Dark Dreams (26 page)

‘I can’t do it.’ His own words surprised him. ‘I won’t claim to be something I’m not.’

‘What do you mean?’ Startled, Imoshen turned to him.

He had always despised hereditary rule which accepted a man’s birth before his ability. The Beatific stepped towards them, her assistant carrying the twin crowns on their bed of velvet.

Revulsion stirred in Tulkhan. ‘I’m no king. I’m a soldier!’

‘If you can lead an army, you can lead an island.’

Tulkhan knew she was right.

He sprang to his feet, pulling Imoshen with him. The Beatific took a step back, her expression a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

‘Trust me?’ Tulkhan asked Imoshen.

She searched his eyes, then smiled. ‘Yes.’

He felt an answering smile ignite him and faced the crowd.

‘I am not your Emperor and I never will be.’ His words carried, echoing in the great dome. Not surprisingly a murmur of confusion greeted his announcement. He lifted his free hand, signalling for silence. ‘I am not the King of the Ghebites. I am simply a soldier, first son of the King’s second wife. I claim no royal privilege for myself. I am a general. I will place no one, whether they be noble, guildmaster, Fair Isle farmer or Ghebite soldier, above any other.’ The investiture of his men returned to him. ‘Like my lord commanders I am here to serve Fair Isle.’

He paused to study the sea of faces, their expressions ranging from outrage to astonishment. Certain factions would not approve. The Keldon nobles for one, but he had already acknowledged their rights and the laws of their church.

‘I declare myself Protector General of Fair Isle, and this is Imoshen, Lady Protector of the People.’ He took Imoshen’s hand, placing it along his forearm so that her fingers draped over his.

A tentative cheer broke from the ranks of his men, telling him his instinct had been right. The people of Fair Isle were harder to read. A furious whispering broke out in the crowd as they debated his repudiation of the emperorship.

Imoshen’s fingers tightened on his. He expected to see anger, but pure joy suffused her features.

‘Signal the musicians and choir,’ Imoshen ordered over her shoulder to the Beatific. ‘We will dispense the coins and make our triumphal ride around the square now.’

‘The Vow of Expiation,’ the Beatific hissed. ‘You must give that vow or negate the bonding and coronation.’

‘I had not forgotten,’ Imoshen whispered, still facing the crowd.

Tulkhan squeezed her hand as the choir began their rehearsed piece, their voices soaring high into the great dome like streams of living sound.

‘Are you disappointed?’ Tulkhan asked under cover of their song.

Imoshen smiled. ‘No, Protector General. You have confirmed my faith in you in a most unexpected way.’

‘Good.’ He smiled, enjoying her approval.

They stepped off the dais, making their stately way down the aisle under the centre of the dome. There, inset in the floor, was an ancient circle of stone, so old its engravings were almost worn away.

Before everyone, Imoshen sank to her knees and placed her left hand in the impression on the stone. Her six fingers fitted the indentations perfectly.

As she gave her Vow of Expiation, promising to serve the people of Fair Isle without fear or favour, Tulkhan noted the intense expression on the face of the man opposite. Dressed in a mulberry tabard, his wine-dark eyes glittered as they fixed on Imoshen’s bent head.

For a moment Tulkhan could not remember who he was. Then it came to him. This was Murgon, leader of the Tractarians, the branch of the Church dedicated to hunting down rogue T’En.

Imoshen came to her feet and the choir resumed their paean of praise. At the doors of the Basilica two acolytes knelt to help Imoshen and Tulkhan slide their feet into their shoes. They had entered the Basilica barefoot and bare-headed, mid-afternoon.

Now it was dusk and they left it wearing the mantle of their office, although the crowns remained on their bed of velvet.

‘If only the pomp of position could be escaped as easily as the crowns and titles,’ Imoshen whispered, as if aware of his thoughts.

Tulkhan wanted to laugh. But she was right. There were still hours of formality ahead of them as they presided over the coronation feast where they would sign the charter giving the three largest banks royal endorsement.

When they stepped outside, the crowd greeted them with song. Along the steps of the Basilica two lines of people formed an honour guard. They were high-ranking nobles, Tulkhan’s men amongst them, town officials and ordinary citizens chosen by lot.

