DARK DREAMS

by Cory Daniells

  She fought the urge to use her gifts, trembling with the effort. Finally the compulsion eased.

  No wonder General Tulkhan did not trust her; she hardly trusted herself!

  She sat up and hugged her knees, looking into the dying flames. It appeared she and the General were destined to share the kind of bonding True-people shared, one that went deep on a physical level, but excluded the mind-touch. Was it enough?

  He wanted her. He made her body sing. She even suspected General Tulkhan could grow to love her. But he expected her to live a half-life. Could she be satisfied with that?

  No.

  Imoshen knew with utter certainty that she had to have it all. Tulkhan had to not only accept her T’En gifts, he had to embrace them, or she would grow to despise him and herself. Unlike Cariah, she could not be less than she was.

  Tulkhan wished he could have slipped away with Imoshen as Wharrd had done with Kalleen, to forge their bonding in private, but royal bondings required celebration and duty never ceased.

  He watched Imoshen perform the elaborate wine-pouring ceremony. In front of each person stood a small porcelain cup, decorated with delicate High T’En symbols. The spiced wine steamed on the still air. It was time to speak.

  When Imoshen caught his eye, hers held a warning. Since their bonding, there had been little time to discuss the Causare Council and now he faced its delegates—Woodvine, Athlyng, Fairban, and others; leaders of the greater and lesser noble families of the Keldon Highlands.

  He had not denied them their request for a formal meeting, choosing to greet them in his maproom. They sat around the large circular table, their features reflected in its glossy surface, their wine untouched.

  Imoshen lifted her porcelain cup with high court formality and took a sip. Everyone followed suit. Tulkhan rolled the wine around on his tongue. It was sweet and spicy, not really to his taste. He put the cup aside.

  “We have been patient, Protector General,” Fairban began.

  “Not a word of dissension has passed our lips before the mainland spies,” Woodvine said. “When will you recall the Causare Council?”

  Old Athlyng lifted a hand. “There are those among us with hot heads who would see everything achieved before spring. Fair Isle was not established overnight. Give us a sign that you—”

  “I have spoken with my lord commanders,” Tulkhan said. “They understand the idea of this Council, though it goes by a different name in Gheeaba. The Causare Council will reconvene but with some changes.”

  There was uneasy muttering.

  “Have you no say in this?” Woodvine demanded of Imoshen. “Will women be forbidden to take their seat on the Council?”

  Imoshen placed her palms flat on the table to each side of her wine. “In keeping with custom, so that all voices will be heard equally, there will be a new Causare Council consisting of equal representatives from the old empire and the new. Six of the Generals lord commanders will take their seats in the Cors. You must select from your ranks six—”

  “You jest!” Woodvine exploded.

  Tulkhan met Imoshen’s eyes as the Keld argued against this restriction. He had deliberately selected his most trusted men, those who could be relied on to keep a cool head. Not only would they have to debate matters of state with their recent enemies, but some of those enemies were sure to be female. To Imoshen it was simply an accepted custom, to his men it was an insult. He could trust no more than six. Besides, he wanted the Causare Council to be a controllable size.

  Argument raged around the table.

  When Imoshen came to her feet, voices faded.

  Tulkhan watched her lift one hand, elegant as an unfurling fan.

  “Six people from the old empire.” She lifted the other hand. “Six from the new.” She lowered her hands, palms open. Her brilliant mulberry eyes met theirs in turn. “Think on it.”

  It was two weeks after midwinter and the frozen lake had been pronounced safe for skating. This was the last evening of formal entertainments, for which Imoshen was deeply grateful. It would be a relief to bid farewell to the majority of the mainland visitors tomorrow. Only the ambassadors and their aides would remain. Imoshen wanted those who left Fair Isle to report that the new Ghebite overlords had not destroyed famed T’En culture, so she and Cariah had organized tonight’s farewell ice ballet.

  Kalleen caught Imoshen’s arm as she spun past, laughing. Her wooden skates skidded out from under her, dragging them both off their feet. Being a farm girl, Kalleen had learnt to skate on the village pond, but this had not involved the fancy performance step she had just tried to execute.

