Dark Dreams (55 page)

‘Imoshen?’

Imoshen looked up, startled to hear her name. She felt like a sword’s blade forged beyond recognition by the fires of pain.

Dawn’s subtle light revealed the two men dearest to her.

‘Ashmyr lives.’ She stroked the soft dark head at her breast, joy and wonder suffusing her.

‘But at what price?’ Reothe whispered.

His question was an unwelcome intrusion. She glanced his way, noticing for the first time how he lay limply in Tulkhan’s arms. The General’s blade was pressed into Reothe’s throat, making her flinch.

Cradling the baby, she crept over to them.

Already Tulkhan’s long dark hair was drying in the breeze that carried the mist away. He held the knife so tightly his knuckles were white.

But it was Reothe who made her gasp. Blood had dried in painful paths where it had trickled from his nose and ears. It looked as if he had wept tears of blood.

Her heart turned over with outrage. ‘Who did this to you?’

His eyes closed and he gave a wordless, almost imperceptible shake of his head. A rueful smile touched his lips. When he opened his eyes the knowledge was there for her to read.

‘No, impossible!’ she cried. ‘I would not,
could
not, hurt you!’

Tulkhan muttered something in the Ghebite language. She glanced at him and registered his pain, but there was nothing she could do.

Silently she offered Tulkhan her apology. He looked away, unable to accept it. Her heart faltered.

Dragging in a tight breath, Imoshen returned her attention to Reothe. Blood-tinged tears slid from under his closed lids.

‘Are you in pain?’ Imoshen touched his temple, anxious to ease his discomfort, and felt a blankness.

Tulkhan shifted, stretching his cramped muscles. ‘He says his T’En gifts are gone.’

Instinctively Imoshen splayed her fingers over Reothe’s face. She probed. His body stiffened, a guttural groan escaped him. It tore at her. Sweat broke out on her skin, making it grow chill in the dawn breeze as she searched.

‘I can’t find you.’ She could not believe the essence she had felt so acutely was dulled to a point where she could not perceive it. Gone forever?

‘He said your gifts are greater than his,’ Tulkhan told her softly, almost sympathetically. ‘That they always have been.’

‘But –’

‘You did this to him,’ Tulkhan said bitterly. ‘Had you but tried, you could have withstood Reothe at any time.’

Imoshen’s gaze shifted from Tulkhan’s remote eyes to Reothe’s pain-ravaged face.

‘All bluff, Imoshen,’ Reothe whispered. He held her eyes silently, asking forgiveness. ‘A great gamble. And I almost won.’

His smile wrenched at her.

‘Stay back!’ Tulkhan barked suddenly.

Imoshen turned to see the rebels approaching, followed by a stream of townsfolk.

The baby at her breast gave a soft whimper. She soothed him automatically and came to her feet to face Reothe’s rebels. As they edged forward, weapons drawn, the townsfolk hung back behind them, torn between fear and curiosity.

Imoshen studied the wharf and the bay, now visible through a thin film of retreating mist. The Vaygharians in the water had slunk off like rats.

‘There will be no more fighting.’ Imoshen met the eyes of the rebels. ‘Sling a sail between two poles to make a stretcher. T’Reothe is hurt. I want him carried to T’Ronnyn’s Citadel.’

As the rising sun chased the last of the mists away, Imoshen watched the rebels work. Tulkhan sheathed the knife and released Reothe, placing him gently on the deck. The Ghebite general did not approach her when he stood.

The rebels seemed subdued, concerned for their injured leader, and unsure of their own status as prisoners.

The creaking of a boat’s oars made Imoshen turn.

‘Wharrd comes,’ Tulkhan announced. ‘I must have the Vaygharian ship’s captain captured before he can carry a message back to my half-brother.’

He strode past her to the end of the wharf.

Tulkhan did not trust himself near Imoshen. This night he had looked into the dark depths of his soul and he did not like what he had seen. It was as the Beatific had said. A True-man forfeited much if he loved one of the T’En.

Logic told him to climb into Wharrd’s small boat and leave Fair Isle while he still owned his soul, but that would mean deserting his son, his only heir. Common sense told him his son was dead, that this creature Imoshen cradled was a changeling, but he could not bring himself to leave.

