Taking a deep breath, she picked her way carefully down the slope to the sleigh. Before she could arrange the fur over her knees, the Beatific signaled the driver. With a jolt, the horses strained against their harnesses.
As they began the ride back to the confinement of protocol and thousands of watchful eyes, Imoshen thought of her family’s Stronghold. It was more than a year since she had ridden off at an hour’s notice. Homesickness welled within her, making her gifts stir. The Beatific glared, shifting away as far as possible.
Imoshen marked this. Most True-men and women were not so sensitive. Perhaps it was because the Beatific had known Reothe intimately. Imoshen cleared her throat. “I spoke in haste, Engarad.”
The Beatific inclined her head in acknowledgment, but her expression did not soften.
Imoshen tried again. “I value your advice. After all, we both want the best for Fair Isle. We both want to protect ourselves and our sisters from Ghebite arrogance.”
This time the Beatific met her eyes.
“Although Kalleen has the deeds to seven estates, her hold on these is tenuous. If she were to take a Ghebite for a bond-partner, he would expect the ownership to transfer to him.”
Contempt twisted the Beatific’s face. “The Church will do all it can to curtail these Ghebites. It is lucky so many of them were killed in the Low-lands. It will be easier to absorb them without their ways influencing our people.”
Imoshen nodded, but the Beatific’s comment had revealed one of Imoshen’s hidden fears. General Tulkhan’s army was greatly reduced, making his hold on Fair Isle even more tenuous.
Again she saw him fall wounded into Reothe’s arms with the word Betrayed on his lips, and her stomach churned with anxiety. Perhaps the Beatific was right and Reothe was a subtle creature of great cunning and cruelty, capable of such deception that he would drive his own parents to suicide. But she could not believe it.
The dual loyalties of her heart tore at her, yet not by so much as a sound did Imoshen betray her fears to the Beatific. They were allies, but only in desperation.
Tulkhan shifted in the saddle, stiff with cold. The eight remaining men—four Parakhan Guards and four T’Enplars— did not complain. They had been riding since before dawn, looking for something Reothe expected to discover in the deserted foothills of the Keldon Highlands.
“There!” Reothe pointed with satisfaction.
Tulkhan could just distinguish the thin plume of blue wood smoke against the ice-blue sky. Distance was hard to judge in these clear conditions, but it appeared that two hills separated them from the cottage. If it was another village there would be more evidence of settlement.
“Wait here.” Reothe dismounted.
Tulkhan watched him pick his way soundlessly, wondering if Reothe was planning to circumvent Tulkhan’s betrayal with a betrayal of his own. The General waited until he had crossed the crest of the hill before dismounting. “Watch the horses.”
Without explanation, he followed Reothe. The air was cold enough to make his chest ache and his nostrils sting. Tulkhan breasted the crest to look down into a little valley. Steam rose from vents in the rocks, reminding him of the last time he had visited a hot pool. Tulkhan’s mouth went dry with fear. He had woken the power of the Ancients, drawing Reothe in his insubstantial form. Reothe had laughed, saying, “I am your death. You do not know it, but you are a dead man who walks and talks.” Only Reothe’s death would prove his prophecy wrong.
Tulkhan frowned as he watched Reothe creep, silent as a snow cat, up the slope to a small crofter’s cottage so laden with snow and built into the hillside that it was almost invisible.
A huge shaggy dog lifted its head. In the clear air Tulkhan could see the dog’s ears twitch. Reothe straightened. There was no chance to creep up on the inhabitants now. The dog was big enough to fight off wolves, maybe even a bear. The beast charged Reothe, leaping on him. Its paws rested on his shoulders, its head level with his. To Tulkhan’s amazement, the dog’s tail waved in greeting and it barked joyously.
The cottage door swung open and a small woman or child came out. She froze.
“I told you I would come back,” Reothe said.
“Six years!”
Reothe had no answer for that. “I’ve come for Ysanna.”
“You can’t have her.”
“I told you this day would come. I’m collecting Malaunje children.”
“There’s nothing of the T’En in her.”
“Untrue.”
