Dark Dreams (34 page)

Imoshen’s heart sank as looked down at the maps.

‘You say I have your loyalty,’ Tulkhan persisted. ‘Prove it. Point out his camp.’

‘That was back at midwinter. If Reothe is half the tactician I believe him to be, he will have moved by now.’

Tulkhan did not seem disappointed. He slid something out from under a map and tossed it onto the table before her. The silver platter spun and settled heavily. ‘Then do a scrying to locate his camp.’

Imoshen looked at the plate’s dull surface. This was the scrying platter she had inherited from the Aayel. It annoyed her to think Tulkhan had asked Merkah to take it while her mistress slept. ‘You made me vow not to use my gifts.’

‘I’m making an exception. Do it!’

Pain unfurled inside Imoshen. He wanted to use her as a tool to locate and kill. How could this be the man who had held her so tenderly last night?

‘If you refuse, I will –’

‘Lock me up?’ Imoshen whispered. ‘Steal my child and wall me inside the palace somewhere, leaving me to starve to death?’

Tulkhan appeared shocked. ‘Do you really believe that of me?’

Imoshen shook her head and picked up the scrying plate. The skin of her fingers crawled with distaste. Gingerly she lifted them to her face and inhaled. ‘The Vaygharian has been here. Is that why you doubt me, General? Have you forgotten so soon that he poisoned your half-brother’s mind?’

‘I can see through Kinraid’s manoeuvring. Besides, he is not the only source of my information.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Just do the scrying, Imoshen. Think of it as a test. I would be a fool to have such a tool at my disposal and not use it.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You mean won’t.’

‘No. I can’t. The Aayel tried to explain it to me when I was younger. Back then I did not know enough to understand her. You probably won’t understand me but I am going to try.’ She sighed. ‘Reothe is more versed in his gifts. I am just discovering mine. Scrying is not an exact science. If I were to pick up the plate and do my preparation, then try to locate Reothe, I might succeed too well. I don’t want to give him access to my mind.’ She shivered, hugging her body. ‘I won’t do it. Please... I’m afraid.’

Tulkhan rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘Let me see if I have this right. You and he are both sorcerous creatures.’

‘No, we’re –’

‘That is the Ghebite word for someone who manipulates powers no honest True-person has. I will call you anything I like.’ When Imoshen did not argue he continued, ‘But even though you both have the T’En gifts, you are weaker than he. Are you telling me I have allied myself with the weaker of the two sorcerers?’

Imoshen nodded. She was a child where her skills were concerned.

The General studied her. Once again she was aware of his keen intelligence.

‘What’s to stop you from turning your back on me and joining Reothe?’ Tulkhan asked. ‘He shares your heritage. Last night he risked his life to save you. He was your betrothed by choice and... he loves you.’

Imoshen felt her cheeks grow hot. She did not attempt to deny Tulkhan’s assessment.

‘So why stay here, Imoshen? Are you playing a double game, passing information to Reothe? Did you go to him the night before our bonding then come back to me with false promises on your lips? Why do you persist in this farce?’

She heard the raw pain in his voice and she ached to reassure him. But he would not let her approach. Had Reothe planted gift-enhanced doubts in Tulkhan’s mind?

She felt too weary for subterfuge. ‘The night before our joining, Reothe made a pact with the Ancients. He sacrificed a snow leopard to appease their greed and drew me to him. They reanimated the snow leopard and demanded a price of him.’

Her hand went to her throat as she recalled the pain of the snow leopard’s claws on Reothe’s chest. She had raked her skin and pleaded with the old powers to return her to the palace. The small wounds made by her fingernails had healed because there were of a physical origin, but wounds made by the Ancients no True-man could see and she did not know if they ever truly healed.

With a grimace, she shrugged the memory aside. ‘Reothe abducted me. I had no choice in going to him. Returning to you was my decision.’

General Tulkhan folded his arms, clearly unconvinced.

‘You can place a guard on me if you choose. Though what the palace servants will think of that, I can’t imagine.’ Determined and defiant, she tucked her scrying plate under her arm. ‘I am true to you, General Tulkhan. If there is a seed of doubt, it lives in you, not me!’

