Dark Dreams (11 page)

‘Who are you?’

He didn’t hear her. Perhaps he was deaf and mute as well as blind.

Imoshen hesitated. There were no pure T’En left save herself and Reothe. Perhaps he had been hidden down here. Her heart went out to him.

Hands extended, eyes blindly staring, the boy felt his way along the corridor. Gently, because she did not wish to frighten him, she lifted one hand to touch his arm, but her fingers passed right through him.

Imoshen gasped, sagging against the wall. The apparition continued on. Was she watching some long-lost ancestor or someone from the future? His clothing consisted of simple breeches and shirt which could have been worn at any time in the last six hundred years.

Imoshen took a deep breath to slow her heart rate, then followed. Though he was blind the boy seemed to know his way around. He appeared to be counting the archways until he found the one he wanted. There he ran his fingers over the stonework, triggering a hidden panel which opened onto a narrow stairwell. He wedged the panel open with one shoe and went down the steps.

When Imoshen looked down to see a real shoe wedged in the doorway, dusty with age, she realised she was seeing an event from the past. She hurried down the steps, anxious not to lose the boy. They were below ground now, in the catacombs deep under the original palace. She shivered with awe as the brace of candles illuminated the wall niches where the dead lay, their forms carved on the stone lids of their coffins.

As a child she had listened to her older brother and sister whispering stories late at night. They’d told how T’Sardonyx had gone slowly mad. According to legend he would creep into the palace catacombs to lie on the marble slab destined for his body and commune with the Parakletos.

Imoshen shuddered. After the revolt it had become mandatory to burn the bodies of pure T’En and sprinkle their ashes on the sacred garden of their estates.

The boy felt his way until he missed a step and fell forward onto the ground where he lay weeping softly in despair. Imoshen hastened to his side, but her words of comfort could not reach him.

Setting the brace of candles down, she sat back on her heels. Maybe she could reach him with her gift. Lifting her face she closed her eyes and concentrated. This was not a healing, so she did not know how to begin, only that she must seek the familiar tension of the T’En powers. The metallic taste settled on her tongue, making her mouth water.

Ready to attempt contact, she opened her eyes and saw the ceiling of the catacomb’s barrel vault above her. Dismay made her groan. Staring down from above were paintings of the T’En martyrs, the Paragian Guard who had died in the service of Imoshen the First.

Men and woman stood dressed in early T’En armour, their hands on their sword hilts. Their garnet eyes were alive in their pale faces as they watched her. These were the T’En warriors who had given their lives to secure Fair Isle, the ones Imoshen the First had commemorated in the T’Elegos.

When Imoshen read the high T’En name of the one directly above her she recognised him as one of the Parakletos. She bit her tongue, wishing the words unthought. Unbidden the verses of the death-summoning came into her mind. Somehow, she resisted saying them aloud. But it appeared that thinking them was enough, for a great oppression settled on her, filling her ears with roaring silence so that the sound of her ragged breathing faded.

The Parakletos were coming for her. Panic engulfed her, froze her to the spot. Her heart faltered. Time stretched. She could sense them approaching, eager and vindictive, questing for her. Soon they would fix on her, and when they did she would not escape.

Propelled by terror, she broke the trance and, with one last frantic effort, broke free of her paralysis. Snatching the candle brace, she ran. The flames winked out one by one so that by the time she reached the top of the stairs only one candle remained alight. She tripped and fell full length on the stone, skinning her hands. The last candle rolled away, winking out.

Fear stung her. The candle flared back to life and she scrambled to her feet, careful to shield its precious light.

Panting with fear, Imoshen found she could hardly think. Which way?

‘W
HY AREN’T YOUR
people at work?’ Tulkhan asked the master-builder who stood in the entrance to the old portrait gallery.

‘We uncovered an old passage. T’Imoshen is exploring it.’

There was a buzz of excitement from Tulkhan’s companions.

‘Show me,’ the General ordered.

The craftsman led them down the gallery and stopped before a dark opening to light a brace of candles, handing it to Tulkhan. ‘You will need this.’

‘Let’s go!’ Lord Fairban’s youngest daughter exclaimed.

‘There might be ancient treasures,’ Cariah whispered.

‘More gold?’ Jacolm asked, nudging Harholfe.

Cariah laughed. ‘Much more valuable. Lost knowledge.’

Jacolm frowned.