A spear of insight stabbed Tulkhan. Would his son grow into a being like Imoshen? Would the adult Ashmyr look upon Tulkhan with T’En eyes and scorn him as a Mere-man?

No wonder the T’En had been cast out of their home beyond the dawn sun. How could True-people live with the knowledge that Tulkhan was now privy to?

Wharrd lifted an arm and waved.

Tulkhan returned the signal automatically.

‘Don’t leave me, General,’ Imoshen whispered suddenly at his side.

He snorted. ‘I have no intention of relinquishing what I have taken. And do me the courtesy of keeping out of my head, T’En.’

She gasped softly. ‘I was not... I did not mean to. I need you, General Tulkhan.’

‘Oh?’ He felt like laughing. What could Imoshen possibly need from a Mere-man like himself? ‘You have my son, you have Fair Isle, and now you have your betrothed, suitably chastised. What could you possibly want with me?’

He looked down into her face, illuminated by the soft morning light. She looked tired, fragile and vulnerable. He knew his words had hurt her. The irony of it was that in hurting her, he had hurt himself, because despite everything he still loved her.

Against his better judgment he cupped her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin on his calloused palm. Wisps of her pale hair lifted in the breeze.

She turned her face into his palm and kissed him. It was the gentle gesture of a supplicant, but her eyes were as sharp as ever.

‘I need you to rule Fair Isle, General Tulkhan. The people are afraid of the T’En. I need someone they trust to represent their interests.’

He almost choked. ‘So I am to be your puppet king? Truly, I am honoured.’

‘Don’t!’ It was a plea from her heart.

‘Think what you ask, Imoshen. I won’t be your tool. I could not live with myself.’

‘I know.’ She edged closer to him, pressing against his side.

He had to acknowledge how much he craved her touch.

‘I don’t want a public life. You are a good True-man. You have earned Fair Isle, General Tulkhan. Keep it. I know you will rule wisely. And –’

‘Kill him!’ The words were out before he knew he meant to say them. ‘Have Reothe executed.’

He felt her stiffen as the boat with his supporters bobbed nearer.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘He is the last of my kind. I can no more kill him than you could kill your half-brother. Remember what you said to me when I advised you to kill him?’ Sorrow made her eyes luminous. ‘You said if you could kill that easily, I would be dead. Now I give you the same answer. There have been moments when I could have taken another path, one that would have led to your death, but I did not. Don’t ask me to kill Reothe.’

‘Then banish him.’

‘I need Reothe. He has T’En knowledge which I must have for my people and my own peace of mind. And, for the time being, he is harmless.’

Tulkhan laughed bitterly. ‘We should stone him now while we can!’

He looked into her eyes and saw the knowledge there. They both knew that if Reothe should regain his gifts he would be too powerful and cunning to contain.

She did not attempt to deny this but offered Tulkhan a rueful smile. ‘Reothe is the last of my kin.’

‘And the father of your child?’ It cost Tulkhan to ask this.

She nodded, searching his face. He waited for an explanation, a plea for forgiveness, but she said nothing.

‘Imoshen, tell me he took you against your will. Offer me cold comfort.’

A rope snaked up through the air towards them. Tulkhan caught it on reflex and made it fast.

As he straightened he met Imoshen’s gaze. A charged silence hung between them. Then Wharrd and the Ghebites clambered up onto the wharf, demanding an explanation, and the moment was lost.

Imoshen stepped back as Tulkhan moved forward to lift Kalleen onto the wharf. In a few moments he was surrounded by his own people. They greeted him exuberantly, knowing only that the rebel leader lay strapped to a litter, unable to move, while their general stood with Imoshen at his side, apparently victorious.

The irony of it was bitter. Yet he could not help but smile and accept their heartfelt congratulations. They had feared for his life. They had stood by him when all was lost and he had worked a miracle. He was their legendary General Tulkhan, a man capable of pulling victory from the jaws of defeat. Fair Isle was his and they shared a golden future.

Not one of them knew he was bound by chains of love to a creature more dangerous than his worst nightmares. He met Imoshen’s garnet eyes above their heads and saw only her Otherness. Her expression reminded him of Reothe.

Imoshen slipped away from the celebrating Ghebites. Their hearty joy grated on her raw emotions.

Kalleen darted after her and hugged her with a thousand questions on her lips. Kalleen attempted to take the sleeping baby, but Imoshen would not part with him.