W
HY WOULDN’T THE
man die? Tulkhan’s sword arm ached. His breath rasped in his throat. And still the man kept coming. Every killing blow Tulkhan struck was ineffective, while his own body grew steadily weaker. Sweat stung his eyes.

The swordsman hadn’t been this hard to beat the first time Tulkhan had killed him. With a jolt the General realised this was a dream and he was reliving his first battlefield kill.

At seventeen Tulkhan had sent this man to his grave without a thought.

Now, he slipped on the bloodied ground, going down on one knee. He took a sword strike under his arm above the armour. The blade ran deep into his chest, burning, searing all the way. Each breath became agony and grew shallower as he drowned in his own blood.

He stared up at his opponent silhouetted against the sun. The swordsman pulled off his helmet.

Reothe!

Tulkhan woke gasping, drenched with sweat, his heart racing. As he rolled to his feet, his knees threatened to give way. Staggering, he crossed the room to the window and threw it open. The smell of death and despair clogged his nostrils. He felt utterly hollow.

He heard Imoshen moan in the room beyond and stifled the impulse to go to her. To lie in her arms now would be bliss, but each time he did he felt the bonds of passion bind him ever closer to her. Tulkhan could not forget the moment Reothe had revealed the bonding scar he shared with Imoshen.

Last night he had let himself believe her denials, but excuses sprang too easily to Imoshen’s lips. After she had refused to search out Reothe’s camp, Tulkhan had vowed to stay out of her bed. Instead he’d placed a blanket on the floor in the Emperor’s private chamber and slept there.

Now Tulkhan strode to the fireplace to stir up the coals and keep back the night. Somehow he knew this feeling of despair was Reothe’s doing and that he must fight it with every breath he took, yet he could not shake off the premonition that his time with Imoshen was destined to end with his death.

I
MOSHEN ROUSED HERSELF
from a doze. It was the day before the Spring Festival, though the snow still lay thick on the ground. She blinked and remembered that she had been working through the plans for the feast before she drifted off.

The scratching came again. Imoshen did not recognise the comb’s metal tone.

She rubbed her face and straightened her hair. ‘Come in.’

Lord Fairban’s youngest daughter entered. ‘T’Imoshen.’

‘Lady Miriane.’ Imoshen came to her feet. They were the same age, she and Miriane, but they were worlds apart. This woman was the youngest child of an indulgent father, while Imoshen carried the weight of Fair Isle on her shoulders.

Like the rest of the Keldon nobles, the Fairbans were preparing to return to their estates now that the worst of the snows had melted.

‘My father wishes to speak with you before he leaves,’ Miriane said.

‘I would be honoured.’

‘You’ll need a cloak. Father wants to speak somewhere private.’

Imoshen did not like the sound of this. She’d thought Lord Fairban had become reconciled, as much as was possible, to Cariah’s death.

She followed the young woman through the palace, out into the formal gardens.

‘This is as far as I go. Father waits for you in the centre of the maze,’ Miriane said.

Imoshen thanked her and moved on. The air was still, crisp and cold. Ideal for carrying sound. She heard the horn and the baying of the dogs. The Ghebites were hunting in the woods again. Disgusted, she wondered what animal they had flushed out this time. They had just about hunted all the game from the formal woods. There was even talk of freeing some of the animals from the menagerie. That would be cruel indeed, since these were rare animals, presented to the palace as gifts and bred over generations.

Imoshen’s fine indoor slippers were sodden by the time she rounded the last bend of the snow-shrouded maze. Lord Fairban spun to face her. She could tell by the furrowed snow that he had been pacing the central garden.

Catching sight of her, he grew still. He had aged since Cariah died. A steely determination defined his face as he studied her.

She waited, then prompted him. Her feet were starting to go numb. ‘I have come in answer to your summons, Lord Fairban.’

He indicated the stone seat, brushing last night’s snowfall from its surface.

‘Come, T’Imoshen. I have been made spokesman and it is time we revealed our plans to you.’

Imoshen’s heart sank. ‘Continue.’

‘This may be painful for you but I must speak plainly. You are nothing but a tool to the Ghebite General, a prize of war to be used to cement his hold on this island. Even the child you carry is more important for his hold on Fair Isle than yours. He needs you. You do not need him.’

