“How do you plead?” the Beatific asked when Reothe had finished.
“Yes, speak up, Cadre,” Tulkhan urged.
The T’Enplar warriors had stepped back to form a semicircle behind the Cadre. Behind them the Parakhan Guard formed a larger semicircle, and beyond them was the crowd. People stood on wagons, clustered on balconies surrounding the square, and filled the air with their expectancy.
The Cadre was dressed in his stained surplice, but his stance was not one of defeat. Raising his hand, he gestured to the Beatific, his eyes alight with the fervor of fanaticism. “I do not acknowledge this female. It has been proven that women’s weak souls are channels for evil. I appeal to you, General Tulkhan.” He stepped closer to the edge of the dais, which was thigh-high. “Do not forget the ways of your father’s people. It was your honor I was defending, and your dishonor that I sought to erase. This...”His voice grew scathing as he pointed to Imoshen. “This Dhamfeer killed Jarholfe with her vile sorcery. She should be stoned. She, her half-breed brat, and her lover should all be—”
“Enough!” Tulkhan roared. He ached to choke the poison from the priest’s tongue.
Imoshen’s voice cut through Tulkhan’s fury like cold water on hot coals. “I call on Maigeth, guild-master of the silversmiths, to speak for me. It was her honor to hold the Orb.”
In that instant Tulkhan understood that to kill the Cadre would not remove the accusations. Imoshen had to be seen to be cleared of these crimes.
“Come here, Silversmith Maigeth,” the Beatific ordered.
“Yes. Step forward,” Tulkhan urged, determined to wrest control of the proceedings from the Beatific.
The spectators parted to let the woman approach the dais.
“Can you vouch for Imoshen’s innocence?” Tulkhan asked.
“I can, and so can everyone else who was there that day. We all saw the Orb glow bright with the light of truth.” The words fell from the woman’s tongue as though she was speaking an ancient formula, making Tulkhan recall the Orb of Truth, which Imoshen had acknowledged as part of the crowning ceremony.
The crowd sighed and whispered in agreement.
“I say the Orb lied!” the Cadre cried.
People gasped. Sacrilege!
“Can the Orb lie?” Tulkhan asked the Beatific.
“All those who tried to use it to further their own ends died horrible deaths, in fear for their immortal souls.”
Again the crowd voiced its agreement.
“Then bring forth this Orb and let everyone see if the Cadre will venture his soul on the truth!” Tulkhan ordered.
The townspeople went strangely silent. Even the Cadre looked down. Tulkhan turned to the Beatific for an explanation.
She glared at the Ghebite priest. “The Cadre smashed our holy relic!”
“It was the Cadre who released the Orb’s essence,” Reothe said. “He is responsible for freeing the ancient power that killed Jarholfe, not Imoshen.”
“She killed a True-man with her vile T’En gifts,” the Cadre crowed. “And by the Church’s own law she must die. Deny me that, Beatific!”
Silence hung heavy on the air.
Suddenly Imoshen sprang to her feet. “I call on Murgon, leader of the Tractarians.”
Reothe sent Imoshen a charged look that Tulkhan found hard to interpret, but the Beatific was already calling for Murgon.
When Murgon stepped from the throng, Tulkhan tried to place the man. He had the T’En eyes and wore deep-purple robes. Suddenly he recalled Murgon’s malevolent gaze as Imoshen knelt on their coronation day to give her oath of Expiation.
“I ask only that you speak the truth, Murgon,” Imoshen told him.
The man’s mouth worked as if he chewed on something bitter. “I saw T’Imoshen breathe death into Jarholfe’s body. She killed him as surely as—”
“She killed in self-defense after saving the Beatific,” Reothe insisted.
But the crowd stirred, unable to deny the ancient law. Tulkhan saw it all slipping away from him. He met Imoshen’s eyes and knew it was true. She had killed Jarholfe. The why of it did not matter. It was the how that would be her death.
“No! Not Empress T’Imoshen!” a new voice cried.
Tulkhan spun to see a weatherworn member of the Parakhan Guard push through the T’Enplars. Sibilant whispers echoed. Empress T’Imoshen, Empress T’Imoshen...
