Dark Dreams

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Light appeared at the end of a long corridor. The single candle’s flame illuminated only the figure’s face so that it appeared a disembodied T’En wraith was gliding towards them.

  ‘Imoshen?’ Tulkhan called uncertainly. She looked up. For a fleeting instant he read terror in her features.

  Then she smiled and raised her voice. ‘I did not expect all of you to come looking for me.’

  ‘I was showing Lord Fairban and his daughters the restoration,’ Tulkhan explained, holding Imoshen’s eyes for a moment longer than was necessary. The candle flame trembled and he took the holder from her. The metal was so cold it burned his skin. Something had terrified Imoshen. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Yes, where have we come out?’ Cariah asked.

  ‘Only a long passage and old storerooms. Nothing more exciting than rat holes, I’m afraid.’ Imoshen shrugged. She plucked the unlit candles from the holder and lit them, handing them out. ‘Take these. We don’t want to break our necks going up the stairs.’

  ‘Yes, but what about exploring?’ Jacolm asked.

  ‘Nothing but rat holes and musty storerooms,’ Imoshen repeated.

  Tulkhan felt a thickness in his head.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Imoshen urged.

  A sense of urgency filled him. He wanted to get out of these confined passages.

  Muttering under their breath, the others turned and shuffled up the stairs, their candles casting myriad shadows on the walls. Imoshen was right behind Tulkhan as he stepped out of the secret stair into the portrait gallery once more.

  The master-builder greeted them.

  Imoshen turned to him. ‘You were right. Nothing of interest lies down there. Replace the panel and continue the restoration. It must be time for the evening meal.’

  Linking an arm with Cariah she began to stroll out of the gallery. The others followed her.

  The master-builder met Tulkhan’s eyes, his expression grim. Tulkhan handed the candle brace to him, then hurried after his men. Imoshen’s words carried to the General as he caught up. To his ear her tone was a trifle forced.

  ‘Lady Cariah, General Tulkhan has been appointed patron of the Halls of Learning and I am patron of the hospices, so we must visit them tomorrow. Will you be hostess in my place?’

  ‘I would be honoured.’

  Imoshen stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘Oh, I forgot. There is one more thing I must tell the builder. You go on ahead.’

  Tulkhan strode up the stairs with the others, ignoring their idle chatter. Something felt wrong. He paused on the landing. Wharrd met his eyes.

  Tulkhan shook his head. ‘Go on, I’ll catch up.’

  Careful to move quietly, he retraced his steps to the entrance of the portrait gallery, where he could observe Imoshen unseen. She stood halfway along the gallery in a pool of light, holding a candle high so the master-builder could position the new wainscoting. Tulkhan lifted his fingers to his mouth and blew on them. They still stung from the cold metal. Truly, Fair Isle was a place of mystery and Imoshen was the greatest mystery of all.

  ‘Make certain it is sealed. And tell your people there was nothing but old storerooms below,’ Imoshen ordered.

  The builder replaced the skirting board then left by the servants’ exit.

  Tulkhan waited in the shadows until Imoshen walked past him, her head down in thought.

  ‘Imo –’

  She spun, a knife appearing in her hand, her eyes glittering dangerously.

  Tulkhan lifted both hands in a no-threat gesture and she slowly dropped her guard.

  ‘What was down there?’ he asked, taking the candle.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Since when were you frightened of nothing?’

  A half smile lifted Imoshen’s lips. The candle flame reflected in her garnet eyes. The flickering point of light lured Tulkhan, urging him to forget everything.

  ‘Well?’ he prodded, refusing to be distracted.

  ‘Nothing,’ Imoshen whispered. As she returned the knife to its hiding place under her tabard he caught a glimpse of pale thigh above the knife’s sheath. ‘Nothing you want to know about.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

  She shook her head silently.

  ‘Imoshen?’

  ‘This is better left undisturbed. Trust me.’

  ‘How can I trust you when you hide things from me?’

  ‘In this you must trust me.’ She took his arm and he felt the insidious lure of her T’En gifts urging him to lose himself in her alien beauty, to trust, to devote himself to her.

  He flicked free of her touch. ‘Don’t play your T’En riddles on me!’