The acolytes handed Tulkhan and Imoshen their chests of newly minted coins. The General paused to study the two-headed coin. Imoshen’s profile graced one side, his profile the other. It was dated six hundred and seventeen, though the new year did not officially start until tomorrow.

‘Time to share our good fortune,’ Imoshen said. ‘These coins will be collectors’ items in years to come.’

They distributed the coins and accepted endless congratulations. At last the empty chests were returned to the acolytes and Tulkhan and Imoshen stepped into the open coronation chariot.

The square was packed with residents of T’Diemn and outlying farms, all come to witness this historical occasion. The chariot made its slow stately way round the square, its two horses led by a groom. Then it came to a stop directly in front of the palace’s grand entrance where two tall towers stood like arrogant sentinels.

Imoshen’s hand covered his. ‘Now you will see the display I promised.’

A wizened little man scurried towards them, passing several objects to Imoshen.

‘I always wanted to launch one of these things,’ she confided as she pulled on a leather glove and took the cylinder.

It didn’t look particularly inspiring. Tulkhan had expected jewels and gold.

The little man opened his coal pouch and blew on it to quicken the flame. ‘Take care to hold it away from your body, Empress.’

Imoshen dipped the cylinder’s wick in the flame. It sparked into life immediately, brighter than striking a flint. A tail of fire shot from the cylinder as it leapt into the air. Rapid as an escaped bird it arced across the sky, trailing sparks of light, only to burst star-bright above the palace.

Tulkhan blinked, stunned by the afterimage as much as by the improbability of what he had seen. But the crowd was not surprised. They cheered delightedly, then grew expectantly quiet.

‘Watch the towers,’ Imoshen whispered. She stripped the glove from her hand and returned it to the little man.

Tulkhan frowned. A spark flared on the nearest tower, followed by another. The crowd gasped as waterfalls of living sparks poured from the tower tops.

‘The place will burn to the ground,’ Tulkhan muttered.

‘Not at all. Members of the Pyrolate Guild spend years learning their craft. Surely you’ve heard of the T’En fountains of light?’

Tulkhan had but he had discounted them, just as he had the rumours of the Dhamfeer powers. He stared in awe as from every tower fountains of golden light poured down, illuminating the palace. The crowded square was utterly silent. ‘What are they made of?’

‘I’ve no idea. The guild keeps their knowledge secret. But they are quite harmless.’

Tulkhan marvelled. How could Imoshen be so casual? ‘I will inspect the apparatus that makes these fountains and that star-bird you shot into the sky.’

Imoshen laughed softly. ‘You would have to convince the master-pyrolate himself and that would be no easy task. When they are apprenticed they take a vow of secrecy.’

She pulled him around to face her, pressing her strong body against him. Fey laughter danced in her eyes. ‘Kiss me under the fountains of golden light, General.’

So General Tulkhan of the Ghebites claimed Imoshen, last T’En Princess, savouring the impossibility of the moment.

A
S THE CORONATION
feast wound down, Tulkhan stretched, easing the tension in his shoulders. Imoshen was his now by every law of man, and by the gods he wanted her.

‘A word, Protector General?’

Tulkhan turned to see the self-important Ghebite priest. He contained his annoyance and stepped back so that their conversation would be more private. ‘Yes, Cadre?’

The smaller man glanced over his shoulder at Imoshen who was playing an elaborate game with a young Keldon noble.

The complexity and variety of games played by the people of Fair Isle never ceased to amaze Tulkhan. He supposed they had to find some way to amuse themselves.
Too much peace
, he thought sourly.

‘Did you know she holds the records of all property ownership?’

Tulkhan grimaced. Obviously the Cadre was not talking about Imoshen. ‘The T’En church has always held the records.’

‘It is run by a woman!’

‘It is their way.’

‘It is not our way!’

Tulkhan looked down at his indignant priest. ‘And this is not our land. But we will make it so.’

‘Then relegate the Beatific to a lesser function. Give me the task and I will reorganise their church.’

Tulkhan almost laughed. ‘Why should they give up what they have?’

The Cadre stiffened. ‘Half of them are women, only women!’

This time Tulkhan did laugh. He gazed at Imoshen who was now performing an elaborate sequence of movements which could have been a dance. ‘There is no
only
.’

Anger hardened the Cadre’s features. ‘You let your lust rule your head.’