  Perched on the bank overlooking the lake, the musicians played, as the sedate nobles circled studiously in pairs, avoiding Imoshen and Kalleen, which made it seem all the more ridiculous.

  Most of the Ghebite commanders had refused the chance to learn to skate. They sat in the large tent at one end of the lake, drinking and watching the festivities.

  Kalleen gave Wharrd a wave, unworried by the disapproval radiating from the other skaters. Imoshen wished she could forget her role as Lady Protector of Fair Isle and play silly village games.

  Her stomach rumbled. Hot food was being prepared in potbellied stoves on the bank. The tangy aroma drifted on the slight breeze that stirred the multicolored lanterns.

  Cariah laughed as she swooped in, turning her skates to slow her advance. “You are shocking my sisters, Kalleen!”

  Imoshen wondered if Cariah was obliquely censuring the Lady Protector of Fair Isle.

  Kalleen rolled her eyes. “I won’t pretend to be something I’m not and spoil my fun!”

  “We don’t all have that luxury,” Cariah snapped, her meaning all too clear.

  Imoshen winced and came to her feet. “Have I overstepped the mark?”

  Cariah glanced around impatiently. “There are some who would resent your behavior if you sat in the tent and did nothing. Life’s too short to worry about people like that!”

  “Help me up,” Kalleen commanded imperiously.

  Imoshen laughed. What would she do without Kalleen and Cariah to lend a breath of sanity? If only she could mend the rift with Cariah. Together they pulled the smaller woman upright, steadying her.

  Imoshen noticed General Tulkhan’s large form weaving towards her through the circling promenaders, and her body quickened at the sight of him.

  “The entertainers are ready,” Tulkhan said, coming to a stop with surprising grace.

  “Then we mustn’t keep them waiting.” Imoshen lifted her arm to link with his.

  “I’d better take my place.” Cariah slipped away.

  The musicians ceased their playing and the skaters made their way over to the tent. The flap had been rolled up to give them a view of the lake and the floor was covered with rugs and low tables. Tonight they followed the old custom of reclining on rugs and pillows.

  Imoshen sank down and slipped off her skates. It disappointed her to note that, though the ambassadorial parties and mainland nobles mixed freely with both the Keldon nobles and the Ghebites, the two groups she most wanted to mingle were stolidly refusing to do so.

  A hush drew her attention. Dancing skaters, each carrying flowering fountains of light, formed a sinuous weaving snake which whirled in time to the growing tempo of the music. Imoshen stole a look at the General. He was entranced.

  Lord Fairban leant forward proudly. “Here comes my Cariah.”

  She swept across the lake, moving with fluid grace.

  Imoshen’s heart swelled with pride. Cariah skated smoothly past the tent, turning in a large arc which allowed her time to jump, spin, and land again. Against a backdrop of sparkling light fountains, she performed the ice ballet. It was a display that few could equal.

  Once again, Cariah was benefiting from her unacknowledged T’En gifts; while Imoshen experienced the twice-edged sword of hers. But she intended to live up to the tenets of the T’Enchiridion. In serving the True-people of Fair Isle she hoped to win their trust a
nd acceptance. One day, people like Cariah would not need to hide their gifts.

  When the dance finished the audience applauded rapturously, and this time Imoshen did not find the rowdy appreciation of the Ghebites embarrassing.

  As the entertainers moved off, servants sailed across the ice with the food. Imoshen couldn’t help wondering what would happen if one of them lost their balance. The whole lot would come down, tripping each other up as food went everywhere.

  A smile tugged at her lips and she caught Tulkhan’s eye. When he grinned she knew he had been thinking the same thing. A rush of warmth swept through her. It was a relief to know he shared her unruly sense of humor.

  There was a mild stir as Cariah joined them. She bestowed a fond kiss on her father’s bald head and sank gracefully onto the cushions, midway between the Keld and Ghebites.

