DESPERATE ALLIANCES

by Cory Daniells

  When the storm eased, Imoshen drew her gently to the hearth chair. Then she poured water and sprinkled herbs in the bowl before bathing Kalleen’s tearstained face.

  The little woman sat, weak and listless.

  “I should have been there,” Imoshen whispered.

  Kalleen caught her hand. “Six fingers, just like yours, but dead. Three days it took. I nearly died. They told me not to travel, but I had to see you.”

  “I will try to heal you.”

  “No!” Kalleen shrank back. “I never want to go through that again. It would kill me.”

  Ashmyr woke, saw Kalleen, and gave a crow of delight. Her face opened like a flower in the sun. But when she lifted the boy onto her lap, she winced.

  “I will mix you something to dry up the milk and encourage mending,” Imoshen said. As she measured herbs she listened to Ashmyr’s happy sounds. Already she could sense the healing that was taking place. Herbs to heal the body, Ashmyr to heal Kalleen’s heart.

  As a midwife, Imoshen knew the journey through death’s shadow to bring forth new life was fraught with danger. Her vision swam with tears, for she believed if only she’d been there she could have saved Kalleen’s child.

  A sound from the doorway made her look up to see Tulkhan watching Kalleen. From his expression, she knew he had heard the news. Unaware of him, Kalleen spoke, her voice bitter. “I said I did not want my child to have the T’En traits, but I was wrong. I would have loved her even if she was a Throwback!”

  Tulkhan hastily backed out.

  Imoshen smiled grimly and stirred the herbs. When they were ready, she handed Kalleen the cup. “You will feel weak and teary for a while. Drink this.”

  Kalleen took a sip, wrinkling her nose at the taste. “I don’t feel weak. Wharrd, my child, and my family. Everyone I ever loved has been stolen from me. I feel angry!”

  Imoshen squeezed Kalleen’s hand. “You have suffered just as the people of Fair Isle have suffered, but we will overcome.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Imoshen waited alone at the entrance to the ball court, trying not to recall those desperate hours when she and Reothe faced the Cadre. Footsteps warned her of someone’s approach; prickling across her skin told her it was Reothe.

  “So you have answered the General’s mysterious summons too?”

  “I gather you don’t know what Tulkhan wants?” Imoshen was relieved to see that Reothe was equally at a loss.

  Tulkhan opened the door and glanced down the hall. “Good, you are alone. Inside, quickly.”

  Curious, Imoshen studied the tabletop model in the middle of the ball court, recognizing Deepdeyne Stronghold in miniature. It was complete with tiny trees, river, and moat painted blue.

  “What is this?” Reothe asked uneasily.

  “I wanted you two to be the first to see this,” Tulkhan said. He recollected the young man at his side and drew him forward. “This is Ardon, a fifth-year man from the Pyrolate Guild. He has been working with me.”

  Imoshen cast Reothe a swift glance. Ardon risked much. The guilds were notoriously miserly with their knowledge.

  “For hundreds of years the Pyrolate Guild has been making star-birds and similar toys,” Tulkhan said. “But I knew they could do more.”

  Reothe nodded. “So you set up the watchtowers armed with star-birds, ready to carry news of invasion. But—”

  “But you mean more, don’t you?” Imoshen walked to the table. “Why else have you built this model?”

  Tulkhan took Imoshen’s arm. “The demonstration will speak for me. Come.”

  He led them up to the first tier of seats and nodded to Ardon, who opened his coal pouch and lit a long string, which fizzed and hissed just like a star-bird’s tail. The string trailed right up across the model toward Deepdeyne Keep.

  “It is only a model, but—” Tulkhan’s voice was cut off as, with a flash and a dull crack, Deepdeyne disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The General laughed, swung a leg, and dropped over the balustrade.

  Imoshen leapt after him, Reothe at her side. Small flames licked at the paper trees. Imoshen’s nostrils stung from the acrid smoke. The model’s blocks were scattered over the tabletop. Deepdeyne’s walls were breached.

  Tulkhan smiled. “If only I’d had this knowledge when I was trying to take Port Sumair!”

  Imoshen noticed Reothe’s expression and knew Tulkhan had chosen this particular Stronghold for his own reasons.

