DARK DREAMS

by Cory Daniells

Angry with himself, he pushed her away, struggling to one knee. His leg muscle protested as he tried to stand. In a few days he would have nothing but a limp and a fading bruise, but he didn’t have a few days. “Get on the horse, Imoshen. Leave me.”

  “No.” She met his gaze steadily “I will not leave you.”

  The horse wheeled, its body trembling with fright. Tulkhan called it softly, but the beast danced away, taking the spear with it. Cursing, he removed his cloak and wound it around his forearm.

  When Imoshen slid her shoulder under his, grasping him around the waist, he knew a moment of sheer frustration. Here he was without a weapon, injured, unable to defend himself or Imoshen.

  “This way,” she urged.

  Each time his injured leg took even a little weight, the sweat of pain broke out on his forehead. The trees thinned out as they approached the crest where his mount waited. It whickered nervously. Behind it was only sky.

  “Wait here.” Imoshen guided him to a small building where he let his weight sink onto the single step.

  As protection the structure was useless. It consisted of a roof supported by only a circle of elegant columns. Tulkhan could just imagine the courtiers of the old empire trekking through the woods to this lookout to enjoy the view while servants brought them food and entertainment. What a strange idle world the T’En had created, where form outdid substance.

  “Is there some way down?” Even he could hear the strain in his voice.

  Imoshen darted to the cliff edge to peer over the drop. “There’s no path down. The river lies below but there’s a wide patch of broken rocks, we’d never make it if we jumped—”

  “Good. I don’t want to jump. I can’t swim.”

  She padded back to him, grinning ruefully. Crouching, she covered his hand with hers. “We’re trapped, General.”

  “You should have taken the horse when you could!”

  She smiled fondly. “As if I would.”

  “Heal me.”

  Her eyebrows drew together in a frown.

  “It is an emergency. I’m not asking you to break your vow.”

  He saw her nostrils quiver as she inhaled angrily. “Does this mean you accept the T’En side of me!”

  “Not now, Imoshen. Heal me,” he urged. “Then at least 1 can defend us from the great cat.”

  “You set it free to kill it for sport. It is only doing what wild cats do, following its nature.” Her garnet eyes narrowed. “You would have me deny my nature yet use me when it suits you.”

  In that moment Imoshen looked so Other that Tulkhan fought an instinctive surge of fear. Then he noticed the horse had drawn closer. “Get my spear.”

  She looked down the slope to the snow leopard. “There it is. The perfect killing weapon.”

  The beast had crept into the open where it crouched in the snow, so still it was almost invisible.

  “When it charges you won’t see it coming,” Imoshen whispered as though fascinated.

  “If you will not heal me, at least escape. Get on the horse and flee. It will come after me. I’m the easier prey.”

  She studied him sadly. “It’s kill or be killed with you, isn’t it?”

  “Imoshen!”

  But she ignored him, stepping forward to meet the cat.

  “No, Imoshen!” Panic welled in him as she unwound her cloak, letting it unroll from her arm. “Imoshen!” With a groan he struggled to his feet. But the short rest in the cold had made his injured muscle seize up, and he could not stand. He fell to one knee, helpless and furious. “Imoshen, I forbid it!”

  Her soft, mocking laugh hung in the air between them, reminding him forcibly of Reothe.

  She stepped forward to meet the cat.

  He wanted to howl with frustration at his impotence. His eyes sought the shape of the white cat in the snow. He couldn’t find it. The beast had moved.

  Imoshen’s hands rose to her neck. When the sharp rent of tearing material cut the air, the cat answered with a scream of its own. The primal sound elicited an equally primal response in Tulkhan. The sweat of fear rose on his skin, chilling him to the core.

  A helpless groan escaped him as Imoshen dropped to her knees, baring her breasts to the beast, her head thrown back, arms outspread.

  Desperate, Tulkhan slewed his weight around. Whispering softly, he called his mount. He dug his hands into the saddle girth, using it to pull himself upright. The spear was strapped firmly in place. His fingers fumbled with it. He expected at any instant to hear Imoshen’s scream as the cat attacked. His blood roared in his ears.

