Broken Vows

by Cory Daniells

  Original T’En forms of entertainment would be staged as well as the more robust Ghebite entertainments provided by the army’s camp followers. Her aim was to blend the two cultures—a symbol, she hoped, for the blending of people.

  Shortly before midday she tracked General Tulkhan down and reported her plans to him for approval. He had to agree to disarming his men or the townsfolk’s gesture meant nothing.

  She watched the General anxiously as he gazed through the tall window of one of the palace’s entertainment rooms which faced onto a formal garden, lightly dusted with snow.

  “All weapons at the door?” he muttered, casting a swift glance to the men who had remained at the table when he left it.

  “To reassure the townsfolk,” Imoshen insisted.

  Tulkhan read the list. “Six jugglers, a set of balladeers, seventeen acrobats, two storytellers, and a pair of dueling poets?”

  She smiled at the tone of his voice. “A T’En custom. You’ll see. The entertainment is to give the formal ceremony a festive air, to make it less threatening.”

  He nodded, glanced back to the table where his commanders waited, then down at the list again. “This ceremony will take hours.”

  “Up to six hours, yes. It will be a great occasion.”

  “Pomp and ceremony,” he sighed. “Very well. I will put my work aside for the rest of the day.”

  Imoshen stiffened. It wasn’t as if she had been waited on hand and foot, her every wish catered to. She hadn’t eaten a scrap since dawn and her head spun with details. “Pomp and ceremony has its place, General!”

  He gave her a long-suffering look and she realized with a shock that he was teasing her. It was a new sensation, not unwelcome just . . . different.

  When the church bells of the great domed basilica across the square struck two, Imoshen was ready to play her part. She greeted each of the leaders of T’Diemn personally, before passing them along to servants who escorted them to their seats.

  The Church was represented by the Beatific, its temporal leader. She was a handsome woman in her early forties with eyes that saw too much. She made Imoshen feel gauche. Determined to be as regal as the Empress who had impressed her so deeply when she was sixteen, Imoshen greeted the large retinue of priests and priestesses in their formal finery. She made a point of leading them to their seats personally. Soon she would have to deal with this woman to negotiate the church’s approval of Tulkhan’s coronation and their bonding.

  Something told her it would not be easy. The Beatific was young to have risen to this post so she must be a skilled negotiator.

  Imoshen returned to her post and continued with the greetings. The townsfolk were all seated before any of the Ghebites appeared and then it was General Tulkhan himself, alone and unattended, who arrived first. He surprised her by entering from the square.

  Imoshen stepped back as she took in his appearance. He was dressed in full battle regalia, looking magnificent in his red, purple and black. She was startled by his choice of apparel since he had agreed they would not bring weapons.

  But understanding dawned on her when, after the formal greeting, he unclasped his weapons and handed them to her. Piece by piece, he discarded his battle regalia till he was dressed in nothing but his tight-fitting breeches, boots and a simple white undershirt.

  She had to admire his sense of timing. Divested of his cloak, breastplate and helmet, he stood before her simply a man, though no one could accuse Tulkhan of being a mere man. Even divested of all his finery he carried himself like the leader he was.

  He gave her a formal bow and whispered, “Satisfied?”

  Imoshen had to smile.

  “Very effective,” she replied as she returned his formal bow of greeting. “But won’t you be cold?”

  “I can live with it and so can my men.”

  As he straightened, she saw his loyal commanders all waiting to greet her as their leader had done. She went forward to greet them.

  While she did, she was aware of the General making his way slowly toward the rear of the public hall. As he did, he paused to speak to certain people. They appeared to know him and look on him favorably. Imoshen deduced they were the Guildmasters he had dealt with when King Gharavan had been in charge of the city and he had to repair the damage his half-brother had done.

  Imoshen greeted each of General Tulkhan’s commanders and their trusted men. They handed her their weapons and were escorted to their seats. So far it had gone well. Her mind ran through the plans for the next step.

  When everyone was present Imoshen turned and saw that Tulkhan had not taken his seat on the dais before the High Table. He was waiting for her. Instinctively she understood—he wanted to consolidate his position with the people by having her at his side when he took his seat.

  A now familiar stab of sadness pierced her. Once again she was reminded of Reothe. Both he and General Tulkhan wanted her for what she represented. Still, she had her part to play and she would not falter!

  Imoshen moved lightly down the length of the hall, lifting her hand to meet Tulkhan’s as he waited.

  A rueful smile lurked in his eyes and she felt an answering smile on her lips despite her somber mood.

  He kissed her fingers. It was unexpected. She felt his warm breath dust her skin and a stab of desire surged deep within her.

  “I thought you had a soldier’s hatred of pomp and ceremony?” she whispered.

  “I do, but someone once told me, there is a time and place for it.” His words were meant only for her. They charmed her, as they were meant to. She ground her teeth, telling herself she had to steel herself against him.

  Imoshen placed her hand along his raised arm, recalling that this was how he had led her from the great hall of the Stronghold the night of the Harvest Feast. That reminded her of their joining and her cheeks grew hot. She silently cursed her betraying fair skin.

