Dark Dreams (37 page)

‘You would come to me and cry, we have lost everything because you did not defend us.’ Imoshen’s words reached him. He stopped, surprised. She stood there on the kitchen table, waving the rolled-up plans in one hand. ‘Four hundred years ago T’Reothe the Builder made our city safe from attack, but we have grown complacent. With these plans we will make T’Diemn safe from an invading army. Never again will you face the likes of King Gharavan. Never again will children and old folk be chased down the streets of T’Diemn and slaughtered.

‘I congratulate those people who are giving up their homes for the good of T’Diemn. We must praise them and make them welcome in their new homes. And I thank the General Tulkhan for thinking ahead and planning for the safety of everyone in T’Diemn!’

Imoshen flung her open hand in his direction and the people turned towards him. Those who were being asked to move eyed him resentfully, but others cheered. They crowded around Tulkhan and soon he could not move for the crush.

When the crowd dispersed, he approached the table where Imoshen stood, leaning on both elbows to study the plans.

She straightened, greeting him with a quick smile.

‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice meant only for her. ‘Even if you used your gift to sway them.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You do not understand my people, General. The higher we rise the more we serve. To serve is to be elevated. I have called on these people to serve the greater good and they will do it because not to do so would make them social outcasts.’

‘To what do I owe this change of heart?’

‘I concede you may be right,’ she told him with a grin. ‘T’Diemn is prosperous. We can afford to build strong defences. It will reassure the people. The rulers of the Old Empire were too proud. I will not make the same mistake.’

Tulkhan met her glittering eyes and knew it was true. If he had delayed entering Fair Isle long enough for Imoshen and Reothe to be bonded and united in defence of Fair Isle, he would never have taken the island.

Imoshen offered her arm. ‘Walk with me, General? It is good to let the people see us united.’

Tulkhan linked arms with her but did not drop his defences. As they strolled along, pausing to speak with the people of T’Diemn, he watched Imoshen charm butcher-boy and guildmaster alike.

‘The people seem ready to forgive you the stone lovers and even tamed snow cats,’ he remarked when they were alone again.

She looked up at him, her features solemn. ‘When will you forgive me? My bed is cold and lonely. At night I hear you pace the Emperor’s chamber. What troubles you, Tulkhan?’

But he shook his head. As much as he longed to share his fears with her, he could not.

I
MOSHEN STUDIED
T
ULKHAN’S
design for T’Diemn’s outer defence. She had to admire his clever use of the natural terrain, the hills and river locks.

But the defence of the capital was not what concerned her now. It was mid-spring and Reothe’s rebels threatened the fragile peace. In the small moon since the Spring Festival, the snow had melted in the Keldon passes and the rebels had grown bold.

Reothe did not raid the farmers or the hard-working villagers; instead, he attacked the traders, whose tales of woe would be carried to the capital, and the merchants who could afford the loss squealed the loudest.

The Ghebites talked of capturing Reothe and executing him. They were eager to avenge the deaths of their brothers-at-arms, for on three separate occasions Reothe had surrounded Ghebites on their new estates and massacred them, leaving only one man alive to tell of the attack. Reothe flaunted his ability to come and go protected by the locals.

Many of the Ghebite commanders had dispersed to lay claim to their estates, others were prepared to accompany the General into the Keldon Highlands to answer Reothe’s challenge. Imoshen knew Tulkhan must retaliate or risk losing half the ground he taken last summer, but she feared Reothe would lead Tulkhan’s army on a wild chase through the Keldon Highlands, picking off his men one by one.

As Tulkhan strode into the room resplendent in his battle finery, her heart contracted with longing.

‘We are ready to ride,’ the General said. ‘I will leave you Piers and a company of men to hold T’Diemn. You are my voice. While I am gone you must oversee the construction of the city’s new defences.’

‘I know what I must do.’ Imoshen came to her feet. ‘Won’t you reconsider? Use me to draw Reothe out. I’ll tell him I’ve had second thoughts and ask him to meet me somewhere between here and the highlands. But I must be there to meet him or he will sense it is a trap. I’m willing –’

‘Well, I’m not.’ Tulkhan feared once Reothe had Imoshen in his power she would succumb to his strange allure. ‘I won’t risk losing you and the child.’

