DESPERATE ALLIANCES

by Cory Daniells

  “I know the women of Fair Isle control their fertility. I am sure you can rid yourself of an unwanted pregnancy. Get rid of Reothe’s child and I—”

  Imoshen turned to go.

  Tulkhan strode after her, swinging her around to face him. “Don’t walk away from me!”

  With a flick Imoshen freed her arm and would have pushed past him, but he thrust one hand against the door, holding it shut.

  Imoshen’s heart raged, one giant drumbeat of denial. Knowing her strength was no match for his, she made no further attempt to leave. The familiar metallic tang settled on her tongue as her gift roused, sensitizing her, but resorting to her powers would only alienate him further. “I will not even discuss this!”

  “Before long all of T’Diemn will know you are with child.”

  “What of it?”

  “When the child is born they will know I am not the father! Think of my position.”

  “How does that compare to the life of a child?” Outrage made her voice vibrate.

  “You would have me accept another man’s castoff?”

  “I will not kill my own child.”

  He ground his teeth. “Look, they’ll say. There goes Tulkhan. While he was away defending Fair Isle, his wife took the Dhamfeer rebel for her lover. Poor fool. He cannot see past his lust!”

  “Tulkhan!” Imoshen reached out to him. In that moment he was exposed to her. She realized another layer had been added to the General’s being. In a flash she understood it was not generosity that had led him to spare the defenders of Port Sumair but guilt. Words spilled from her lips. “Would you add the killing of the unborn to your list of murders?”

  Tulkhan’s coppery skin went gray. “Is that what you see me as, a murderous barbarian?”

  She wanted to deny it. She knew he was so much more, but she remained silent because it gave her power.

  “How you must despise me! I marvel that you can bring yourself to stand at my side,” he whispered.

  Imoshen caught his hands in hers. “Mainland spies watch us. Their masters wait like carrion birds to peck clean the bones of Fair Isle’s carcass. I know you find it hard to understand my people, but—” He snatched his hands from hers. “Don’t close me out, Tulkhan.”

  “I must. Is it any wonder, when I can feel power radiating from your skin?”

  Imoshen looked up into Tulkhan’s features, once so alien, now so dear. “It is true I surrendered my Stronghold to the superior force of your army, but since then I have come to know you. As T’Imoshen, on behalf of the people of Fair Isle, I have tried to make our alliance work. But I ask this of you as your bond-partner. Can you not find it in your heart to mend this breach between us?”

  “You don’t understand, Imoshen. By the warrior’s code a man must have the respect of his peers!”

  “Where is the honor in killing an unborn child?”

  “You ask the impossible of me!”

  Imoshen closed her eyes and recalled that dawn morning when she held her dead son in her arms and faced the blinding presence of the Ancients to restore his life. “Don’t talk to me of what is impossible. We can make anything happen if we want it badly enough. Think of Ashmyr.”

  “But think of the cost,” Tulkhan countered. “What price did you agree to pay?” When she wouldn’t answer, he went on. “You saved Ashmyr from death’s shadow. I have seen you call on the Parakletos, and death’s own guardian angels obeyed you. Perhaps that is why you will not admit defeat, but I am only a True-man. My life has boundaries.”

  “I, too, have boundaries. Tulkhan, I... I fear for us.”

  He pulled her into his arms, crushing her with the force of his emotion. His words were a deep rumble in his chest, muffled by her hair as he pressed his lips to her head. “Ah, Imoshen, so do I.”

  She held him with all her strength, as if she could halt the forces that strove to drive them apart. If only they were simply a man and a woman, and not the embodiment of their people. Tears stung her eyes. She pulled away to search his face. “Promise at least to listen to me.”

  He removed the Ghebite-seal ring. “My father gave me this after my first victory. There are only two, and the other rests on Gharavan’s finger. If you are ever in trouble or it seems there is no hope for us, send me this and I will listen, even if it goes against all reason.”

  Imoshen slid the ring onto the longest finger of her left hand, a symbol of hope. She made a fist to keep it safe.

  “Why do you cry now?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  Angrily, she brushed at the tears. “Will you take your meal with me, General Tulkhan?”

