DESPERATE ALLIANCES

by Cory Daniells

  “Imoshen?” he greeted her warily.

  “When will I see the T’Elegos?” she hissed. “You have had the benefit of my part of the bargain for weeks now.”

  “I cannot leave T’Diemn without an escort of spies. Who would you trust with the knowledge that the T’Elegos survives?”

  “Then when?”

  “It is still several weeks until the cusp of spring. When the snows melt—”

  “So it is in the Keldon Highlands?”

  “When the snows melt, the General will continue his inspection of Fair Isle’s defenses. I will collect more Malaunje children. Then I will retrieve the T’Elegos. Have patience, Imoshen. It is not what you think. Believe me, I’ve studied—”

  “What have you studied?” Tulkhan asked as he rounded the bend in the narrow stair. Desperately, Imoshen searched for a distraction.

  “Shields,” Reothe said. “Come, I’ll show you.” He retraced his steps.

  Heart thumping, Imoshen followed. Reothe led them past the entrance to T’Reothe’s Hall through a dark connecting gallery to T’Ashmyr’s Hall, built in the first century of T’En rule. If Imoshen had guessed correctly, the T’Endomaz dated from this time.

  Reothe strode across the worn flags. First Throwback Emperor, T’Ashmyr himself had paced this room, planning his campaigns to consolidate his hold on Fair Isle. Dragging a chair against the wall, Reothe climbed onto it to remove a shield from the display. Imoshen hoped there was substance to Reothe’s claim, because Tulkhan would see through fabrication.

  “Here.” Reothe tossed the shield to Tulkhan, who slid his arm through the grip and tested its weight. Imoshen caught Reothe’s eye as he jumped down, trying to warn him to tread carefully, but his eyes laughed at her.

  “Light and strong.” Tulkhan turned the shield so that it glowed in the dim light. “Beautifully made. But what—”

  “It’s the shape,” Reothe said. “Ghebite cavalry shields are small and round; this one tapers to a point. Your shields leave a rider’s legs unprotected. Five hundred years ago, T’Ashmyr designed these shields. Tomorrow I’ll meet you on horseback. Arm yourself as you normally would and we’ll see which shield offers better protection for a mounted warrior.”

  “Done!” When Tulkhan grinned, his teeth flashing white against his coppery skin in the darkness, Imoshen felt a tug deep within her. She missed his touch. The more he withdrew from her, the harder she found it to resist Reothe’s lure. He had not invaded her dreams, but she was sensitized to him. She felt him watching her. She knew if he had been in a room before her and sensed his essence on objects that he had recently touched. She did not know if this was deliberate or just a by-product of his half-healed gifts.

  The General stood opposite her, barely visible in the twilight of the old hall, the shield in his grasp, shielded from her by his warrior code. Imoshen was very aware of Reothe only two steps away. Like victims of a spider, they were caught in a web of events and broken promises, bound by the fabric of their positions and personalities. Struggle as they might, Imoshen could see no honorable solution that did not include the death of one of these men, and that she could not bear. She dreaded to make a move in case it precipitated her worst fears. A silence of things left unsaid stretched between them. The air grew heavy with expectation. Imoshen licked her lips and drew breath to speak.

  Three servants entered, armed with brooms, their candles held high.

  “Empress,” the first gasped. “We heard voices and feared—”

  “Ghosts of T’Ashmyr’s reign?” Imoshen laughed, surprised to hear how natural she sounded. “I’m afraid we must disappoint you. There are no apparitions here, only scholars of ancient weaponry.” She glided over to them. “But I thank you for bringing light. We let our enthusiasm carry us away.” Holding the candle high, she turned to Tulkhan. “Do you want to inspect the weapons?”

  He hefted the shield. “Trial by combat will suffice.”

  As he and Reothe passed her, comparing cavalry-training exercises, Imoshen repressed a surge of annoyance. She hated not being in control.

  Tulkhan looked up from his maps to see Imoshen sweep into the room. Radiant, imperious, and untouchable. He ached for what he could not have.

  “Nearly spring, and new T’Diemn’s earthworks—”

  “Will progress whether I am here or not. I must review the defenses of northern Fair Isle,” Tulkhan said. “I leave Lightfoot to oversee the work.”