  ‘I did not mean to.’ Her lids flickered down hiding her eyes. ‘I only –’

  ‘You seek to hide something. I will have it from you or I will tear the wainscoting off and go down there myself!’

  ‘Fool! Nothing could induce me to go down to the catacombs again. If I can’t face them, how can you?’

  ‘Face who?’

  She laughed bitterly. ‘I see you will not let it rest. Very well, General. Far below us lie the catacombs of the original palace, built six hundred years ago. There the bodies of the pure T’En were laid to rest to protect them from grave robbers. You would be surprised how much gold the sixth finger of a pure T’En would bring on the mainland. But I digress.

  ‘Among them lie the legendary Paragian Guard, who after death became the Parakletos.’ Her voice dropped on that word, growing breathy and urgent. ‘I used to think them nothing but legend, stories peddled by the church to keep the farmer folk in need of their services, but you were there in the cooper’s house when they came at my call. And tonight... tonight I barely escaped them. They sought me, hungry for –’

  ‘I don’t want to hear.’

  She stepped away, giving him an ironic obeisance. ‘I will see you at dinner, General.’

  Imoshen disappeared up the stairs, leaving Tulkhan alone in the dark with a single candle and his doubts.

  Chapter Five

  IMOSHEN WINCED AS Kalleen brushed her hair. Apart from the one day they had spent together touring the Halls of Learning and the hospices, the General had avoided her, occupying himself with riding the outlying reaches of T’Diemn with his engineers.

  ‘...and who’s to say what those Ghebite commanders will do once they get their hands on their new estates?’ Kalleen asked, pulling vigorously on Imoshen’s hair. ‘Only yesterday, when I was in the market, I overheard an old farming couple. Talk about moan! You’d think they faced the loss of their livelihood and their rights when the new Ghebite lord takes over the estate where they live. I told them it is a noble’s obligation to protect their people. At least, a noble should take care of them.’ Kalleen frowned. ‘Who knows what these newly ennobled Ghebite lordlings will do?’

  Imoshen twisted from the waist to face Kalleen. Naturally the country folk would fear their new overlords.

  Kalleen was experimenting with an ornate Old-Empire hairstyle. She gave a sharp tug. ‘Hold still. I can’t get your plaits straight.’

  ‘I’d be just as happy with a simple twin-plait.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t. You should hear them in the servants’ wing, talking about how I turn you out.’

  ‘What do you care? Tomorrow you’ll be Lady Kalleen of Windhaven with a maid of your own.’ Imoshen grinned. Kalleen was still acting as her maid because she had refused to relinquish the position. ‘I hope she snaps at you and pulls your hair –’

  ‘I never...’ Kalleen looked horrified, then contrite.

  Imoshen smiled, holding her gaze in the mirror. ‘Only a little. But you’ve given me an idea. I must go to the library to see what I can find on early T’En investitures of nobility.’

  GENERAL TULKHAN CAME to his feet at last. The interminable monologue that passed as a performance in Fair Isle had been obscure at best.

  Imoshen appeared at his elbow. ‘General? Walk with me?’ Sliding her arm through his, she guided him towards the
windows overlooking the courtyard.

  Tulkhan frowned at the many small panes of glass. One good swing with an axe and the enemy would be into the vulnerable underbelly of the palace. It was typical of the T’En to build for effect, not defence. Still, it could be argued that if the enemy had made it as far as this private courtyard, the palace was already taken.

  Then he realised this was the courtyard where he had seen his half-brother’s men burning books, destroying everything that offended the Ghebite church’s dictates.

  ‘Was the performance so bad?’ Imoshen teased.

  Tulkhan schooled his features and tried for a light tone. ‘I’ve never heard such a long death-bed eulogy. I thought the poor fellow would never die.’

  ‘I’ll have you know that was one of the great tragic moments of T’En literature, portrayed by one of the greatest actors of the Thespers Guild.’

