DARK DREAMS

by Cory Daniells

  “Fortifications. Once I control the passes I can monitor the comings and goings of the Keldon nobles, stop their trade. The highlands are not rich and fertile. If I have to, I can make life very harsh for the Keld. Let them choose between fresh supplies and supporting the rebels!”

  Imoshen hesitated. “They are a proud people, used to austerity.”

  “What would you have me do, Imoshen? Repeat the mistake of your ancestor, march into one of their villages, demand they give up Reothe and his rebels? Execute the villagers until the survivors cooperate?”

  She shook her head, horrified.

  “That is the alternative. Unless you have changed your mind about doing a scrying. No?” His expression was calculating. “Then we’ll do what you suggested. Send Reothe a message. Tell him you’ll meet him, only I will go in your stead. I’ll ambush him before he can reach the rendezvous. He need never know you betrayed him.”

  At that moment Imoshen realized she would never betray Reothe. She might fear him and mistrust him but he was her kinsman, last of her kind. She could not lure him to his death.

  “It would not work. Reothe would know if I was not waiting for him.”

  “I see.” Grimly, Tulkhan rolled up the map. “By closing the passes I can contain the rebels’ raids. That will reassure the people south of T’Diemn. I ride now.” But he stood silently looking at her.

  Imoshen lifted her hands. “If you would only trust me.”

  She winced as a bark of laughter escaped him.

  “I might be a barbarian, Imoshen, but that does not mean I am a fool. Bring Reothe’s head in a basket, only then will I trust you!”

  Nausea roiled in her belly.

  With a curse Tulkhan was gone.

  She sank into the seat too stunned to think. Absently she stroked the scriber Tulkhan had been toying with, sensing his determination. If Reothe were foolish enough to bring a large force to attack the fortresses, neither side would gain. But why would Reothe wait until the fortifications were completed? Why not attack while the men were vulnerable?

  Imoshen knew Tulkhan did not intend to return until the fortresses were finished and manned. This would take until autumn, maybe even early winter. She could hardly believe Tulkhan would desert her during the birth of his son, yet she had been told it was the Ghebite custom to segregate women at this “unclean” time. How she hated everything Ghebite!

  Chapter Seventeen

  Days, then weeks, passed in a kind of stupor. While Imoshen slept and ate mechanically, the baby writhed inside her as if impatient to be free. It had reached its highest point under her rib cage, and had yet to drop, so she had no relief from the pressure. She was always weary.

  Imoshen was dozing, dreaming she was back at the Stronghold, where her family was celebrating the imminent birth. It would be a great event. The Aayel had been giving her wise advice on handling the contractions. Suddenly a great foreboding gripped her and she awoke, her heart hammering.

  Was something going to go wrong with the birth? Why did she feel such a sense of dread?

  She needed the scrying plate to help her focus. Imoshen was torn between her need to know and her fear of scrying. Then the sense of foreboding won out. She strode to her chest, the only thing that was truly hers in all the palace, and rifled through it.

  Merkah should not have touched her scrying plate. Imoshen pressed it to her body, affronted. She took the plate to the bathing room and ran a little water onto it. Pricking her thumb with her dagger, she squeezed two droplets into the water. One drop of blood for her soul, one for her son’s. They hit the water’s surface, spreading into whirls.

  The spiral of fine blood drew her gaze to the scrying plate. It had never done that before. She’d better focus on the birth, but the reflections in the scrying plate held her captive. General Tulkhan! She saw him astride his horse, supervising the earthworks of the fortification. The ground was treacherous, the pass steep. He swung down from his mount to consult with the engineers.

  Imoshen watched the breeze lift his dark hair. She wanted to touch him. It was a physical need. But she mustn’t give in to it.

  The water’s surface shimmered. She was still looking at Tulkhan, but this time he faced death. His men fell around him, poorly protected by the half-finished fortress. Why didn’t they try to defend themselves? Rebels leapt over the walls crying Reothe’s name.

