Dark Dreams (19 page)

‘But –’ Jacolm began.

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

Tulkhan’s temples throbbed and his head ached. He saw Sahorrd rub the bridge of his nose.

Jacolm frowned.

‘Nothing,’ Imoshen urged. ‘Nothing worth a man’s life.’

‘Harholfe...’ Sahorrd moaned.

‘Harholfe has taken a ship to the mainland in my service,’ Tulkhan said. There was no corpse to dispose of, no way to make his death public and honour him. ‘We will not speak of this to anyone.’

Jacolm and Sahorrd exchanged glances.

Tulkhan dismissed them both. When they had gone he turned to Imoshen. ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’ she asked.

‘What happened down there?’

She shrugged. ‘They disturbed a sacred site. One of them paid with his life. The T’En look after their own.’

‘What of the Para –’

‘Don’t!’ She covered his lips, her fingertips gritty with dust. ‘At least not here, not now.’

‘You didn’t look frightened.’ Tulkhan sheathed his sword.

‘Nonsense. I was terrified the whole time.’

‘After we found the child’s grave –’

‘Do not speak of that.’

Tulkhan frowned. ‘Do you remember the sarcophagus of the first Aayel?’

‘Of course. And I would dearly love to explore the whole of the catacombs, but every time I think of them I am filled with such dread that I feel ill. So speak no more of this and I will have the entrance sealed up.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t remember anything after Jacolm went to take the ruby. How do you know Harholfe is dead if you did not find his body?’

‘We found enough.’ Tulkhan shuddered and shook his head. ‘Don’t go down there again, Imoshen.’

A bitter laugh escaped her. ‘You were the one who insisted I go. Believe me, nothing could get me into those catacombs again.’

Tulkhan stared at her, not sure if she was being deliberately obscure. ‘Who was the child, Ysanna? You called her daughter.’

She flinched. ‘Sometimes the gifts can be a curse.’ Her gaze slid past his and he knew she was going to lie, or at least avoid answering the question. ‘There have been many Ysannas. The most recent was the Empress’s only daughter and heir. Like all my other relatives, she died defending Fair Isle. One by one they fell before your army, choosing to fight to the death rather than be taken captive.’ Her face grew hard and proud, reminding him of how she had looked down in the catacombs. ‘Why do you look at me like that?’

‘I am tired. Go to bed.’

‘I was in bed, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Imoshen told him.

‘Oh, I’d noticed. You are wearing nothing under that nightgown. If I were to undo the drawstring and slide it off your shoulders you would be naked in my arms.’

She lifted her chin. ‘I might be naked, General, but I would not be in your arms.’ She plucked a candle from the holder. ‘Goodnight.’

He watched her go. The more he knew of Imoshen the less he understood. And after tonight he was not eager to pry too deeply.

With a sigh he walked across the gallery and sat down with his back to the wall and Harholfe’s battleaxe across his knees. He snuffed out all but one candle and watched the dark entrance to the secret passage.

He did not really believe anything was going to come up that stairwell. And if it did, he knew cold steel would not stop it, but he could not rest easy until the entrance was closed and the shades of the legendary T’En warriors sealed away from True-men.

Chapter Eight

R
ECOGNISING THE OTHER
occupants of the carriage as the elite of the Keldon Highland aristocracy, Imoshen hid her misgivings. They were leaders of the most powerful families, related by blood and bonding, and united, she suspected, in their plans for Fair Isle. What was supposed to be a tour of the sites of T’Diemn promised to be a grilling.

‘T’Imoshen,’ they greeted her.

‘Grandfathers, Grandmothers,’ she deliberately gave them the more intimate honorific instead of their titles. ‘What do you wish to discuss?’

‘So impatient,’ Lady Woodvine, the iron-haired matriarch, muttered.

Frail, half-blood Lord Athlyn shook his head. ‘In the high court the Empress –’

‘The Empress is dead,’ Imoshen interrupted, ‘and the Old Empire died with her. The scholars are agreed that on the first day of the new year a new age will begin. We must make our peace with that.’

The Keldon nobles exchanged glances.

‘To the Causare,’ Lord Fairban told the driver, who urged the horses forward.