‘You let your anger rule your tongue.’ Tulkhan warned. The Cadre went to apologise but the General waved him aside. ‘No. Go now. We will speak again later.’

Tulkhan folded his arms and leaned against the wall. Obscured by shadows, he observed the game and the purpose finally struck him. Imoshen and her opponent were performing a series of dance moments. At the end of each sequence they added another movement.

The two competitors had to remember the whole sequence, perform it and add another each time. The first one to make a mistake lost.

He wished the game would end so he could lead Imoshen away. They had done their duty. Didn’t she want him as badly as he wanted her?

‘Protector General?’

‘Beatific.’ He straightened, cloaking his uneasiness.

She returned his acknowledgment with the elaborate obeisance reserved for the Empress and Emperor. Was she mocking him or did she seek reassurance because he had been speaking with the Cadre?

But the Beatific said nothing, instead her gaze followed his, and he realised he had looked past her to Imoshen.

‘T’Imoshen is at her most charming. Unfortunately, it is an illusion. Forgive me, I am going to speak plainly. You are Ghebite and a True-man. Do not be lulled into a false sense of security. Imoshen is not one of us. The T’En are both more and less than True-people.’

Tulkhan did not want to hear this tonight. He wanted that part of Imoshen which was only too real and womanly, her quicksilver passion. But he had to placate the head of the T’En church. He met the Beatific’s eyes expecting her to give another vague warning about Imoshen’s gifts. What could she possibly say that he hadn’t already thought of in the dark lonely nights?

‘The flame burns bright attracting the moth but venture too close and it will be consumed. You may think you can warm yourself at Imoshen’s fires and escape unscathed. But T’En work their way beneath your guard. Believe me, I know.’ The Beatific’s hand closed on his arm. Her smile was luminous with painful self-knowledge. ‘Reothe and I were lovers. He coached me, helped me attain this position.’

Tulkhan was stunned. A married Ghebite woman would face death if she admitted this. An unmarried Ghebite woman would kill herself if defiled by a man.

‘I went to hear Reothe debate in the great library of the Halls of Learning. His passion for knowledge and truth was inspiring. I was fascinated by the brilliance of his mind. It drew me with such intensity I had to walk away.’ She shook her head wryly. ‘I think that was why he first pursued me. It annoyed him to have someone walk out while he was speaking. When he came after me I should have been on my guard but I lied to myself. He was only seventeen, I was nearly ten years older. I let myself believe I could enjoy him and remain aloof.’ She sighed. Tulkhan did not want to hear this, yet he knew he must. ‘At that time I was working my way up through the church hierarchy. Knowing what I know now, I believe he saw ability in me and wanted a lever on the T’En church for the future. Reothe plans for the long term, you see, and he is utterly ruthless.’ She held Tulkhan’s eyes. ‘He was under the Empress’s protection, related by blood to her and her heirs, but that was not enough for him.’

Tulkhan said nothing. He suspected the Beatific would continue until she got the reaction she wanted from him.

‘You know he and the Empress’s heir, Ysanna, were lovers. Reothe wanted control of the royal family.’ The Beatific shrugged. ‘The Empress loved him when he came to her as a tragic youth. She reared him with her own children. Ysanna played her suitors off against Reothe. Could they sail, ride, hunt or write poetry as well as he? He never committed himself to Ysanna, for there were those who did not wish to see him the future empress’s bond-partner. When he asked Imoshen to bond with him it was the lesser of two evils, or so they thought.’ She fixed troubled eyes on him. ‘You don’t know what the T’En can do. With every touch they cement their hold on you, slipping insidiously into your mind, sifting for what they can use to further their own ends.’

Tulkhan nodded once, reluctantly. This time when he looked into the Beatific’s face he understood that despite everything she still loved Reothe.

‘What better way to control someone than through love?’ she whispered.

Something twisted inside him. Hadn’t Imoshen said the very same thing?

‘She is not like that.’ It was an instinctive denial.

The Beatific smiled tolerantly. ‘Imoshen is T’En. They protect themselves. Reothe was a youth in a palace of intrigue, searching for a way to ensure his safety. You can forgive them anything. I know I did.’

Tulkhan sensed movement. The game had broken up and Imoshen was coming towards them, laughter dancing in her eyes. He watched that joy turn to wariness as she read his expression.