She tilted her head to avoid it, but the melt continued deep inside her, the call of her body to his, answering his unspoken need.
His hands tightened. “Tell me to go away.”
“Go away.”
“Cruel, your head tells me one thing but your body tells me another.” His voice rubbed across her senses like raw silk. “If the Ghebite General had not come, we would have been bonded. Life would have been sweet for us. Can’t you see it, Imoshen? ”
At his insistence she could. Visions appeared before her—the pair of them riding together, poring over the T’Elegos together, deciphering the T’Endomaz. A well of longing, long suppressed, opened within her. Reothe would accept her T’En self. He would put no limitations on her gifts. For him she simply was. She saw herself meeting him on the deck of a ship. She carried a small fair-haired baby, and when Reothe’s arm lifted in welcome she went to him as she was meant to.
“Don’t plant visions in my head!”
“Don’t insult me. I see the same visions myself. Sometimes they fade and I fear one of us will die. At other times they grow so strong I forget where I am and think you are with me—”
“Don’t! I don’t want to know.” She did not want to acknowledge his vulnerability, his need for her. It would weaken her resolve.
“We were meant for each other, Imoshen.” His voice dropped. “We are the last of the T’En. It is time to save our people. I want to gather all those with T’En blood. I want to create our own T’En Hall of Learning where we develop our abilities and share what we have learnt.
“Our race would no longer be a source of anxious curiosity, worshipped in one breath and feared the next. In every village there would be a T’En healer. Every bonded couple who produced a child with T’En traits would consider themselves blessed. This is my dream and I need you to help me make it possible.”
Imoshen bowed her head. The pain caused by her Otherness which had always set her apart, the unspoken jibes, the fear and awe which had come to mark her interaction with other people, all this mingled inside her. Reothe’s vision would imbue her differences with a holy purpose.
“We will renew Fair Isle. It will be the renaissance of the T’En, the Age of the T’En. Do you dare to dream with me, Imoshen?”
She tried to think clearly. Instinct told her Reothe was sincere. He wanted to redeem the fallen angels, to create a golden age. But she feared the power he promised. “True-people—”
“Need us. It is in their nature to look for a higher authority. Why should we be hunted down and eradicated like vermin? I have lived on the outside too long. Join me, Imoshen. Restore the T’En.”
She drew a ragged breath.
It seemed to draw his hands upward from her shoulders. His fingertips traced the line of her throat where he must have felt her pulse racing. No doubt it pleased him to know how he moved her.
She felt the heat of his body down the length of hers, knew that he desired her. The gentle pressure increased, insistent, eager, demanding.
Anger stirred in Imoshen. “I will fight with the last breath I take—”
“Why? When we both know you want me. Your T’En gifts perfume the air. I could feel your desire from across the room. Your scent intoxicates me. Even as I speak you tremble.”
“With rage!” It was too much. “You bring me here against my will, hold my son to ensure my co-operation, then think I will welcome you into my bed?”
Furious, she spun to face him. His jaw clenched so tightly she could see the hard knobs of muscle. Good. Let him storm out of here in a fury. Or better yet, let him strike her so she could hate him.
He stepped back, coldly furious. “You back yourself into a dangerous corner, Imoshen. You leave me no choice.”
Her heart plummeted. She glanced uneasily at the slumbering baby. But Reothe turned on his heel and stalked toward the door.
She wanted to call him, to ask what he meant to do. Biting her tongue, she contained her fears.
Before he opened the door Reothe turned to face her. “I’m placing a special lock on this door. If you try to force it I will know.”
She nodded her understanding.
He stepped through the open door then looked back, an odd expression on his face. “You had your choice. Next time we speak things will stand differently between us.”
The door closed and Imoshen sank to the floor, pressing the heels of her hands into her closed eyes. Reothe meant to move against her. He would capture Tulkhan and kill him while she was trapped here.
Without moving, she probed the door. Nothing disturbed her senses. If she could only identify the T’En lock Reothe had fashioned, she could disarm it. Suddenly a sharp white pain stabbed into her unshielded senses.
