DESPERATE ALLIANCES

by Cory Daniells

  “Do you need food?” Tulkhan asked.

  “I have my cloak and a water skin. You should go back.”

  Tulkhan stretched, working the kinks from his muscles. “I think I will watch the path of the moons tonight. When my people still roamed the plains, a boy on the verge of manhood took his horse, a blanket, and water, and left the tent circle.

  “He meditated and waited for a sign. Eventually, he would see an omen and know what his private name would be, usually a bird of prey, wolf, wild cat, or bear. After that, he would never kill one of those birds or animals, and if he was in trouble, he would call on them. By the time I was of that age, my people no longer lived on the plains. The priests assigned our private names.”

  Reothe did not ask Tulkhan his private name, for which he was grateful. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much. Tulkhan studied the endless starlit night sky. The silence stretched.

  “Do you expect a revelation tonight?” Reothe asked softly.

  “May the gods forbid. I’ve had enough revelations!”

  “I don’t understand you, True-man.”

  Tulkhan smiled. Sometimes he did not understand himself. “I may not be T’En, but I have also been tainted by death’s touch. I will stand guard while you walk death’s shadow.”

  Reothe met his eyes, surprised. “It would be best if you returned to camp.”

  “Tell me stay or go, but tell me truthfully.”

  Reothe pulled the cloak tighter about his shoulders. “Stay, if you will.”

  Tulkhan was aware that some corner had been turned but he hadn’t recognized the signpost until it was past.

  In silence they watched the night deepen. Waves rolled onto the sand, their rhythmic roar hypnotic. Foam glistened in the light of the rising small moon.

  The night was still, still enough for Tulkhan to hear Reothe’s hiss of in-drawn breath. The little hairs on Tulkhan’s body lifted in response to the unseen threat.

  “Don’t come too close,” Reothe advised. He slid down the dune into the hollow, where he sat cross-legged with the cloak wrapped around him.

  Tulkhan marveled. The Ghiad was over. Gharavan was dead. Nothing threatened his hold on Imoshen and Fair Isle but Reothe, and he was ready to protect him. Truly, life was strange.

  * * *

  Death had come close to them all, and Imoshen wanted Reothe to meet his son. She wandered the camp looking for him. One by one the Ghebites denied knowledge of his whereabouts. If it had been an emergency, she would have opened her T’En senses to search for him, but it wasn’t, and besides, she was drained.

  At last she came to a campfire at the far edge of the army. Only the rolling dunes, silvered by the moonlight, stretched beyond. She approached the men by the fire as she had done so many times. “I look for Beatific Reothe.”

  The Ghebites exchanged glances. One of them pointed out into the dunes. “The General and his sword-brother went out there at dusk.”

  Understanding rushed Imoshen. The slow burn of anger consumed her. How the men must be laughing. Presumptuous female. As if the General would prefer her to his sword-brother. She was only fit for bearing sons!

  Furious, she returned to her tent. As the flap dropped behind her, she realized that Reothe would be facing the shades of the men he had killed, and a deeper jealousy consumed her because he had trusted Tulkhan before her.

  The baby woke at dawn and Imoshen tended to his needs, marveling once again that he clung to life so tenaciously. Sleep welled up in her as he nuzzled into her breast. She took a deep breath of contentment, then wrinkled her nose. Opening her T’En senses, she identified the dusty, dry aftertaste of death’s shadow.

  Rolling to her feet with the babe still at her breast, she stepped through the tent flap to see Reothe lying pale and weak under the awning. His lids flickered and she knew he was aware of her. Suffering etched his features. All her anger evaporated and she smoothed the lines of pain from his forehead.

  “Your touch is a balm,” he whispered.

  “I smell death coming from the pores of your skin. There was no mention of this T’En burden in the T’Enchiridion. Does Imoshen the First explain how to cope with it in the T’Elegos?”

  Reothe gave her a wry smile. “The T’Elegos is not what you think it is. It assumes the reader knows much, too much.”

  She remained unconvinced.

  “If I told you that on no terms must you attempt Traduciation, what would you say?”