  As those around her congratulated her, Imoshen watched Cariah throw back her head and laugh. Several of Tulkhan’s commanders vied for her attention. Sahorrd played a game with her hand, making a point of discovering her sixth finger.

  “You have T’En blood in your family,” Imoshen spoke to Lord Fairban.

  “On my bond-partner’s side. Three beautiful girls she gave me, but only my eldest takes after her. Did you hear?” he beamed at Imoshen. “Cariah has been accepted into the Thespers’ Guild as a full member?”

  “Your daughter belongs to a guild?” Tulkhan remarked. “But she is the daughter of a nobleman.”

  Imoshen knew that the General was not trying to offend Lord Fairban, his reaction stemmed from genuine confusion.

  “Acceptance into the Thespers’ Guild is conditional on talent and ability. Anyone can learn to make shoes, and only chance dictates whether you are born into the nobility. But very few people are truly creative. To be accepted by one of the creative guilds is a great honor,” she told Tulkhan gently.

  “I see.” He looked at Lord Fairban. “My apologies. Things are different in Gheeaba. An artist is a craftsman hired to do a job, nothing more.”

  The old man’s lips thinned and Imoshen realized the General’s apology had only served to further offend him. Tulkhan’s dark eyes met hers with a silent question, but she shrugged almost imperceptibly. Intolerance stemmed from both sides. At least the General was trying.

  The lavish meal continued. In between courses, ice-skating clowns performed. This was more to the Ghebites’ taste. At Cariah’s insistence, several of the Ghebite commanders sang in their native language.

  Imoshen guessed from Tulkhan’s expression that the words were rather crude, but since most of it was not understood by the gathered nobles, it did not matter. When the meal finished, people left their places to mingle. Kalleen joined Imoshen and Cariah, pouring herself another wine, saying, “Those Ghebites seem to think a female incapable of conversation!”

  Imoshen smiled. “I’m sure Wharrd does not think so.”

  “Then why is he with the Ghebite men and not here with me?”

  There was a grain of truth in Kalleen’s complaint. Imoshen felt uneasy. Kalleen had been raised to hold dear the old values. She would take it hard if her bonding was reduced to the shallow parody Imoshen had witnessed in the high court.

  Cariah sipped her wine and indicated the young Ghebites who were betting on the outcome of an arm-wrestling match.

  “Such physical creatures,” Cariah purred. “Which one will I take to my bed tonight?”

  Imoshen studied the men, amused. “Aren’t they a little . . . ?”

  “Crude?” Cariah suggested. “Yes, but most enthusiastic. The tall one, Sahorrd, is very intense. The hairy one has amazing stamina, and Jacolm is extremely well endowed.”

  Kalleen tilted her head. “Why not all three?”

  Imoshen gave a little shriek of delighted horror.

  Cariah’s laughter rippled above the noise in the tent like the song of a beautiful bird. The Ghebites looked over. Imoshen had to hide a smile.

  Cariah patted Kalleen’s arm. “You are a girl after my own heart. But now I must decide whether to have them one after the other, or all three at once—”

  “Imoshen?” Tulkhan snapped.

  She sat up, startled by his tone. His glowering expression did nothing to reassure her as he held out his hand. She placed hers in his and he hauled her upright with such vigor that she fell against his chest.

  “Come watch the dancers.”

  It was an order. Resentment rose in her. He bundled her out onto the ice and around the side of the tent where he rounded on her. “Don’t let me catch you talking of bedding three men!”

  She laughed at the absurdity of it. “What is it to you, General? Cariah is not bonded. She can pick and choose. It is the custom for a woman to—”

  “It is not a Ghebite custom!”

  “Are they not Ghebite men she is bedding?” Imoshen asked innocently.

  “It is different for a woman.”

  “Different? How so?”

  He pulled her to him. She could feel his need for her and it triggered a sweet flash of desire, spiced by irritation. “Imoshen!”

  “Don’t Ghebite women enjoy bedding their men?” she prodded.

  “You are in need of a lesson!” he growled.

  “Are you my tutor?”

  His hands tightened.

