General Tulkhan was patently unconvinced.
She tucked her scrying plate under her arm, determined and defiant. “I am going to the library. You can place a guard on me if you choose. Though what the palace servants will think of that, I can’t imagine. I am true to you, General Tulkhan. If there is a seed of doubt, it lives in you, not me!”
Why wouldn’t the man die? Tulkhan’s sword arm ached. His breath rasped in his throat. And still the man kept coming. Every killing blow Tulkhan struck was ineffective while his own body grew steadily weaker. Sweat stung his eyes. The swordsman hadn’t been this hard to beat the first time he had killed him. With a jolt Tulkhan realized this was a dream. He was reliving his first battlefield kill.
At seventeen Tulkhan had sent this man to his grave without a thought.
Suddenly he slipped on the bloodied ground, going down on one knee, which he hadn’t done in real life. He took a sword strike under his arm above the armor. The blade ran deep into his chest, burning, searing all the way. Each breath became agony and grew more shallow as he drowned in his own blood.
Propped on one elbow he stared up at his opponent, silhouetted against the sun. The swordsman pulled off his helmet. Reothe?
Tulkhan woke gasping, drenched with sweat, his heart racing. When he rolled to his feet his knees threatened to give way. Staggering, he crossed the room to the window and threw it open. The smell of death and despair clogged his nostrils. He felt utterly hollow.
He heard Imoshen moan in the room beyond and stifled the impulse to go to her. To lie in her arms now would be bliss, but each time he did, he felt the bonds of passion bind him ever closer to her. Tulkhan could not forget the moment Reothe had revealed the bonding scar he shared with Imoshen.
Last night he had let himself believe her denials, but excuses sprang too easily to Imoshen’s lips. And today when she had refused to discover Reothe’s camp, Tulkhan had vowed to stay out of her bed. Instead he had placed a blanket before the fireplace in the Emperor’s private chamber.
Tulkhan strode to the fireplace to stir up the coals, and keep back the night. Somehow he knew this feeling of despair was Reothe’s doing and that he must fight it with every breath he took.
Imoshen roused herself from a doze. It was the day before the Spring Festival, though the snow still lay thick on the ground. She blinked and remembered that she had been working through the plans for the feast before she drifted off.
The scratching came again. Imoshen did not recognize the comb’s metal tone.
She rubbed her face and straightened her hair. “Come in.”
Lord Fairban’s youngest daughter entered. “T’Imoshen.”
“Lady Miryma.” Imoshen came to her feet. She and Miryma were the same age, but they were worlds apart. This woman was the youngest child of an indulgent father, while Imoshen carried the weight of Fair Isle on her shoulders.
Like the rest of the Keldon nobles, the Fairbans were preparing to return to their estates now that the worst of the snows had melted.
“My father wishes to speak with you before he leaves,” Miryma said.
“I would be honored.”
“You’ll need a cloak. Father wants to speak somewhere private.”
Imoshen did not like the sound of that. She thought Lord Fairban had become reconciled, as much as was possible, to Cariah’s death.
She followed the young woman through the palace, out into the formal gardens.
“This is as far as I go. Father waits for you in the center of the maze,” Miryma said.
Imoshen thanked her and moved on. The air was still, crisp, and cold. Ideal for carrying sound. She heard the horn and the baying of the dogs. The Ghebites were hunting in the woods again. She wondered with disgust what animal they had flushed out this time. They had just about hunted all game from the formal woods. There was even talk of freeing some of the animals from the menagerie, which would be cruel indeed since these were rare animals, presented to the palace as gifts and bred over generations.
When Imoshen entered the center of the snow-shrouded maze Lord Fairban spun to face her. She could tell by the furrowed snow that he had been pacing.
At the sight of her he grew still. He had aged since Canah died. A steely determination defined his face as he studied her.
She waited, then prompted him. Her feet were starting to go numb. “I have come in answer to your summons, Lord Fairban.”