  “First I must know what it is.”

  “Exactly.”

  Imoshen expelled her breath. “If only I had been able to break the encryption of the T’Endomaz!”

  “With what I have discovered, I think that some secrets are best left undisturbed.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “All my life I have carried the expectation and the burden of being a Throwback. My parents killed themselves when they realized there was no T’En mentor to train me. They could not face the thought of their son turning rogue. Everything I know I’ve had to uncover for myself. I am infinitely weary, Imoshen.” He closed his eyes, his voice a dry rustle. “In the heat of battle yesterday I took the lives of True-men. Seven times I walked death’s shadow as their shades tried to drag me into death’s realm with them, and it was because of my T’En legacy that I was vulnerable. But I would rather that than kill without compunction.”

  In sympathy, Imoshen undid the lacing on Reothe’s shirt, pulling it open to reveal his pale skin and the triple scars left by the Ancients’ servant. She placed his son’s soft cheek over Reothe’s heart. “Here is a blameless life to bring your soul peace.”

  With great reluctance, he cradled the baby’s downy head. Tears rolled unheeded down Reothe’s cheeks. He lifted his son so that the little body hung from his large hands, vulnerable as a day-old kitten. “Because he came too early, our Sacrare son’s gifts will be crippled, Imoshen. All his life he will suffer the mistrust of True-men and women, with no T’En gifts for his defense.” Reothe kissed the baby’s forehead. “I fear one day you will curse us for giving you life, my son.”

  Imoshen retrieved the babe, a fierce, protective fire burning within her. She recalled Mother Reeve’s son. Like Reothe, she had made her own discoveries.

  The sounds of the camp awakening came to her. Soon they would return to T’Diemn, to the responsibilities of their positions and the expectations of their people.

  “Imoshen?” Reothe whispered.

  “Ask, and if it is within my power I will grant it.”

  Tulkhan walked around the tent. Imoshen wondered if he had been listening. He towered above them, expression unreadable. “Will you ride, Reothe?”

  “Of course.” He rolled upright, and by the time he was standing he had shrugged off the pallor of death.

  Imoshen rose with the baby in her arms. Tulkhan held out his hands for the child. Heart hammering, she relinquished him. When she had suggested Tulkhan use Reothe’s son to control him, she had not actually envisaged handing the child over. Every nerve strained as Tulkhan turned the boy to the dawn sun. The baby’s eyes closed in reaction to the light and his tiny arms came up. His six-fingered hands splayed out, then furled closed.

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him.” Tulkhan said. The baby looked ludicrously small in his large hands. “Truly, I am blessed. I never thought to have two sons. As princes of Fair Isle my boys will get the best education, and I will see that they are not ashamed of their T’En heritage.” He held Reothe’s eyes. “In Gheeaba a man names his sons. What do you suggest, Reothe?”

  If Reothe rejected Tulkhan’s overture, there was no hope for them. Imoshen realized this was the last thing he had expected Tulkhan to do. But so much had happened since he planted this seed of dissension.

  Silence stretched. Reothe cleared his throat. “Do you have a name that means One who will overcome?”

  “Seerkhan. It was my grandfather’s name. He united the tribes. They say I take after him.” Tulkhan smiled. “
It is only right, since my son bears the name of the greatest T’En emperor of the Age of Tribulation, that this boy should carry the equivalent Ghebite name.”

  “Seerkhan...” Imoshen whispered. Images rushed her.

  “Reothe,” Tulkhan warned as Imoshen crumpled. “She’s exhausted.”

  But this was not the reason for Imoshen’s collapse.

  “Will she be able to ride?” Tulkhan asked.

  She pushed Reothe’s helping hands away. “Of course. The T’En are a hardy race.” And vulnerable in ways a True-man wasn’t.

  “We leave for T’Diemn,” Tulkhan said. “But first come with me.”

  When he ducked inside the tent to give the baby to Kalleen, Reothe turned to Imoshen for an explanation, but she could only shrug.