  “With the right mixture and placing, not even the greatest wall could withstand this!” Tulkhan announced, one hand on Ardon’s shoulder. The young man glowed. “I call them my Dragon’s Eggs.”

  “The knowledge must not fall into the wrong hands,” Reothe said.

  “Of course. Why do you think we’ve been experimenting in secret?” Tulkhan turned to Imoshen. “You are very quiet.”

  “Secrets have a way of escaping. If news of your Dragon’s Eggs gets out, you will change the world. The greatest cities will no longer be safe from any barbarian with the right tools.” She looked up into Tulkhan’s pleased face and said the first thing that came into her head. “How typically Ghebite, to take a beautiful thing and turn it into a tool of destruction!”

  “Today you think like a woman, Imoshen. I’m sure Reothe has the vision to see the application for this!”

  Reothe met Imoshen’s eyes.

  “It is because we have vision that we hesitate to release this dragon of destruction,” Imoshen snapped. “If Gharavan had this tool, all your work on T’Diemn’s defenses would count for nothing.”

  Tulkhan looked grim. “There are only four people who know of this discovery. Ardon is sworn to silence, and we three...”

  “I will say nothing,” Reothe vowed.

  “Imoshen? Think how the mainland kingdoms would fear Fair Isle if they knew of this weapon. Power protects.”

  “I am thinking of the T’En, who are feared because True-people fear their power.”

  Tulkhan threw up his hands in disgust. “At least promise you will say nothing.”

  “That I can promise without reservation!”

  He glared at her, and she wondered how she could love him so deeply across divides such as these.

  Imoshen smiled fondly. Tulkhan had been right about Ashmyr. With his first birthday only a few days away, he was already trying to run. Misjudging the slope, Ashmyr tripped and Kalleen scooped him up, spinning him around. He shrieked with delight.

  Kalleen’s body had healed and she laughed often. But when she thought no one was looking, she would sit and stare, her heartbreak clear on her face.

  Gharavan still had not attacked, and when Imoshen had confronted Reothe about the T’Elegos, he claimed that while traveling with Tulkhan he had been too closely watched to retrieve it. But she could not complain about his appointment as Beatific. Since his investiture he had mobilized the Church’s resources. In every abbey and every village, young people trained under T’Enplar warriors. It was the age-old problem: What kingdom could afford a standing army that might turn on those in power? Yet, when threatened, what kingdom could afford not to have a trained army?

  Imoshen had appeased the Keldon nobles by convincing Tulkhan to admit a select few to his war council. Even now Woodvine, Athlyng, and the others were in the city, ready to take up arms at a moment’s notice.

  Imoshen arched her back and shifted her weight. She had been standing too long. Had she been a True-woman she would have had her baby by now, but it was almost midsummer and her pregnancy would drag on for another seven weeks.

  The laughter faded from Kalleen’s face and Imoshen turned to see Reothe approaching through the ornamental gardens, his expression foreboding. Hiding her trepidation, she crossed the lawn, meeting him under the clipped arch.

  “As Beatific I must advise against the General’s plan to tour the western coastal defenses,” he told her.

  Imoshen hid a smile. For Reothe to come to her, it meant he had been unable to sway Tulkhan. “General Tulkhan bel
ieves Gharavan’s invasion is imminent.”

  “All the more reason to stay in one place, the better to coordinate the army when the attack comes.”

  “I suspect the General hopes to draw Gharavan out. The longer the delay, the more edgy our people become.”

  “You could be right. I might send Murgon with him.” Reothe’s voice became intimate. “I have a gift for you. It is a bit late, but for your birthday...”

  Imoshen flushed, remembering how Reothe had risked his life to enter the palace on the anniversary of her eighteenth birthday. She rarely took out the T’Endomaz now, frustrated by her fruitless attempts to break the encryption. “Not another unbreakable code designed to drive me to distraction?”

  He grinned. “No. The T’Elegos.”

  “Reothe?” She caught his hands, touched to discover he trusted her with this treasure.

  “The T’Elegos is safely in its old hiding place in the basilica. And you would not believe what I went through to get it there unseen. Imoshen the First writes of events in the T’Elegos that would disturb True-people. Still, I promised you the T’Elegos, and when you have finished healing me, we will read it together.”