He indicated the stone seat and brushed last night’s snowfall from its surface.
“Come, T’Imoshen. I have been made spokesman and it is time we revealed our plans to you.”
Imoshen’s heart sank. “Continue.”
“This may be painful for you, but I must speak plainly. You are nothing but a tool to the Ghebite General, a prize of war to be used to cement his hold on this island. Even the child you carry is more important for his hold on Fair Isle than yours. He needs you. You do not need him.”
Imoshen raised an eyebrow. It seemed everyone knew of her pregnancy.
Lord Fairban nodded to himself. “I came to see this Ghebite General and I must admit I was favorably impressed. Tulkhan is a good man, for a Ghebite. But events have proved that we can never live with them. They are primitives.”
He took her hand, patting it kindly. A wave of sincerity washed over Imoshen. Lord Fairban believed what he was about to say.
“There are others who feel the same way. We want to see you and Reothe in the palace. If the royal family had been pure T’En as they were meant to be, Fair Isle would never have fallen to the Ghebite invaders.”
Imoshen was swamped by his vision of a future with a powerful T’En ruling class who protected the True-people of Fair Isle. She withdrew her hands from his, too dismayed to speak.
He appeared unaware of this. “When I go south I will make contact with T’Reothe, aid him. When he is ready, we will march into T’Diemn where you will be waiting for him.”
Imoshen dared not reveal how she really felt. If she objected to his plans, Lord Fairban would become her enemy, for he must surely know that the information he had just revealed would result in his death and the destruction of all his associates.
“I knew you were biding your time, playing out the charade until the moment of confrontation,” he continued, pleased with his sagacity. “My daughters and I leave immediately after the festival tomorrow. It is time the Keld made a stand.”
“Lord Fairban, I urge caution.”
“No need. I know your hands are tied for now. But when the moment is right you will strike a telling blow for Fair Isle, turning the invaders to stone!”
Imoshen slumped on the low seat, feeling the cold seep through her cloak and gown.
“My Cariah admired you, Imoshen. I have lost a daughter. You have lost your family. Let my daughters be your sisters, let me stand in place of your father.”
Stunned, she could only stare at him. He radiated absolute faith in her and she knew his heart was good. Imoshen was horrified. What could she do? She did not want to be the death of Cariah’s father and the annihilation of what remained of Fair Isle’s old nobility.
“I will leave first,” he advised. “You wait a while, then follow me out. There are spies everywhere.”
Imoshen watched him go, then buried her face in her hands. To think it had come to this. Her head spun with the implications. The Keldon nobles believed she was capable of turning the Ghebite army to stone. They believed she and Reothe could not fail to rout the Ghebites. Naturally they would be happy to rise against the invaders. To know her own unthinking actions had triggered this development was bitter indeed.
Imoshen rose, stiff with cold and shock. She had no idea how much time had passed. In a daze of worry, she followed the footprints out of the maze. It was only when she came to the last turn that she noticed there was an extra set. A third person had stepped in her footprints but that person’s stride was not as long as hers.
Imoshen’s heart faltered.
Who had over
heard them?
One of Tulkhan’s spies? Since he no longer came to her bed she knew he had set people to watch her. Or maybe it was one of the ambassadorial groups, their keen-eyed servants were everywhere. . . .
Imoshen dropped to her knees, placing her bare hand in the snow hollow before lifting it to her nose.
She knew that stench. Vaygharians!
By tonight Kinraid would have Tulkhan’s ear, planting his poison to grow and fester. If only the General would let her touch him. She knew if she could he naked next to him, she could ease his doubts and soothe his fears.
But she wouldn’t get the chance. Frustration welled in her. She didn’t want to betray Tulkhan. Somehow she had to convince him of that while protecting Lord Fairban.
The horn sounded again.
Inhaling, Imoshen tasted the hunting blood lust of the Ghebite men carried to her on the breeze. Tulkhan was with them. Without another thought she took to her heels, running towards the woods.