A tiny child stepped out of the cottage, armed with a bow bigger than she was. She already had an arrow notched, aimed at Reothe. “Shall I shoot him, Mam?”
She looked no more than three; Tulkhan was surprised she could speak so clearly.
When the mother did not answer, the girl shifted her feet. “My arms are getting tired. Who is this man?”
Silence.
“Why don’t you tell her?” Reothe prodded.
The woman flung up her arms in despair. “It is your father!”
“My father died last spring. Killed by bears.”
“That was your stepfather. This is your father.”
The girl did not lower the bow.
“I have fifty soldiers waiting over the rise,” Reothe said. “I could have ridden in here and taken her, but I didn’t. I came to take her with your blessing.”
“You came to take her with or without my blessing!” the woman snapped.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Ysanna said.
The little woman turned her back on Reothe and walked over to her daughter. Their two fair heads leaned close together as they spoke. At last the child lowered the bow and unnotched the arrow.
The woman sent her daughter into the cottage, then approached Reothe. Tulkhan could not hear her words, only the intense tone of her voice. She came no higher than mid-chest on Reothe, but she was not intimidated. She seemed to have a lot to say, to which Reothe was agreeing.
When Ysanna reappeared with a bundle, the woman gave her a quick hug, then called the dog and walked into the cottage without looking back. The child stood there, undecided. Reothe beckoned her and she went to him.
Tulkhan waited for Reothe and Ysanna. As they made the crest the child’s golden eyes widened at the sight of him. “So giants are real!”
Reothe laughed. “This one’s real enough. It’s Protector General Tulkhan come to see for himself, because he does not trust me.”
The girl studied Tulkhan frankly, her five-fingered hand holding the bundle to her small chest. She had the deep golden skin of the True-people, but her hair was almost white.
She wrinkled her nose. “Does he always scowl?”
“He scowls because he does not understand.”
“If this girl is yours, why does she have none of the signs?” Tulkhan snapped, goaded.
“Often T’En males don’t breed true, but she is part T’En, nevertheless.” He smiled on Ysanna. “You will like T’Diemn. The Empress is beautiful and clever, and she will be your teacher.”
When they rejoined the others, Reothe selected one of his T’Enplar warriors and one of Tulkhan’s men to escort the child back to T’Diemn.
She cast the men uneasy glances.
“You will be safe with these men. Be good for the Empress, Ysanna.” Reothe stepped back, and the girl’s small frame was hidden from sight as she rode in front of the men.
Tulkhan wondered briefly why Reothe would go to so much trouble for a daughter, then he concentrated on what lay ahead. “Commander Haase’s estate lies west of here, two days’ ride.”
Reothe nodded. He glanced back toward the cottage where the woman now lived alone.
Tulkhan swung into the saddle. Was he regretting taking the child? It did not matter. Within two days Reothe would be dead and Tulkhan would be freed of this burden. The children could all be returned to their homes. That little woman would not spend the winter pining for her daughter, and Tulkhan would regain the respect of his men. It all hinged on hi
s willingness to commit one more murder.
* * *
Tulkhan looked down at the Stronghold of the estate he had gifted to Haase. It was an odd shape, built on a curve in the river. The river had been diverted to flow around the other two sides of the high walls to create a constantly flowing moat, filled with icy water. The river was spanned by a bridge with a sharp bend in the middle, protected by a small tower.
“Looks sturdy,” Tulkhan muttered.
“Deepdeyne dates from the Age of Tribulation, so it was built for defense, not appearance,” Reothe said. “Lying west of Imoshen’s family holdings, Deepdeyne was the last great Stronghold built to contain the highlands in the early years of T’En rule.”
Tulkhan studied the path down the slope. There was nowhere for bandits to hide. His party consisted of Reothe and himself and six men—easy targets. Haase’s scouts would have reported their approach, and Tulkhan had expected an ambush by now, but Haase must have decided to set up the bandit attack after their visit.
Tulkhan urged his mount down the slope toward Deepdeyne. When they entered the Keep, Haase did not reveal by so much as a glance that he planned murder. By Ghebite standards, his greeting to the fallen rebel leader was polite.
