Reothe chuckled. “Imoshen believes in speaking plainly.”
“Imoshen can speak for herself,” she snapped.
Lord Athlyng smiled as he came to his feet, an old man grown whip-thin with age. “I will return to the highlands this very day. All along I have argued for temperance.” He gave Reothe a hard look. “My greatest ambition is to die of old age in my bed, surrounded by my family. How many of us have died in our sleep in six hundred years, Reothe?”
“Not enough, Grandfather.” Reothe embraced him.
When Athlyng gave Imoshen the obeisance for the Empress and departed, she realized with a start that she was T’Imoshen the Empress to almost everyone. She was not yet nineteen, but few people saw past the power to the girl-woman who had risen to meet the challenge of her position.
Impatience seized Tulkhan as he shaded his eyes against the midday sun, watching his ships on the brilliant sea. If only he had the siege machines. It was a litany that never ceased. He could not attack by land without the machines, and the ships alone were not strong enough to break the siege.
Suddenly he swore softly under his breath, for he had been thinking like a landsman. He could erect the siege machines on the ship’s decks. The more pressure he placed on the people of Port Sumair, the more likely they were to turn on Gharavan.
Skidding down the landward side of the Sea-wall, he caught his mount’s reins, already planning his message to Imoshen. Unfortunately, Rawset was in T’Diemn. How could the General convince Imoshen his message was genuine?
“The Elite Guard are waiting in the sword-practice courtyard, along with your Stronghold Guard,” Wharrd reported.
“Thank you.” When Imoshen had first told him her intention to unite the two guards, Wharrd had advised against it. He had talked of the Gheeakhan code of honor, and of a Ghebite soldier’s military ambition. This had given Imoshen the insight she needed to devise a strategy to win the Ghebites over.
Followed by two servants who carried a hastily painted banner, Imoshen approached the courtyard with some trepidation. Stepping into the sunshine, she sensed the Elite Guards’ resentment. Her own Stronghold Guard—what remained of the twenty men and women who had accompanied her to T’Diemn—waited uneasily.
“Crawen and Jarholfe.” Imoshen acknowledged the guard leaders. “I have called your people here today because Fair Isle faces her hour of greatest need. King Gharavan threatens a spring invasion—”
“General Tulkhan will trim his wick!” a Ghebite called. Someone added a ribald comment, and the men laughed too loudly.
Imoshen let the laughter die down. “But Fair Isle faces internal threats. In the southern highlands there are stiff-necked Keld who whisper treason, and bands of leaderless rebels wander the countryside terrorizing decent folk, while in the palace of T’Diemn the people who should be protecting the royal family are watching each other, ready to take insult at the slightest provocation. I speak of my Stronghold Guard and the Elite Guard.”
Jarholfe muttered under his breath. Imoshen signaled Wharrd, who stepped forward. Without his support she could not have hoped to carry this off. He outranked Jarholfe in seniority.
“As you know, the General gave me the protection of T’Diemn,” Wharrd said. “But I find myself under a Ghiad to T’Imoshen and unable to fulfill this role. Jarholfe, I call on you to take over the role entrusted to me by General Tulkhan. I name you leader of T’Diemn’s garrison.”
No ambitious career soldier could resist this promotion, and Jarholfe was quick to give the Ghebite salute, arm across his chest, fist clenched. “I am honored. By the great Akha Khan I will not fail this charge.”
The Elite Guard were now leaderless. Wharrd stepped back and caught Imoshen’s eye. She raised her voice. “My faithful Stronghold Guard, you left your homes and families at an hour’s notice and have not returned for over a year. I release you from your oath. You are free to return home. As for the Elite Guard, they are free to return to the regular army or follow Jarholfe into T’Diemn’s garrison.”
This was greeted with uneasy muttering.
Imoshen signaled for silence. “General Tulkhan has claimed the dawn sun as his house symbol. Behold the symbol of the new palace guard.” Imoshen undid the banner’s ribbons so that it unfurled to reveal the white horse, half-man-half-beast, wings outstretched as he leapt over the dawn sun. Her own people would understand the reference to Imoshen the First’s Paragian Guard. The Ghebites would believe she honored Tulkhan and the Akha Khan.