Tears bled from her eyes. Blood roared in her ears. Shivers shook her body. It was a force she could not escape. It chilled her to the bone. She had to get warm. Hardly able to see, Imoshen crawled to the bed and pulled the covers up.
Pain obliterated her will, leaving her anxious only to escape the pressure inside her head. She gave up the unequal fight and lay gasping on the bed, waiting for it to pass.
As abruptly as it had started, it stopped, leaving her wrung dry, too weak to lift her head. For a long time she lay there, tears seeping from her eyes onto the pillow.
She was useless. She had tried and failed.
So fragile did she feel that she dared not even probe beyond this room. Any attempt might trigger the pain.
Chapter Twenty-two
Tulkhan clambered up the rope ladder to the deck. He knew the merchant captain of this ship owed no allegiance to Fair Isle; for him this would simply be a business transaction. Once Tulkhan had hired this vessel they were assured of an escape route. This ploy had to work.
He felt that familiar mixture of fear and excitement which preceded a battle, the knowledge that he faced death with only his wits and skill. But this time he did not face a True-man.
Reothe was expecting an attack from the land. If Tulkhan had been willing to wait a few more days, Commander Peirs might have provided one and created a diversion, but the General wanted to move before their presence was discovered.
Once their escape route was secured, Tulkhan planned to enter Northpoint with a select band of men. The port was full of sailors, a few extra would not be noticed.
Informants had told him Imoshen and his son were locked in the Citadel’s tower. He had even seen the light of her window, impossibly near yet so distant. Below it was a sheer drop to the rocks. If it had been possible he would have scaled those sea cliffs, but he was not an accursed Dhamfeer warrior.
Instead, he planned to infiltrate the Citadel, free Imoshen, and slip away. He was gambling that Reothe would be concentrating his defense on the town’s perimeter, leaving the Citadel’s defenders relatively unprepared. But if his band was detected Tulkhan was prepared to fight a pitched battle back to the wharfs and escape by sea.
As his feet hit the deck a sailor greeted him in a thickly accented version of the trading tongue.
“Captain’s waiting below.”
Tulkhan had dealt with Lowland merchants to ensure safe passage for his army to Fair Isle, and knew he would have to haggle. Those Lowlanders had no god but gold.
He followed the sailor down the steep steps and along the narrow corridor, ducking the beams as he went. The small cabin door swung open and he stooped to step through.
The captain’s chair was empty.
Before he could free his sword they jumped him. With no room to maneuver he staggered. Hands closed on his throat, others tried to wrest his half-drawn sword from his fingers. Driving himself backwards he smashed into a wall, crushing the man on his back. The pressure on his throat eased.
With an effort he shook off the one who hindered his sword arm and was about to draw it for a telling blow when a flash of blinding pain clouded his vision. He fell to his knees. His arms buckled and a boot hit his ribs as he pitched forward. His breath escaped in a helpless groan
.
“Don’t hurt him,” a familiar voice warned. “I want him unharmed—”
“You tell him that,” someone muttered.
Tulkhan blinked as he was rolled over. A blinding light seared his eyes, a branch of candles. No, just one candle, but Reothe held it.
“This will hurt more if you resist,” he told Tulkhan conversationally.
Of course he resisted.
Reothe’s free hand splayed over Tulkhan’s face. He tried to keep the T’En warrior out, then he was falling through the back of his skull. Falling, falling . . .
Fighting nausea, Tulkhan sagged against the wall. It was cold and metal bands hurt his wrists.
Voices. Hated laughter.
“... trust him to put up a fight,” the Vaygharian said and laughed again.
Tulkhan blinked. The Vaygharian was aiding Reothe?
He tried to focus on the face opposite him. It was definitely Kinraid.
“What are you doing here?” Tulkhan’s voice was raw but clear enough.
“He’s aware,” Kinraid announced.
Reothe stepped into view. He studied Tulkhan critically. “He’ll heal in a day or two. You can tell your master I’ve delivered him as I promised. Now he must honor his part of the bargain. I want those mercenaries.”