  Reothe! Too late, she could not stop the thought. The plate already shimmered. Imoshen knew she should not look but it held an awful fascination. Reothe stood by a hot spring. He appeared to be alone except for a child of about eight. From this angle it was hard to tell if the little one was male or female.

  Suddenly both of them paused and turned towards her. Reothe’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. But it was the child’s gaze Imoshen could not hold. They were the oldest eyes she’d ever seen. With cold shock she knew she was looking into the eyes of one of the Ancients.

  Her fingers locked on the plate. She had to break the contact. With a burst of will which left her dizzy and breathless she cast the plate aside. It flew out of her hands spinning in the air and crashed straight through the stained-glass window.

  The sound of the shattering glass roused her. How could she be so stupid? She was too inexperienced to scry. The foreboding must have been a forewarning of Tulkhan’s death, not her baby’s.

  “T’Imoshen, are you hurt?” Merkah threw the door open then gasped when she saw the smashed window where lead curled like broken fingers, clasping at the empty air. “What happened?”

  Imoshen had no idea what to say. She straightened. “Pack my things. Have my horse saddled. I ride out today.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  Merkah ducked her head. Imoshen caught a flash of resentment in the maid’s face. She had been too sharp with the girl. Though she tried, she had never established with her the easy friendship she’d had with Kalleen.

  Imoshen strode into her chamber where Merkah was already laying out her clothes. “No, nothing fancy. I am joining my bond-partner. I want riding clothes.”

  The problem was that nothing would do up over her belly. She tossed her dress aside and pulled on a pair of breeches, letting them ride under the swell of the baby. A borrowed shirt of Tulkhan’s was large enough to cover her stomach. It fell to her thighs, and while it was not suitable for court, it was presentable. She took her cloak to sleep under.

  “Who will be accompanying you, my lady?”

  “No one. I travel faster alone.” And in disguise. She did not want any of Reothe’s people reporting her whereabouts to him.

  She felt buoyant. If only she could reach Tulkhan in time to warn him of the attack, then he would have to believe her loyalty. If she didn’t warn him, he would die.

  The need to get moving consumed her.

  “But my lady, you cannot go alone!”

  “No? I do not need a maid, or servants. I am not incompetent!” Imoshen winced when she heard her own tone. Merkah stiffened, retreating behind a wall of offended dignity.

  “I am in a hurry, Merkah,” Imoshen said more gently. “Have the cook pack traveling food for me. I won’t have rime to hunt.”

  Before long she was in the stables strapping saddlebags to her horse. After a moment she sensed someone observing her. She glanced over her shoulder.

  The Vaygharian. Anger fired her.

  He lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “This is not wise, Lady Protector. The General ordered me to watch over you.”

  She made a rude noise. “I can smell a he!”

  “At least take an escort,” he demurred. “A woman in your condition cannot travel alone.”

  Briefly she considered taking several of her Stronghold Guard but that would reveal who she was and make her vulnerable. She did not bother to reply to the Vaygharian, but took her horse’s reins and prepared to walk the beast out of the stall.

  The Vaygharian caught her arm.

  Quick as thought she flicked free of him
and drew her knife, holding it to his throat. The horse snickered uneasily, sidling away. She nearly laughed as Kinraid glanced around uneasily.

  “I am only trying to serve you, Lady Protector.”

  “I know who you serve.” She stepped closer. “I know what you are. Remember how I looked into your soul and saw your death!”

  He went pale. She smelt the sweat of fear on his skin. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a grimace of disgust. “If you are here when I get back, I will slit your throat myself!”

  “That is not the way the ruler of Fair Isle treats an ambassador of Vayghar.” He was on his dignity.

  “No.” She smiled. “It is the way I treat a traitor. General Tulkhan wants people to think he is civilized. I don’t care what people think!”

  She stepped away and picked up the horse’s dangling reins. Silently she led her mount out. A dozen stable workers and palace servants gathered in the courtyard watching anxiously, but no one dared argue with her. She wondered who they would be serving this time next summer.