Tulkhan accepted his commander’s formal salute, then clasped his arm. These years in Fair Isle had aged Haase. Tulkhan was reminded that the man was only three years older than himself. Before the year was out, Tulkhan would turn thirty-one. He was middle-aged by Ghebite standards. Haase was thinning on top and growing thicker around the waist. Tulkhan gave Haase a mock punch in his belly. “Too much easy living!”
Haase grinned and gestured to the scaffolding. “The work never stops. At least when you lead the men, there are breaks between battles and the decisions are simple.”
Tulkhan understood that dilemma only too well.
“Your men can take their horses through to the stables.” Haase indicated the way. “Come share a bottle of Vorsch with me. We’re still living in the original Keep while they finish work on the new hall.”
“Vorsch? Reothe, come try a real man’s drink.” Tulkhan wanted the Dhamfeer where he could see him.
Reothe’s lips twisted in a parody of a smile as he relinquished his mount’s reins.
After climbing two flights of tower stairs, they entered the great hall. Even though it was mid-afternoon, little light filtered through the high narrow windows. As if to compensate, a fire roared in the huge hearth. The scrubbed table had been laid with fresh food and fine goblets. Sweet-smelling herbs had been sprinkled on the floor, releasing their scent when crushed underfoot. True to Haase’s word, a bottle of Vorsch awaited them.
Tulkhan walked to the fireplace, noting how the three ribbons of office Imoshen had awarded Haase hung from the tip of a spear mounted above the mantelpiece. Tulkhan pulled off his gloves and dropped his cloak on the high-backed chair, unclasping his sword. He caught Reothe’s eye, and the Dhamfeer followed suit. If Haase chose to go unarmed, then so must they. The man was playing his part of host with consummate skill. Even knowing that he was party to the plan to have Reothe killed, Tulkhan could not fault his manner.
Tulkhan turned and stretched, feeling the heat of the fire warm his travel-weary muscles. The smell of roasting meat made his mouth water. As Haase uncorked the Vorsch, Tulkhan repressed a pang of envy for the simple life. Strange—the higher he rose, the less freedom he had.
When Haase poured three goblets, Tulkhan raised his. “To Fair Isle and her rich bounty.”
It would all be his again as soon as Reothe was dead. He drained the goblet in one long gulp.
Reothe was more tentative. He seemed unsure of the flavor. It was not the best Vorsch Tulkhan had ever tasted, but then, this was not Gheeaba.
“Another drink?” Haase refilled their goblets.
“A toast to peace—a warm hearth, a willing woman, and a full belly!” Tulkhan drained his goblet. He noticed Reothe give him a sharp look. “Don’t the T’En drink to peace?”
“They do,” Reothe acknowledged. “But they don’t insult women by equating them with basic necessities. If you want to see sparks fly, salute Imoshen with that toast.”
“What, drink a toast with a woman?” Haase muttered. “You jest!”
Even as Tulkhan laughed, he saw the gulf between himself and his fellow Ghebites widen. He stood with a boot in both worlds. “It’s just as well you aren’t keen on palace life, Haase.”
Reothe grinned.
Tulkhan swilled the Vorsch around in his goblet, watching the liquid glint in the candlelight, thinking it was a cruel thing to discover a kindred spirit in the man he was sworn to kill. He had first suspected this the night Reothe risked his life searching death’s shadow to save Imoshen. Tulkhan might fear Reothe and he might not trust him, but he respected him.
Tulkhan drained the last of the Vorsch. The alcohol was bitter on his tongue, bitter with the knowledge that he intended to betray Reothe. At least in war you knew who your enemies were. The silence stretched, growing uncomfortable.
“Reothe of the T’En, would you offer us a salute?” Haase spoke with more diplomacy than Tulkhan would have given him credit for.
When Tulkhan turned to Reothe, his head spun.
Reothe lifted his goblet. “There is a T’En saying that translates something like this: Better the enemy you can trust than a weak friend.”
It was an odd toast. Tulkhan drained the Vorsch, then went to put his goblet down on the table but missed. It fell to the floor, hitting the planks with a dull thud.