“You’ll get them. They’re waiting to sail across. With the weather and tides the way they are, it will take two days for them all to disembark.”
“Then send your message.”
Kinraid gave a slight bow and left.
“So you’ve sold me?” Tulkhan asked. “Who would want me that badly?”
“Why, King Gharavan of course. He’ll try you for treason before he executes you,” Reothe explained. He lifted a bowl of water sprinkled with crushed herbs. “I’m not a healer like Imoshen, but—”
“Why bother?” Fury and sorrow swamped Tulkhan. His own half-brother had colluded with this vile Dhamfeer to betray him!
Reothe shrugged and stepped closer to bathe the blood from Tulkhan’s head. His hands were cool and competent. A droplet of water trickled down Tulkhan’s neck and inside his jerkin.
“You nearly succeeded, True-man. I wasn’t expecting an attack from the sea. Luckily my people are vigilant.” Reothe pressed a dry cloth to Tulkhan’s head and held it there. “You should have killed Gharavan when you had the chance—”
“Do you have a brother?”
“No.”
Tulkhan grimaced. “Then don’t presume to judge me.”
Reothe tilted his head to study him. “You are right.”
Tulkhan was taken aback. He glared at Reothe. He wanted to hate the Dhamfeer.
“Are you afraid to kill me yourself?”
“That would be a waste. You’re worth more to me alive, in exchange for trained soldiers I can use to crush your leaderless men.”
“Beware any mercenaries my half-brother sends. They will serve his purpose, not yours,” Tulkhan snarled.
Reothe smiled. “Unlike you, I don’t make the mistake of underestimating Gharavan’s treachery. Mere-people are an open book to me. They come to serve me for wealth; in the end they will serve me for love. Love is more powerful than fear.” He stepped back to put the bowl and cloth aside, then turned to watch Tulkhan. “No. I don’t need to kill you. Besides, why should I make a martyr of you for Imoshen to mourn when your own misjudgments will be your downfall?”
Tulkhan winced, believing Imoshen would despise him. He was as good as dead.
Reothe stepped closer again. Tulkhan saw his nostrils flare as he inhaled.
“I smell no fear on you. Why don’t you fear me?”
“I don’t care how much you mock me.” Tulkhan swallowed. Failure left a bitter taste on his tongue. Although he faced death, it wasn’t his own fate he cared about. “Just don’t hurt Imoshen and the boy.”
Reothe almost smiled. “That is too sweet. You see, the boy already belongs to me. I touched his mind before he was born.”
Tulkhan tried to hide his anguish.
He was aware of Reothe’s curious gaze on him. Why was he studying him so closely, as if genuinely interested in his reactions?
“As for Imoshen . . .” This time Reothe did smile. “I can’t hurt Imoshen.” He saw Tulkhan did not understand.
“Have you ever wondered why the men and women of Fair Isle share everything equally, from ownership of wealth to political rights?”
Tulkhan shrugged. He didn’t want a history lesson.
“Have you come across this arrangement in any other land?” Reothe persisted.
Tulkhan shook his head.
“Why are the women of your homeland slaves to their men?” Reothe asked, sounding like one of Tulkhan’s childhood tutors, patient, persistent.
“Slaves?” Tulkhan stiffened. “I ... I suppose it’s because the women are not as strong as the men.”
“Exactly.” The T’En male watched him closely, waiting. “The strong always rule.”
Surely Reothe could not mean what Tulkhan thought he meant?
“Did you think the balance of power in T’En society sprang from some obscure altruistic motive? No. Power is wielded by the powerful.” Reothe stepped closer, his wine-dark eyes sparkling with inhuman amusement. “Imoshen does not know it. How could she? It was all written in the T’Elegos, but T’Abularassa hid our heritage.
“Her pure T’En cousin, Sardonyx, went rogue, demanding the information in the book be made public. There was an uprising in T’Diemn itself. The palace burned. T’Abularassa claimed the T’Elegos had been destroyed. She and the first Beatific hid it. Eventually I discovered where. An ambitious priest helped me gain access—”
“The current Beatific.”
