DESPERATE ALLIANCES Read online

  When the General returned to the campsite, he discovered his hands were shaking. But there was much to be done. Teams of men had been sent to scour the farmlands for food and useful tools. They returned laden with cartloads of stores from the farms and reported the land deserted. Hardly a mongrel dog remained. Tulkhan had left orders not to pursue the Low-landers. He wanted an ally, not an enemy on Fair Isle’s doorstep.

  His men were exhausted, yet despite the failure to take the port, they were in good spirits as Tulkhan planned his defensive earthworks. They needed to be secure from attack from the port and from Gharavan’s auxiliary army.

  Full dark saw the General’s campsite fires dotting the plain like stars. Not having slept in more than two days, he rotated his shoulders wearily, then turned, surprised by the familiar voice. “Wharrd? I thought I left you in Northpoint. What’s that stench?”

  “Mud. You try crossing the mud flats below the Seawall!”

  Tulkhan grinned. “What brings you here?”

  “It was come myself or watch Imoshen come.” He offered the formal salute of a Ghebite to his leader, but Tulkhan grabbed him by the shoulders, hugging him.

  Wharrd cleared his throat. “You had us fooled. We thought you blockaded the port by sea.”

  “That was the idea.” He glanced around. Kornel was nearby as always but out of hearing; even so, Tulkhan lowered his voice. “But as you see, my surprise attack failed, so now I lay siege. How did it fare with Peirs?”

  “He bombarded the wharves and dockside as planned. Spot fires broke out all over the city. A third of the merchants’ quarter burned down, which will make Gharavan very unpopular.” Wharrd chuckled, then sobered. “When Peirs heard you sound the retreat, he recalled his men. The port remains sealed by sea.”

  “And we have her sealed by land. But they have two years’ supply of grain, and Gharavan was foolish enough to let me know he has sent for support from the annexed kingdoms. He looks forward to watching me die a traitor’s death. He threatened to execute every Ghebite loyal to me.”

  Wharrd cursed softly. “How much time do we have before Gharavan’s auxiliaries arrive?”

  Tulkhan squinted into the flames. “If the Low-landers are anything to go by, there’s a good chance the annexed countries will delay to see which way the wind blows.”

  “I’d be happier knowing your army was up to strength.”

  “So would I. This plain is perfect for cavalry, and I haven’t a decent horse to call my own. Have Imoshen send over siege machines and two companies of my best cavalry, in case Gharavan does get his auxiliaries. You’ll have to negotiate for their passage with one of the southern kingdoms. Diplomacy,” Tulkhan muttered disgustedly. “And I don’t have the weight of the Ghebite Empire at my back.”

  “You would claim Fair Isle for your own!”

  “What choice had I?” Tulkhan countered. They grinned, then fell silent. A man brought them local beer, served warm and flat. Tulkhan sipped his, deep in thought.

  “I have some good news,” Wharrd announced. “Imoshen bargained with the mercenaries. Their lives for revenge. They will serve you. She’ll send them over as soon as you are ready.”

  Tulkhan smiled ruefully. Trust Imoshen: she could not simply follow his orders, she had to go one better. “I hope they prove more loyal than their leader.”

  Wharrd shrugged and straightened, stretching. “I’m getting too old for this.”

  “Never say!”

  “I want no part in the fate of kingdoms. A warm fireside, Kalleen, and my children—that is all I ask.” He hesitated. “You should know I am sworn to T’Imoshen’s service.”

  Tulkhan looked up at his old friend. “A Ghiad?”

  “Imoshen saved Kalleen’s life. Until I repay that debt, I am under an obligation to her.”

  “Does she understand what a Ghiad means?”

  “I don’t think she will ask me to fall on my sword. In fact, she tried to release me. I told her this was impossible, but, no... she doesn’t understand.”

  Tulkhan came to his feet, clasping the older man’s shoulder. “Then I don’t envy you, my friend, for Imoshen is Dhamfeer and almost beyond a True-man’s protection. I fear you will be under this Ghiad until death releases you.”

  “Then so be it. My honor allows nothing less.” Wharrd returned the pressure on Tulkhan’s shoulder. “There is honor in serving the last T’En Empress.”