  “And I suppose you take Reothe with you?”

  “Of course!” He could hardly leave him here to stir up trouble. “Besides, Reothe is still looking for half-breed children. He has searched but a third of Fair Isle.”

  “When you go to Northpoint, take Reothe to the hospice. Eksyl may wish to accompany the children back here.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Tulkhan, Reothe seeks to win your trust with the cavalry drilling and the new shields.”

  “Whatever his motives, my cavalry benefits.” Imoshen looked down, then up again swiftly. “Have you shown him Seerkhan’s sword?”

  “No.” Tulkhan wondered why Imoshen seemed relieved. “It was torn from my hand in the Low-land flood. I meant to bestow it on my son, but I fear it lost, buried in Low-land mud.”

  “I am sorry,” Imoshen said. “Will you teach me to use the Ghebite sword?”

  He did not understand why Imoshen watched him so intensely. Perhaps she feared Gharavan would invade before he could return. “Lightfoot commands T’Diemn’s garrisons. With his years of experience, you will not need to use a sword.”

  “I see,” Imoshen said, as though he had failed a test. “I may not be here when you return. Kalleen’s baby is due soon, and I will accompany her to Windhaven for the birth.”

  Tulkhan frowned. “Can’t Kalleen have her baby here? Windhaven is too near the west coast for my liking.”

  Imoshen sighed. “You’re a man and a Ghebite, so you cannot understand. Windhaven is where the babe was begun. Windhaven is the ideal place for the child’s birth.”

  Tulkhan did not see the logic of this. “If she must go, then surely there is a midwife on the estate.”

  “I am her closest friend and trained for this task. Would you ask me to turn my back on Kalleen while she walks through the shadow of death?”

  “What’s this talk of death’s shadow?”

  “Have you forgotten?” Imoshen pushed the maps aside to perch on the table. “A woman must traverse death’s shadow to bring forth life. There is a special place in the T’En afterlife reserved for women and babies who died in childbirth and warriors who died defending their homes.”

  As he listened intently, Imoshen felt close to the General. She wanted to stroke his broken nose and heal it, but he wore his scars like badges of honor and she must respect that.

  He frowned. “I believe your place is here in the capital.”

  Anger made her voice grow thin. “According to the teachings of the Ghebite priests, females don’t have proper souls. I suppose a woman lost in childbirth is mourned like a mare lost in foaling?”

  He shifted uncomfortably.

  “Well, General?”

  “You won’t like it,” he warned. “Only after females have proved their worth by giving birth to a son are they accorded burial in the husband’s family plot. As for afterlife... if the correct burial is observed, a warrior who dies in battle joins the great Akha Khan’s host, riding the plains.”

  “And women?”

  “There is no afterlife for women.” He shrugged an apology.

  Imoshen held his gaze. “And what do you believe?”

  “Me? I have seen too many men die to believe there is an afterlife... at least, that is what I believed until I met the T’En. Now I question everything!”

  “Questions are good.”

  “Answers are better!”

  Imoshen smiled, then sobered. “Sometimes knowing is more terrible than not knowing.” She thought of the Parakletos and leaned closer to Tulkhan. “What if I said I have walked dea
th’s shadow and know there is something beyond?”

  “You are T’En. I am but a True-man. What is true for you may not be true for me.”

  Imoshen flinched. Perhaps they were destined to live apart forever because of the differences of their race, differences that stretched beyond death. Longing filled her and she stroked Tulkhan’s jaw.

  He pulled her across the desk onto his lap, burying his face in her throat. “I can’t get enough of the smell of you. It haunts me. I left for the Low-lands wondering if distance would help me escape your strange allure.”

  Imoshen wrinkled her nose. “And did it?”

  He shook his head. “I missed your voice, but not because it held some T’En trickery. Your wise words of counsel are what I value, even when they make me question the very assumptions by which I live. Ah, Imoshen. I would not leave T’Diemn if I had a choice.” He cleared his throat. “But I must review Fair Isle’s northern defenses. And I take Reothe with me because my father taught me to keep my enemies close by. This spring we face the final cast of the dice, Imoshen. We may all die and everything we’ve worked for will turn to dust—your T’En legacy and my plans for Fair Isle.”

