DARK DREAMS Read online

  “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 honor 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 it I am filled with such dread that I feel ill. Please speak no more of this. I will have the entrance sealed up first thing tomorrow . . . Today.” 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 uneasily. “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 he, or at least avoid answering the question. “There have been many Ysannas. Most recently T’Ysanna was the Empress’s only daughter and heir. Like all my other relatives she died defending Fair Isle. One by one they fell before the Ghebite 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.”

  “That’s where I was, 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 draw-string 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, holding Harholfe’s battle axe across his knees. He snuffed out all but one candle then sat there watching 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

  Recognizing 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 than their titles. “What do you wish to discuss?”

  “So impatient,” Lady Woodvine, the iron-haired matriarch muttered.

  Old, part-T’En Lord Athlyng 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.

  Imoshen stiffened. It was in this building that the Causare Council of the old empire had met to debate policy. She had watched a meeting during her first visit to the capital. But the long-winded speeches bored her and it was 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; from noon till dusk it served the traders. They were merchants, sea captains, guild masters, anyone who thought they could turn an opportunity to profit. After the noon bell, the Causare became a place of furious buying and selling of fortunes 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. When the carriage stopped at the Causare she descended and sailed up the wide steps, through the double doors embellished with symbols of Fair Isle’s prosperity in embossed bronze.

  Once in the central chamber she hesitated. The Beatific, who was accompanied by four high-ranking priests, including Murgon, acknowledged her. Imoshen returned her brief nod. She had expected the rest of the Keldon leaders, and sure enough they were there, but accompanied by what looked like the elite of T’Diemn’s traders. By their rich clothing and personal styles she identified merchants, bankers, guild masters, and a few ship captains—an odd gathering considering it was not yet noon.

  Lord Fairban caught up with her, leading her to the Empress’s bench, which was 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 left 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 general shuffling about as people found places in the circle of tiered benches.

  The Beatific said nothing. Imoshen vowed that she would not give her the satisfaction of asking what was going on. One by one, people settled and Imoshen waited, her features schooled.

  In the ensuing hush, Woodvine came to her feet. “T’Imoshen. Unlike others . . .” the formidable Keldon matriarch 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—”

  “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 clamor 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 power politics, or was it simply the other side of the coin?

  The double doors flew open and General Tulkhan strode into the center of the Causare, his boots thunderous 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 is the Causare. During the old empire the Council 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.”

  When Tulkhan allowed her to lead him, Imoshen felt almost light-headed with relief. He had entered the Causarc as a war general, but it would take a statesman to resolve this.

  “We must avoid bloodshed, General. Trust me,” she whispered, sitting next to him so that he was between her and the Beatific. Imoshen signaled 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 in—”

  “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, but it was Tulkhan’s disgusted expression that made her smile. She sat next to him, close enough so 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 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 teahouses, then get their agreements formally recognized when the Causare opens its doors.” Imoshen hesitated, watching Tulkhan’s features as he considered the ramifications.

  The Beatific raised her voice over the din. “General, Fair Isle must not lose her position as center of trade.”

  “You both speak sense.”

  “And that surprises you?” Imoshen dared to tease. She sat back, pleased.

  The Causare grew silent as people realized that 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 . . .”

  Furious trading drowned out his voice as every merchant, banker, sea captain, and guildmaster touted their latest venture which would net anyone wise enough to invest in it enormous profits.

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

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

  “Very clever, T’Imoshen,” Woodvine ground out. “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 signaled for silence, climbing astride his mount and offering his hand. She placed her foot on his boot and leapt up across his thighs where their conversation would not be overheard.

  “The people of Fair Isle never cease to amaze me,” Tulkhan muttered as the double doors closed on the noisy scene within. He turned his horse towards the palace.

  “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 a little—”

  He gave a bark of laughter.

  She hesitated. “When you are at war you consult with your commanders, you listen to the locals, you consider what you have learned, 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—”

  “True, but are their goals mine?” Tulkhan countered grimly.

