprisoned in the mines. Many will be fighting beside Josarian. Kiloran is ruthless, but he doesn't waste his own men."

Tashinar nodded. Why worry about what would happen after tonight, when no one yet knew who would live or die here?

"Who would have thought we would come to this?" she said, grateful she had at least lived long enough to see it. "I never imagined a moment such as this, a dream such as the one you and Josarian share."

"It's everyone's dream, Tashinar. When the Outlookers cut off your fingers as a young woman, didn't you dream of—"

"Not really. Until this... you, Josarian, Tansen, the Beckoner, the Alliance, Kiloran..." Tashinar shook her head. "Freedom was a tale told by wild-eyed zanareen and superstitious mountain peasants."

"Zanareen," Mirabar said sourly. "How they pester Josarian."

"You've told me that Armian wasn't the Firebringer," Tashinar mused.

"No. He wasn't."

"Then couldn't it be Jo—"

"Oh, do you really expect Josarian to throw himself into Darshon to—"

Mirabar stopped speaking the moment they heard feet shuffling against dust and gravel. They both tensed as the soft footsteps came closer. Mirabar had already warned her that if an Outlooker found them here, they must be ruthless. Tashinar didn't know precisely what that meant, but she had seen the changes in Mirabar since the beginning of the year, and she realized that the girl not only knew what it meant, but had, of necessity, learned how to be more ruthless than most. Josarian's men had begun the first part of the plan soon after nightfall: killing all the sentries and patrols around Alizar. Tashinar tried not to think about her allies stalking men in the dark and strangling them or cutting their throats. She tried not to think about the quiet warrior called Tansen, the man Mirabar had sought for so long. She could tell that he knew far too much about killing other men.

Her heart pounded as she marked the quiet approach of someone coming through the surrounding brush and scrub. She relaxed a moment later when she heard the soft flutterbird call that was the agreed-upon signal. Mirabar returned it, and their ally appeared a moment later: a handsome young shallah named Zimran.

"Ah, ladies! Right where you're supposed to be and on time. Could a man ask for more?" He grinned and, even in the dark, Tashinar could feel the measure of his charm. Many girls must have lost their heart to this man.

"Well?" Mirabar prodded.

"Kiloran is ready," he said. "Josarian is ready. Tansen is ready."

"The Guardians are ready, too," Mirabar confirmed.

Zimran gave a gusty sigh. "And I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. So if you can begin..."

"We'll give you enough time to get out of the way," Mirabar said. "Go."

"As always, sirana, it's been a pleasure."

After he'd departed, Mirabar muttered, "He irritates me."

"So I observed," Tashinar said dryly. Facile charm had never appealed to Mirabar.

"Are you ready?"

"As Zimran said..." Tashinar squared her shoulders. "I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

 

 

Tansen had received word from Zimran that the first part of the plan—eliminating the sentries and patrols around Alizar—was completed. Now Tansen crouched in the dark, waiting to signal the men at his back. Josarian was in the hills on the other side of Alizar, with more men. They had close to thirty rebels in the mines tonight, and they also expected some help from the prisoners once the battle began. There were hundreds of Silerians here tonight, far more than Josarian had ever before committed to a single plan. 

If Alizar fell, then thousands of Silerians would join the rebellion while the Outlookers tried to recover from the disaster. The Emperor would be furious, as well as financially wounded. The Imperial Council would want to send every military man in the Empire to Sileria; but almost every man in the Emperor's forces was already committed elsewhere. Oh, the Empire's resources were vast, and they'd unquestionably be able to send men—probably more men than the rebels had killed all year. But they wouldn't be able to send as many as they wanted to. They wouldn't be able to send enough to sweep clear across Sileria and end the rebellion.

If Alizar fell, then the Empire would have a Silerian war on its hands. The long-conquered nation, the imperial province least likely to unite in rebellion, the most thoroughly humbled people in the three corners of the world would astonish men and women from one end of the Empire to the other. Born in shame and servitude, Silerians would carve out a new destiny on the map of Valdani conquests. They would claim their freedom in the rubble of the Empire's humiliation. They would smash the Sign of the Three in Santorell Square and live to see their own Yahrdan take his rightful place in Shaljir.

Nothing will ever be the same.

If Alizar fell.

The alternative was not one Tansen cared to dwell on. If they failed tonight, then he, Josarian, and anyone else who could be identified would be sentenced to death by slow torture. And the rest of the rebels would have merely saved the Valdani the trouble of actually transporting them to the mines for lifelong imprisonment. Not that a life lasted long in Alizar. Indeed, Tansen thought he had never known a braver man than the former prisoner who had volunteered to be one of the men positioned inside the mines tonight. The years the man had spent there were carved on his face, but he had gone back, insisting that he'd be most useful to the cause down there.