“I am the blind man who sees, and I will be heard!” the Parakhan Guard announced.
“Speak,” Tulkhan directed.
The man looked at each of them in turn, meeting Tulkhan’s eyes last.
“I am the blind man who sees,” he repeated, gesturing to his eyes. “And these eyes of mine see beyond the Ghebite priest’s lies, beyond the Tractarian’s half truths. I see our Empress, who has served Fair Isle in honor. I also acknowledge the old laws of Fair Isle. A True-man died by the T’Imoshen’s gift.” As he unsheathed his sword, the shrill sound rang on the silence. “I assume the guilt for the death of the Ghebite, and through my own death absolve the Empress of all—”
“No!” Thursting Ashmyr into Kalleen’s arms, Imoshen ran to the edge of the dais. “I won’t let you die in my place!”
The crowd moaned like a wounded beast.
Imoshen lifted her hands, pleading for their understanding. “People of T’Diemn, I used my gift to pass on the Orb’s essence and it killed Jarholfe, but this was self-defense. And the Beatific knows this. I call on the Beatific to look into her heart and ask herself if she is not here today because I saved her life. Am I to be condemned because I saved our lives in exchange for the Ghebite’s?”
As the Beatific reluctantly joined Imoshen on the edge of the dais, her servant kept pace with her so that she remained under the silken shade’s protection. Imoshen went down on both knees, lifting her hands palms up in the deep-supplication obeisance. “You have the power to absolve me, Engarad. Look into your heart.”
The Beatific flinched. Her lips parted. Tulkhan could tell she was going to pardon Imoshen.
“No!” The Cadre snatched the blind man’s sword.
Tulkhan drew his knife but could not risk a throw. Imoshen was between him and the Cadre.
Time slowed.
Helplessly, Tulkhan watched Imoshen hurl herself backward as the Cadre leapt onto the dais. He stood over her. His sword blade flashed in the autumn sun. Tulkhan threw his knife. Even as it left his hand, the tip of a ceremonial sword sprouted from the Cadre’s chest, slender blade quivering. Tulkhan’s knife struck home. The Cadre collapsed on Imoshen’s thighs.
Tulkhan hauled Imoshen upright, spinning her to face him. For a heartbeat her eyes were windows to her soul. Tulkhan had seen that look before on the faces of men who had survived death against all odds.
“Death stalks me,” she whispered, “claiming others when I escape.”
Dimly, Tulkhan heard the exclamations of the crowd.
Reothe crossed the dais and knelt at the Cadre’s side to retrieve his sword, which he had thrown like a spear.
“Good throw,” Tulkhan said.
“Surprising, considering.” Reothe flexed the fingers of his left hand. Tulkhan was struck by its malformation.
“Dead?” The Beatific did not deign to examine the Cadre.
“Dead,” Reothe confirmed as he cleaned his sword.
“‘What happened?” Tulkhan flexed his own hand.
“The Cadre envied me my six fingers, so he removed a few,” Reothe said, then leapt down from the dais, gesturing to his T’Enplars. “Take the traitor’s body away.”
“Wait!” Tulkhan ordered. “Say the words, Beatific.”
She looked confused.
“Say the words. Condemn the Cadre!” The effect of Kornel’s trial and execution after his death had not escaped Tulkhan. He wanted Imoshen absolved of all guilt so these events could not be used against her in the future. “Speak loudly, Beatific. I want all of Fair Isle to know that Imoshen is absolved of guilt.”
The Beatific
made this declaration and the crowd looked on as justice was seen to be done. Then the T’Enplar warriors carried the Cadre’s body away.
Imoshen beckoned Kalleen. Retrieving her son, she turned to Tulkhan. “Protector General, Kalleen’s quick thinking saved our son. Wharrd’s widow carries his unborn child. All of his estates are now hers in accordance with the laws of the T’En Church. Wharrd died in our service. Such loyalty deserves reward.”
“I want no reward,” Kalleen protested, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. She bit back an angry sob. “I held Wharrd in my arms as he died. Nothing can restore him to me. Nothing!”
Imoshen shifted her son to one hip and hugged Kalleen. Seeing the two women embrace, Tulkhan was struck anew by the loss of his old friend. When he looked away, he noticed that the Beatific was watching him closely.