  “There is a T’En saying that translates, ‘A person who has nothing will risk everything,’ ” Imoshen told Tulkhan, as they rode through the grounds to the palace stables. “Give your commanders and the Keldon nobles a say in the ruling of Fair Isle. As Fair Isle prospers under your rule they will also prosper, this way their goals become yours.”

  Tulkhan looked into her wine-dark eyes. “Truly the T’En are a devious race.”

  Imoshen slipped from his thighs, landing lightly on the stone paving. “There is another T’En saying, ‘Do not use a battle axe to kill a fly.’ ” She grinned. “It is more poetic in High T’En.”

  He felt himself smile. “These are dangerous flies.”

  Imoshen gave him the lesser obeisance and walked off. Tulkhan swung his leg over the horse’s back and dropped to the ground. Regretfully he watched Imoshen enter the palace. How he would welcome their intimacy if only she were not pure T’En. It appalled him to discover he craved her presence like a drug.

  In the days leading up to their bonding, Tulkhan gave Imoshen’s words much thought. While his father had been king he had gathered about him capable men, rewarding them to ensure their loyalty. There was merit in this but he did not see how he could implement it. His own men would not listen to the advice of a woman.

  Now he hesitated on the brink of approaching Imoshen’s card table. The older Keldon nobles had retired when the Beatific left, leaving only the younger members of the court. A buzz of conversation rose from the other tables, the players made up of visiting aristocrats from mainland kingdoms, politically minded Church officials, and several bizarrely dressed individuals from the islands of the archipelago. The evening’s entertainment had continued later than usual, leaving Tulkhan bored and irritable. Imoshen never bored him.

  Imoshen was involved in a six-sided T’En game of cards which elicited much comment and some laughter. In Gheeaba gambling was a serious business, a man’s honor was at stake. If his luck ran out he could lose his estates and his wives. Suicide might be his only option.

  Imoshen and her partner were teamed against Wharrd and Kalleen on one side, who had returned looking like sleek, cream-fed cats, and Cariah and Jacolm on the other. So fa
r the luck had run Jacolm’s way and he was not averse to letting everyone know.

  “My ‘Beatific’ and ‘Empress-High’ outplay your hand of lesser nobles!” he crowed.

  Tulkhan walked around the table to stand behind Imoshen so that he could see her cards. In the long winter evenings he had learnt the basics of this game and understood the system of playing alliances against alliances, while supporting your partner and undercutting the other teams.

  He took the opportunity to observe Imoshen, drinking in the curve of her cheek, the line of her pale throat, the unconscious grace of her every movement. His mouth went dry with longing.

  When the round finished, the cards were pushed Imoshen’s way. Her partner Sahorrd reached for the pack but she was quicker. Tulkhan knew she was unaware she had insulted him as she collected the cards. Her fingers moved fluidly, shuffling and dealing. Watching the play he looked for a chance to advise her, for any excuse to touch her, even if it was in a room full of people. But she won that hand and the next three, playing with an uncanny ability to guess which alliances her opponents favored.

  The shuffling and dealing made its way around the table again. Jacolm became progressively irritated, then belligerent as he received his new cards. At last he threw the painted paste-boards down in disgust.

  Tulkhan stiffened. Was his commander going to accuse Imoshen of misdealing? In Gheeaba such an accusation would have occasioned a duel of honor.

  Silence fell.

  Imoshen laid her cards facedown. “Is there a problem, Lord Jacolm?”

  “No problem. I should know better than to play a game of chance with a Dhamfeer!”

  Tulkhan tensed. Those Ghebites within hearing went utterly still.

  “If you have something to say, say it,” Imoshen told him.

  Tulkhan noted how Jacolm’s sword-brother, Sahorrd, shifted in his seat, turning his shoulder away from his card partner. With this movement he withdrew his support from Imoshen.

  “Well, Jacolm?” Imoshen pressed, one arm hooked elegantly over the back of her chair. Was she deliberately insulting him by omitting his new title?