Tulkhan frowned at her. “Have you forgotten the threat of Reothe and the Keldon nobles? This is basic warcraft, Imoshen. Bluff and counterbluff. You suffer from four hundred years of peace! Your people fought their wars offshore, territorial wars, trade wars, diplomatic wars. But ultimately what is taken by force must be held by force.”
Imoshen took a calming breath. “Will you not reconsider, General? Why not build new walls around the whole of T’Diemn? You will raise the ire of the people if you pull down their homes. Does the security of old T’Diemn outweigh the goodwill of the townsfolk?”
He shook his head sadly. “I knew you would not understand. This must be done, Imoshen. You—”
“Will you pull down the shops and homes on the fortified bridges as well? When will you stop? ”
“When I think T’Diemn is defensible!”
“Then make it defensible, but don’t interfere with the old city.”
“That’s not sensible, Imoshen. What if the outer defenses are breached? If an invading army took all of new T’Diemn, the people could retreat to the old city and hold out against their attackers.”
“If they were attacked. You are putting all this effort into a last ditch effort. Why do you think Fair Isle suffered from four hundred years of peace? We used diplomacy instead of force.”
“And when diplomacy no longer worked, what happened? A wise commander plans ahead. I swore to be Protector General of Fair Isle and I keep my word!”
Imoshen searched his face for any sign of softening. He looked strained and tired, but determined. “I think you are making a mistake, General. It is not the size of the defenses but the heart of the defenders which keeps the enemy at bay. If you lose the hearts of the townsfolk, you might as well open all the gates and invite Reothe in. Please reconsider.”
He folded his arms, looking out over T’Diemn. “I do what I know to be right, Imoshen.”
It was clear he would not be swayed and she suspected he was right. She would have to persuade her people to accept his actions.
As Imoshen climbed down the ladder Tulkhan remained, staring out over the city. Thousands of people trusted him to defend them. He could not fail them just because a few families did not want to be moved.
Tulkhan returned to the ground. As he strode out of the alley he could hear the impatient mutterings of the townsfolk and Imoshen’s clear voice. If she was stirring up the people against him he would throttle her.
“... you would come to me and cry, we have lost everything because you did not defend us.” Imoshen’s words reached him. He stopped, surprised. She stood there on the kitchen table, waving the rolled-up plans in one hand. “Four hundred years ago T’Reothe the Builder made our city safe from attack, but we have grown complacent. With these plans we will make T’Diemn safe from an invading army. Never again will you face the likes of King Gharavan. Never again will children and old folk be chased down the streets of T’Diemn, hunted and slaughtered.
“I congratulate those people who are giving up their homes for the good of T’Diemn. We must praise them and make them welcome in their new homes. And I thank General Tulkhan for thinking ahead and planning for the safety of everyone in T’Diemn!”
Imoshen flung her open hand in his direction and the people turned towards him. Those who were being asked to move eyed him resentfully, but others cheered. They crowded around Tulkhan so he could not move for the crush. Eventually the crowd dispersed and he was able to approach the table where Imoshen stood, leaning on both elbows to study the plans.
She straightened, greeting him with a quick smile.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice meant only for her. “Even if you used your gift to sway them.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You do not understand my people, General. The higher we rise the more we serve. To serve is to be elevated. I have called on these people to serve the greater good and they will do it, because not to do so would make them social outcasts.”
“To what do I owe this change of heart?”
“I concede that you may be right,” she told him with a grin. “T’Diemn is prosperous. We can afford to build strong defenses. It will reassure the people. The rulers of the old empire were too proud. I will not make the same mistake.”
Tulkhan met her glittering eyes and knew it was true. If he had delayed entering Fair Isle long enough for Imoshen and Reothe to be bonded and united in defense of Fair Isle, he would never have taken the island.
Imoshen offered her arm. “Walk with me, General? It is good to let the people see us united.”