  The rigors of the journey did not concern her. She had seen farm women work until the contractions started and had helped them deliver their babes on a dirt floors. Then, once the proper words were said, those women would be on their feet preparing their family’s evening meal.

  She had no illusions about the birth either. The powder of a pain-killing root was tucked into her traveling kit. She intended to brew a tea to sip during the worst of the pain.

  Pulling the cloak over her betraying hair, Imoshen chose her way out of T’Diemn.

  After four days in the saddle, Imoshen was heartily sick of riding. It was not something she would recommend to anyone in the advanced stages of pregnancy. The action of the hone’s rocking on her hips triggered shooting hot pokers of pain to arc down her legs. Worse still, when she dismounted she could hardly walk.

  On leaving T’Diemn she had heard a horse galloping behind her and had ridden into a grove of trees to escape pursuit. It was Crawen, leader of the Stronghold Guard, come to escort her. Imoshen was sorely tempted, but in the end she had let the woman ride by.

  She had concentrated on cloaking her appearance. When she emerged on the far side of the grove, she knew the Vaygharian’s spies would not recognize her. They probably would not even notice her. She had chosen the form of a wandering T’En priest, a male at that.

  But maintaining the illusion required deep concentration, and once Crawen had ridden dispiritedly past her back to T’Diemn, Imoshen had let her guard slip. It had been enough to will herself unnoticed when she saw people and to keep to the lesser-used paths.

  Now Imoshen’s heart lifted, for by tomorrow she should see her Ghebite General. She was in the foothills of the Keldon Highlands. Here the people were distrustful of strangers, but surely they would not turn aside a weary traveler? She urged her horse towards a plume of smoke rising into the oyster-shell gleam of the dusk sky. Soon she approached the smoke’s source, a crofters’ cottage, built of local stone, its roof made of sod. The rich smell of simmering stew made her mouth water.

  Crouched behind the bracken, Imoshen watched an old man chop wood while an old woman herded the chickens and goat in for the night. For them life was an ever-turning cycle of seasons. Imoshen almost envied them their place in the scheme of things. It looked like a safe haven for the night. Picking her way across the dim ground, she scratched on the door.

  The little wizened man opened the door a crack. “What do you want?”

  “Is this the way the Keld greet a weary traveler?” Imoshen concentrated on projecting a bland image.

  “Plenty of strange comings and goings near here,” the woman muttered from behind him. Her sharp old eyes took in Imoshen’s pregnancy.

  Imoshen had found her advanced pregnancy made women eager to help her. Tonight she cloaked only her T’En coloring, to attempt anything more would have been too hard to sustain for she was weary indeed.

  “That infant’s nearly due. Come in,” the woman said.

  Imoshen ducked her head to enter. “The babe has not dropped yet.”

  The old woman clucked under her breath, sounding for all the world like the disapproving chickens which sheltered in the far end of the cottage. The goat added its opinion.

  Imoshen felt light-headed. “I can pay for food and lodging.”

  The woman sniffed, offended.

  “As if we would take your coins!” the old man muttered.

  “Thank you, Grandmother, Grandfather.” Imoshen used the honorific form of address for village elders. She watched as the old woman bustled around, stirring the food on the fire. When she saw her check the bed of straw Imoshen told her, “No, Grandmother. I will sleep on the floor before the fire. I would not turn you out of your own bed.”

  But she did long for some warm water to wash the grime off her body. She wanted to be clean when she met General Tulkhan. It was her one vanity.

  Despite the pain in her hips, Imoshen went outside to see to her horse. Everything was a chore, removing the saddle, rubbing the horse down. It appeared happy enough on a short hobble, and would have sensed predators if there were any about. For once Imoshen felt reasonably safe.

  When she returned, the old woman served up a tasty stew with thick crusty bread. Imoshen ate it gratefully. Then exhaustion overtook her. She just managed to thank the old couple for their hospitality before slipping to the floor in front of the fire pit, her arms cradling her belly, her head on her saddlebag.