Imoshen raised an eyebrow. It seemed everyone knew of her pregnancy.

Lord Fairban nodded to himself. ‘I came to see the General and I must admit I was favourably impressed. Tulkhan is a good man, for a Ghebite. But events have proved that we can never live with them. They are primitives.’

He took her hand, patting it kindly. A wave of sincerity washed over Imoshen. Lord Fairban believed what he was about to say.

‘There are others who feel the same way. We want to see you and Reothe in the palace. If the royal family had been pure T’En as they were meant to be, Fair Isle would never have fallen to the Ghebite invaders.’

Imoshen was swamped by his vision of a future with a powerful T’En ruling class who protected the True-people of Fair Isle. She withdrew her hands, too dismayed to speak.

He appeared unaware of this. ‘I will go back to the highlands and make contact with T’Reothe to aid him. When he is ready we will march into T’Diemn where you will be waiting for him.’

Imoshen dared not reveal how she really felt. If she objected to his plans, Lord Fairban would become her enemy, for he must surely know that what he had just revealed would result in his death and the destruction of everyone associated with him.

‘I knew you were biding your time, playing out the charade until the moment of confrontation,’ he continued, pleased with his sagacity. ‘My daughters and I leave immediately after the festival tomorrow. It is time the Keld made a stand.’

‘Lord Fairban, I urge caution.’

‘No need. I know your hands are tied for now. But when the moment is right you will strike a telling blow for Fair Isle, turning the invaders to stone!’

Imoshen slumped on the low seat, feeling the cold seep through her cloak and gown.

‘My Cariah admired you, Imoshen. I have lost a daughter. You have lost your family. Let my daughters be your sisters, let me stand in place of your father.’

Stunned, she could only stare at him. He radiated absolute faith in her, and she knew his heart was good. Imoshen was horrified. What could she do? She did not want to be the death of Cariah’s father and the annihilation of what remained of Fair Isle’s old nobility.

‘I will leave first,’ he advised. ‘You wait a while, then follow me out. There are spies everywhere.’

Imoshen watched him go then buried her face in her hands. To think it had come to this. Her head spun with the implications. The Keldon nobles believed she was capable of turning the Ghebite army to stone. They believed she and Reothe could not fail to rout the Ghebites. Naturally they would be happy to rise against the invaders. To know her own unthinking actions had triggered this development was bitter indeed.

Imoshen rose, stiff with cold and shock. She had no idea how much time had passed. In a daze of worry she followed the footprints out of the maze. It was only when she came to the last turn that she noticed there was an extra set. A third person had stepped in her footprints, but their stride was not as long as hers.

Imoshen’s heart faltered.

Who had overheard them?

One of Tulkhan’s spies? Since he no longer came to her bed she knew he had set people to watch her. Or maybe it was one of the ambassadorial groups; their keen-eyed servants were everywhere.

Imoshen dropped to her knees, placing her bare hand in the snow hollow before lifting it to her nose. She knew that stench. Vaygharians!

By tonight Kinraid would have Tulkhan’s ear, planting his poison to grow and fester. If only the General would let her touch him. She knew if she could lie naked next to him, she could ease his doubts and soothe his fears.

But she wouldn’t get the chance. Frustration welled in her. She didn’t want to betray Tulkhan. Somehow she had to convince him of that, while protecting Lord Fairban.

The horn sounded again.

Inhaling, Imoshen tasted the Ghebites’ hunting blood lust carried to her on the breeze. Tulkhan was with them. Without another thought she took to her heels, running towards the woods.

A heaviness in her lower belly reminded her of the baby’s presence but did not slow her. It was harder going when she entered the woods where the snowdrifts had piled up. She concentrated on finding Tulkhan. Something was being hunted through the woods. The tang of its fear and the hunter’s male excitement hung on the air. An unpleasant aftertaste sat on the back of Imoshen’s tongue.

She ran on, letting instinct guide her. Soon she found herself on a rise, hunting the hunters. They were on horseback moving parallel to her. The thick woods slowed their pace.

She identified the General’s broad shoulders amongst the hunters. He didn’t want her to use her powers, but she had to make him come to her. Everywhere she turned people were trying to drive a wedge of mistrust between them and she had to forestall their wicked whispers.