‘Wait, General,’ Lord Fairban began, but Tulkhan had already ducked his head and stepped into the steep stairwell. The others followed him down the staircase, complaining that there were not enough candles.

The steps led into a passage, down more stairs and through an archway.

‘General, I –’ Lord Fairban began, then pointed, muttering something in High T’En.

Light appeared at the end of a long corridor. The single candle’s flame illuminated only the figure’s face so that it appeared a disembodied T’En wraith was gliding towards them.

‘Imoshen?’ Tulkhan called uncertainly. She looked up. For a fleeting instant he read terror in her features.

Then she smiled and raised her voice. ‘I did not expect all of you to come looking for me.’

‘I was showing Lord Fairban and his daughters the restoration,’ Tulkhan explained, holding Imoshen’s eyes for a moment longer than was necessary. The candle flame trembled and he took the holder from her. The metal was so cold it burned his skin. Something had terrified Imoshen. ‘What is it?’

‘Yes, where have we come out?’ Cariah asked.

‘Only a long passage and old storerooms. Nothing more exciting than rat holes, I’m afraid.’ Imoshen shrugged. She plucked the unlit candles from the holder and lit them, handing them out. ‘Take these. We don’t want to break our necks going up the stairs.’

‘Yes, but what about exploring?’ Jacolm asked.

‘Nothing but rat holes and musty storerooms,’ Imoshen repeated.

Tulkhan felt a thickness in his head.

‘Let’s go,’ Imoshen urged.

A sense of urgency filled him. He wanted to get out of these confined passages.

Muttering under their breath, the others turned and shuffled up the stairs, their candles casting myriad shadows on the walls. Imoshen was right behind Tulkhan as he stepped out of the secret stair into the portrait gallery once more.

The master-builder greeted them.

Imoshen turned to him. ‘You were right. Nothing of interest lies down there. Replace the panel and continue the restoration. It must be time for the evening meal.’

Linking an arm with Cariah she began to stroll out of the gallery. The others followed her.

The master-builder met Tulkhan’s eyes, his expression grim. Tulkhan handed the candle brace to him, then hurried after his men. Imoshen’s words carried to the General as he caught up. To his ear her tone was a trifle forced.

‘Lady Cariah, General Tulkhan has been appointed patron of the Halls of Learning and I am patron of the hospices, so we must visit them tomorrow. Will you be hostess in my place?’

‘I would be honoured.’

Imoshen stopped at the foot of the stairs. ‘Oh, I forgot. There is one more thing I must tell the builder. You go on ahead.’

Tulkhan strode up the stairs with the others, ignoring their idle chatter. Something felt wrong. He paused on the landing. Wharrd met his eyes.

Tulkhan shook his head. ‘Go on, I’ll catch up.’

Careful to move quietly, he retraced his steps to the entrance of the portrait gallery, where he could observe Imoshen unseen. She stood halfway along the gallery in a pool of light, holding a candle high so the master-builder could position the new wainscoting. Tulkhan lifted his fingers to his mouth and blew on them. They still stung from the cold metal. Truly, Fair Isle was a place of mystery and Imoshen was the greatest mystery of all.

‘Make certain it is sealed. And tell your people there was nothing but old storerooms below,’ Imoshen ordered.

The builder replaced the skirting board then left by the servants’ exit.

Tulkhan waited in the shadows until Imoshen walked past him, her head down in thought.

‘Imo –’

She spun, a knife appearing in her hand, her eyes glittering dangerously.

Tulkhan lifted both hands in a no-threat gesture and she slowly dropped her guard.

‘What was down there?’ he asked, taking the candle.

‘Nothing.’

‘Since when were you frightened of nothing?’

A half smile lifted Imoshen’s lips. The candle flame reflected in her garnet eyes. The flickering point of light lured Tulkhan, urging him to forget everything.

‘Well?’ he prodded, refusing to be distracted.

‘Nothing,’ Imoshen whispered. As she returned the knife to its hiding place under her tabard he caught a glimpse of pale thigh above the knife’s sheath. ‘Nothing you want to know about.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

She shook her head silently.

‘Imoshen?’

‘This is better left undisturbed. Trust me.’

‘How can I trust you when you hide things from me?’

‘In this you must trust me.’ She took his arm and he felt the insidious lure of her T’En gifts urging him to lose himself in her alien beauty, to trust, to devote himself to her.