  Tulkhan reappeared and led them through the camp to the last dune. Before them the sand fell away to the sea. The sentinel that marked the entrance to the River Diemn stood bathed in crisp morning light. Everything looked renewed. Imoshen sensed they hovered of the brink of many paths, but the imminence of the moment prevented her from foreseeing the outcomes.

  The sea breeze blew her hair in her eyes and she flicked it aside as she turned to Tulkhan. “Well, General?”

  He gestured to the central mountains of Fair Isle. “When I landed at Northpoint with my army, I never thought to pay so high a price for this island—my father, my half-brother, and my homeland. Reothe, you once told me that I was wrong to launch an unprovoked attack for gain. In those days I was my father’s war general. The purpose of the Ghebite Empire was to expand. I... I am not the man I was. Fair Isle and the T’En—you two—have taught me much.” His honesty was painful.

  “None of us is unchanged.” Imoshen could barely speak.

  “I am weary of war and killing,” Tulkhan confessed. “I don’t want to return to T’Diemn knowing I cannot sleep easy in my bed because the last two T’En plot my death.”

  “What do you want from us, General?” Imoshen noticed Reothe grow as still as a stalking cat.

  Reothe gave a sharp laugh. “General Tulkhan wants a bloodless victory!”

  Tulkhan nodded. “My army has been traveling nearly twelve years. My men are ready for peace. Your people have suffered; they, too, are ready for peace. Today we stand at a crossroads. We can return to the capital and further plotting, or we can make a vow to put our differences behind us. Build on what we have.”

  Imoshen’s heart soared. Here was proof that she had not been mistaken in the General.

  “I would make a truce with you, Reothe,” Tulkhan said. “As Beatific of the T’En Church, you are second only to the royal house in power and prestige. If you make restoring the T’En your life’s work, will that be enough for you?”

  Imoshen felt Reothe’s eyes on her, and her awareness spiraled down to this one moment. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Is this what you want, Imoshen?” Reothe asked.

  She understood that if she said no he would take the path that led to Tulkhan’s death. She could not unleash the last T’En warrior. To save the General’s life she would have to deny her love for Reothe.

  “Is this what you want?” Reothe repeated.

  “Yes. It is what I want.” The words left her lips in a rush.

  Reothe faltered as if he might drop to his knees in the sand. Imoshen could not let herself go to him.

  “You have her answer,” Tulkhan said. “Reothe?”

  He walked a little away, his profile to them. Tension radiated from him, rousing her gift so that she could taste Reothe’s essence on her tongue. At last he seemed to come to a decision and faced them. “I never thought to be bested by the honor of a True-man, Tulkhan. You offered me a compromise once before and I refused. This time I accept. Like you, I grow weary of death. I will make war no more.”

  Imoshen’s head spun with relief. At the same time, she could not believe Reothe had accepted her decision. How could he put her aside for an ideal? But wasn’t that what she had done when he had come to her at Landsend, offering to help her escape? She had chosen to stay with the General to ease the transition of power, never dreaming that she would grow to love Tulkhan.

  Numbly, she watched the General remove his ceremonial knife and turn the blade on his left arm. With a start she realized he meant to make a T’En vow. She winced as he slit the skin over his wrist, then offered Reothe the knife. But Reothe refused it; instead, he lifted his arm and stared at the old bonding scar.

  Her mouth thinned as the scar opened. “See, Imoshen, I once told you this scar would never be healed until we were joined.”

  The extent of what she had lost made her gasp.

  Silently, Tulkhan offered his arm and Reothe met it, hand to hand, forearm to forearm.

  “You have my vow,” Reothe said.

  “As Imoshen is our witness,” Tulkhan said.

  When Reothe dropped his arm and turned to Imoshen, she felt the need in him. It robbed her of all pretense, and she had to look away.

  “I ask for a moment with Imoshen,” Reothe said.

  Without a word Tulkhan strode to the end of the dune and put his back to them, arms folded. The wind played with his long hair.

  “Imoshen?”

  She could not meet Reothe’s eyes. He would see her pain, and she had no right to inflict it on him.