Tulkhan linked arms with her, but did not drop his guard. As they strolled along, pausing to speak with the people of T’Diemn, he watched Imoshen charm butcher boy and guildmaster alike.
“The people seem ready to forgive you the stone lovers and even tamed snow cats,” he remarked when they were alone again.
She looked up at him, her features suddenly vulnerable. “When will you forgive me? My bed is cold and lonely. I hear you pace the Emperor’s chamber. What troubles you, Tulkhan?”
But he shook his head. As much as he longed to share his fears with her, he could not.
Imoshen studied Tulkhan’s design for T’Diemn’s outer fortifications. She had to admire his clever use of the natural terrain, the hills and river locks.
But the defense of the capital was not concerning her now. It was midspring and Reothe’s rebels threatened the fragile peace. In the weeks since the snow had melted in the Keldon passes the rebels had grown bold.
Reothe did not raid the farmers or the hardworking villagers; instead he attacked the traders whose tales of woe would be carried to the capital. The merchants who could well afford the loss squealed the loudest.
The Ghebites talked of Reothe’s capture and execution, eager to avenge the deaths of their brothers-at-arms; for on three separate occasions Reothe had surrounded Ghebites on their new estates and massacred them, leaving only one man alive to tell of the attack. Reothe flaunted his ability to come and go protected by the locals.
Many of the Ghebite commanders had dispersed to lay claim to their estates, others were prepared to accompany the General into the Keldon Highlands to answer Reothe’s challenge. She knew Tulkhan must retaliate or risk losing half the ground he took last summer, but Imoshen feared Reothe would lead Tulkhan’s army on a wild chase through the Keldon Highlands, picking his men off one by one.
Tulkhan strode into the room resplendent in his battle finery and her heart contracted with longing.
“We are ready to ride,” the General said. “I will leave with you Peirs and a company of men to hold T’Diemn. While I am gone you must oversee the construction of the city’s new defenses.”
“I know what I must do.” Imoshen came to her feet. “Won’t you reconsider? Use me to draw Reothe out. I’ll tell him I’ve had second thoughts, and ask him to meet me somewhere between here and the highlands. But I must be there to meet him or he will sense it is a trap. I’m willing—”
“Well, I’m not!” Tulkhan feared that once Reothe had Imoshen in his power she would succumb to the rebel leader’s strange allure and renounce him. “I won’t risk losing you and the child.”
“Not even to hold Fair Isle?”
He held her eyes.
“Then you could lose it all!”
Tulkhan turned his hand over in supplication. “I will come back when the baby is due.”
Imoshen’s lips parted as if she might say something, then whispered, “You might never return!”
Silence stretched between them.
Tulkhan opened his arms and she ran to him. He felt her shoulders shake with silent sobs and he found her tear-damp lips, embracing her with all the strength in his body. If only he could put everything else aside, but that was impossible. He could not truly claim Imoshen until Reothe was dead, and he went into the highlands knowing a Mere-man could not hope to defeat a T’En warrior.
Closing himself away from her, he stepped out of her arms.
“I am a warrior, not a courtier.” Steeling himself against her disappointment, he turned and strode out.
Imoshen stared at the place where Tulkhan had stood only a moment before. It still seemed to vibrate with the force of his personality and the things left unsaid.
Prowling to the window, she watched the men in the stable yards awaiting orders to mount up. She knew if Tulkhan were killed on the battlefield she would not be able to hold the Ghebites. No, if the General died, his commanders would turn on the island’s inhabitants like ravenous wolves, breaking into factions, warring amongst themselves for the spoils. She couldn’t allow this. If Tulkhan fell, she would have to ally herself with Reothe to save Fair Isle from the remaining Ghebites.
This realization frightened her. True, she feared Reothe, feared that he would try to dominate her with his superior gifts, but what frightened her most was that, in truth, she would not be averse to standing at his side—perhaps it was where she truly belonged. If Tulkhan were dead and she had done all she could to forestall another summer of war, then she would have no choice but to join the last T’En warrior. She knew that her alliance with Reothe would not be a cold political joining. And that thought was not as unwelcome as she would have liked.