  But he could tell she sympathised with him. For a rare moment, they were alone, removed from the Keldon nobles and Ghebite commanders. He took her hands in his – pale flesh encased in scarred, coppery fingers. Her palms were soft, unlike his calloused skin. She had never done a day’s hard work in her life. She was representative of her people, of the Old Empire grown complacent. Contempt flashed through him, for he had walked the original fortified walls of old T’Diemn and seen where new buildings had weakened the walls’ defences. Too much peace and prosperity made a people weak.

  When Imoshen looked up, he could not fail to recognise the intelligence in her wine-dark eyes.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted.

  ‘Tomorrow you reward your faithful men with lands and titles.’

  ‘There’s no need for more delay. The nobles from the Keldon Highlands have arrived.’

  ‘There is some resentment –’

  He snorted. His men had been restrained in claiming their rights as the conquering army. He opened his mouth to say as much but Imoshen anticipated him. Or did she skim the surface of his thoughts? He could not tell.

  ‘True, to the victor go the spoils, but we are trying to smooth the transition, General.’ A rueful smile tugged at Imoshen’s mouth. ‘I have been researching T’En investiture. I think it would help reconcile the people if we were to use the old formalities.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he agreed swiftly, her talk of research reminding him of something. ‘I heard some tale of the river being diverted from its original bed, past the walls of old T’Diemn. Surely it is only a tale?’

  ‘Not at all. T’Diemn used to flood, so T’Imoshen the Third’s brother diverted the River Diemn to run on three sides of the walls of old T’Diemn. Scholars have pinpointed the day he became Emperor as the beginning of the Age of Consolidation. Much was achieved. They built the river locks, and the port facilities were improved by dredging.’ Imoshen’s bright eyes fixed on him. ‘But that’s enough of a history lesson. If I have your agreement I’ll organise the investiture and ensure the ribbons of office and deeds are ready.’

  ‘A T’En investiture rather than a Ghebite?’ Tulkhan muttered. ‘Very well. I would have the men swear on something other than my faithless half-brother’s kingship.’

  Imoshen’s fingers tightened on his arm. ‘Honour knows no nationality, General. Your men serve you because they respect you.’

  Her words warmed him. ‘You are right, a man’s honour knows no –’

  ‘You mistake me,’ Imoshen corrected swiftly. ‘The full quote translates as, Honour knows no nationality or gender.’

  Tulkhan frowned. ‘You never miss a chance to remind me that you are heir to so much T’En culture. Scholars who studied the Age of Consolidation? Diverting the River Diemn? What next, flying machines?’

  Imoshen’s eyes flashed as she opened her mouth to reply.

  ‘General Tulkhan?’ a voice interrupted. ‘Would you take a partner for a game of chance?’

  He wanted to ignore them and confront Imoshen, but he forced himself to turn.

  ‘Sahorrd,’ he greeted him. ‘What game?’

  The tall commander grinned. ‘Something T’En. Lady Cariah is organising the teams. Jacolm and I agreed to play as long as the loser does not have to compose a rhyming couplet!’

  Tulkhan had to smile. He remembered his own dismay when he had discovered the variety of forfeits T’En games entailed. To his Ghebite eyes the intricacies of T’En culture were often absurd.

  Imoshen slid her hand from Tulkhan’s and lowered her voice. ‘Join the game. I have much to do before the investiture. When I find the plans for old T’Diemn I will show you. River locks, dredging and more besides. Then mock the T’En if you can!’

  She gave him the formal bow of leave-taking and left.

  With her challenge still ringing in his ears, Tulkhan reflected that Imoshen was always careful to accord him the honour of his uncrowned position when others were there to observe, but she was quick enough to forget it when it suited her.

  TULKHAN WRIGGLED HIS toes in his new formal boots and grimaced – velvets and silks when he was just a simple soldier – but the people expected him to dress like a king for the investiture of his commanders. A small boy fidgeted as he waited at Tulkhan’s side with the first of the ribbons and deeds on a silver platter.

  Imoshen signalled for silence in the great hall. She was dressed in white samite, the heavy silk threaded with silver. A small skullcap of woven silver formed a net over her hair, ending in delicate chains tipped with rubies which caught the light as she turned her head. A single ruby hung in the middle of her forehead, echoing the colour of her eyes.