  “You love him?”

  She nodded.

  “He is the best True-man I have ever known. He will bring honor to Fair Isle.”

  Her throat swelled with tears she could not shed. The bonding scar on her wrist throbbed, and she hugged it to her chest. When Reothe had risked his life to save her at Landsend, she had been torn by conflicting loyalties. Those same loyalties clawed at her now.

  Reothe touched her cheek, turning her face to his. Tears lapped over her lower lids, sliding down her cheeks. “I misjudged you, Shenna. You do not have a hard head and cold heart.”

  “I do what I must.”

  “As do I.”

  “I wish—”

  “No wishing. We must walk the path fate has presented.”

  “I don’t believe in fate!”

  He smiled with painful self-knowledge. “In the T’Elegos, Imoshen the First writes that a T’En couple rarely risked the deepest bonding because, though it enhanced their power, it left them vulnerable to each other. Already you have proved that true. I took a mad gamble when I offered the deep bonding in the old way, but I do not regret it.” He took her left hand, lifting it between them so that their fingers entwined, wrists met.

  She felt the warmth of his blood, and her own bonding scar stung. “What are you doing?”

  “Amending our vows.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There can be no other for me, Imoshen. But I can wait. Enjoy your True-man. Watch him grow old and die. I don’t envy you. And when your heart is healed, I will be ready. On that day we will complete our bonding vows.”

  He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, then released her and raised his voice. “I’ll tell the army to break camp, General.”

  Imoshen stared out to sea, hearing only the rush of the breakers, the cry of the seabirds. From what Reothe had revealed, the knowledge of the T’Elegos would bring as much sorrow as joy.

  She knew when she was alone with Tulkhan on the dune.

  “Imoshen?”

  She looked over her shoulder at the General. He had aged since he took her Stronghold. Experience had marked his features with compassion and wisdom. “When I first met you, Tulkhan, you were a great war general; now you are a great statesman, one who will bring peace and prosperity to Fair Isle.”

  “Don’t speak of Fair Isle, Imoshen. I know you became mine by necessity, not choice. Fate forced you to make cruel choices, but I had begun to hope that you might love me—”

  A sob escaped her and she reached for him. They would have a few precious years together. She would not seek to know how many.

  His arms tightened about her, and when h
e spoke there was a catch in his voice. “I did not know if you could love a Mere-man.”

  “Mere.. .nothing!” She held his eyes fiercely. “There must be no more Mere-man and T’En, only us and we.”

  “But what of you and me?” he asked.

  “You know that I love you.”

  “But you love him too. And I have been second best all my life, first son of the king’s second wife, supplanted heir. I must be your one and only. I would have it from your lips.”

  “I have renounced the last of my race. Doesn’t that tell you how I feel?” She pulled back and searched his face. “My T’En heritage has always been denied by the people who loved me. On our bonding day you made me vow not to use my gifts. Since then I had begun to think you have grown less hostile. Can you accept me for the Throwback I am?”

  She saw him hesitate, and her heart sank.

  “If I have faith in you, then I must accept your gifts, but I cannot pretend they do not trouble me,” Tulkhan admitted.

  “Honest, at least,” Imoshen whispered. “If truth be told, my gifts sometimes frighten me.”

  His eyes widened, then he smiled wryly. Wonderingly, she traced his mouth with her fingertips. “Know this. For me you will always be the truest of True-men, Tulkhan.”

  He removed one of the two seal rings from his finger. “I want you to have this.” His voice caught as he slid the Ghebite-seal ring onto her finger. “There were times when it seemed too much to ask for Fair Isle and your love.” He kissed her palm and closed her fingers. “You hold my heart, all that I am, right here.”

  And she knew it was true. When he caught her face between his hands, they were both vulnerable. Imoshen opened her T’En senses and closed her eyes as she gave herself over to him, exulting in his love for her.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cory Daniells lives by the bay in Brisbane, Australia, with her husband and six children. With more than twenty children’s books and numerous short stories published, she set out to combine her two loves, fantasy and romance, in the T’En trilogy.