Tansen had wanted to volunteer, too, since he didn't like asking other men to do something he did not do. However, he couldn't possibly smuggle his swords into the mines, and—just as someone who knew those tunnels was most useful down there—a shatai was most useful in combat when he had his weapons. Killing Outlookers was the task at hand, not bolstering his own pride. Besides, he had needed to set a good example for Josarian, who all too often wanted to act like an ordinary rebel instead of the leader of the rebellion. Josarian could say what he wanted to about how the fight would go on without him, but Tansen knew the truth: Men followed Josarian more than they followed a dream of freedom. They wouldn't be hot with courage tonight if Josarian were imprisoned in the earth's belly rather than leading them into battle.

It seemed a long time since Tansen had given the signal confirming that his men were ready, but he suppressed his impatience, knowing that every part of the attack depended on every other part. When everyone was ready, then they would move. And all of it would begin with an old woman and a demon girl up on the summit...

 

 

Captain Foridall was working very late tonight, examining the most recent production records. The Emperor's war against the Kintish Kingdoms had gotten off to a bad start, so now there was pressure on Alizar to increase profits. The Emperor's demands, coupled with the strain of poring over these barely-legible documents well into the empty hours, had given Foridall a headache tonight.

The production records were written in aggravatingly tiny handwriting, since parchment was so costly in Sileria. Everything worth having cost extra here. Foridall had spent a fortune acquiring a fifth-level Kintish courtesan last year. She could charge outrageous prices since there simply weren't enough like her to go around, not in this godsforsaken land. Then she had grown bored at Alizar and deserted him within a season. Foridall was feeling distinctly frustrated these days, true, but he still had no intention of standing in line along with his men to get five minutes on top of some miserable, diseased Moorlander woman. Besides, the bandit Josarian had already sacked two brothels, and a man didn't want to be worrying about some Silerian peasant cutting him in half at precisely the moment when his attention was rather firmly fixed on matters of the flesh.

Those mountain outlaws—well, rebels, if truth be known, despite the official story—were generally making every aspect of Foridall's life a terrible trial. Traditional supply lines were frequently disrupted, the roads were no longer safe, costs had soared, and you practically needed to stage a riot to get the attention of Advisor Borell or Commander Koroll these days. While no one seriously supposed that the bandits would be foolish enough to attack Alizar, Foridall had convinced his superiors that there was no point in trying to predict what those bloodthirsty rebels would do. They would be wise, Foridall had insisted, to assign extra men to protect Alizar.

Well, wouldn't you know it? Foridall had gotten his extra men, but not the funds to supply them with food, housing, extra uniforms, and their pay. Many of the men who had been reluctant to be posted here in the first place became resentful and insubordinate when Foridall couldn't magically make these problems disappear overnight.

If it wasn't one thing, it was another. As soon as Foridall's term of service was over, he was going back home for good. Meanwhile, the mountain rebellion had made it impossible to convince another woman to join him at Alizar, even though he was prepared to offer a hefty fee. He was getting so desperate he'd even consider a discreet liaison with a Silerian woman, by the Three, except that he didn't relish the thought of what would happen if such an arrangement were discovered. Silerians were very touchy about their women. He'd heard such appalling stories of gelding and other atrocities that he considered the whole prospect far too risky. These people were barbarians! No wonder so many of them wound up in the mines.

With his head aching and his mind unable to absorb another series of numbers, Foridall quit for the night, doused his lantern, and went outside. Above-ground, Alizar was easily as large as an important village. It was even bigger underground, which was one reason so many Outlookers were needed here. Silerian prisoners made terrible miners and had to be supervised even more closely than a man had to watch a Priest of the Three around his daughters.

Or sons, as the case may be.

Walking toward his private quarters, Foridall morosely supposed that, in the absence of a woman, he could indulge in some of the Kintish dreamweed he'd brought back from his last trip to the coast. It had cost him a fortune and was only mediocre in quality, but at least—

His thoughts ground to a halt as a burst of fire arose from a hilltop directly north of Alizar. One instant, there was nothing, then suddenly... there was a blaze that looked as tall as one man standing on another's shoulders. Even as he stared in surprise, it started spreading across the hill. Three Into One, had one of the sentries been smoking a little dreamweed of his own and set the brush on fire?