  She was so hot, the room felt stifling. It had been her intention to wait up until the old couple went to bed, but sleep was irresistible. As she lost consciousness she felt her cloaking illusion fade and knew her true identity would be revealed. She would have to put her trust in the old people.

  Her mouth tasted foul.

  Imoshen tried to swallow and gagged. Someone held a cup of water to her lips. It was like sweet elixir. She drank greedily. Cruelly, they took it away before she could finish it.

  It was still dark. Did she have a fever? She must remember to thank the old couple for bringing her water. At least she’d slept deeply. Since starting this journey she’d hardly been able to sleep through the night for the ache in her hips.

  “Thank you.” The words were a croak. “Have I been feverish?”

  “No. You were drugged.”

  Imoshen knew that voice. She struggled to sit up. Her companion would have helped her, but she pushed his hands aside. “Why is it still dark?”

  “It is the night of the following day. The old woman was free with the sleeping herb. She did not want you waking and taking your anger out on her.”

  Imoshen moistened her lips. “Drake, you might as well light a candle. I know who you are.”

  “That doesn’t worry me. We were sleeping. But yes, I will make a light.”

  He stirred the coals in the fireplace, then coaxed a flame from a crude candle. Imoshen smelt the burning tallow dip. She looked around. They were in the crofter’s cottage, or an identical one.

  “Where am I?”

  “Safe in the foothills of the highlands.”

  So they had moved her while she was drugged. “The crofters betrayed me.”

  Drake laughed. “T’Reothe could see you coming across the plains to him, bright as a beacon. He sent us to warn the old couple to bring you to him.”

  “How?”

  “We ride. Tomorrow you will join your betrothed.”

  “No. I meant how could he see me coming?”

  Drake tilted his head. “You used your gifts to disguise yourself so that those who followed you would not discover Reothe’s whereabouts. Every time you used your gifts, he sensed it.”

  Imoshen hung her head. She knew Reothe could sense the use of her gifts when he was nearby but if he was as sensitive as Drake claimed, he was powerful indeed. Her heart sank.

  Reodie believed she had run away from the capital to come to him, not to warn the General. Or did he? If he truly believed that, he would not have ordered
her drugged. Tulkhan would think she had deserted him for Reodie. Impatience gnawed at Imoshen. She must warn the General of the attack, and that meant escaping Drake for a second time. Imoshen shifted uncomfortably. “The baby presses down. Can I have some privacy?”

  “You’ll have to go outside like the rest of us.”

  As Imoshen straightened her gaze fell on her boots.

  Drake noticed. “You won’t need them.”

  Imoshen shrugged. Drake was wise not to trust her. Arching her back, she scratched her belly. The skin itched. “I’m so hungry. Is there anything to eat?”

  “I’ll cut some meat,” he offered.

  Smiling her thanks she stepped over the bodies of Drake’s snoring companions and went out into the night.

  The large moon was on the wane and the small moon was not in the night sky, so she knew it was not far from dawn. There was light enough for her to find a suitable bush. Her excuse to escape the cottage was genuine. The baby was sitting deeply.

  By studying the stars Imoshen guessed the Greater Pass lay to the northeast, so that was the direction Drake would expect her to take. She would go south then double back. He would probably anticipate that too, but she was a country girl and knew how to hide her trail.

  Hopefully Reothe had been too preoccupied to launch his attack. Drake would have been crowing if they had killed the Ghebite General already. And if she kept them fully occupied searching for her, it might buy her the time she needed to reach Tulkhan.

  The enforced rest had done her aching hips good, but it was not easy picking a path barefoot through country she did not know. At first she did not mind the effort. Then her stomach rumbled and she was reminded that Drake had been cutting meat for her. Poor Drake. She hoped Reothe would not be too hard on him.

  When the birds began their predawn chorus Imoshen paused to drink at a stream. The water was not as cold as she expected, which meant she was near a hot spring.