DARK DREAMS

by Cory Daniells

  Tulkhan glared at Kalleen as he tossed Imoshen’s letter onto the table between them. “How can you claim you don’t know what she wanted?”

  The opinion of T’Diemn was divided, rumor ran rife. Half the townsfolk believed Imoshen had run off to join the rebels, the other half sided with the General, believing she had been abducted.

  “I know as much as you, General Tulkhan,” Kalleen bristled. “If you can read more into Imoshen’s letter, let me know.”

  “When we arrived at the Stronghold she had already been abducted,” Wharrd explained, a restraining hand on Kalleen’s arm. “So we hastened to T’Diemn.”

  “Then I am no closer to solving the puzzle.” Tulkhan retrieved the letter and smoothed the fine paper.

  “What will you do, General?” Wharrd asked.

  Tulkhan tucked the letter inside his jerkin. “Go after her and my son.”

  “But it’s a trap!”

  “Of course.”

  “I will go with you.”

  “And I,” Kalleen spoke up.

  Tulkhan saw Wharrd’s face go grey. The bone-setter caught Kalleen’s hands in his. “You carry our child. I can’t risk losing you.”

  The familiarity of it made Tulkhan wince.

  Kalleen smiled sadly. “If you fail I will lose everything.”

  Wharrd shook his head but she held his eyes obstinately.

  Tulkhan knew Imoshen would do what she thought was right and he was almost certain that would not entail running away to join the rebels.

  He had to believe in her. “I must organize my escort and plan my route,” Tulkhan said, leaving Wharrd and Kalleen to sort out their differences alone.

  He strode down the corridors of the palace, throwing open the doors to his maproom.

  “General Tulkhan?” A servant paused in the other entrance. “The Beatific is here to offer her support.”

  He groaned inwardly. He did not doubt the Beatific was here to plant more insinuations about Imoshen’s loyalty. “Send her in.”

  Tulkhan studied the woman as she approached the table.

  “Why does Reothe lure me north?” he asked abruptly.

  She looked surprised. “I have no idea. I am not a tactician—”

  “No?”

  She had the grace to flush and look down.

  Tulkhan tapped the town of Northpoint on the map, which was spread over the tabletop. “This harbor offers excellent anchorage for deep-draft ships and it is barely a day’s travel from the mainland with the right wind. Why would Reothe ask me to meet him there when his noble supporters and rebel army are in the Keldon Highlands?”

  “Perhaps he feels the Highlands are secure?” the Beatific hazarded.

  “Could he be getting support from one of the mainland kingdoms?”

  “The mainlanders support a Dhamfeer?” Scorn laced the Beatific’s voice. “Why do you think none of them honored our alliances? They wanted to see Fair Isle humbled. And they fear the T’En.”

  It was all too familiar. He had once thought that way.

  “That’s what I suspected.” He rubbed his chin, glad to be rid of the beard. “Then it comes back to why. What does Reothe hope to gain?”

  “You are going to meet him?” The Beatific regarded him closely.

  “Yes, I—”

  “It is a trap.”

  “What Reothe doesn’t know is that I have a trap of my own to spring on him.” He noted the way her eyes widened but she remained otherwise impassive.

  “Really?” she remarked. “How fortunate.”

  Tulkhan nodded and hoped the message would disturb Reothe when it reached him. His only regret was that he didn’t have a trap at all—not yet anyway.

  Early the next morning Tulkhan set out with a band of handpicked men and Kalleen, who could not be persuaded to stay behind. She had threatened to follow them, and in the end Wharrd had been forced to give in.

  They could travel fast with only a small band. Commander Peirs was to follow as soon as he could organize a company large enough to quell any ragtag rebels Reothe might have gathered around him.

  Tulkhan hoped Reothe expected him to move slowly north with his main army. In truth, he was prepared to move swiftly, strike fast, and get out quickly. At this point surprise was his only strategy.

  He had lost his chance to seize the initiative by using Imoshen and the babe to lure Reothe out. In fact, the T’En warrior had turned the tables on him.