  Tulkhan could not meet his eyes. If Wharrd knew Imoshen carried Reothe’s child, he would not use the word honor in the same breath as her name. Worse, he would despise his general for not avenging himself. Frustration ate at Tulkhan, but... one problem at a time, for now he had to deal with Gharavan.

  “Is there some word you would have me carry to Imoshen?” Wharrd asked.

  Tulkhan shook his head.

  “I must go.” Wharrd swung his cloak around his shoulders.

  “Tell her...” Tulkhan stopped.

  Wharrd nodded. Then he was gone, slipping into the shadows while Tulkhan stared into the fire.

  Imoshen was up with the sun, seeing to Ashmyr’s needs. She could have asked a servant to care for him, but she delighted in the way his eyes lit up when he recognized her. Her maid’s door-comb sounded discreetly, identifying her by its tone. “Enter, Dyta.”

  Imoshen smiled with relief as the woman escorted Wharrd into the room. She placed Ashmyr in his basket before greeting the veteran. “Do you want something to eat?”

  Wharrd shook his head and, as the door closed, Imoshen realized it would be rumored that she had taken the General’s closest friend for her lover. But Kalleen knew better. She had been put aside not for lust but for honor. How could she fight a concept?

  “Kalleen and I feared for your safety when you did not return or send word.”

  “Secrecy was essential for the General’s plans.”

  “Tulkhan is alive and well?”

  “Yes. He took his army across the marsh-lands.”

  “Impossible!”

  Wharrd grinned. “They attacked Port Sumair the dawn after Harvest Feast but the port’s defenses held, so now he lays siege.”

  “War games!”

  “This is no game. If Tulkhan fails, Gharavan will have him dismembered. The General is all that stands between Fair Isle and his half-brother’s greed for revenge!”

  Hiding her dismay, Imoshen walked to the oriel windows.

  “Tulkhan needs you to negotiate safe passage for cavalry and siege machines. And he needs men and supplies immediately.”

  “As soon as I have the ships I will send the mercenaries and more supplies. You look tired, Wharrd. You should see Kalleen.”

  He agreed, but she could see he did not understand.

  Imoshen looked out over the T’Ronynn Straits, blind to the sea’s intense blue. Tulkhan’s army needed supplies. The merchants of Fair Isle would not be pleased to find their profits taxed yet again. She would have to select an ambassador to negotiate with the Amirate, the kingdom to Sumair’s south. With a sigh she returned to her desk and opened her writing case. Imoshen smiled to herself. The old tales did not dwell on the business of war. It was won or lost on supplies and maneuvering, and she was going to make certain the General won this encounter.

  Imoshen stood, arching her back. She had been working since she sent Wharrd to the capital, laden with messages.

  “Here’s your fresh bread and hot spiced milk, my lady.” Dyta placed the tray on the chest before the fire. “It’s a cold day for traveling. I tried to get the Lady Kalleen to have some warmed wine, but—”

  “Kalleen has gone?”

  “Her entourage gathers in the forecourt.”

  Imoshen ran out the door and down the spiral staircase. From the tower’s entrance she could see travelers milling in the courtyard below. Recollecting her dignity, Imoshen slowed as she approached Kalleen, taking the horse’s bridle. “You are leaving?”

  Kalleen nodded, arranging her cape over her legs to keep out the wind.

/>   Imoshen led the horse a little away from the others. “I had hoped with Wharrd’s return you would reconsider.”

  “He has already left in your service.”

  “At least let me provide you with an escort.” Imoshen called Jarholfe and told him to organize this. Then she returned her attention to Kalleen. “They will be ready soon enough.”

  For a few minutes they stood in stiff silence, Imoshen at the horse’s head, Kalleen straight and cold in the saddle. Around them, the men shouted, horses were saddled, and there was the sound of running boots on the stones as guards went to collect their traveling kits.

  “I am sorry it has come to this, Kalleen.”

  “Ask Wharrd what it means for a Ghebite to be under a Ghiad.”

  But Imoshen was concerned with other things. “If Fair Isle is attacked from the mainland, Windhaven will be one of the first places to fall. Promise me you will head for T’Diemn at the first sign of attack.”