“Anyone who can meet the high standard of the Parakhan Guard is free to join.” She caught Crawen’s eye and smiled. “They will be trained in unarmed combat under Crawen, and in the use of the Ghebite sword by Edovan.”
Imoshen beckoned him. Traveling with Jarholfe’s men had given her a chance to study them, and she believed Edovan, though he appeared startled now, would adapt quickly. “Jarholfe has recommended your skill with the sword, Edovan. Will you accept this honor and become Sword-master of the Parakhan Guard?”
To refuse would be disloyal to Jarholfe. He gave the Ghebite salute. “I would be honored to serve General Tulkhan as Swordmaster of the Parakhan Guard.”
Imoshen indicated that Crawen and Edovan were to turn and face their fellows. “We of Fair Isle believe that, like the small and large moon, men and women are different. Each has their strengths and weaknesses, but like the moons they shine strongest when they shine together.” She wanted to say more but held her tongue. This was one small step toward her ultimate goal of uniting Fair Isle.
Imoshen’s heart leapt in anticipation of the unveiling of Tulkhan’s new royal standard. She signaled the servants to release the ties, and the heavy material unrolled, revealing its rich blue and gold, brilliant even in the dull light of the autumn day. The huge banner hung across the rear wall of the palace’s great public hall. She had to step back to take in its magnificence.
The seamsters used finely spun gold thread to highlight the rising sun and its shafts of light. The sea was a deep, royal blue, the sky an intense azure, and in the top left-hand corner she had instructed the embroiderers to illuminate the twin moons of the T’En in silver thread. All about her the seamsters and guild-masters congratulated each other.
The house of Tulkhan rose with the dawn, watched over by the T’En. The people of Fair Isle would understand the significance.
A familiar voice made Imoshen turn. “Wharrd?” She gestured to the banner. “What do you think? We will have new flags on all the towers of T’Diemn. Tulkhan’s cloaks and the battlefield banners are loading even as we speak. And, by the by, the Parakhan Guard are looking fine in their new uniforms.”
“Fine fittings do not make a lame horse whole.”
She lowered her voice. “You think the Parakhan Guard a lame horse, Wharrd?”
“No.” He grimaced. “Merely unused to the bridle.”
“That can be remedied. In time we—”
“Time is what we don’t have. Can we speak?”
Imoshen’s stomach clenched. “A moment.” Raising her voice, she thanked everyone, but even as they beamed at her she was trying to anticipate Wharrd’s bad news.
When they returned to her private chambers, she turned to him. “Speak.”
“We’ve had a reply from the Amirate.” He handed her a message scroll.
Imoshen frowned, reading quickly. “They regret they cannot honor alliances drawn up with the old empire... General Tulkhan, bastard son of the Ghebite invaders, has no authority.. .”Imoshen lifted her head. “They are refusing to give us port access. But it is only one kingdom of the triad. One of the other kingdoms may yet agree. They constantly vie for an advantage—”
“Keep reading.”
Imoshen returned her attention to the message. “Treason? Our ambassadors are imprisoned, accused of treason against the Amir himself?”
Wharrd nodded. “It gets worse. They expect us to pay an enormous sum in compensation before they will consider releasing our people.”
> “What happened?” Imoshen sat down heavily.
“Our ambassadors arrived in the middle of a feud between the maternal and paternal relatives of the infant Amir. By Amirate law the boy cannot be crowned until he reaches sixteen, so the paternal grandfather was declared Amiregent. The maternal uncle arranged for the old man’s assassination and seized the chance to lay the blame on our people.”
Imoshen cursed softly.
“If we don’t reply, it will be seen as an admission of guilt and our people will be executed. If we don’t pay the compensation, it will be seen as an admission of guilt and our ambassadors will be executed. We have until Large New Moon to deliver the compensation.”
“Ten days,” Imoshen whispered. She had not expected such treachery.
“Can we find the gold?” Wharrd asked.
“We won’t pay.”
The veteran opened his mouth to speak, then stopped.