  Clumsily, because he was holding on to the horse’s saddle to stand, he turned and hefted the spear in his hand, praying for one clean throw.

  Too late, the beast was on her.

  No. What was it doing?

  Stunned, Tulkhan tried to make sense of what he saw. The great, white head of the leopard was nuzzling Imoshen’s neck. Then it stepped back and sat looking at her for all the world like a tamed pet.

  She rose unsteadily to her feet, her hand sinking into the winter-thick fur at the cat’s neck.

  When she turned a gasp escaped him.

  Between her small breasts were three parallel streaks, claw marks welling with blood. One part of his mind told him he had seen this before. But he could only think that she had somehow tamed the cat.

  She lifted a trembling hand to her throat. “I promised safe passage for it and its mate out of the city.”

  “You talk to animals now?”

  She stared at him with Otherworldly eyes, impervious to his humor. “You must not let your men kill it. I cannot go back on a promise.”

  A promise to a snow cat? The horn sounded and he heard the baying of the dogs.

  “Get on your horse, Tulkhan.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “Try.” Imoshen came up the slope to join him. “I’ll help.”

  There was a strong smell of predator on her hands. The scent triggered a memory, he had smelt it on her once before. He frowned as he recalled that it was on the morning she had suddenly appeared in his bedchamber. Those marks were the same as the ones Reothe carried on his chest.

  “What does this mean?” He took her by the shoulder.

  She shook her head. “Up.”

  With a grunt of pain he swung his bad leg over the horse’s back. “I can’t stop the dogs, Imoshen. They act on instinct.”

  Even now he could see the pack heading up the rise toward them. The sun broke through the low clouds, bathing them with its ethereal silver glow.

  Imoshen stood at his side. She picked up her cloak and swung it over her shoulders, covering her bare breasts. The great cat came to her and sat at her feet. Tulkhan felt his horse shudder with fear.

  The horses and men followed the dogs, crashing up the slope. Tulkhan expected the dogs to attack but they slunk back and forth at the edge of the tree line, howling eerily, not daring to come closer.

  The Ghebites pulled their horses to a halt and looked across the open ridge top. At that moment Tulkhan knew he was no longer one of them. Because of what he had experienced with Reothe and what he felt for Imoshen he had taken a step across an invisible line. He might jest and hunt with his men, but in his heart he would walk alone for he had been touched by the T’En.

  “General?” one of his men called uncertainly. “Are you—?”

  “I am unhurt. The hunt is over.”

  “Witch!” someone hissed.

  Tulkhan raised his voice. “My horse threw me, kicked me in the leg. Imoshen tamed the cat.”

  A round of uneasy comments greeted this.

  “She’s in league with the evil one!” someone cried.

  Tulkhan thought he detected a Vayghanan accent.

  “There is no evil one.” Imoshen spoke softly, yet her clear voice carried. “Only the evil in men’s hearts.”

  Tulkhan grimaced. Trust Imoshen to speak the truth his men did not want to hear.

  Their muttering grew louder.

&nb
sp; “The hunt is over. Go back to the stables.” Tulkhan urged his horse forward, eager to break up the group before they resorted to violence.

  Imoshen walked beside his horse, her head level with his knee. The cat matched her step, never leaving her side.

  It was a long trek back to the stables. Imoshen and Tulkhan parted company from the hunters at the ornamental lake and made their way to the menagerie.

  When the keepers saw their snow leopard returned unharmed, they wept with joy. Tulkhan knew a moment’s shame to think that he and his men had been ready to kill the animal for sport.

  Following Imoshen’s instructions, the keepers prepared the menagerie’s barred cart and she climbed into the cage with both snow leopards.

  “We will take the cats beyond the farms on the outskirts of town before setting them free. They will make their way into the highlands,” Imoshen told Tulkhan.