“I’ll ease off on the Vorsch, Haase.” Tulkhan was surprised to hear his slurred words. “What’s to eat?”
Blearily, he focused on his commander, who was speaking earnestly about his relatives in Gheeaba, something about them being held prisoner. Tulkhan could see the man’s mouth opening and closing, but his voice sounded like it was coming down a long tunnel. This was not the effect of the Vorsch on an empty stomach. The Vorsch was drugged!
But he’d seen Haase pour out of the same bottle. The goblets must have been prepared. Perhaps Haase had changed the plan. If he had, he should have drugged only Reothe’s Vorsch. Had the Dhamfeer poisoned him? Fear made Tulkhan’s heart pound. He glanced to Reothe, expecting to see triumph in those wine-dark eyes. Instead, Reothe was frowning into his own goblet.
Armed men charged into the hall.
Tulkhan lunged for his sword and spun about, intending to grab Haase and hold the blade to his throat, but Haase was already closing in on him, a weapon suddenly in his hand.
Tulkhan blocked. Too slow. Haase’s sword traveled down his blade’s length, the force of the strike taking it past the tip. Tulkhan saw the sword slice through the material of his breeches, saw the bright plume of blood. He felt nothing, nothing but the ignominy of discovering his own man had betrayed him.
“Betrayed!” Tulkhan lunged for Haase, who darted away. He would have fallen but Reothe stepped in, catching him. The impact took them both to the floor. Where were his men? Probably ambushed in the stables.
“So this was her vision,” Reothe muttered.
Light flashed on a blade. Something struck Reothe from behind, and he pitched sideways.
Helpless to save himself, Tulkhan collapsed.
“Three goblets each and they were still standing. I’d have a word with your healer if I were you,” a mocking voice remarked with a Vaygharian accent. Tulkhan realized Imoshen had foreseen this and tried to warn him, but he had been too consumed with his own plans of betrayal.
As the General lifted his head, a boot flew at his face, the impact laying him out on the floor. Even though he felt no pain, he knew his nose was broken.
Chapter Nineteen
Imoshen woke, her cheeks wet with tears, the echo of her cry still ringing in her ears. She spun at a slight noise and found Kalleen peering around the door, holding a candle.
“You called for the General.” Kalleen crept over, her face alive with fear and curiosity. “What does it
mean?”
“Too much relish on my meat?”
“Imoshen, how can you jest? Has harm come to Tulkhan?”
The baby stirred in his basket beside the bed, reacting to the tension. Imoshen lowered her voice. “I don’t know what it means, because I was not trained in my gift!”
“What did the Sight show you?”
“Tulkhan crying Betrayed as he fell wounded into Reothe’s arms.”
Kalleen paled. “Then he is dead?”
“I don’t know!”
“Will you do a scrying?”
“It shows only possible paths, and I will not exhaust myself in false trails.” She wrung her hands helplessly.
“Oh, Imoshen.” Kalleen knelt on the bed, her nightgown billowing over the swelling of her pregnancy. Sympathy made her golden eyes glisten.
“Now do you understand why I must save Reothe? Only he has—knows our heritage.” She almost let slip that the T’Elegos had survived Sardonyx’s revolt. “Without Reothe, I am cast adrift. I... I am afraid of my T’En powers.”
Kalleen’s eyes grew wide. Imoshen waited, heart in her mouth. The little True-woman opened her arms and Imoshen went to her. She could feel Kalleen’s heart beating against her cheek, reassuring and solid.
“I am Empress in all but name,” Imoshen whispered. “But in the dark night of my soul I am only Imoshen. And I am alone.”
“We are all alone,” Kalleen said. They held each other with a single candle to hold back the night.
When Tulkhan woke, his head felt fragile, as if any movement would split his skull. His nose seemed three sizes bigger than normal and stuffed with snow. It was so cold his limbs were numb. He knew he should be worried, but for the moment he was in too much pain to remember why.
“Can you hear me?” Reothe asked.
Tulkhan opened one eye, but this achieved nothing. Either they were in the windowless prison or it was night.
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