  He smiled. “If that is what you wish.”

  “I would pretend for this evening that we are simply a man and woman with no greater decisions than which fields to plant in the spring.”

  He laughed, and Imoshen felt lighter. “We should have a feast.”

  “Another feast?” he teased.

  “When the defenses are finished.”

  “The first phase will be finished come spring, but I could go on fortifying T’Diemn forever.”

  “Aayel forbid!” Imoshen grinned. “I was taught a leader should use every opportunity to impress on her people the power and achievements of her rule!”

  “If the royal line passes through the women, why did Imoshen the First marry her nephew, not her daughter, to the old ruling line of Fair Isle?” Tulkhan asked abruptly.

  “Imoshen the First’s daughter was pure T’En. It was decreed that all pure T’En women were to remain chaste, so she became the first Beatific.” Imoshen regarded him fondly. “You have been reading the old histories in the original High T’En. Your scholarship is to be admired.”

  “I may be a Ghebite, Imoshen, but I am not stupid.”

  She held his gaze. “I may be a woman, but...”

  “Will you never stop?”

  “Never!”

  He laughed, and it warmed her to the core.

  Tulkhan watched the servants clear away the remains of the feast. Tonight’s celebration was to acknowledge and reward his faithful lord commanders who had returned from the mainland.

  The high table was set in front of the back wall, under his huge standard. The dawn sun, embroidered with thread of finely spun gold, glittered in the candlelight of the public hall, which was as crowded as the day he had awarded Wharrd and his men their titles. Again he felt that tug of loss. The old bone-setter had served in honor, blood, and death, just as the white, red, and black ribbons of the T’En investiture signified.

  Tulkhan stood aside while the servants removed the table. The musicians struck up a dance, and the floor became crowded.

  “That one bears watching,” Lightfoot remarked softly.

  Reothe was dancing with Imoshen. Before the whole hall, he held her hand and looked into her eyes as though she was the sun to him. It stung Tulkhan to acknowledge that they formed a perfect pair, stepping to the measured paces of the old-empire dance with innate T’En grace.

  “The rebel’s claws have been drawn,” Tulkhan replied. He was only awaiting the opportunity to have Reothe assassinated. Lightfoot would have been an ideal assassin but, even though Imoshen had removed the T’En stigmata, Tulkhan was not certain she couldn’t call on him under the right circumstance. “When Imoshen destroyed Reothe’s gifts, he became an empty shell, nothing but a symbol of the old empire.”

  “The people need symbols. That one gathers about him a brotherhood of fanatical warriors. The T’Enplars swear an oath to the Beatific, and Reothe claims to serve the Church, but I know where their loyalties lie!”

  This confirmed Tulkhan’s suspicions.

  “Here comes another cat that needs declawing,” Light-foot muttered.

  Tulkhan suppressed a grin as the Beatific joined him. He greeted her and they both sat down. She had taken the seat on his left. Imoshen’s seat was on his right—not, as he had once thought, because this acknowledged her importance to him, Protector General of Fair Isle, but because it placed
him on her left hand. Since the T’En were left-handed, the left was the position of honor. Tulkhan had had to unlearn much to understand the people of Fair Isle.

  The Beatific smiled on him, beautiful, worldly, and ... malicious?

  “You do not dance?” he asked.

  “Dancing is for children, not for leaders of state.”

  Tulkhan winced. The woman was flattering him because he never danced. But the comparison and intended insult to Imoshen only reminded him that the T’En lived so much longer. Here he was over thirty with maybe another twenty years to live, and there was Reothe in his thirties, but if he wasn’t killed he could expect to live another seventy or eighty years.

  “You were curious as to how Reothe’s hand was maimed,” the Beatific said. Tulkhan nodded. By tacit agreement he and Imoshen had not discussed her kinsman. “The Cadre sliced off his fingers to prevent him from helping Imoshen to escape from Sard’s Tower. They were shut out there, exposed to the first snowfall so they would be weak but alive when they were stoned. Imoshen sealed Reothe’s wounds, but even the greatest of T’En healers could not replace a severed limb or a gouged eye. Somehow Reothe escaped from the tower and saved Imoshen.”