Reothe glanced at him consideringly. “Yes. She has been very useful.”
Tulkhan wasn’t going to let him gloat. “If Imoshen is more powerful than you, why doesn’t she know it?”
“How could she?” Reothe smiled. “No one knows. Pure T’En females have always been celibate by law. I thought it was to stop them having pure T’En children, because the males of the line don’t breed true with any but a pure mate.”
“Imoshen told me her T’En gift was healing. She fears your gifts!”
Reothe nodded. “People fear what they don’t know. But my gift is this.”
He brushed his fingers on Tulkhan’s forehead. The sensation was a cool breeze ruffing his thoughts, strangely refreshing, if unnerving.
“Mind skills. I can make people believe they are hurt. I can guide people to heal themselves. I can bring them what they most desire. But it is all illusion. Already Imoshen outstrips me. It has been a gamble all along to keep ahead of her. When I heard . . .” He stopped and looked at Tulkhan. “Imoshen the First forbade pure T’En females to breed because it brings on their gifts. With the growing babe the power grows. So it was they and not the men who ruled our homeland. It is that residual power which still runs our society. The Beatific, our last Empress, and the women who rule the guilds, they seek power and don’t realize whom they have to thank for it. Even now, Woodvine of the Keld awaits my signal to lead the nobles against your men in T’Diemn. She is but one in a long line of strong women.”
Reothe fell silent, his thoughts turned inward. Tulkhan watched him, fascinated despite himself.
“Why do you tell me all this?” Tulkhan asked.
Reothe smiled sweetly. “Because you are as good as dead, Mere-man, and I thought you would appreciate the irony of knowing you always had it within your power to destroy me, if only Imoshen had understood her own potential. It is her mistaken belief that I am more powerful than her that allows me to control her.”
Victory had been within his grasp all along? Tulkhan wanted to rage at the unfairness of it all, but he shut his eyes, vowing he would not give the rebel leader the pleasure of knowing how he felt.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Reothe’s frank sympathetic expression and he knew his enemy understood only too well.
“D
o you like to watch me suffer?” Tulkhan snarled.
“Yes. Part of my gift is the vicarious enjoyment of emotions, the more intense the better.”
“You’re insane!”
“No. Just different.” Reothe leant closer.
Tulkhan wished his hands were free; spread-eagled in chains he could do nothing but glare at the Dhamfeer.
“I think I have enough now. I just need one more thing, taste.” With that Reothe licked Tulkhan’s throat, lingering in the hollow near his ear.
Anger vibrated through the General’s body.
Reothe stepped back and gave an odd little formal salute. “I thank you.”
Tulkhan wanted to ask him what Reothe thanked him for, but he dreaded the answer.
“Wait,” he whispered. “I have a question.”
“Ask.”
“The night you came to the palace and saved Imoshen ... If you aren’t as gifted as her, how did you—?”
“You ask, don’t blame me if you don’t understand. I have some knowledge of death’s shadow.” Reothe repressed a shudder as he undid the laces of his shirt. Parallel ridges scarred his chest. “I used my gift to anchor myself in you. If you only knew it, we are closer than blood kin. And I borrowed from an outside source.”
“A snow leopard . . .” Tulkhan had seen those same marks on Imoshen. “But how?”
“Imoshen and I are bound in a way that you and she can never be. I have trafficked with the Ancients and compromised my principles because of you. You threw my plans into confusion.” Reothe pulled the laces tight. “Power exacts a price and there will be a price to pay for regaining Fair Isle, but I’m willing to pay. My people have been persecuted too long. Imoshen and I will introduce the Golden Age of the T’En and you will be but a memory. You damned yourself the day you stepped on this island. It was already mine but I wasn’t ready to move. You forced my hand.”
Tulkhan said nothing.
Reothe shrugged. “Think on it, Mere-man. You were in the wrong to invade a peaceful island. I am only redressing that wrong.”
“I’ll escape if I can,” Tulkhan warned. “I’ll tell Imoshen about her gifts and I’ll see you dead!”
DARK DREAMS Page 41