  She was torn by the knowledge that what he said was true.

  “I do not order you, I ask. Stay in T’Diemn, Imoshen. I fear for your safety in Windhaven.”

  “I can’t fail Kalleen.” She wished she could grant him this. “Tulkhan?”

  “What?” There was a ragged edge to his voice.

  “You were nearly killed the last time you left T’Diemn. I do not ask you to dishonor your Ghiad, but grant me this.”

  “Ask.”

  Unable to meet his eyes, she pressed her lips to his throat. “Stay with me this night and hold me in your arms. Nothing more.”

  Heart hammering, she waited for his answer.

  It came in a bone-crushing hug. “You must think I have a will of iron.”

  She smiled, warmed to the core.

  “I can’t believe I’m still pregnant!” Kalleen complained. Nearly one small moon had passed and she was long overdue. She had been urging Imoshen to return to T’Diemn for days. “I swear I’m never going to have this baby!” Fanning herself energetically, she glared at Imoshen. “If you laugh, I will throw something at you.”

  Since they were seated under the apple tree in Windhaven’s orchard and the closest thing was the remains of their lunch, Imoshen was not concerned. Ashmyr lay on a blanket on his stomach, trying to lift himself onto his knees. His eyes were fixed on a butterfly that had landed just out of his reach.

  Chickens cackled contentedly and farmers sang as they worked in the fields. Soon it would grow dark and the workers would come in, hungry and tired. These last five weeks had been the most relaxed Imoshen had known since the Ghebites invaded Fair Isle. She was reminded of her own Stronghold and she longed to go home, but when she left Windhaven she would have to return to T’Diemn.

  She decided it was time to broach a delicate subject. Perhaps Kalleen’s baby had not come on time because it was not ready. The longer she carried the baby, the more likelihood of it being part T’En. “Did any of your family carry the T’En traits?”

  “I know what you are hinting at.” Kalleen levered herself up on one elbow. “My grandmother had the T’En eyes, but no one else. This baby—”

  “Is late and getting later by the day. Face it, Kalleen. There is a good chance your child will be part T’En.”

  Kalleen threw her hands up in despair. “I just want to live a quiet life. I don’t want to be Regent and I don’t want this for my child!”

  “We don’t always get what we want,” Imoshen said softly.

  Kalleen had the grace to look down.

  The singing changed to shouts of greeting, and Imoshen shaded her eyes to study the distant figures on horseback. Tulkhan and Reothe. Her body tightened in a knot of anticipation that was part pleasure, part dread. She rolled to her feet, hardly impeded by the weight of her pregnancy. She was nearly five small moons along now, but she had been bigger with Ashmyr.

  “You must return to T’Diemn with them and leave me in the hands of Grandmother Keen.” Kalleen named the local midwife. “After all, the Ghebite King will not halt his invasion plans for the birth of one baby.”

  Imoshen laughed and went to greet Reothe and Tulkhan.

  When the evening meal was over, Tulkhan watched Kalleen lever herself out of her chair. She was huge. “Surely that baby is due soon. Will you present us with Wharrd’s son tomorrow?”

  “If only!”

  “Kalleen is long overdue,” Imoshen said, and Tulkhan caught her exchanging a quick look of understanding with Reothe.

  He hid his uneasiness behind a jest. “Should I expect to see the boy by morning, Kalleen?”

  “What if it is a girl?” Kalleen challenged.

  He shrugged, aware he was on thin ice. “So long as the child is healthy.”

  “Spoken like a true diplomat.” Imoshen laughed and lifted her glass to him. “Have you left your soldiering days behind to take up diplomacy, General?”

  “The gods forbid!”

  They laughed and, as Kalleen went to bed, Imoshen dismissed the servants for the night. Tulkhan had the opportunity to observe her. Her loose gown only hinted at her pregnancy. But it would not be long before everyone knew he had been cuckolded and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  Once the servants had gone, Imoshen turned to him. “What news?”