  Together they mounted the two steps onto the dais. As she looked out at the sea of faces below Imoshen reflected that at least she had no painful memories of the great public hall. The Midsummer Festival’s formal ceremonies had been held outside in the square and in the gardens of the palace grounds. But these town dignitaries would have memories. Were they comparing the Emperor and Empress with the Ghebite General?

  Imoshen listened to Tulkhan give his speech of welcome but her concentration was focused on the inhabitants of the hall. She was trying to weigh the reaction of the town’s leaders and of his own men.

  The townsfolk had already met General Tulkhan when he repaired the damage his half-brother’s cruelty had caused. She could tell they were relieved with the General’s reasonable tone. His own men must have been privy to the contents of his speech because they were not surprised by any of the concessions the General was making. It was for the best. T’Diemn was an orderly, prosperous town and it would remain so if the town’s leaders were allowed to go about their business without interference.

  Then Tulkhan called for the leader of each guild to step forward and swear loyalty to his rule. Imoshen did not doubt that they would. They were a practical people, intent on trade and wealth. There was a murmuring and shuffling as chairs were pushed back and people rose, moving forward to congregate before the dais. They were men and women of age and distinction, leaders in their own fields.

  A finger of pure winter light found its way through the clouds. Its silver rays plunged through the high, ornate stained-glass windows so that the area surrounding the dais was bathed in multicolored patches of light.

  The town’s leaders congregated and after whispered consultation the first couple stepped forward to kneel and swear fealty. Imoshen knew they would be the representatives of the largest of the greater guilds. She smiled. Even within the guild system there was a pecking order.

  The man was ancient. To Imoshen’s healer-trained eyes, he looked as if he normally walked with the aid of a cane, but had done away with it out of pride. The woman was a stout matron with intelligent eyes. Imoshen deduce
d she must be in training to take his place as Guildmaster. She suspected the old man had been called out of retirement to groom her after the previous Guildmaster had been murdered by King Gharavan.

  As the old man stepped from the dimness into the multicolored light he faltered. The woman, possibly blinded by the transition into the light, did not notice. Imoshen saw the old man lift his hand, feeling for the woman’s shoulder, and miss.

  Her healer’s instincts took over. If he fell on the hard tiles he could break a brittle bone. Before he could miss his footing, she ran down the two steps and caught his outstretched hand.

  He seemed startled to find her there supporting him and instinctively moved to pull away.

  “Let me be your cane, grandfather,” she whispered.

  “T’En?” He stared, bemused.

  She smiled and placed his hand on her shoulder. When he knelt, she knelt with him. There was a hushed, collective sigh from the crowded tables.

  She saw that the General had come to his feet and started down the first step. Now he stood above them. She found his expression unreadable. Would he think she was currying favor with the townsfolk? Anger flickered through her. Would he rather she let the old man fall?

  It did not matter what she did, he could interpret her actions negatively if that was what he chose to do.

  The old man and his assistant gave the oath of fealty and General Tulkhan formally accepted it, giving in return an oath which bound him to fair treatment of all their guilds and their members.

  The oaths finished, Imoshen rose to her feet with her hand cupped under the old man’s elbow so that her assistance appeared minimal, but she was there ready to offer him help if he faltered.

  He lifted his eyes to hers. His bald pate came only to midchest on her. He raised her hand to his withered cheek and as they stepped apart he kissed her sixth finger for luck. The woman thanked her softly, taking her hand to stroke her finger.

  As the next couple moved forward, Imoshen sensed movement behind her and found General Tulkhan had descended from the dais. He joined her.

  Why? Was he annoyed with her?

  She had not felt comfortable seated up there while her people bowed and swore their oaths.

  Standing before the dais, the General linked his arm with hers. She liked the feel of his strong body next to hers, but she told herself he was only aligning himself with her to bolster his position with the townsfolk. It was a political move.

  Imoshen knew she could not let down her guard, there was so much to bear in mind. As yet, she had not approached the church representatives to ask for their oath of fealty. That would require delicate negotiation.

  It was a long process. Each of the greater guilds and then the lesser guilds swore their oaths. The last to make his oath was the elected administrator of the city and his cabinet of six people.

  The mayor rose from swearing fealty and took Imoshen’s hand. “Welcome T’En. The city has been too long without an Aayel.”

  Imoshen was so surprised she was speechless. Did he think to flatter her? The title Aayel was not something given lightly. He moved off before she could speak.

  The formalities over, the food was served and the entertainment begun. Much later as the guests broke into patterns for the dances Imoshen found a gray-haired woman waiting at her elbow, obviously anxious to speak with her.

  Imoshen’s whole evening had been a series of intense conversations as people sought reassurance. She turned, ready once again to shore up the General’s position.

  But when the woman caught Imoshen’s hand her face was tight with tension, her wine-dark eyes glistening. With a jolt Imoshen recognized the T’En trait, though the woman bore none of the other signs.

  “My son? Do you know what became of him?” she whispered.

  Imoshen searched her mind for the identity of this woman. She was Guildmaster of the silversmiths.

  “You must be—?”

  “Drakin’s mother.” The woman nodded.