  “Must you remind me of our bargain?”

  “I have taken a step toward trusting you, Imoshen. The next step is yours.”

  She opened her mouth to assure him of her good faith, but the basilica’s bells cut her short. It was not time for the hourly bell. It was not a festival. It was—

  “The signal! Gharavan has attacked!” Reothe darted onto the gravel path to get a view of the palace. As Imoshen caught up with him, star-birds leapt from Sard’s Tower, informing all of T’Diemn that they were at war. She caught her breath, elated and terrified at once.

  Reothe pulled her to him. “We’ve run out of time, Shenna.” His fierce eyes fixed on her. “Promise me this. If I do not survive, look after the Malaunje children.”

  “Have you had a premonition of your death?”

  He nodded. “The General is an honorable man, but he will have a moment of choice and I don’t know which path he will take—honor or pragmatism. At least now you know where the T’Elegos is hidden.”

  “Reothe!” Only when faced with his loss did she realize how much she had grown to love him.

  Tulkhan looked up to see Imoshen enter the map room with Ashmyr, followed by Reothe and Kalleen. His commanders shifted uneasily, annoyed to see women and a child invade the war council. Only Woodvine and Athlyng looked relieved.

  “Where have they landed?” Imoshen asked. Two bright spots of color illuminated her pale cheeks.

  Tulkhan indicated the markers on the map of Fair Isle.

  “Windhaven?” Kalleen cried. “My people!”

  “Who will meet them?” Reothe asked. “The nearest abbey is Chalkcliff. Their T’Enplar warriors can organize resistance and be there in two days.”

  “And so can we.” Tulkhan was fired by a fierce determination that was not quite elation. He had spent many long evenings poring over the maps with Reothe, who had been able to suggest the best way to use natural features in defense and offense. Tulkhan knew he was lucky Reothe had not been Emperor when he invaded Fair Isle. The lack of preparation and incompetence of Fair Isle’s defenders had been his allies in that campaign. How Reothe must have seethed to see his island thrown away by his own flesh and blood!

  Tulkhan straightened. “Gharavan has chosen to make landfall only two days’ ride from T’Diemn, which places the capital under threat. Peirs, prepare the cavalry for a forced ride. I want to surprise my half-brother with our speed.”

  Ashmyr gave a little cry, tugging at Imoshen’s skirt. She picked him up, passing him to Kalleen. “Take him for now.”

  “What of my people at Windhaven?” she whispered.

  “Dead, I fear. Gharavan chose to strike closest to our hearts. Your people, our people are already dead.”

  Kalleen paled and hugged Ashmyr as she slipped away.

  Imoshen met Tulkhan’s eyes across the littered map table and said no more, listening to the swift discussion of weapons, men, horses, time to travel, stores to bring up, where to meet, the innumerable what-ifs.

  “Lightfoot will lead T’Diemn’s garrison and report directly to Imoshen,” Tulkhan said. “With the new city’s defenses completed, the capital cannot be taken except by siege. But we will defeat Gharavan before he gets here.”

  In a flurry, the war council broke up. Suddenly Imoshen was alone with the General. “Two years ago you were invading Fair Isle; now you defend her.”

  “Two years ago I was the General of the Ghebite army, bastard son of the king. Now I go to defeat my own half-brother, who is not half the king my father was.” His voice held regret, and Imoshen longed to comfort him.

  “There are four outcomes that I can foresee,” he said. “At worst, Gharavan defeats us and attacks the capital. If he does, you can hold out until winter. His army will have to prey upon the farmlands to survive. If we are defeated, torch the surrounding farms, bring everyone inside the city. He will be far from his lines of supply in a hostile land. Even if Reothe and I are both killed, enough resistance will survive to plague his every move.”

  A half sob escaped Imoshen, but he continued inexorably. “We may defeat Gharavan and return triumphant. Fair Isle will be ours. No mainland power will threaten us, because the mainlanders will be busy fighting over the carcass of the Ghebite empire.”

  “And the other two alternatives?” Imoshen asked.