  “I’ve ordered all the Strongholds’ defenses improved and the towns’ fortifications rebuilt. But if Gharavan’s army made landfall under cover of darkness, they could get a toehold on the island and prove hard to dislodge. My spies report the Ghebites massing. Who is to say they won’t sail around Fair Isle’s southern tip and attack the east coast?”

  “Gharavan is playing a cagey game,” Reothe observed. “I wonder who advises him.”

  Tulkhan shrugged. “He has a dozen advisers, all eager to win his favor.”

  “But this delaying and deploying is not the act of a headstrong youth.”

  “Perhaps it is the act of an indecisive youth?” Imoshen suggested.

  Tulkhan cracked a nut. “Possibly.”

  “You think it is only chance that his actions prevent us from anticipating where he will attack?”‘ Reothe was not convinced. “Am I reading too much into this?”

  “Whatever his motives, we know he will attack.” Imoshen’s eyes swept them both. “And we must be prepared.”

  Tulkhan felt a familiar pull.

  “Will you return to the capital tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He wanted to insist she leave Windhaven, but... “Do you travel with us?”

  “I don’t know.” She tilted her head, listening. “Ashmyr has woken. I mustn’t let him disturb Kalleen.” She stood. “If Kalleen has her baby tonight, I will come with you.”

  “Let us hope she does.” Tulkhan could not resist prodding. “Gharavan is sure to have spies on Fair Isle. You could be needlessly risking yourself and my son.”

  Imoshen’s mouth opened as if she might argue.

  “He is right,” Reothe said.

  She glared at them both, then left.

  Tulkhan met Reothe’s eyes, seeing the mirror of his own rueful expression.

  “You should insist she return to T’Diemn,” Reothe said.

  Tulkhan put his feet up on the chair, aware that Reothe was baiting him. It was so easy to forget that they were enemies, seductively easy to lower his defenses. “You tell her.”

  Reothe laughed. “Never give an order you know you can’t enforce.”

  Tulkhan acknowledged the truth of this. “Then pray Wharrd’s child comes soon.” He made a silent vow to watch over Wharrd’s son or daughter. He missed the bone-setter’s frank advice, though Reothe’s knowledge had proved invaluable in planning Fair Isle’s defense strategy.

  Who would have thought... Here he sat in companionable silence with his most dangerous enemy, bou
nd by the warrior code—and gnawed by frustration.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Imoshen stroked Ashmyr’s back, alert for the first sounds on the stairs. All evening she had been observing the interplay between Tulkhan and Reothe, and it dismayed her to discover how the General had come to rely on her kinsman. She wanted a few minutes alone with Tulkhan, but when she heard the steps, there were two sets of boots and she seethed with resentment.

  Imoshen paced the room. Ashmyr twitched in his sleep like a puppy and Kalleen showed no sign of going into labor. When she could not stand being closed in any longer, Imoshen crept onto the top of the stairs. The large moon was still up, but the little moon had already passed overhead in its quicker journey. Holding her hand in a beam of moonlight, she turned it over and over, recalling Reothe’s words. Moonlight was beneficial for the T’En. He was right; she denied her T’En nature. Tonight she needed to feel the night air on her skin to clear her head.

  Without stopping to put on shoes or a cloak, Imoshen ran lightly down the stairs and out into the courtyard. A dog whimpered in its sleep but did not wake as she let herself out the orchard gate. Her feet, toughened by going barefoot these last few weeks, flew over the grass as she headed for the knoll. This was a sacred place, whispered to belong to the dawn people and avoided by the locals. It was bare of trees and high enough for her to glimpse the sea.

  The air was warm, with a foretaste of the summer heat, and lightning flickered like a fretful spirit behind the scattered clouds, illuminating them from within. The buildup of tension made her heart sing. She could smell no rain on the air. No release for the restless lightning.

  Lifting her arms, Imoshen turned slowly. Her bare feet opened her to the power of the earth. Moonlight caressed her skin like a soothing balm. She was tempted to shed her clothing. Charged night air filled her chest, sharp and fresh to taste. Lightning flashed, and for a heartbeat the night was so bright she cast a shadow. A delighted laugh escaped her. Swaying to music only she could hear, Imoshen glided across the knoll.