Ashmyr was more precious to her than life itself.

Returning her friend’s hug Imoshen felt the rush of new life illuminating Kalleen and smiled, though the sudden expansion of her T’En gifts startled her.

Kalleen wrinkled her nose as she studied Imoshen. ‘What is it, Imoshen? You look... different.’

Tears stung Imoshen’s eyes. Kalleen grasped her arm impulsively, offering comfort.

Imoshen blinked the tears away and shook her head, dredging up a smile of reassurance. ‘I need you to go to the citadel. Have chambers prepared and food laid out. Tell them the General has triumphed and is reconciled with the T’En. The rebels must not panic. There will be no executions.’

Kalleen nodded and called Wharrd to her side to explain what was to be done.

Imoshen left them. She crossed to where Reothe lay strapped to the makeshift stretcher, and knelt down beside him. The rebels stepped back to a respectful distance.

She touched his cheek, feeling the crust of dried blood. ‘Are you in pain?’

He grimaced. ‘What does it matter? I have lost and I’m as blind as a Mere-man. Kill me now before I recover, because I will not rest until I have restored the T’En.’

She splayed the fingers of her free hand across his forehead, concentrating on easing his pain. When his fine features relaxed, she let her hand drop.

‘I don’t want to kill you, Reothe.’

He turned his face away from her. Sadness settled in her core. Tulkhan had withdrawn from her and now Reothe.

‘I am alone and frightened by what I’ve learned this night, Reothe. I thought I could shut the T’En gifts away and use them only when I chose. But...’

‘What did you promise the Ancients?’ he asked.

‘What did
you
promise them?’

His eyes clouded, but he would not answer.

Imoshen sighed. ‘All I ever wanted was to ensure my survival and a future for my child.’

‘What will you do with me, Imoshen?’ Reothe asked.

Tulkhan joined them and Imoshen came to her feet. Rebels and townsfolk watched uneasily, fearing purges and executions.

Imoshen raised her voice. ‘People of Fair Isle, tell the rebels who hide under your beds that there will be no more killing. Fair Isle has seen enough death. We take T’Reothe to the citadel, as our honoured guest.’

As four men came forward to lift the litter, Imoshen turned to Tulkhan, extending her hand. For a moment she thought he would refuse to touch her, then he raised his arm and she closed her fingers over his.

She wanted to reassure him but he was too remote. He had made his acceptance of her conditional on Reothe’s death, and she could not order the execution of the last T’En warrior. Reothe had a vision for the future of the T’En race that inspired her. Reothe was her other half, closer than a lover or a brother. Without Reothe to anchor her gifts, she doubted she would survive, and she was afraid of what she might become.

No wonder the T’En were so unstable.

Pain curled around Imoshen’s heart. To think it had come to this.

Last autumn when General Tulkhan’s forces had prepared to storm the Stronghold, it had all seemed so simple – death or honour. Every decision she had made had been with the best of intentions. She wished she had never uncovered her T’En powers. But here was Ashmyr in her arms and another life growing inside her, and she could not turn back the passage of events which had led her here.

Imoshen lifted her chin and prepared to face the township.

In the growing light of a new day they made a slow, stately procession through the winding streets to the Citadel. The shopkeepers stood in the doorways and solemn children watched history unfold.

The smell of freshly baked bread made Imoshen’s stomach rumble. She veered towards a baker’s apprentice who had run to the front of the shop. He brushed flour from his apron as he balanced a tray of fresh loaves, hot from the oven.

Imoshen’s mouth watered. She met his awed eyes. ‘May I?’

The baker nodded proudly. ‘Best in all Northpoint,’ he announced. ‘Take as many as you want.’

‘Thank you.’ Imoshen took one and tore into it. Warm crusty bread melted in her mouth. She smiled. ‘Excellent!’

The baker beamed and his apprentice cheered. The crowd surged forward. First one then another stroked her hair or touched her sixth finger.

‘T’Imoshen...’ they whispered reverently, their relief and pleasure evident. She tried not to think how easily their feelings for her could turn to hatred.

With the baker’s consent, Imoshen offered a loaf to the General.

Tulkhan’s fingers closed on the crusty bread and his mouth watered in anticipation. He looked into Imoshen’s eyes with rueful understanding. She had done it again. With a simple gesture she had won the people over.

Was it by design or pure luck?