Contemplation of Tulkhan’s death was torture to her. Was it only last autumn that she had thought there was a right and a wrong?
The shout went up. The men were moving out.
Clasping one hand under her belly to compensate for the weight of the child, she hastened out of the room and along the gallery.
Before stepping out onto the balcony, Imoshen paused to straighten her hair and assume a regal stance. A mass of men milled before her. She watched as they formed disciplined ranks, mounted men to one side, foot soldiers to the other, all wearing purple-black cloaks. Ghebite cloaks! She wrinkled her nose. She must speak to Tulkhan about designing their own standard and colors. It did not suit her to see his men wearing King Gharavan’s colors.
The ranks of Tulkhan’s men filling the square was a grand sight, but their discipline would do them no good in the Keldon Highlands. The rebels knew the treacherous ravines, and cunning traps awaited them. Cavalry was useless. Battle-trained destriers were no match for wiry mountain ponies. Imoshen’s heart twisted with pity. Few of these men would return to T’Diemn.
When General Tulkhan rode into view she caught her breath, already grieving for him. As he spoke to his men the breeze carried his words over the ranks away from her. She watched him walk his horse backwards. The trained beast reared, dancing on its back legs. A shout went up.
Imoshen had to smile. Tulkhan loved this kind of display.
The horse dropped back down onto four legs, to pivot in a circle, and Tulkhan caught sight of her on the balcony. She raised her arm above her head and he returned the salute, standing in the saddle.
Her heart swelled in her chest. She loved him but he would never believe it. Her arm lowered and her hand settled over her belly.
He brought his closed fist to his chest over his heart, then he flung his hand open toward her.
Her skin grew warm with the significance of his gesture. How could he love her, knowing her as he did, knowing how truly Other she was? Tears blurred her vision as she lifted her hand to cover her own racing heart. Tulkhan had grown as dear to her as the very breath she took.
The men began a Ghebite chant.
Tulkhan wheeled his horse and rode through the ranks, leading the army through the city’s streets to the fortified bridge.
“Any word, Merkah?” Imoshen asked, as she had for the last four weeks.
The maid looked up from her handiwork. She knew her mistress well enough now not to bother standing and making a formal bow every time Imoshen approached her. “No, T’Imoshen.”
“Very well. I will be in the library.” Imoshen handed Merkah her riding cloak. She had just returned from overseeing the progress of the eastern outlying defenses.
As she walked down the gallery, long slanting arrows of afternoon light filled the broad hall, making the woodwork glow. The sight should have cheered her, but she felt distant and cold, for there had been no word from Tulkhan since he sent her a short communication soon after he left, though surely she would have sensed it if he had been killed. He was due to return for Summer’s Cusp Festival and stay on, for the baby could come any time after that.
What if the baby did not come? What if her son was more T’En than True-man and she continued heavily pregnant till the cusp of autumn? The child had to have a little of the General in him but she had no way of knowing how much. She had only the official records to go by, and because of the vow of chastity no other pure T’En woman had given birth in six hundred years as far as she knew.
By the time she reached the library she was panting with exertion, for the baby lay like a great summer fruit nestled in her body. The Keeper of Knowledge did not greet her as she entered. She suspected the old man was in the kitchen courtyard, arguing with the cook and drinking chilled apple cider. She could not blame him, the weather was too perfect to stay indoors.
Imoshen went to her favorite spot on the broad daybed. Spread on the low table before her were her inks and papers. She was making a list of works which were referred to in the library, but were no longer available. It was the key to a mystery which had gradually presented itself to her. Poems and treatises which everyone took for granted no longer existed. Why?
Imoshen immersed herself in her reading, cross-referencing the quotes and their sources. The movement of the fingers of light from the library windows marked the passing of time.