  As she lifted her arms the pale winter sun broke free from the clouds and a finger of multicoloured light pierced the nearest stained-glass windows, illuminating her. The air was heavy with expectancy. Anyone who could wrangle a place, from guildmaster to noble, soldier to entertainer and T’En church official, was present. A hush fell over the great hall.

  The small boy by Tulkhan’s side made a strangled sound in his throat, then sneezed loudly. An agonised blush flooded his smooth cheeks. As Tulkhan gave the boy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he met Imoshen’s smiling eyes.

  First to be ennobled and receive his estates was Wharrd. That Imoshen had given this honour to the veteran bone-setter pleased Tulkhan.

  Wharrd strode up the two steps onto the dais. Even on the same level he had to look up to Imoshen.

  Tulkhan waited ready to receive the oaths of service. There had been time for only a quick explanation of his part in the ceremony. Pomp and ceremony had always bored him, and his thoughts returned to the challenge of making T’Diemn impregnable, until Imoshen’s words pierced his abstraction.

  ‘You are being raised to this position so that you may serve the people of Fair Isle.’ Imoshen went on to list the requirements of Wharrd’s position. Tulkhan listened with growing surprise as his bone-setter promised to rebuild his estates’ hospices and schools where none would be turned away.

  Now he understood Imoshen’s manoeuvrings. Anger stirred in him. The last T’En Princess was trying to educate the barbarian conquerors in her ways.

  Wharrd signed his name to the land deed. Unlike many of Tulkhan’s men, the bone-setter could read and write. In the Ghebite army verbal oaths were sworn before witnesses, for few of his commanders could do more than make their mark. At this rate a farmer who worked a noble’s fields would have more education than his liege lord.

  Once the document was signed, Imoshen draped the first of three ribbons across Wharrd’s chest.

  ‘In accepting the ribbons of office you accept what they signify. White for purity of purpose, to serve selflessly.’ Her voice carried throughout the silent great hall as she draped the red across his chest. ‘Red to signify the blood you have shed and are willing to shed to protect your people and all the people of Fair Isle.’ When she took the third ribbon, a black one, Wharrd looked at Tulkhan questioningly. But the General had no answers.

  Imoshen continued inexorably. ‘Black to signify death which comes to us all, no matter h
ow high we are raised in this world.’

  Wharrd’s mouth opened in silent surprise. Ghebite ceremonies did not mingle a man’s inevitable death with his promotion. This was a strangely humbling ceremony.

  ‘Now give your oath to the General,’ Imoshen whispered to Wharrd, who was fingering the three ribbons.

  Recollecting himself, the veteran stepped sideways to drop to one knee before Tulkhan. He gave his oath of allegiance, then hesitated. On impulse Tulkhan drew his sword, folding both hands over the hilt.

  Wharrd touched the embossed seal-ring Tulkhan wore on his right hand. It carried his father’s symbol of a rearing stallion. There were only two such seal-rings in existence, and the other was on King Gharavan’s hand.

  Following Ghebite custom, Wharrd kissed the sword’s blade. When the man rose, Tulkhan could tell it had been the right gesture.

  Kalleen stepped forward as Wharrd retreated. It was clear to Tulkhan that Imoshen meant to reward Kalleen before his men. They would see it as a calculated insult. Tulkhan caught Imoshen’s eye, sending a silent warning. Two bright spots of colour blazed in her pale cheeks.

  ‘Step forward, Kalleen,’ Imoshen said. ‘Your personal bravery saved my life when King Gharavan would have had me executed. Before everyone here I acknowledge that debt and honour my obligation. If you or yours are ever in need I can be called upon.’

  Then to Tulkhan’s surprise Imoshen repeated exactly the same formalities with the farm girl who had once been her maid, making it clear that in the eyes of T’En church law and state, Kalleen was Wharrd’s equal.

  A finger of sunlight moved across the dais as the ceremony wore on. At last Tulkhan sheathed his sword and offered Imoshen his arm. She took it, casting him a swift glance to gauge his mood. He smiled grimly.

  She had orchestrated the contents of the oaths for her own purposes. Her people’s war swords may have been sheathed when she surrendered her stronghold to him, but the battle continued. Only now she fenced with protocol.