  Kalleen eyed her solemnly. “Is war so certain?”

  “Nothing is certain. Which is why we must be ready.”

  Tulkhan’s farm horse picked its way through his men, who wielded shovels instead of swords. He rose in the saddle to study the layout of his camp. On horseback he was the tallest point. He could see the smudge that was the Sea-wall, and closer still another smudge was the north-wall. The plain was a maze of landlets encircled by walls until you came at last to the Sea-wall, where even the industrious Low-landers had decided the land was not worth reclaiming.

  With no high ground where he could mount a defense, he needed trenches, long and deep to protect his army’s back and flanks in the event of attack. Earth was being rammed into place to form a thick-based wall within the trenchworks. This faced inland, stretching in a great half circle from the Sea-wall south of Sumair to the north Sea-wall.

  Yet it was not enough if the defenders tried to break the siege. So a second defenseworks was also under construction facing the port.

  Tulkhan grinned to himself. All this work kept his men busy. And the digging provided good cover for their attempts to mine under the port’s walls. Tulkhan didn’t intend to let this siege grow dull. It frustrated him that there was so little timber. The houses were made of dried sods that formed hard bricks. He could not build siege machines or watchtowers without decent wood.

  On the breeze he heard the laughter of a child and saw the marsh-dweller’s son dashing through his men. The father caught him, cast an anxious glance about, and retreated.

  Tulkhan hadn’t seen anything of the man and his son since he failed to take the port. Banuld was probably afraid Tulkhan’s temper would find an outlet in him. It was a matter of honor with the General to treat his men firmly but fairly. Soon he would reward the marsh-dweller and send him home.

  Leaving his mount with the horse-handlers, Tulkhan greeted Kornel. “It would be quicker to bring my supplies over the Sea-wall than through the marshes. I want to see this Sea-wall.”

  As they rode through the abandoned fields, the moons were waning but they were still bright. Tulkhan gave the port a wide berth and before long he was facing the Sea-wall. On the landward side it was a steep hill, twice as tall as Tulkhan on horseback. He dismounted and clambered up the slope.

  Heart thudding with the effort, he reached the crest, where it was wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Tulkhan peered over the seaward side. No water lapped at the Sea-wall’s base. Mud stretched for a great distance before he made out the glimmer of moonlight on water.

  “Why do they build so high?” he called down to Kornel, who had hobbled the horses and was scuttling up to join him.

  He paused a moment to mop his face with his shirttail before answering. “Storm surge. This is low tide just after the twin full moons. See how far the mud flats stretch? Even at high tide a deep draft ship would have to send the men in by the boatload. They’d churn up the mud so bad they’d be stuck waist deep, and then the narcts would get them like beached whales.”

  “We could stand guard. Kill a few and scare them off.”

  “They’re attracted by blood, and out in the channel...” Kornel pointed to a dark smudge in the moonlit sea. “See the islands drifting with the currents and tides? The narcts nest on them.”

  Tulkhan realized what he had thought were the shadows of clouds on the sea were actually drifting islands. He would have to bring supplies and men through the marsh. The lights of his blockading ships bobbed on the sea. “I need to signal the ships. Have you something to burn?”

  Kornel dragged off his grimy coat. Tulkhan opened his coal pouch. Setting fire to Kornel’s coat, he swung it in an arc above his head.

  It seemed to take an age before a boat rowed across the moonlit sea toward them. Impatient, Tulkhan slid down the Sea-wall’s steep incline.

  “Wait!” Kornel began, but too late. The General sank knee deep in thick, sticky mud. It gave off foul bubbles as he struggled to pull his legs out. “Stay there, Kornel. No need for you to get filthy too.”

  No need for Kornel to hear what plans Tulkhan made. The merchant captain had been helpful so far, but Tulkhan suspected Kornel worshiped only one god and it gleamed gold.

  Imoshen studied the mainland map, trying to imagine how Tulkhan had marched his army through the marsh-lands.

  “Deep in thought?” Reothe’s rich voice startled her.