  He wanted to elicit her promise that she would not go south with the snow leopards, but his pride wouldn’t let him. He hesitated, unsure what to say. Imoshen was right, much was against them. “Be on your guard.”

  A soft laugh escaped her. “You have seen what I can do and yet you tell me to be careful?”

  “I know how much you risk.” Risking his own arm, he slipped his fingers through the bars of the cage to grasp Imoshen’s hand. “Though you refused to heal me, you did not leave me.”

  Imoshen’s eyes narrowed. “Remember that when they come to tell you of my treachery!”

  When Tulkhan returned to the palace, he discovered it abuzz with Imoshen’s latest. The servants whispered that even T’Reothe had not seemed so T’En, that this Imoshen was truly a Throwback to the first Imoshen.

  Shape-changer, his men hissed. White hair, white cat, white witch. It was the stuff of legend, and the Ghebite warriors were as quick as the palace servants to carry the rumors.

  Chapter Fifteen

  That evening Imoshen lay alone in her bed listening for Tulkhan’s step, determined to mend the breach between them. They had grown close while escaping the snow cat, and she was sure he would open to her, but she heard him walk right past.

  Throwing back the covers, she padded to the connecting door, peering through as Tulkhan made up his simple bed before the fire. She ached to go to him yet dreaded his rejection.

  As he lay brooding, Tulkhan heard the softest of sounds and looked up to see Imoshen illuminated by the fire’s flickering flames. For a moment he wondered if his need for her had conjured her up.

  She knelt facing him. “How is your leg? Let me . . .” her hands went to his thigh but he pulled away, certain if she touched him he would be lost.

  “Why do you reject me?” Tears glistened in her eyes and her hair hung loose on her shoulders so that she seemed misleadingly vulnerable.

  He swallowed. “You bear the same scars on your chest as Reothe.”

  “Not by choice. I told you he called on the Ancients to draw me to him.”

  Tulkhan tore his gaze from her because to look on her would undo him. If Imoshen with all her gifts could not stand against Reothe what chance had he, a Mere-man? Truly, he was the dead man who walked and talked.

  After an eternity he heard Imoshen rise and return to her room and he covered his eyes to hide his hollow soul.

  Imoshen tried to pretend that it did not hurt when people would not meet her eyes. Less than three weeks had passed since she had freed the snow cats. No one had broached the subject with her, but the rumors were more damaging than direct confrontation. A challenge she could deal with. Gossip worked its harm with subtle innuendo.

  Tulkhan filled his days with feverish activity and by night she heard him pacing, consumed by something she did not understand and could not ease because he held her at a distance.

  “T’Imoshen?”

  She glanced up to see a palace servant looking distinctly uncomfortable. The woman gave the formal bow.

  “Yes?” Imoshen straightened, putting aside her reading. There was a muffled shout from the room beyond and several people shoved past the servant into the room. Imoshen’s hand went to her dagger, but even as her fingers closed around the hilt she realized these people were not a threat.

  “... won’t be kept out. The Empress would have seen us!” declared a stout matron.

  “And so will I,” Imoshen said easily, rising and approaching them.

  For an instant the woman and her three companions simply stared at Imoshen.

  The matron recovered first, making the deep obeisance. “It is our right to be heard.”

  Imoshen smiled at her belligerent tone. “Then speak. I am listening.”

  “For nearly three hundred years my family has lived in our home. We don’t want to live anywhere else. You tell him that we don’t want another house. We want—”

  The others joined in noisily.

  “Wait.” Imoshen held up her hand. “Who is asking you to leave your homes?”

  “The Ghebite General. He tears down our houses—”

  “What?” Imoshen bristled. “When?”

  “Right now. We were given notice the day after the Spring Festival. The Beatific said she would speak with him, but this very morning his men arrived and began—”

  “I will see this for myself!”

  Imoshen marched out of the palace with her escort of angry townsfolk. There were others waiting in the square. They led Imoshen through the streets of old T’Diemn.