“What haven’t you told me?” Imoshen prompted.
“The ambassadors are Lord Commander Shacolm and Lady Miryma, Lord Fairban’s youngest daughter.”
Imoshen fought a wave of nausea. Already that family had paid for her misjudgment with Cariah’s death. Now this....
Wharrd cleared his throat. “I thought sending bond-partners would—”
“It was what I recommended,” Imoshen agreed. “We could not know the political situation was so volatile. We... I have been concentrating on Fair Isle, without giving thought to the intrigues on the mainland.” She frowned. “The new Amiregent and his confederates probably hope King Gharavan and Tulkhan will worry over Fair Isle like two dogs over a bone and forget their miserable kingdoms. While the Ghebite army expends itself on internal warfare, the triad is safe from expansion. It appears Fair Isle will not get help from the mainland unless we prove we are stronger than Gharavan with all of Gheeaba behind him.” She could feel a tension headache building. “What will I tell Tulkhan?”
“The truth. The ambassadors’ servant is waiting, if you want to speak with him.”
Imoshen nodded. “In time. You may go.”
As Wharrd left, she realized she could expect a visit from Lord Fairban. For a moment she wondered why Miryma had accepted a Ghebite for her bond-partner.
After Cariah was murdered, both of her sisters had broken off all involvement with their Ghebite admirers.
Imoshen dipped her scriber into the ink, then hesitated. Not wanting to reveal her failure, she told the General only that negotiations with the Amirate were continuing. Then she wrote of the new Parakhan Guard and enclosed their banner, closing with the news that his army’s new cloaks and standards were on their way.
She sent for Rawset and was ready when he arrived just at dusk, dressed for sailing.
“For the General’s own hands.” She gave Rawset the message. “And this is to be placed around Tulkhan’s neck.” She held up a thin chain. The large brass seal swung heavily. “It is the General’s new seal.”
She dropped it over Rawset’s head and tucked it inside his shirt. Her hand rested for a moment over his heart, which she could feel thudding under her palm. “This must not fall into enemy hands. If your ship is lost, throw the seal overboard.”
“I understand. What’s this?” He pointed to a large traveling satchel.
“The General’s own clothes, standard, and a banner. Be sure to take this to him along with my message.”
“What will you do about the ambassadors?”
Imoshen groaned. “Does all of T’Diemn know?”
“I heard it from my ship’s captain.”
“Very well.” Imoshen sat down to tell Tulkhan that she would deal with the Amiregent. As she waited for the ink to dry she asked, “And what does T’Diemn think of this?”
“They are outraged. They want you to save our people but they don’t think you should pay the gold. What will you do?”
Imoshen sealed the message. She did not know how she was going to save Miryma, but she owed Cariah this. “You can tell General Tulkhan that I will not let our people down.”
Chapter Eleven
When a servant announced the General’s emissary, Imoshen frowned, for Rawset had set sail only the evening before. Her frown deepened when the mercenary leader entered.
“Lightfoot,” she greeted him, wondering if he had proven as untrustworthy as his former leader. “When did you become the General’s emissary?”
He reached under his cloak to unbuckle the sword he wore. “The General said I was to show you this weapon.”
“I know it.” Imoshen formally accepted the massive sword, palms up, head bowed. This sword had belonged to Tulkhan’s grandfather, Seerkhan, who united the Ghebite tribes. The General’s father had honored him with the weapon. It was thought to be imbued with the character of the men who wielded it.
The day before their bonding, Tulkhan had drawn this sword to reveal how her breath made the metal’s snakeskin pattern dance up the blade. Then he had spilled a little of his blood, explaining that Akha Khan demanded a tribute every time the sword was drawn. Imoshen treasured the memory of that shared moment.
She wrapped her hands around the hilt. It was a hand-and-a-half grip for a giant of a man. Even so, Gharavan could have found a similar sword and trusted she would not recognize the difference. Ignoring Tulkhan’s edict not to use her gifts, she opened her T’En senses to the weapon.
Many life forces had been dissipated by this blade, but she ignored the pain and quested for the identity of the person who had held this weapon before Lightfoot. A sense of Tulkhan enveloped her. It was as unmistakable as it was intimate, and she missed him fiercely.