  Tulkhan raged at his impotence. He would not sacrifice Imoshen and his son.

  It was eight days since she had been abducted. Reothe’s band might have reached Northpoint by now. The rebel leader had to be expecting support from one of the mainland kingdoms; otherwise, he would have gone to ground in the Keldon Highlands. Yet who would deal with a Dhamfeer?

  Imoshen stood at the window looking down into Northpoint Harbor, where a single merchant ship lay on the glistening sea.

  Ashmyr stirred and grumbled, so she padded back to him. Like her own Stronghold, the oldest part of Northpoint’s defenses dated from the Age of Tribulation. Protected from attack by the sheer cliffs below, her room at the top of the tower was an ideal prison. Short of throwing herself to her death, there was no escape.

  The Ghebite commander who had briefly ruled Northpoint had filled the Citadel with luxurious booty, no doubt looted on his travels across Fair Isle. The bed was draped with brocade hangings; jewel-bright carpets lay three deep on the floor. Gilt-edged mirrors and paintings covered the walk; crystal and fine porcelain littered every tabletop and sideboard. It was so opulent it was obscene.

  But he had not enjoyed the luxury for long.

  She chose not to ask what had happened to him. He had vanished along with his men. The servants were all loyal to Reothe, and the townsfolk they had passed on their way had seemed overjoyed to see the T’En warrior.

  The baby whimpered. Imoshen picked him up.

  “Can I get you anything, my lady?” Selita asked.

  “The key.”

  Selita grinned impudently. She had overcome her initial shyness. If the girl hadn’t been her guard, Imoshen could have grown very fond of her.

  Selita lay sprawled on the rug before the unlit fireplace, peeling a mandarin. Imoshen watched her, soothing Ashmyr absently.

  “I don’t know why you are complaining,” Selita remarked. “T’Reothe has forgiven you. He holds no grudge, despite the way you’ve treated him. Before the Harvest Feast you will be back in the capital as Empress of Fair Isle, and my people’s honor will be restored.”

  Imoshen’s hand froze. The Harvest Feast was less than two weeks away. How could Reothe hope to reverse the Ghebites’ advantage in such a short time? Her thoughts in turmoil, Imoshen resumed rubbing Ashmyr’s back gently.

  Selita must have overheard something. She had said her people’s honor would be restored. She had to be talking about the Keld. Imoshen could just imagine the stern matriarch Woodvine strapping on armor and riding into battle. According to Fairban, the Keld were ripe for revolt. She joined Selita and sat down, resting her back on a heavy chest. Casually she settled Ashmyr across her lap.

  Selita tossed her plait over her shoulder and nudged the tray of fruit toward Imoshen.

  “What pretty hair you have.” Imoshen stroked the girl’s braid. “I knew someone once who had just this shade of coppery hair.”

  It hurt her to recall Cariah. She had failed her friend. She must not fail her son or his father.

  Selita rolled to a sitting position so she could face Imoshen. “Reothe said I wasn’t to let you touch me. He said you would seduce me. Were you about to then?”

  Imoshen shrugged innocently. “I’ve no idea what he meant. I don’t have a fraction of the gifts he has. I’m only really good at healing. I was just going to offer to brush your hair.”

  She selected a mandarin and began peeling it. The skin came away easily and juice dripped down her arm.

  Selita’s golden eyes studied her thoughtfully. “You know, I’d
trust you less if you pretended to go along with all this. But you make no pretense of wanting to be here. What do you see in this Ghebite General? Surely he can’t compare with T’Reothe!”

  The girl was impudence herself, but Imoshen made sure her face revealed nothing. She laughed and licked the juice off her wrist.

  “What a question! What does any woman see in a man?” She offered a mandarin wedge to Selita.

  The girl bit into the fruit and spoke around it. “But the General is only a Mere-man and you are pure T’En like T’Reothe. He will not bed a Mere-woman. He says it is but a pale imitation.” Resentment tinged her voice. “What does he mean?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Imoshen ate a wedge. “I think he boasts!”