  She heard wails of distress and the sound of builders at work before she rounded the end of the lane to discover the source of the disturbance. Ghebite soldiers had moved all the families’ personal belongings out of a row of houses and were demolishing the buildings.

  “What is going on here?” Imoshen demanded of the first man she saw.

  He flinched at her tone. “Following the General’s orders.”

  “And where is General Tulkhan?”

  He pointed and Imoshen strode forward followed by a crowd of townsfolk. Little children skipped ahead of her, shouting and calling to their friends.

  She found Tulkhan standing beside someone’s kitchen table which was perched incongruously on the cobbles amidst piles of pots and pans. The table was covered with large drawings, which the General was busy discussing with two men.

  “Tulkhan?” Imoshen greeted him, aware as always that his Ghebite companions resented her presence. “I would speak with you, alone.”

  “Of course.”

  A boy chased his pet pig past them, calling loudly for him to come back. Several children raced after him, eager to help. Tulkhan’s eyes met hers and she smiled. But she waited until Tulkhan’s men moved away to speak. “Why have you thrown these people out of their homes?”

  “They received notices. They’ll be relocated.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m securing T’Diemn,” Tulkhan said simply. “Take a look at this.”

  Imoshen glanced down at plans for T’Diemn. “What has this to do with my question? You can’t turn people out of their homes!”

  Tulkhan tapped the drawings. “This Reothe was an excellent engineer. See how he designed the streets of old T’Diemn so defenders could be marched to each of the four gates to hold off attackers? He also left the inside wall free of buildings so that troops could be rushed along the ring-road to reinforce a breach in the wall. But over the years people built right up against it, destroying access.”

  Tulkhan rolled up the plans. “I’m removing the houses which interfere with the defensive integrity of the wall.”

  “But they’re people’s homes, General. Families have lived in them for hundreds of years.”

  “I’ll build them new homes.”

  “It’s not the same.” She could tell he did not understand. “These people are part of a whole neighborhood. They’ve known everyone from birth, their parents knew their neighbors’ parents. You are taking more than their homes, you are taking their heritage.”

  “They will be g
enerously compensated for their hardship.”

  “Tulkhan, gold does not solve everything. Think of the people.”

  “I am thinking of the people!” He rounded on her, then seemed to collect himself. “T’Diemn can’t be defended as it stands, Imoshen. It is absurd to let perfectly good defensive works fall into decay because a few people built their houses in the wrong places. I am trying to make T’Diemn secure from attack. To save the city!”

  “But what of all those people and their homes outside the old wall? What will become of them?”

  “I’ll get around to them. My engineers and I are working on that.”

  He looked so pleased and determined. Imoshen sighed.

  “General Tulkhan, we are not at war. The rebels are contained in the Keldon Highlands. All of T’Diemn accepts you as their Protector General. Is this really necessary?”

  He studied her, his face unreadable. “You stand before me, princess of a conquered people, yet you still ask this? I took Fair Isle because your people had grown complacent. No one will take Fair Isle from me!”

  Imoshen flinched.

  Tulkhan continued. “Soon the rebels will be raiding the fertile plains, causing trouble for my commanders who hold estates in the south.” He urged her towards a lane which led directly to the old wall. A ladder stood against the stonework. “Come up and see what I plan.”

  She followed him onto the walls of old T’Diemn. They were wide enough for four people to walk abreast. Her ancestors had built well. To the west she could see the river gleaming in the sunshine as it wound its way through the countryside, dropping lower and lower, loch by loch, to the tidal flats and the sea. Closer still the new part of the city fell away below them, masses of pointing roofs and spires. It was a prosperous, proud city.

  A complacent city?

  “Look at T’Diemn sprawling before us, hopelessly under defended. Where are the earth works, ditches, palisades? With the population and wealth of this city the townsfolk could have built defenses right around the new part. They had all last spring and summer to prepare. But no. They sat here, turning a blind eye to my approaching army.”

  “What approaching army are you preparing to defeat?” Imoshen asked.