"Captain!" an Outlooker cried.

Foridall looked in the direction that the Outlooker was pointing and saw that another fire had started. And another! And yet another...

"The bandits," Foridall choked, his heart constricting with fear. "It's Josarian!"

"Captain, look, it's..."

The fires were spreading like trails across the mountains, stretching out to greet each other. Surrounding Alizar. Surrounding them.

Another Outlooker said, "Captain, he's brought his fire sorcerers with him! They—"

"Sound the alarm!" Foridall shouted. "Wake everyone!"

He had known this was a possibility, and he was not unprepared. Hah! Josarian was a fool to attack the best-guarded spot in Sileria outside of Shaljir! Even now, in the middle of the night, there were never less than two hundred Outlookers on duty above-ground, patrolling the area, guarding the storehouses, and watching the tunnels. Within moments, those two hundred men would be joined by all the others, and Josarian would suddenly find himself facing a force of over one thousand Outlookers. And Foridall would send runners to two nearby Valdani strongholds, too, so that even more men would be here by dawn to clean up what was left of the rebels.

He ran back to his headquarters and started issuing orders, galvanizing his men and rallying them to action.

"Captain Foridall?" said one of the Outlookers.

"What?"

"We're surrounded, sir. How will runners get through that?"

The man pointed up to the solid wall of fire now surrounding them. It was starting to move downhill, Foridall realized, tightening around Alizar like as a noose.

"It can't be real," he said, breathing a little harder. "It's a petty sorcerer's trick." But the way some of the men stood gaping belied his effort to diminish the extraordinary spectacle bearing down on them. He wondered if the Silerians meant to burn them out. "Water," he said. "We'll put out their fire."

Following his orders, men ran to the central well, the main source of Alizar's water supply. They started hauling up buckets and passing them along a line, preparing to meet the fire. It was always good to focus frightened minds on a productive task. Foridall congratulated himself.

Without warning, water geysered up from the well, erupting like an angry volcano, spewing sky-high. Men screamed and retreated from the well, their swords drawn and their faces distorted by confused fear. Foridall stared in blank shock, wondering what was happening. Then he realized: the waterlords. He'd heard the rumors, of course, that Sileria's mysterious Honored Society was in league with Josarian, but he'd assumed it was just another tale. He had also assumed that the stories of the waterlords' great and terrible sorcery were wildly exaggerated.

As if responding to his doubts, the water took on a new shape and fury. Foridall watched in horror as the tower of water developed tentacles which writhed and reached out in search of victims.

One of the Outlookers bellowed wildly and attacked an outstretched tentacle with his sword, trying to sever it like an arm. It evaded his blade with a quick flash of movement and then wrapped around his throat. Another man tried to help him; a shower of water poured down on him, and he screamed as if being consumed alive.

"Get back! Back!" Foridall ordered, sickened and appalled. "Get away from it!"

Ordering his men to retreat did nothing to quench the fury of the water shooting straight up from the well. It splashed onto another Outlooker's face and clung there, molding over his mouth and nose like a mask, suffocating him.

Foridall's mind reeled, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He was incapable of coherent thought, frightened of the fire closing in on Alizar, terrified by the water magic attacking his men... And then he heard the war-cry in the hills. He looked up and saw the encircling wall of fire turn to slim columns of flame, swaying and parting like young saplings to permit men to pass through: hundreds and hundreds of men.

With the firelight behind them, he could only see their silhouettes as they descended from the hills and entered Alizar. Ghostly dark shapes, they waved their stolen swords and crude native weapons as they whooped and hollered like all the demons of the underworld. Their shaggy hair flew wildly as they ran, long wisps of black against the glowing background. Behind them, the forest of fire-pillars exploded with new life and became a wall once again, permitting no further passage, allowing no more men to join or escape this battle.

We're hemmed in, he realized in panic. Trapped.

Josarian's men had undoubtedly killed Foridall's sentries and patrols. So many rebels could not have gotten this close to the mines without inciting an alarm—not unless they had already slaughtered every Outlooker on Alizar's perimeter.

No, there would be no runners, Foridall knew. No relief from other outposts. And no escape for him or anyone else.

His men here should be in battle formation, ready to repel the rebel rabble descending on them. But dragging most of the Outlookers out of a sound sleep had taken a little time, and the fire and water magic had unhinged their minds and destroyed the value of their training. They were already panic-stricken, and now the sight of those howling, hairy barbarians swooping down on them...

"Fight!" Foridall screamed, urging himself as much as his men. "Fight, damn you!"

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.