  Selita giggled, then frowned. “You can’t charm me into letting you go. I love T’Reothe. I think you’re mad to refuse him.”

  “You can think what you like,” Imoshen said. She offered the girl another wedge, her concentration on the tenuous contact they shared. Already she could taste the mandarin’s tang on Selita’s tongue. “Tell me, how did you join the rebels?”

  Selita hugged her knees and stared out the window. As she began her story Imoshen sifted through the upper layers of her mind, careful not to disturb the girl with her presence.

  When Selita paused, Imoshen made the right noises while she continued searching for Reothe’s plans. While much of Selita’s mind was occupied with thoughts of Reothe, they were not the kind Imoshen found useful.

  She discovered the rebel fighter resented her and was skeptical about her ability to satisfy Reothe. But it was hard to find an errant memory when the mind was thinking of other things. Perhaps she should ask Selita a question to trigger the right thought? She settled in, waiting for the right moment.

  Suddenly the door swung open and Reothe stalked in. Striding across, he grabbed Selita by the arm, dragging her upright. “Get out, Lita!”

  “Why? I’ve done nothing wrong,” she gasped.

  Heart thudding, Imoshen snatched up Ashmyr and scrambled to her feet.

  “You little fool. She nearly had you!” He dragged the girl to the door, pushed her out, and slammed it after her.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  When Reothe turned to face Imoshen she backed off.

  He advanced. “Put the baby down.”

  “No!” She held him closer.

  “Put him down, Imoshen. You don’t want him to get hurt.”

  She blanched. Silently she tucked her son into his basket.

  “Come here.”

  “You can’t bully me.” But her heart hammered painfully as she stepped around the basket toward him.

  “Closer.”

  “This is close enough.”

  A gasp escaped her as he covered the distance between them in one long stride. His hands grasped her shoulders. “That was very foolish, Imoshen. I could feel you using your gifts from the other end of the Citadel.”

  “Then why don’t I feel you, when you use yours?” It was out before she could stop herself.

  His eyes narrowed and he smiled slowly. “Why do you think? I am no novice. I cloak my gifts. Don’t you try to turn Selita or anyone else into your tool. I’ll feel it. I will stop you and it won’t be pleasant.”

  Fear made her heart skip a beat. Did she want to force him to hurt her? No, better to ...

  “Good. I don’t want to hurt you, Imoshen.”

  But she knew he would if he had to. She tried to divert him. “Whose ship is in the harbor? Why do they fly no flag? What will you do when Tulkhan gets here?”

  “So many questions. Do you really expect me to answer any of them?” He tilted his head, watching her.

  Imoshen noticed the tip of one of the snow leopard’s scars peeping through the gap in his shirt.

  “Why do your scars show when mine don’t? Why did the leopard’s claws mark us both when they only touched you? What price did the Ancients ask of you? Why do the Parakletos serve you when they resented serving me? ”

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. She thought she detected a flicker of fear in his eyes. Then he pulled her closer, till their bodies touched, thigh to thigh, her eyes level with the end of his nose.

  “If you would only trust me, Imoshen. I would share my knowledge with you.” His arms encircled her. She wanted to back away but she felt an irresistible pull towards him. His breath tickled her face, as his fingers stroked her hair.

  His voice was rich velvet rubbing across her skin. “Trust me, Imoshen.”

  A soothing, sweet warmth flooded her. It would be so easy to accept his lure. He promised everything, his love and the gift of knowledge. Together they could unfold the mysteries of the T’En.

  But the price was too high.

  “Trust?” Bitterness tightened her throat, thinning her voice. “That is a strange thing to ask when you threaten my son, when you hide so much from me. You give and take in the same breath. How can I break the encryption of the T’Endomaz when you have the key? I know you stole the T’Elegos from the Basilica.”

  His eyes widened and he laughed with delight. Then he shook his head sadly. “The T’Elegos does not contain the key to the T’Endomaz.”

  She ignored this. “The T’Elegos is my heritage too. Where have you hidden it?”