‘Not even to hold Fair Isle?’

He held her eyes.

‘Then you could lose it all.’

Tulkhan turned his hand over in supplication. ‘I will come back when the baby is due.’

‘I fear...’ Imoshen’s voice faltered. ‘I fear you might never return!’

Silence stretched between them.

Tulkhan opened his arms and she ran to him. He felt her shoulders shake with silent sobs and he found her lips, embracing her with all the strength in his body. If only he could put everything else aside, but that was impossible. He could not truly claim Imoshen until Reothe was dead, yet he travelled into the highlands knowing a Mere-man could not hope to defeat a T’En warrior.

Closing himself away from Imoshen, Tulkhan stepped out of her arms.

‘Have you no kind word for me before you go?’ she asked, searching his face.

‘I am a warrior, not a courtier.’ Steeling himself against her disappointment, he turned and strode out.

Imoshen stared at the place where Tulkhan had stood only a moment before. It still seemed to vibrate with the force of his personality and the words they had left unsaid.

Prowling to the window, she watched the men in the stable yards awaiting orders to mount up. What if Tulkhan was killed on the battlefield?

She would not be able to hold the Ghebites. If the General died, his commanders would turn on the island’s inhabitants like ravenous wolves, breaking into factions, warring amongst themselves for the spoils. She couldn’t allow this. If Tulkhan fell she would have to ally herself with Reothe to save Fair Isle from the remaining Ghebites.

This realisation frightened her. She feared Reothe, feared that he would try to dominate her with his superior T’En powers. But what frightened her most was the knowledge that she would not be averse to standing at his side – perhaps it was where she truly belonged. If Tulkhan was dead and she had done all she could to forestall another summer of war, then she would have no choice but to join the last T’En warrior.

She knew that an alliance with Reothe would not be a cold political joining. Never that. She felt her gift surge and forced it down.

The thought of losing Tulkhan was torture, but it was something she must face. Was it only last autumn that she has thought there was a right and wrong? Tears for the innocent she had once been stung her eyes. Bitter experience had taught her there was no right or wrong, only decisions to be made on constantly shifting grounds to ensure the one all-important outcome. Survival.

The shout went up. The men were moving out.

Clasping one hand under her belly to compensate for the weight of the child, she hastened out of the room and along the gallery.

Before stepping out onto the balcony overlooking the square Imoshen paused to straighten her hair and assume a regal stance. She watched as the mass of humanity below formed disciplined ranks, mounted men to one side, foot soldiers to the other, all wearing the traditional purple and red Ghebite cloaks. Imoshen wrinkled her nose. She must speak to Tulkhan about designing their own standard and colours. It offended her to see his men wearing King Gharavan’s colours.

The ranks of Tulkhan’s men filling the square were a grand sight, but their discipline would do them no good in the Keldon Highlands. The rebels knew the treacherous ravines intimately, and cunning traps awaited their enemies. Cavalry was useless. Battle-trained destriers were no match for wiry mountain ponies. Imoshen’s heart twisted with pity. Few of these men would return to T’Diemn.

When General Tulkhan rode into view she caught her breath, already grieving for him. As he spoke to his men, the breeze carried his words over the ranks away from her. She watched him walk his horse backwards. The proud black beast reared, dancing on its back legs. A shout went up.

Imoshen had to smile. Tulkhan loved this kind of display. He had spent his formative years with the army, leading men. It was what he was.

The horse dropped back down onto four legs, pivoting in a circle, and Tulkhan caught sight of her on the balcony. She raised her arm above her head in salute and he returned the salute, standing in the stirrups.

Imoshen’s heart swelled in her chest. She loved him but he would never believe it. Lowering her arm, her hand settled over her belly.

He brought his closed fist to his chest over his heart, then he flung his hand open toward her.

Her skin grew warm with the significance of his gesture. How could he love her, knowing her as he did, knowing how truly Other she was? Tears blurred her vision and she lifted her hand to cover her racing heart. Tulkhan had grown as dear to her as the very breath she took.