He flicked free of her touch. ‘Don’t play your T’En riddles on me!’

‘I did not mean to.’ Her lids flickered down hiding her eyes. ‘I only –’

‘You seek to hide something. I will have it from you or I will tear the wainscoting off and go down there myself!’

‘Fool! Nothing could induce me to go down to the catacombs again. If I can’t face them, how can you?’

‘Face who?’

She laughed bitterly. ‘I see you will not let it rest. Very well, General. Far below us lie the catacombs of the original palace, built six hundred years ago. There the bodies of the pure T’En were laid to rest to protect them from grave robbers. You would be surprised how much gold the sixth finger of a pure T’En would bring on the mainland. But I digress.

‘Among them lie the legendary Paragian Guard, who after death became the Parakletos.’ Her voice dropped on that word, growing breathy and urgent. ‘I used to think them nothing but legend, stories peddled by the church to keep the farmer folk in need of their services, but you were there in the cooper’s house when they came at my call. And tonight... tonight I barely escaped them. They sought me, hungry for –’

‘I don’t want to hear.’

She stepped away, giving him an ironic obeisance. ‘I will see you at dinner, General.’

Imoshen disappeared up the stairs, leaving Tulkhan alone in the dark with a single candle and his doubts.

Chapter Five

I
MOSHEN WINCED AS
Kalleen brushed her hair. Apart from the one day they had spent together touring the Halls of Learning and the hospices, the General had avoided her, occupying himself with riding the outlying reaches of T’Diemn with his engineers.

‘...and who’s to say what those Ghebite commanders will do once they get their hands on their new estates?’ Kalleen asked, pulling vigorously on Imoshen’s hair. ‘Only yesterday, when I was in the market, I overheard an old farming couple. Talk about moan! You’d think they faced the loss of their livelihood and their rights when the new Ghebite lord takes over the estate where they live. I told them it is a noble’s obligation to protect their people. At least, a noble should take care of them.’ Kalleen frowned. ‘Who knows what these newly ennobled Ghebite lordlings will do?’

Imoshen twisted from the waist to face Kalleen. Naturally the country folk would fear their new overlords.

Kalleen was experimenting with an ornate Old-Empire hairstyle. She gave a sharp tug. ‘Hold still. I can’t get your plaits straight.’

‘I’d be just as happy with a simple twin-plait.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t. You should hear them in the servants’ wing, talking about how I turn you out.’

‘What do you care? Tomorrow you’ll be Lady Kalleen of Windhaven with a maid of your own.’ Imoshen grinned. Kalleen was still acting as her maid because she had refused to relinquish the position. ‘I hope she snaps at you and pulls your hair –’

‘I never...’ Kalleen looked horrified, then contrite.

Imoshen smiled, holding her gaze in the mirror. ‘Only a little. But you’ve given me an idea. I must go to the library to see what I can find on early T’En investitures of nobility.’

G
ENERAL
T
ULKHAN CAME
to his feet at last. The interminable monologue that passed as a performance in Fair Isle had been obscure at best.

Imoshen appeared at his elbow. ‘General? Walk with me?’ Sliding her arm through his, she guided him towards the windows overlooking the courtyard.

Tulkhan frowned at the many small panes of glass. One good swing with an axe and the enemy would be into the vulnerable underbelly of the palace. It was typical of the T’En to build for effect, not defence. Still, it could be argued that if the enemy had made it as far as this private courtyard, the palace was already taken.

Then he realised this was the courtyard where he had seen his half-brother’s men burning books, destroying everything that offended the Ghebite church’s dictates.

‘Was the performance so bad?’ Imoshen teased.

Tulkhan schooled his features and tried for a light tone. ‘I’ve never heard such a long death-bed eulogy. I thought the poor fellow would never die.’

‘I’ll have you know that was one of the great tragic moments of T’En literature, portrayed by one of the greatest actors of the Thespers Guild.’

But he could tell she sympathised with him. For a rare moment, they were alone, removed from the Keldon nobles and Ghebite commanders. He took her hands in his – pale flesh encased in scarred, coppery fingers. Her palms were soft, unlike his calloused skin. She had never done a day’s hard work in her life. She was representative of her people, of the Old Empire grown complacent. Contempt flashed through him, for he had walked the original fortified walls of old T’Diemn and seen where new buildings had weakened the walls’ defences. Too much peace and prosperity made a people weak.