  Twice now Reothe had saved Imoshen’s life, once with his T’En gifts and this time with nothing more than bravery. The General frowned. He did not want to admire his enemy.

  Feeling herself under observation, Imoshen’s cheeks grew warm. She did not have to turn her head to know that Tulkhan watched her with Reothe. She had only danced with him once before, on the celebration of their betrothal. On that day so long ago she had laced her fingers with his and bathed in the glow of his admiration, knowing he wanted her. The memory made her writhe with anguished resentment. She did not want to be reminded that her first, freely given vow had been to Reothe.

  She turned on the ball of her foot under his outstretched arm. Her skirts settled around her with a soft sigh. “You should not have asked me to dance.”

  “It would have been remarked upon if I hadn’t.” His arms encircled her without actually touching. His breath caressed her ear, intimate, mocking. He spoke as concisely as the steps they performed. “What are the last T’En hiding? people would have said. Why don’t they acknowledge each other?”

  Though their bodies did not touch anywhere but at the fingertips, she was aware of tension radiating from him. She stepped back and held his eyes. “Everything you do is marked, Reothe. They tell me more T’Enplar warriors join you every day. Beware or you’ll be perceived as a threat.”

  He laughed bitterly. “How could the Ghebite General perceive me as a threat? You have denied me before everyone.” Fury ignited him. “The Orb of Truth lied for you, Imoshen.”

  “My words were true. You came to me in Tulkhan’s form. You even told me how to speak the truth without incriminating myself.”

  “Yet you carry my child, and it is only a matter of time before he denies you!”

  Reothe’s triumph washed over her, making the little hairs on her skin rise up in protest. Was his gift healing? The heat, the scented candles, the press of the bodies— everything faded. Her vision blurred and narrowed down to an aura of light surrounding Reothe’s shorn silver hair. The room spun. Couples moved around them in time to something Imoshen could not hear for the roaring in her ears. She stumbled.

  Reothe caught her, then flinched because he had tried to Read her.

  Imoshen wondered if he had been aware of that momentary flare. “I have had enough of dancing.”

  Aware of the Beatific’s sharp eyes on her, Imoshen would have dismissed Reothe as soon as she reached her seat, but he made the formal obeisance of supplication, going down on both knees before the General, hands lifted palms up.

  Light glinted on Reothe’s closely cropped hair. The T’Enplars were all wearing their hair shorn in honor of their leader. “I ask a boon of Protector General Tulkhan.”

  “Ask.”

  “As Patron of the Halls of Learning, you can grant me the right to establish a new Hall of Learning.”

  “A Hall of Learning?”

  “I ask only for an old wing of the palace to house the children no one wants. There I will establish a Malaunje Hall of Learning.”

  Tulkhan noticed Imoshen and the Beatific exchange glances. The word was familiar. “Malaunje?”

  The Beatific answered, “Malaunje is the High T’En word for half-breed.”

  In a flash Tulkhan understood. Reothe meant to build a power base—an army of rebels wearing T’Enplarian colors, and a school of half-breed children all loyal to the last T’En warrior. “These half-breed T’En can study in the Halls of Learning now. What purpose would this new school serve?”

  “Across Fair Isle there are many children of part T’En blood who are grudgingly accepted in their own homes and villages. I want to gather them together and restore their selfworth.” Reothe started to speak dispassionately, but as he went on his voice grew vibrant. “Even the name Malaunje has faded from our language, as if to deny their very existence. Once there were levels of Malaunje just as once there were ranks within the pure T’En. Now there are only unwanted half-breeds and Throwbacks. Ask Imoshen what it is like to live as an outcast in your own family.”

  Tulkhan glanced to Imoshen and saw the naked dismay in her face before she masked her feelings.

  “What of your service to the Church?” Tulkhan demanded. Did he want a palace full of Dhamfeer half-breeds? He heard his father’s voice. Keep your enemies close to your heart, the better to see what they plan.

  “I will continue to serve the Beatific, but there is not enough for me to do,” Reothe said. “I need more.”

  Imoshen was sure Tulkhan would refuse Reothe his Malaunje Hall of Learning.