The men began a Ghebite chant.

Tulkhan wheeled his horse and rode through the ranks, leading the army through the city’s streets to the fortified bridge.

‘A
NY WORD,
M
ERKAH
?’ Imoshen asked, as she had every day for almost thirty days.

The maid looked up from her handiwork. She knew her mistress well enough now not to bother standing and making a formal obeisance every time Imoshen approached. ‘No, T’Imoshen.’

‘Very well. I will be in the library.’ Imoshen handed Merkah her riding cloak. She had just returned from overseeing the progress of the T’Diemn’s eastern defences.

As she walked down the gallery long slanting arrows of afternoon light filled the broad hall, making the woodwork glow. The sight should have cheered her, but she felt distant and cold. There had been no word from Tulkhan since he sent her a short communication soon after he left. Surely she would have sensed it if he had been killed?

He was due to return for the summer’s cusp festival and stay on, because the baby could come any time after that.

What if the baby did not come? What if her son was more T’En than True-man and she continued heavily pregnant until the cusp of autumn? The child had to have a little of the General in him, but she had no way of knowing how much. She had only the official records to go by, and because of the vow of chastity no other pure T’En woman had given birth in six hundred years.

By the time she reached the library she was panting with exertion, for the baby lay like a great summer fruit nestled in her body. The Keeper of Knowledge did not greet her as she entered. She suspected the old man was in the kitchen courtyard, arguing with the cook and drinking apple cider. Not that she could blame him, the weather was too perfect to stay indoors.

Imoshen went to her favourite spot on the broad day bed. Spread on the low table before her were her inks and papers. She was making a list of works that were referred to in the library but were no longer available. It was the key to a mystery which had gradually presented itself to her. Poems and treatises on the T’En gifts which everyone took for granted in the old texts no longer existed. Why?

Imoshen immersed herself in her reading, cross-referencing the quotes and their sources. The movement of the fingers of light from the library windows marked the passing of time.

After a while she let the scroll fall, arched her back and closed her eyes. She was weary. Only so much of this could stem her anxiety, and then it returned. Where was the General?

Without warning, a hand clamped over her mouth. Terror froze her limbs as a cold blade stroked her neck. Assassins? Her attacker increased the pressure, forcing her into the cushions.

‘Quiet, Imoshen. It’s only me.’

Reothe’s familiar voice did not comfort her. When she nodded her understanding he let her go. Disbelief flooded her as she propped herself up. Reothe pushed the papers aside and perched on the low table.

‘Only you? Is that meant to reassure me?’ It pleased Imoshen to detect no tremor in her voice. She was rewarded with a genuine smile from Reothe. Then she cursed herself for caring.

As she slid her hand casually across her body Reothe closed his fingers over the hilt of the knife she now wore sheathed between her breasts for quick access.

Slowly and deliberately, he withdrew the blade. ‘Dainty, but deadly in the right hands.’ He did not return the weapon.

‘I have to know...’ She played for time, trying to guess what he wanted. His fine silver hair was halfway down his back now and he wore clean but ancient peasant garments. He smelled of fresh herbs and dust. Dust? She must not let anything distract her. ‘How did you get in here?’

He laughed softly. ‘You forget I grew up roaming the palace. I doubt there is a secret passage I don’t know. Our ancestors were great ones for intrigue. Anything built before the Age of Discernment is riddled with secret passages.’

He looked thinner. His narrow features, so like her own, were more defined, as though he had been living on the edge both mentally and physically. She felt an odd sense of recognition and an unwelcome anticipation warm her body.

Reothe had saved her life. He knew so much more about his T’En gifts than she. His knowledge both awed her and frightened her. Without warning she felt her T’En senses flex. A strong sense of Reothe enveloped her. He was a drawn bow string, all coiled power. Her heart rate increased in response.

‘Why are you here, Reothe?’

A gasp of pleasure escaped him. ‘Don’t stop.’

‘Stop what?’

His sharp eyes met hers. ‘Your touch is exquisite.’

‘I didn’t touch...’ The words died on her lips. ‘I didn’t mean to –’