A heaviness in her lower belly reminded her of the baby’s presence but did not slow her. However, it was harder going when she entered the woods where the snowdrifts had piled up. She concentrated on finding Tulkhan. Something was being hunted through the woods. The tang of male excitement hung on the air. Its unpleasant aftertaste sat on the back of Imoshen’s tongue.
She ran on, letting instinct guide her. Soon she found herself on a rise, hunting the hunters. They were on horseback moving parallel to her. The thick woods slowed their pace.
She identified the General’s broad shoulders amongst the hunters. He didn’t want her to use her powers but she had to make him come to her. Everywhere she turned, people were trying to drive a wedge of mistrust between them, and she had to forestall their wicked whispers.
Tulkhan shifted in the saddle. He had the strangest feeling, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck which told him he was being watched. He looked up the rise. A cloaked figure stepped from the trees and looked down at him. He knew that pale form, those dark eyes.
An emotion which was equal parts dread and fascination gripped him. Right at this moment Imoshen looked completely Other, wreathed in a T’En mystique. Yet none of his men seemed to notice her.
Tulkhan shuddered. Was he aware of her because he had been touched by both Imoshen and Reothe? It seemed he was growing sensitive to their gifts, vulnerable.
Anger warred with an urgency which was not his own. He realized she was calling him and he fought the compulsion to go to her. But it was overwhelming. Confronting her was the only way to escape her pull. He let the others ride on past him and turned his mount to the rise where she waited. Her red cloak was obscenely bright against the white snow, a splash of fresh crimson blood.
At last he faced Imoshen who looked up at him, her chest rising and falling as if she had been running.
“Well?” he demanded, not bothering to dismount.
She would have stepped forward, but stopped when he jerked the horse’s reins and the creature sidled away.
“I have news of a plot to aid Reothe,” she said.
It was so unexpected he snorted. “Why tell me?”
She flinched. “They will tell you that I am part of it and I’m not. Don’t let them do this to us, Tulkhan!”
The pain in her words lanced through his anger, but he maintained his distance. If he let his guard down she would claim his soul, and he suspected it was only a matter of time before Reothe’s prophecy was fulfilled. Since the night the rebel leader had saved Imoshen, Tulkhan’s dreams had been filled with visions of his own death.
He was growing to believe he would never rule Fair Isle, never live to see his son grow to manhood. It was all a shallow dream. The blood of his Ghebite companions would enrich the soil of Fair Isle and his memory would be a tavern jest, no more.
“So tell me about this plot,” he said coldly.
“Why should I betray my own people? It’s obvious you despise me!” Imoshen turned, her red cloak swinging in a defiant arc as she darted away through the silver trunks.
Tulkhan urged his horse forward and pursued her. Imoshen was hampered by knee-deep snow. He took his time catching up to her, letting her know who was in control. As she looked over her shoulder, he caught a flash of something in her eyes and wondered if he wasn’t playing into her hands.
Annoyed, he closed the distance between them. Coming abreast of her he leaned out, caught her cloak, and pulled her off her feet. She twisted and writhed, resisting him with surprising strength. Either he had to let her go or leap from the horse. Swinging his leg over the saddle, he threw himself forward. They went down in a tangle of limbs as the horse galloped on.
Cursing, Tulkhan caught a flash of Imoshen’s furious eyes before he hit the snow, pinning her body facedown under his in the cushioning snow. Only by tensing his muscles was he able to stop her from flipping him off.
She muttered something hard and angry under her breath.
He hugged her to his chest, pinning her arms. “So who is in on this plot?”
She arched in silent protest, then the fight seemed to go out of her and she melted into the curves of his body. Without warning he felt the liquid heat of desire flow through his limbs.
“Don’t try to distract me!”
“I do nothing. If you lust after me, it is your response!” She wriggled against the evidence of his desire.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what you do.”