Imoshen pressed her cheek to Kalleen’s and whispered urgently, “Every woman in Fair Isle depends on us. The Cadre is dead, but his thinking lives on. General Tulkhan must acknowledge your rights of ownership and your right to Wharrd’s estates. We cannot let Ghebite thinking disinherit the women of Fair Isle. Do you understand why I do this?”
Kalleen met Imoshen’s eyes, hers glowing with fury. “You use me for your own ends!”
“The higher we rise, the more we serve,” Imoshen reprimanded. When she slid her arm through the General’s, she felt the tension in his body. “As the Beatific is our witness, General, we must reward Kalleen. In Fair Isle the punishment for treason is death and forfeiture of lands and titles.”
“It is the same in Gheeaba,” Tulkhan conceded.
“Then it is only fitting you reward Kalleen with the estates and titles Jarholfe held. The Beatific can have the new deeds and titles drawn up.”
“It will be done.” The Beatific signaled to one of her people, who ran back to the basilica. The news spread through the crowd, which broke into spontaneous singing.
Imoshen held the General’s obsidian eyes. “The traitors have been vanquished and your army is victorious. Let us call upon the thespers’ guild-master to organize entertainments in the square while the palace kitchen prepares food for a celebration.”
Tulkhan returned Imoshen’s gaze, thinking that with this morning’s trial she had not only vanquished her Ghebite accusers, she had also consolidated her position as co-ruler of Fair Isle. Yet when he looked past Imoshen’s shoulder to Kalleen’s miserable face, he had to agree. Kalleen should be rewarded and the future of Wharrd’s unborn child secured.
How had the reins of power slipped so easily from his fingers into Imoshen’s?
Chapter Seventeen
Late that evening, when Imoshen and Kalleen retired to the Empress’s chambers, Kalleen looked blankly at the estate deeds. Imoshen joined her. “How does it feel, farm girl, to be one of the richest women in Fair Isle?”
“My child’s father is dead. Yet I feel nothing. Am I heartless?”
“No.” Imoshen took her hand. “You are weary, my friend. One day, all too soon, you will feel again.”
“I will never love again. Not like I loved Wharrd.”
“No,” Imoshen agreed, and squeezed her hand. When she looked down she saw not her own hand holding Kalleen’s but Tulkhan’s battle-scarred coppery hands. What did it mean?
“Imoshen?” Kalleen asked. “What troubles you?”
“Nothing. Can you watch Ashmyr?”
Going down the main stair, Imoshen glanced up at the ceiling frescoes of the T’En royal line’s great deeds and wondered if her ancestors had also longed for peace and quiet.
Since he had returned she had not had a private moment with the General. He was not in the great hall. Opening her senses, Imoshen discovered he was in one of the small private chambers. She slipped down the dim passage and paused outside the door, wrinkling her nose. Tulkhan was with someone who was her enemy.
“Without his T’En gifts, Reothe is no more dangerous than a True-man,” the Beatific said. “If you wish, I could give him the title of the Aayel. He would find himself busy from dawn till dusk in the Church’s service.”
Tulkhan understood what she was offering, but it was not true to say that Reothe was no more dangerous than a True-man simply because his gifts were crippled. “Reothe needs no more honors.”
“Very well.”
“Go, and thank you for your support, Beatific.”
The woman offered him the obeisance between equals, raising only one hand to her forehead before leaving.
Tulkhan strode to the multipaned window, where the candles reflected in the glass. If only there was a way to kill Reothe without endangering Imoshen!
The skin on the back of his neck prickled. He focused on the window, becoming aware of Imoshen’s pale face and hair reflected in the square of glass. His heart faltered and he felt as if his thoughts had been exposed. Disguising his disquiet, he turned to greet her. “So now you come and go like a ghost?”
She gave a soft laugh. “The extent of T’En powers is greatly exaggerated, General.”
“I wonder... Today the Beatific absolved you of a True-man’s death.”
She glanced down, then up, candlelight glistening in her pleading eyes. “It was self-defense, and at least I did not suffer like I did with the Vayg—” She gave a guilty start.