  Pushing the books aside so that the map rolled closed, she walked around the desk to face him. After discovering how much she craved Reothe’s presence, Imoshen had deliberately avoided him. Now he confronted her, one side of his face lifting in a painful smile while he leaned heavily on his walking stick. It hurt her to see him like this, yet she was relieved to know his menace was contained in the crippled shell of his body. She could have urged his body to mend itself, but they both knew she was not ready for the intimacy needed to heal.

  “You pace the floor at night, this night even more so, Imoshen. I hear Wharrd has returned and gone again.”

  “What excellent spies you have. Did they also tell you the General crossed the marsh-lands but failed to take Port Sumair?”

  “Then Fair Isle is a ripe plum waiting to be plucked by the Ghebites, or any mainland power.” He made his way to the desk, nudged the chair, and let his weight down carefully. He sat for a moment, fighting dizziness, she suspected.

  Imoshen fought the need to stroke the line of pain from his forehead. “The General lays siege to the port even now. I must send more men, siege machines, and cavalry.”

  “That will take time to organize.”

  She shrugged. “That’s what a siege is, a waiting game. Usually. Unfortunately, Gharavan has called on the allied kingdoms to send auxiliary armies.”

  “The T’En once had treaties with the triad of southern kingdoms. It would not hurt to remind them of this.”

  “They did not come to our aid when we asked for help against General Tulkhan,” Imoshen remarked bitterly.

  “No. They were eager to see us brought low,” Reothe agreed. “But now that the Ghebites are on the move again, they will side with the stronger force. You must convince them that the Empress of Fair Isle and her war general are that force. If you do not, you will have trouble securing a safe port to unload your cavalry and siege machines.” He cursed softly. “If only I were whole!”

  Imoshen studied him. Reothe, her ambassador? What would stop him from playing a double game, ensuring support to usurp Tulkhan? Perhaps it was just as well he was not “helping” her.

  “What?” Reothe asked. “I mislike that expression.”

  “Your counsel is good.”

  “Does it please you to see me brought low, Imoshen?”

  She gasped. “How can you think that?”

  “Then why do you avoid me?”

  Imoshen looked away. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw him lying on the fur in the moonlight and she ached to go to him and claim her T’En heritage in every way. “I have been busy with matters of state.”

  �
�How convenient.”

  She hid a smile. Ashmyr made a soft mewing sound in his sleep and she knelt to watch him.

  “The Ancients returned his soul, but... You could delve into his mind to see if he is recovered,” Reothe suggested.

  “It is against my principles to invade an unwilling mind.”

  “Unwilling?”

  “Uninvited, then.”

  “Seriously, Imoshen, how can you afford such principles?”

  She flushed, meeting Reothe’s eyes. He was stroking the vellum map. Once he would have been able to discern her thoughts while she pored over the map.

  Reothe pushed it aside. “You are shut away from me. Do I disgust you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you avoid me?”

  His question remained unanswered because of what Imoshen dared not reveal. She stood and poured the wine, offering him a glass, but he shrugged impatiently.

  The goblet was exquisite blown glass, more evidence that the Ghebite Lord of Northpoint had not stinted himself. Everyone looked after their own interests, except her. She wanted what was best for Fair Isle. There was no time for doubts.

  She wound both her hands around the goblet’s stem. “I will speak plainly, Reothe. Tulkhan is the only one who stands between our island and the greedy mainlanders who have long resented our wealth and power. If the General defeats Gharavan, every petty prince will rise up to snatch what they can of the crippled Ghebite Empire. Hopefully, they will be too preoccupied to bother Fair Isle.” She swirled the wine around, watching its deep burgundy surface glisten in the candlelight, rich and dark as Reothe’s eyes, which gave nothing away. “But if Tulkhan falls, we face invasion. I need your support.”

  “Fair Isle almost bled to death during the General’s invasion,” Reothe said. “He must crush his half-brother. Port Sumair’s granaries are deep. Can the General wait out the winter?”

  “I’m hoping he won’t have to. I will send the mercenaries and more supplies. Meanwhile, my ambassadors will negotiate safe passage for cavalry and siege machines. Who knows? With the right rumors the conquered countries may yet rise up and revolt. King Gharavan could find himself king of nothing!”