She laughed bitterly. “If you could think with your head for a change, you’d ask yourself why I came out here to warn you!”
“Trick me, you mean. Do you think to win my trust with half-lies?”
“You are a ... a Ghebite dog!” she spat, panting with anger. “All rutting and—”
He laughed. “Is that the best you can do?”
“Tulkhan, listen. Because of what happened to Canah and Jacolm, the Keld prepare to support Reothe. When he leads them to invade the city they will call on me to join them. They expect me to turn you and your army to stone.”
“As if you could! You’d die trying.”
“It is enough that they think I can do it.”
“Who thinks this?” He tightened his hold on her. “Who, Imoshen? Name them and I will have them arrested, their lands confiscated—”
“That’s right,” she gasped. “That will certainly make the others trust you!”
“What do you expect me to do?”
No answer.
“Well?”
She remained obstinately silent.
At last he loosened his hold, allowing her to sit up and face him.
“The nobles plot to overthrow me.” He tried again. “What would you have me do, Imoshen?”
“I don’t know!”
The despair in her voice touched him. “Imoshen?”
She shook her head, brushing impatiently at her tears. “So much is against us, General. Sometimes I ...” A sob escaped her.
He gathered her to him. Her tears were salty on his lips, her breath hot on his skin. How could Imoshen’s touch be a traitorous lie?
Earnestly she pulled away. “We must be strong in ourselves, strong in each other for the sake of our people, and for. . ” She took his hand, guiding it to her belly where he felt a small, firm swelling.
It was his child, nestled safely within her. She smiled, almost shyly. A deep joy flooded him. He kissed the tears from her cheeks. It seemed to him that all his life had led to this moment in the pristine cold air on the ridge with Imoshen in his arms.
She returned his embrace with fierce passion. Tulkhan didn’t want to go back to the palace, to his advisors who argued that Imoshen would be his downfall. He wanted her now, but that would mean laying himself open to her. He could not think for the urgency of his need.
Suddenly she froze.
“What?”
“It can’t be!” She sniffed the air and her eyes widened. “What were you hunting?”
“A big white cat. My men let it out of the—”
“A snow leopard?” Her nose wrinkled as if she was smelling the predator’s rank scent.
He sniffed, then tensed, for he could also smell it now.
“Move slowly,” Imoshen advised.
Tulkhan rolled to his feet, searching the ridge. His mount had paused a body length away. The horse rolled its eyes fearfully but did not bolt, obeying its training despite the instinct to run. Then Tulkhan saw the cat, a patch of deeper white moving through the drifts.
“It’s below us, heading this way.”
Imoshen came to her knees. Dragging off her cloak she rolled it round her right forearm. “Do you have a weapon?”
“Only a ceremonial spear. It is supposed to be a clean kill, man against beast—”
Imoshen muttered something derogatory in High T’En, then she was on her feet backing up the ridge. Tulkhan spoke soothingly to his horse as he collected its dangling reins.
“Could we outride the cat?” he asked.
“Not two of us on a single mount through heavy drifts.”
“Then mount up,” he urged. “I’ll stay and distract it.”
“No.”
“Imoshen, don’t argue. I’ll have the spear.”
She laughed. “I’d like to see you tackle a snow cat with a spear. I’ve seen what they can do!”
“You’ll get on the horse, Imoshen. You have to, you can’t risk the child.”
“Of course!” she snarled, her wine-dark eyes burning with resentment. “I keep forgetting. That is all I am to you, a brood mare.”
He caught her around the waist, intending to lift her onto the horse. The sudden action startled the beast and it reared, knocking them both to the ground. The impact of its shod hoof struck his thigh with impossible force. His leg crumpled under him. A groan escaped his clenched teeth.
Imoshen scrambled out of his grasp. Her eyes searched his face as her hands felt his leg. “The bone is not broken but—”
DARK DREAMS Page 27