Imoshen stiffened. It was in this building that the Causare Council of the Old Empire met to debate policy. She had watched one of these sessions during her first visit to the capital. But the long-winded speeches had bored her and it had been much more fun to watch the spectators in the gallery. It had amused her when the nobles were unceremoniously bundled out on the bell of noon to make room for the other functionaries of the Causare, the traders.

From sun up till noon the building served the council, then from noon till dusk it served the traders. They were merchants, sea captains, guildmasters, anyone who thought they could turn an opportunity to profit. After the noon bell, the Causare Council became a place of furious buying and selling of profits as yet unearned. Traders bought and sold part ownership of planned voyages to the archipelago or the mainland ports. It was said a canny Causare trader could turn a profit on a crop of grapes three times before it was sown, let alone harvested, crushed and fermented.

Imoshen maintained her silence as the carriage passed through the streets of old T’Diemn and finally stopped at the Causare. Leading the party, she sailed up the wide steps and through the double doors embossed with symbols of Fair Isle’s prosperity.

Once in the central chamber under the great dome, she hesitated. The Beatific, accompanied by four high-ranking priests including Murgon, acknowledged her. Imoshen returned their brief nods. She had expected to see only the remaining Keldon leaders, but the gathering also included what looked like the elite of T’Diemn’s traders. By their rich clothing and personal styles she identified merchants, bankers, guildmasters and a few ships’ captains – an odd gathering, considering it was not yet noon.

Lord Fairban caught up with her, leading her to the Empress’s bench, which looked no different from any other. In the Causare all voices were supposed to be heard with equal weight. But by custom this had become the seat of power.

The Beatific parted from her companions and took the seat on Imoshen’s left, claiming the highest precedent after the Empress. Fairban retreated to join his faction, and for several moments there was a shuffling of feet as people found their places in the circle of tiered benches.

The Beatific said nothing. Imoshen vowed she would not give her the satisfaction of asking what was going on.

When a shaft of sunlight entered the dome far above, Imoshen looked up. The first-floor gallery was empty of spectators. Light shimmered on the central floor where a mural depicting Fair Isle and the known world was worked in tiny multicoloured tiles. Most of the council’s seats would have been empty had it not been for the traders.

One by one people settled and Imoshen waited, her features schooled into an impassive mask.

In the ensuing hush the formidable Keldon matriarch came to her feet. ‘T’Imoshen. Unlike others’ – Woodvine paused to glare at certain people – ‘I will not call you Empress, because you have not earned that title. We have two questions for you to present to the Ghebite general. First, when will the Causare reopen to serve the people of Fair Isle? And when it does, who will lead us?’

‘Yes!’ An eager merchant leapt to her feet. ‘War is bad for business. I lost a whole shipment of mainland fruit left to rot because –’

‘And I have not seen the profits from my last voyage because the banks have frozen their funds!’ another cried.

At this a terrible clamour arose as the bankers argued that if they had not frozen funds the panicked populace would have bankrupted the country, and traders angrily debated the efficacy of this policy. A smile tugged at Imoshen’s lips. Trust the people of Fair Isle to be concerned about profits before politics. Or was it simply the other side of the coin?

The double doors flew open and General Tulkhan strode into the centre of the Causare, his boots thundering in the sudden silence. His elite guard marched in single file to take up position behind the highest seats, where they stood, hands on their sword hilts. Half a dozen of the General’s most trusted commanders formed a solid wall at the open doors.

No sound echoed in the great dome, no one moved. Imoshen feared the tiles would soon run with blood.

‘What treason is this?’ Tulkhan roared. He pointed to the Keldon nobles. ‘You swore an oath of fealty to me. And you!’ He turned on the traders. ‘You also swore an oath. Yet you meet in secret!’

‘General Tulkhan.’ Imoshen left the Empress’s seat to join him. ‘No treason is being worked here. This building houses the Causare Council. During the Old Empire the leaders of Fair Isle debated policy here and traders met to arrange backing for their ventures.’ She took his hand, feeling the tension in him. ‘Come, hear them speak.’

As Tulkhan followed her relief washed through Imoshen, making her light-headed. He had entered the Causare as a general but it would take a statesman to resolve this.