  Imoshen felt her mouth go dry. She did not want to be the deliverer of bad news. “You should be proud of your son. He came to the Stronghold. His word convinced General Tulkhan to ride to T’Diemn. It was Drake’s intervention which brought aid to the city ...”

  “But what of my lad?” the woman asked.

  Imoshen’s fingers closed over the woman’s. She gripped her hand. Slipping away through the clusters of guests, she lowered her voice.

  “Drake left my Stronghold to join the rebels.”

  The woman groaned. “Then his life is forfeit!”

  “No. I have told no one. He could yet return and if he does I will never tell.”

  “Tell what?” General Tulkhan asked.

  Imoshen felt the woman flinch. She slid her arm around the Guildmaster’s shoulders. “Tell how relieved I am it is you who have claimed Fair Isle and not your half-brother.”

  Tulkhan met her eyes and she realized he knew she was prevaricating.

  “General,” she said quickly. “Let me introduce the Guildmaster of the silversmiths.”

  The woman’s gaze flew from Imoshen to the General and back. If General Tulkhan had been a man like his half-brother one word from Imoshen could see the Guildmaster’s position lost, her property confiscated and her family imprisoned or executed.

  Gharavan would not have hesitated to use Drake’s family as hostages to prize Reothe’s whereabouts from them. Would the General stoop to the same tricks?

  Imoshen did not believe it, but she had no intention of testing him.

  With a start, she realized she did not want Tulkhan to fail her.

  Chapter Ten

  “There they go again!” Kalleen exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “I’ve never met a town so keen to listen to bells!”

  Imoshen looked up from her papers. Was Kalleen jesting? No, being a farm girl she had marked the passage of her day by the rising and setting of the sun. “Those are the bells of the basilica. They ring the hour and the half hour for the convenience of the townsfolk.”

  Kalleen laughed. “No wonder the townspeople of T’Diemn rush about with such worried faces. Life’s too short to mark each half of the hour as it slips away!”

  Imoshen felt a smile tug at her lips. Kalleen was good for her.

  With an impudent grin, the girl darted out of the room, intent on some mission of her own. For a lady’s maid she spent precious little time in Imoshen’s room and was very quick to give her opinion on any and every subject, but Imoshen would not have it any other way. Things were said in Kalleen’s hearing which would not have been said in hers. The girl was a font of information, not all of it welcome.

  Sighing, Imoshen went back to reading. Her morning had been devoted to studying the documents from the palace library, searching for a clue as to the extent of the church’s autonomy. She suspected that the Beatific was frying to assume more power than the church previously had claim to. It was what she would have done in the same position. As yet Imoshen did not have the woman’s “key” and it frustrated her.

  She read until the convoluted grammar of the High T’En tongue turned her thoughts to nonsense.

  Arching her back, Imoshen stretched and wandered to the window. Looking out over the spires and towers of T’Diemn to the blue-white hills which ringed the capital, she tried to clear her head. Only a few weeks had elapsed since they had arrived in the capital but already she felt hemmed in. If she felt trapped how did the General feel?

  He spent much time in the town itself inspecting its fortifications and seeing to his men. Although she had vowed to keep him at a distance, when he made no effort to be with her and seemed to prefer the company of his men, Imoshen found she was perversely irritated.

  She told herself it was better this way. Her negotiations with the head of the T’En Church required a clear mind and just being in the same room as the General distracted her. Somehow his voice rang clear above every other man’s. When he laughed something deep within her stirred with unspoken longing—not that s
he would ever reveal this to Tulkhan.

  Kalleen’s spirits had improved markedly with the return of Wharrd and his small band of Elite Guards who reported that Gharavan had sailed eight days previously without trouble.

  Meetings with the T’En Church did not go so smoothly. Not that voices were ever raised. The Beatific was all smiles and polite interest, but her position was solid. She knew General Tulkhan wanted the church’s approval.

  Of course, the General could raze the T’En basilica and confiscate the wealth gathered over six hundred years of devotion but that would destroy the people. He had to win the populace over to hold the island.

  Imoshen and the Beatific knew he would not use force. Unfortunately Tulkhan’s religious advisor was a relatively young man whose zealous devotion to his own faith made him intolerant of the T’En religion. Cadre Castenatus had the arrogance of youth armored with pious righteousness.

  Imoshen wished he was a battle-hardened realist like Wharrd or Commander Peirs, who had offered the General his allegiance so willingly when they entered T’Diemn. It was not going to be easy to find common ground.

  The basilica bells pealed again. Imoshen cursed. Despite the reminder of the bells, she was running late for yet another meeting with the Head of the Church. Luckily she was already dressed for the formal meeting. Head down, she slipped out of her chamber and ran lightly along the long corridor, grateful there were no servants to report her behavior. Her poor mother would not have approved of her running down the halls of the Emperor’s palace even if she was late for a meeting with the Beatific.

  She was almost at the formal wing when she remembered she’d meant to bring a critical document with her. If she could cite decrees by her forebear and provide written evidence of the extent of the church’s power the Beatific’s advisors would have to retract their stipulations.

  It paid to have a working knowledge of the language of law and Imoshen was glad she had kept up her study of High T’En. With a muttered imprecation she spun on her heel and this time ran in earnest.