  “Very well,” Tulkhan said. “You have your school.”

  Imoshen’s gaze flew to Tulkhan. He was watching Reothe, who offered formal thanks then turned to the Beatific. “I ask to be excused from my Church service for as long as it takes to travel Fair Isle and find these children.”

  “You would leave soon?” the Beatific asked.

  Reothe nodded. “It is nearly winter’s cusp. I must leave before the snows set in.”

  “Then go with the Church’s blessing.”

  “Where will you go?” Tulkhan asked.

  “The Keldon Highlands before the snows close the passes.”

  Tulkhan smiled. “Excellent. I was planning to inspect our defenses. I will go with you.”

  “I was planning on traveling lightly, with only a small band of T’Enplar warriors,” Reothe said quickly.

  “Good. I also intend to travel swiftly, with a handful of men,” Tulkhan announced.

  Though the General smiled, Imoshen saw there was no humor in his eyes, only determination. Her teeth ached, and the T’En taste grew strong on her tongue.

  “As you wish.” Reothe rose with old-empire grace.

  Tulkhan stood. Suddenly, a great gash appeared in his thigh and he fell forward into Reothe’s arms, crying, Betrayed! Imoshen leapt to her feet, with Tulkhan’s name on her lips.

  Everyone turned to her.

  Tulkhan stood before her, uninjured, his long legs planted firmly on the dais. A rushing noise filled her head as normal sounds and sensations returned. She could only stare at him. Was Reothe going to kill Tulkhan the first chance he had?

  “What is it?” Tulkhan asked.

  To reveal what she had foreseen would condemn Reothe.

  “What alarmed you, T’Imoshen?” Tulkhan asked formally.

  “I have had too much wine. Please excuse me.”

  Aware that this was hardly a worthy excuse, she collected Ashmyr’s basket and Kalleen. Imoshen did not need her gift to tell her that everyone watched her departure with speculation.

  After Kalleen closed the door to the Empress’s bedchamber, she turned to Imoshen. “You have the Sight.”

  “It came on me like this once before, when I foresaw the Vaygharian’s death.”

  “Wh
ose death did you foresee this time?”

  Imoshen shook her head and placed the sleeping baby’s basket safely on the floor. Again she saw Tulkhan stagger with the force of the blow as he fell into Reothe’s arms, injured and vulnerable.

  “Imoshen?”

  She looked up to find Kalleen crouching at her side.

  “If one of them murders the other, it will be on your conscience,” Kalleen warned.

  “It will be no more than everyone expects!”

  “I can guess no good will come of this journey,” Kalleen said. “But if I had the Sight, I’d feel duty-bound to warn—”

  “Warn him of what? If I say anything, I precipitate the death of someone I love, and if I don’t, I let my love go to his death!” Imoshen swallowed a sob. “I can’t bear this, Kalleen. I am torn in two.”

  Firelight danced in Kalleen’s hazel eyes, belying her serious expression. “All of Fair Isle is torn, Imoshen. Would it be kinder to send one of them away?”

  If only it were that simple. Tulkhan would not relinquish Fair Isle. Since his half-brother had called him traitor he had no other home; and as for Reothe, Fair Isle was his home and she, his once-betrothed. “Which hand will I cut off, Kalleen, my left or right?”

  “Don’t linger; winter comes early to the Keldon Highlands,” Imoshen advised.

  Tulkhan checked the saddle’s girth for the second time. Fifteen of the Parakhan Guard, selected because they were loyal to Tulkhan, were already mounted. And behind them milled an equal number of Reothe’s T’Enplars, dressed for cold weather.

  “I want the outlying defenses finished before spring.”

  “No one attacks in winter. Besides, your half-brother is probably licking his wounds.”

  “If I know Gharavan, he will be planning revenge, and don’t rule out a winter attack. Fair Isle is bleeding from repeated warring.”

  It was more than he had said to her since the feast. As Tulkhan swung his weight up into the saddle, she caught the reins. “Beware a betrayer.” The words escaped Imoshen before she could stop herself.

  Tulkhan looked down on her, his Ghebite eyes sharp. “Did your vision tell you who this betrayer is?”