‘We must avoid bloodshed, General. Trust me,’ she whispered, seating him next to her. Imoshen signalled for silence, coming to her feet. ‘This is not how I remember the council.’ Actually it was more like the energetic afternoon’s trading. ‘You wish to know when the Causare will reopen? Well, today is that day.’

The traders finger-clicked their approval, some going so far as to give the official traders’ call of success.

‘Pretty words.’ Woodvine stood. ‘But what of the council? We have no say!’

‘What of the banks?’ a merchant interrupted. ‘We are losing money!’

‘We are saving your gold!’ insisted a banker.

The Causare erupted.

Imoshen turned to the Beatific, who appeared pleased. Tulkhan’s disgusted expression made her smile.

Imoshen leaned so close to him that her lips brushed his ear. ‘The day-to-day business of Fair Isle has resumed but the larger ventures which risk great capital are all halted until the political situation regains stability. The merchants cannot undertake their ventures if the banks have frozen their funds.’

‘What do you suggest, Imoshen?’

‘Give the Emp – Give your royal seal to the banks. If they know they have the resources of the royal house behind them they will release funds.’

‘But I am not officially ruler of Fair Isle until the coronation ceremony.’

‘The Causare will not meet again until the new year. Until then, the traders can negotiate business in the taverns and tea-houses, then get their agreements formally recognised when the Causare reopens its doors.’ Imoshen hesitated, watching Tulkhan’s features as he ran through the ramifications.

The Beatific raised her voice over the din. ‘General, Fair Isle must not lose her position as centre of trade.’

‘You both speak sense.’

‘And that surprises you?’ Imoshen dared to tease. She sat back, pleased.

The Causare grew silent as people realised the General was ready to speak.

‘Hear this.’ Tulkhan raised his hands. ‘After the coronation ceremony I will underwrite the banks with the funds of the royal house...’

Furious trading drowned out his voice as every merchant, banker, sea captain and guildmaster touted their latest venture.

Woodvine left her seat to march across the floor towards the General. She was joined by Fairban and Athlyn. Imoshen took the General’s arm, aware that only part of the original question had been answered. She noticed the Beatific move to stand on the General’s other side.

Tulkhan was astounded by the sheer volume of noise. He eyed the belligerent Keld before him, ready to repulse their attack, but they rounded on Imoshen.

‘Very clever, T’Imoshen,’ Woodvine snapped. ‘You have cut our support out from under us by giving the traders what they want. But the Causare is not just a trading forum. We represent the old aristocracy, we have a right to sit on council and direct the policy of Fair Isle. We will not rest until that right is acknowledged.’

‘All rights are earned, including the right to serve,’ Imoshen replied.

‘Right?’ Tulkhan repeated. The arrogance of these people astounded him. Though he had no proof, he knew they gave aid to Reothe and his rebels. He would have been within his rights to confiscate their titles and lands. These Keld were lucky to be alive.

‘General Tulkhan will hear your petition in the new year after the celebrations,’ Imoshen spoke quickly. ‘Until then the palace is packed with mainland nobility and ambassadors. We must present a united front.’

‘For Fair Isle’s sake,’ the Beatific urged.

Tulkhan noted how Imoshen and the Beatific exchanged looks as the others agreed. He took Imoshen’s arm, escorting her from the Causare. His men filed out after him.

Imoshen would have spoken, but he signalled for silence, climbing astride his mount and offering her his hand. She placed her foot on his boot and leapt up across his thighs where their conversation would not be overheard.

As the doors closed on the noisy scene within, Tulkhan turned his horse towards the palace. ‘The people of Fair Isle never cease to amaze me,’ he muttered.

‘Why?’

He did not reply.

After a moment Imoshen cleared her throat. ‘I know you find the Keldon nobles’ request to reopen the Causare Council presumptuous.’

He gave a bark of laughter.

She hesitated. ‘When you are at war, you consult with your commanders, you listen to the locals, consider what you have learnt, and then you make the best decision based on all this. Yes?’

He nodded.

‘Ruling Fair Isle is no different. You would heed the advice of your commanders. Among the Keldon nobles there are people who have seen eighty years of history unfold. Surely their advice is worth something?’

‘True, but are their goals mine?’ the General countered grimly.