Turning away from Lightfoot, she pressed the hilt to her lips. Imoshen returned the sword with the formal salute the T’En reserved for weapons of great antiquity. “You speak truly.”
Lightfoot gave her Tulkhan’s message. The General’s plans for ships armed with siege-breaking weapons sounded good. “Tell Tulkhan I will speak with the engineers.”
But when Lightfoot departed, Imoshen went straight to Reothe in the library. “Those siege machines—” she began, then stopped as the absurdity of asking advice from Tulkhan’s sworn enemy struck her. But they shared a common enemy in Gharavan, and Reothe was Fair Isle’s greatest sea captain.
“What about the siege machines?”
“Could they be mounted on ships?”
“The giant scaffolds with their protective shields could be mounted. Planks could be thrown across from the top of the scaffolds to the port’s wall. But the whole thing is academic. Such heavy machines would make the ship unseaworthy.”
“What if the machines were assembled while lying off the port and taken apart when the ship was at sea?”
“That’s a possibility....” He frowned. “Why do you ask?”
Imoshen hesitated.
Reothe’s eyes widened. “The General learns quickly. Send him his siege machines, but hold some in reserve. He still needs to build up his land forces.” He frowned. “If you send Tulkhan the means to take Port Sumair, what becomes of Fair Isle’s people held hostage in the Amirate?”
“What can I do?” Imoshen leaned on the table. Old maps of the city were held in place by statuettes made for this purpose. Everything of the old empire was designed for beauty, even these paperweights. The one before her portrayed a couple locked in an amorous embrace of exquisite sensuality. She picked it up, admiring the lines, then put it aside. Distress made her abrupt. “I cannot let Cariah’s sister die!”
“You cannot pay the compensation.”
“No.” Imoshen paced. “I need to break the siege of Port Sumair. The longer it goes on, the weaker it makes Fair Isle appear. The Amirate will side with the winner. We must crush Gharavan.”
“We must free our people. If the pretty princelings of the mainland believe they can flout the old alliances with impunity, they will soon be vying to divide our island between them.”
“Exactly! But how can I save them?”
“I kn
ow how hard it is to negotiate from a position without power,” he said.
But Imoshen would not be diverted. “The Amiregent sees only the fate of the regency. Who knows if the infant Amir will live to be crowned?” She paused. This could be her son’s fate. If she were killed and the General fell in battle, both Tulkhan’s loyal commanders and the Keldon nobles would try to seize Fair Isle in Ashmyr’s name.
“What will you do?” Reothe asked.
“Send Tulkhan his siege machines for now.”
Tulkhan entered his shelter to find that Lightfoot and Rawset had returned. The mercenary presented him with Seerkhan’s sword, saying, “I think she used some Dhamfeer trick to be sure I was not lying. T’Imoshen said she would speak with the engineers.”
As Tulkhan strapped the weapon around his hips, his hand caressed the hilt, but he could draw no sense of Imoshen from the gleaming surface.
Rawset placed two bundles on the table. “I left more food and men with Kornel at the marsh river mouth yesterday evening.”
“What news?” Tulkhan asked.
He dug into his jerkin to pull out three messages, then felt around his neck to remove the seal. Tulkhan accepted the chain, catching the seal to hold it to the light. It was his new standard repeated in miniature. He smiled. Little escaped Imoshen.
Dismissing them, he lit the candles, sure that the small, hasty-looking message from Imoshen was something private. But as he read the note he cursed. The Amiregent’s insult called for immediate action. Digesting the bad news, Tulkhan slowly broke the seal of the larger letter. This was all good news about the delivery of his standards, banners, flags, and cloaks. Imoshen wrote in glowing terms of the Parakhan Guard, bidding him to view their banner.
When Tulkhan unrolled the banner he had to admire Imoshen’s daring. She had adapted the symbol of the great Akha Khan himself, combining it with figures he recognized from palace paintings. Yet he had to admit the image made his heart race with reluctant recognition.
DESPERATE ALLIANCES Page 17