“So you did kill the Vaygharian.”
“He deserved to die!”
“If I went around killing everyone who deserved to die...”
“Don’t mock me. I paid for his death.” She hugged herself, suddenly vulnerable. Tulkhan fought the need to take her in his arms. She misinterpreted his silence. “You don’t believe me? You thought me ill with a fever, but it was far worse. For the T’En the barriers between this world and the next are much frailer. The Vaygharian’s vengeful soul tried to drag me through death’s shadow with him, while the Parakletos watched and mocked or turned their faces from me. I barely escaped!”
Tulkhan had to put his back to her to hide his savage surge of triumph. With Imoshen’s admission he understood it was only coincidence that she and Reothe had both suffered the night he’d nearly ordered the rebel leader’s death. He was free to kill Reothe, and the shock of this revelation ran through his body.
“Tulkhan?” Imoshen whispered. Her hands slid around his waist. He froze. “Don’t shut yourself away from me. I feared for your life and, when mine was in danger, I longed to reach out to you. But because you always resisted the mind-touch I could not reach you.”
“Never...” He cleared his throat and turned in the circle of her arms. “I will never open up to your gifts. I must have the privacy of my thoughts.”
She tilted her head, eyes reflecting the many candles like the garnets they resembled. “I know your warrior code belittles women, but I live by my own code of honor, General, and I have given my word not to take advantage of your trust. Do not hold yourself aloof from me.”
“As if I could!” His hands circled the small of her waist and he pulled her close. Imoshen melded to him, but even as his body responded to hers and he ached to open to her, he held back. If he was to plan Reothe’s accidental death, he could not risk discovery.
“The royal line descends through the Empress, so she selects the best males to father her children,” the Keeper of the Knowledge explained, her deep-set eyes keen with intelligence. “It is not so different from what you were telling me of your Ghebite customs. Only instead of quantity, with many wives and children, the ruler of Fair Isle looks for quality.”
“Enough,” Tulkhan said. “Leave me.”
He stared at the complicated family tree. Imoshen had shown him this chart once before, pointing to her own name. She had even said something about the royal line following the women, but he had not understood. Imoshen might claim he thought like a Ghebite, but she thought like a woman of Fair Isle.
“General?”
Tulkhan looked up. “Lightfoot.”
“The town officials are ready to view the city’s outer defenses.” The mercenary
had assumed command of T’Diemn’s garrison.
Tulkhan thrust the book aside. To fund the massive defensive works, he had called for a levy from all businesses and households. The defenses he was constructing would surpass those designed by Emperor T’Reothe four hundred years ago.
Though the townspeople of T’Diemn were incredibly wealthy by the standards of the mainland, this did not make them eager to part with their gold. Imoshen had suggested that a tour of the new defenses might make the townspeople realize where their money was going.
His men now believed her innocent because the Orb proclaimed her so, yet when her pregnancy began to show he would have to acknowledge another man’s child as his own or else admit Reothe had cuckolded him. He felt like a bear in a trap. There had to be a way out of this dishonor.
Imoshen met Kalleen’s eyes as a servant announced that General Tulkhan wanted to speak with her. She glanced down at her notes. New standards, flags, and cloaks had been ordered to replace the ones lost in the flood. But the cloth merchants’ stocks were depleted. Imoshen had decided to send a message to the Regent of the Amirate for supplies. Better to let it be known that Fair Isle was preparing for war than to pretend it would not happen.
“I will watch over Ashmyr,” Kalleen said.
Imoshen nodded and came to her feet. In the long gallery she passed servants busily trimming the wicks and lighting the candles. Just lighting the palace of a thousand rooms was a huge expense. If they faced another season of war, Fair Isle would have to tighten her belt to finance her defenses.
Imoshen opened the door to Tulkhan’s map room, where she found him lighting a branch of candles. “If your half-brother mounts a spring campaign, the cost of refitting the army will have to be met somehow. Did your tour of the new defenses loosen the pockets of the town officials, General?”
“Yes. Shut the door.” He pinched out the taper, and the smell hung on the air. “I have come to a decision.”
“Oh?” Imoshen did not like his strained expression.
DESPERATE ALLIANCES Page 27