  With a laugh, she let her weight drop and broke his hold. Darting past him she ran across the ice behind the tent. He was right at her heels. Driving her legs she ploughed up the snow-laden bank. He tackled her, knocking her to the ground, and they rolled down the far side of the bank into a hollow, pillowed by deep snow.

  Wordlessly he pinned her beneath him, seeking her lips. Imoshen returned his kiss with equal fervor, her heart soaring. Their bonding could not fail. It was too good, too rich. If only he would accept her T’En self.

  Desperation drove her passion.

  When his lips left hers she could not resist teasing. “Aren’t you glad I’m not a sighing, long-suffering Ghebite maid?”

  “By the gods, yes!”

  She laughed, reaching for him. He tensed as she freed him.

  “Your hands are cold.”

  A laugh bubbled out of her.

  The brocade tabard parted. As was the custom, her gathered trousers had no center seam. Bundled in their thick garments only the barest minimum of their flesh met, but it was enough. They writhed in the snow, eager, flushed with their mutual need. It was a delicious, stolen moment.

  When Tulkhan could think clearly again, he straightened his clothes, watching Imoshen rise and expertly arrange hen.

  “There is much to be said for the way women dress in Fair Isle,” he told her.

  She laughed and offered him her hand. He wanted to pull her back down into the snow, but they would soon be missed. They ploughed down the bank, pausing in the lee of the tent to make final adjustments.

  “Do I look presentable?” Imoshen asked.

  Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were swollen by his kisses.

  “You look bedable,” he told her.

  She thumped his chest with a good deal of force before returning to the tent.

  He still wanted her. Tulkhan was grateful for the thick overjacket. He waited a few minutes then joined the others.

  “I thought I would find you here,” Tulkhan announced.

  Imoshen gave a guilty start. She had escaped to the library after fulfilling her official duties. It had been a day for leave-taking. The mainland nobles had sailed with the morning tide, leaving only the ambassadors and their servants. The Keldon nobles would stay on to avoid the difficult travel over snowbound passes. By mid-morning Wharrd and Kalleen had made their farewells.

  Kalleen had promised to return in time for the baby’s birth but Imoshen did not know how many T’En traits Tulkhan’s son had inherited. The longer his birth was delayed the more T’En he would be. She sighed. That was another subject the books failed to reveal.

  “Yes, General?” she said, making the title an endearment.


  “Three more of the stable boys are down with winter fever,” he told her, though she could tell by his tone that this was not why he had come.

  “I’ll see to them. By the way, Lord Athlyng has been talking to me. He has advised the Keldon nobles to accept the new Causare Council. Telling them to select only six representatives was a master stroke. They will be fighting amongst themselves for the privilege.” She smiled. “Have you heard from Fairban or Woodvine?”

  “Not yet. There is something . . .”

  She waited but he did not continue. “What is it, General?”

  But he didn’t answer immediately, picking at the binding of the book until she pushed it away to save it from his aimless fingering.

  “It’s the Lady Cariah. You will have to speak with her,” Tulkhan said at last.

  “I thought she was doing a very good job of bringing the Keldon nobles and town dignitaries together with your men. The younger, more flexible members have struck up friendships.”

  Tulkhan grimaced uncomfortably. “It’s her lovers.”

  Imoshen bit her bottom Up to keep from smiling. For such a passionate man, Tulkhan was strangely prudish. “Surely that is her own business?”

  “Not when it comes to my men.”

  “Surely that is their business?”

  He frowned. “Then you won’t do anything?”

  “There is nothing I can do.”

  He sighed and slid a formal invitation across the table. “The Beatific wants me to take a seat at the next Intercession Day, but I know nothing of T’En laws.”

  Imoshen chose her words with care. “We have a fair system of laws, different, I gather, from the system you have in Gheeaba. If disputes between guilds or individuals cannot be settled by priestly mediation on Intercession Day, both parties appeal to the Emperor and Empress. We would be called upon to arbitrate.” It was actually the Empress who was final arbiter, but Imoshen decided not to bring this up. “You should familiarize yourself with the laws of possession and inheritance to begin with.”