  He looked at her. “I believe you know them. Either Reothe or I may be killed. Men die in battle. I am under a Ghiad to serve Reothe, but I cannot be everywhere on the battlefield. I ask this: If Reothe dies, will you accept that it was none of my doing?”

  “I know you are an honorable man, General.” Imoshen offered her hand. “Touch me and feel the truth.”

  Dry-mouthed, Tulkhan let his fingers meet hers. Dropping the shields he had constructed against her gift, he felt the force of her love for him. It made the knowledge that he must ride off and leave her all the more bitter.

  “All this and so much more could be yours if you would only trust me, Tulkhan.” Her voice moved like a silken touch through his mind. He longed to bathe in her love and rise reborn.

  Unable to bear the intimacy, he broke contact. “If I am killed and Reothe lives, fulfill your vows to him.”

  She shook her head, tears sliding unheeded down her cheeks.

  “When a man faces death, Imoshen, there is no time for pretense. Fair Isle will unite behind Reothe. If I die, what is left of my people will have to follow the majority. I must prepare to ride now.”

  She stepped into his path, pale but determined. “When a man or woman faces death there is not time for pretense, General. True, I took you for my bond-partner because I had to. But I grew to love you. Won’t you kiss me before you go?”

  He held her face in his hands and touched his lips to hers, savoring the impossibility of his love for her. Letting his guard drop, he accepted her questing mind-touch, sensed her surprise, then joy. But it was too much when he felt so raw and vulnerable.

  He pulled back so that only their bodies touched. “You have taught me a great deal, Imoshen of the T’En. I would be the poorer for not knowing you.”

  Energy powering his steps, Tulkhan strode the palace corridors. He needed to remind Imoshen to keep Ardon under watch. Gharavan must not learn of the Dragon’s Eggs.

  In Imoshen’s room he found Kalleen rocking his son to sleep, and in a flash of understanding, he realized that he was not fighting for glory or power but the safety of his hearth and home. Suddenly, all his years as General of the Ghebite army became a desert of destruction for its own sake.

  Kalleen smiled and lifted a finger to her lips, pointing down the hall. “The library.”

  A group of chattering servants passed Tulkhan as he strode into the library, muffling his footsteps. The chamber seemed deserted, then he heard a sound from behind the great shelves at the far end. H
e was about to call Imoshen’s name when he recognized Reothe’s deeper tone.

  As far as he knew, Reothe had gone to the basilica and not returned. A worm of disquiet prompted him to approach silently, his presence screened by tall bookcases. Through a narrow chink he saw a private nook illuminated by a finger of golden sunlight. Beyond it was yawning darkness, the entrance to one of the secret passages he knew riddled the palace. T’En architecture reflected its builders’ minds—full of beauty, artifice, and deception.

  Imoshen stood in the light, her hair and her skin aglow.

  “... have paid the highest price, Imoshen,” Reothe was saying. “I have lain with you only the once—and that was by trickery—and now I won’t even know my own child!”

  “You can’t be certain.” The heartbreak in Imoshen’s voice made Tulkhan flinch.

  Reothe dropped to one knee, hands raised in supplication. “The dishonor of my actions sits heavily with me. Forgive my trickery?”

  Imoshen did not hesitate. “You are forgiven.”

  Reothe kissed her sixth finger. When she pulled him to her breast, Tulkhan turned away, unable to watch. Now he understood Reothe’s question at Windhaven. It was true that Reothe had come to Imoshen in Tulkhan’s form, but in her heart of hearts she had loved her T’En kinsman when she had given her betrothal vows, and though she denied those vows to bond with Tulkhan, Reothe remained her first love.

  Shattered, Tulkhan stepped back, the scuff of his boot betraying him. In a flash they both confronted him, weapons drawn, eyes narrowed. For a heartbeat Tulkhan felt a True-man’s awe of the T’En.

  “Tulkhan?” Imoshen’s cheeks flamed as she tucked her knife under her tabard.

  Reothe resheathed his sword.

  The General cleared his throat. “Gharavan must not discover the power of the Dragon’s Eggs. Have Ardon arrested for his own safety.”

  Imoshen’s lips parted as if she might say something, but Tulkhan turned on his heel and marched out.