After a while she let the scroll fall, arched her back, and closed her eyes. She was weary. Only so much of this could stem her anxiety and then it returned.
Where was the General?
Suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth. Terror froze her limbs as a cold blade stroked her neck. Assassins? She made a protest in her throat. Her attacker increased the pressure, forcing her into the cushions.
“Quiet, Imoshen. It’s only me.”
Reothe’s familiar voice did not reassure her. When she nodded her understanding he released her. Disbelief flooded her as she propped herself on one elbow. Reothe pushed the papers aside and perched on the low table.
“Only you? Is that meant to reassure me?” It pleased Imoshen to detect no tremor in her voice. She was rewarded with a genuine smile from Reothe. She cursed herself for caring.
Her hand slid casually across her body but Reothe beat her to it. His fingers closed around the knife hilt which she now wore strapped between her breasts for quick access.
As he withdrew the blade his eyes narrowed. “Dainty but deadly in the right hands.” He did not return the weapon.
“I have to ask.” She played for time, trying to guess what he wanted. His fine, silver hair was halfway down his back now and he wore clean but ancient peasant garments. He smelled of fresh herbs and dust. Dust? She must not let anything distract her. “How did you get in here?”
He laughed softly. “You forget I grew up roaming the palace. I doubt there is a secret passage I don’t know. Our ancestors were great ones for intrigue. Anything built before the Age of Discernment is riddled with secret passages.”
He looked thinner. His narrow features, so like her own, were more defined, as though he had been living on the edge both mentally and physically. She felt an odd sense of recognition and an unwelcome anticipation warm her body. Without intending it she felt her T’En senses flex. A strong sense of Reothe enveloped her. He was a drawn bow string, all coiled power. Her heart rate increased in response.
“Why are you here?”
A gasp escaped him. “Don’t stop.”
“Stop what?”
His sharp eyes met hers. “Your touch is exquisite.”
“We weren’t . . .” The words died on her lips. “I didn’t mean to—”
&n
bsp; “Don’t.” He shook his head, slipping off the table to kneel on the floor beside her. “Don’t deny me, Imoshen.”
She drew back, making him smile.
“Is it me you don’t trust, or yourself?”
His wine-dark eyes glittered intensely, disturbingly. For all that, he was smiling and his voice sounded reasonable, even indulgent, she sensed a deep anger in him.
His gaze went to the laces on her underdress, where the swelling of her belly made the material strain. She had not bothered to have special clothes made to accommodate her growing child, relying for the most part on the all-covering tabard. Imoshen felt exposed, vulnerable, and wished she had worn one today.
“This explains much.” Reothe whispered. He lifted her own knife blade.
“Reothe.” Imoshen warned.
“This should have been our child, Imoshen. You hid its existence from me. I did not think you so cunning.”
She shook her head, knowing only that the need to protect her child overrode everything else. Yet, when he cut the lacing she didn’t protest. The material of her underdress parted, falling away to reveal the rise of her pale skin and the curve of her breasts, ripe with pregnancy. Her skin was patterned with fine blue veins like marble.
A soft sound escaped Reothe as he drew in his breath sharply. He swallowed and slipped her knife into his bootstrap. His hand hovered over her flesh. Her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch. A luxurious longing crept through her limbs.
Imoshen looked down, silently cursing herself. It was always this way with Reothe.
“What will you do if the Ghebite rejects the baby?” he asked. “It could be almost pure Dhamfeer.”
“Or more True-man.”
“So it is a male child.”
She nodded, regretting the slip.
“I heard a rumor. They say the General can’t father children,” he smiled. “They are saying the baby is mine.”
She flushed, trying to pull herself up but the weight of the baby made her slow. Reothe casually grasped the back of the daybed. She didn’t want to come in contact with his skin so she stayed where she was, half reclining. “But you know that isn’t true.”
DARK DREAMS Page 29