  Immediately she felt him think of the hiding place—a cavern appeared in her mind’s eye. Then the thought was shut down like a door slamming closed, so that her mind reeled with the impact and everything went dark.

  When the blinding pain eased she found herself lying across the bed with Reothe kneeling at her side.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  She nodded and winced.

  “I told you it would hurt if I used my gift to limit yours.”

  Tears stung her eyes. She would not cry in front of him. “I had to try.”

  “Imoshen!” The despair in his voice made her flinch. He pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair, pressing her cheek to his throat. “When will you stop fighting me?”

  There was no answer to that.

  She felt him lower his head and inhale her scent. “Only three more days,” he whispered brokenly.

  She stiffened. Three days till Tulkhan got here? Three days until Reothe murdered him?

  “Reothe, I was thinking . . .” Shakily she pulled away from him to kneel on the bed, taking one of his hands in hers. “What good is Fair Isle? It is just one small island. You have ships and loyal followers. Why stay here to battle for an ungrateful land? Why not go east into the dawn sun. I’ve always wanted to see our homeland. There must be more like us. You could . . . Why do you look at me like that?”

  His hand slipped from hers as he swung his legs off the bed and strode to the semicircle of windows. The setting sun’s rays gilded his fine features and pale hair. She could see the tension in his shoulders as he gripped the sill.

  “You must know the truth, Imoshen. We are outcasts. We have no homeland.” He did not turn to face her and his voice vibrated with contained pain. “You know that Imoshen the First brought her people here, but you don’t know there were three ships. Two did not survive the crossing.

  “Our ancestors weren’t refugees or brave explorers, Imoshen. There were old people, women, and children on those ships. They were outcasts, selected for their T’En traits. I have read the first Imoshen’s own account of their flight and the reasons for it. Terrible things happened in the name of the T’En. The people could no longer suffer us to live. They banded against us, they offered us death or banishment.”

  “No! It is a he!”

  “I have read the T’Elegos, written in her own hand.” He turned to her, glowing with the intensity of his emotion. “The T’En are fallen angels.”

  “No. You must have misinterpreted the T’Elegos. High T’En is designed to carry many shades of meaning. And even . . . even if Imoshen the First’s people were banished for some reason, it has been more than six hundred years. If you were to make the journey to our hom
eland beyond the dawn sun, they would not deny us—”

  “You don’t know what I know.”

  “How can I when you hide everything from me? Why did you give me the T’Endomaz and ?where does it fit in?”

  He hesitated. “I believe the T’Endomaz is the hidden lore of the T’En. During the Ages of Tribulation and Consolidation the young pure T’En left their parents at ten years of age. They were taken by a pure T’En mentor who trained them in their gifts. I believe the T’Endomaz is the very book they would have been trained from.”

  Imoshen moaned. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why not share the T’Elegos with me? Why hide it?”

  “I didn’t hide it from you. The leader of the Tractarians hates me, Imoshen. I saved Imoshen the First’s history from Murgon’s prying eyes.” He grimaced as though even the man’s name tasted foul.

  She could easily believe Murgon hated him. “But why?”

  Reothe shuddered. “When I was a boy of ten, raw with the suicide of my parents, I was sent to the palace to be reared by the Empress. Because Murgon was four years older and related through my father, she gave me into his care. We took our lessons with the royal heirs, explored the palace and attended functions at their side. We were being groomed to become royal advisors.

  “Murgon was mad for T’Ysanna and she used my adoration of her to keep him at a distance. He took out his spite on me. At first it was little cruelties which might have been accidents. But he grew bolder until I was nearly killed by a jest gone wrong. He startled my horse, causing it to throw me. The Empress must have suspected because she arranged with the Beatific to have the Church request his services.

  “I thought that was the end of it. We gave him gifts and he was inducted into the priesthood. But he bided his time. The day before the Harvest Feast he forged a note from Ysanna asking me to meet her in the underground passage we had discovered below the portrait gallery. When she did not appear I tried to leave but found the door locked. What with the festivities no one missed me for two days. And then when they did begin searching they could not find me.