Dark Dreams (44 page)

Imoshen moved off, not bothering to see if Tulkhan would follow her advice. She searched for the fortress’s commander. She would bring him back first. Between them they might be able to stem the tide.

Tulkhan turned in time to see one of his men fall from the gate tower with his throat slit. Furious, he scrambled up the ladder and struck down the rebel responsible. The man fell, landing across the body of the Ghebite. Their blood mingled on the ground, steaming and bubbling.

Someone leapt on Tulkhan’s back. Instinct took over. He threw the attacker over his shoulder, breaking the man’s neck before his feet hit the boards. Something unseen took the man’s weight from Tulkhan’s arms.

Unwilling to witness what a True-man should not, Tulkhan took one last look at the fortress compound where rebels were already opening the gate. So much for their defences. Tulkhan’s lookouts had succumbed without giving a warning, and the rebels had been able to bring their ladders right up to the walls. The gate swung open. Rebels charged inside to slaughter the defenders who were preoccupied with their terrible dark visions.

Three men stood at Imoshen’s side. Tulkhan fought the urge to go to her aid. He had to kill Reothe.

He climbed down the ladder, jumping to the ground outside the fortress wall. Where was the Dhamfeer? A glowing cleft in the rock wall to the south of the pass caught his eye. The rebel leader was sheltering in a narrow, dead-end ravine to work his evil sorcery.

Tulkhan ran, his feet flying over the uneven ground past a cluster of wiry mountain ponies. Three rebels drew their weapons as he approached the glowing cleft. Behind them, bathed in unnatural light, Reothe knelt in a trance. Imoshen had been right. Reothe was vulnerable now.

The first bodyguard charged Tulkhan, sword raised. The General deflected the attack and went for his knife, but remembered too late Imoshen had it. He grappled with the rebel, using his attacker’s body to shield him from the other two. Furious with himself, Tulkhan caught the man’s hand and turned his own knife on him, throwing the rebel at the second attacker. The third darted in. There was no time for finesse. Tulkhan parried the blow, stepped inside his guard and elbowed him in the throat, leaving him gasping his last.

The second rebel struggled free of his companion, ready to attack. It was a woman.

Tulkhan hesitated. She didn’t.

She leapt forward. He staggered back, blocking awkwardly. The uneven ground betrayed him and he went down with her on top of him. Before she could turn her blade to strike, he knocked her senseless.

Casting her aside, he came to his feet.

The element of surprise was gone, along with the eldritch glow. Reothe had woken from his trance, though he still seemed disoriented as he fumbled to draw his weapon. With growing surety, he lifted the sword’s point.

‘She sent you, didn’t she?’ Reothe asked, beckoning with his free hand.

‘Are you really here this time?’ Tulkhan swung his blade and was delighted to feel the impact of metal on metal as Reothe blocked.

The T’En warrior’s free hand surged forward, bringing a slender knife into play. Tulkhan sprang back warily, circling his opponent. Reothe matched him step for step, a long slender sword in one hand and a short knife in the other.

It was the T’En style of swordplay. Tulkhan regretted not testing Imoshen’s skill to learn more about this technique. Though the slender sword was less able to deflect the slashing blows of his own sword, it had extra length and amazing manoeuvrability.

‘She’s playing a double game, Ghebite. Don’t you realise it doesn’t matter which of us lives? She will have it all in the end.’

Tulkhan ignored Reothe’s taunts.

He wished he had a cloak to wrap round his free hand or cast over Reothe’s dagger to put it out of commission. He knew he could break through Reothe’s defence, but not without risking the dagger.

‘I took your son, you know, stole him before he was born!’

In that instant, as Tulkhan tried to make sense of this, Reothe charged.

Instinct helped the General deflect the sword – his blade skidded up the shaft to strike the pommel – but he could do nothing about the knife. Twisting his body, he avoided the blow under his ribs to his heart and took a wound in the abdomen instead.

Tulkhan’s free hand closed over the knife’s grip. Reothe smiled and stepped back.

The General staggered, trying to keep his guard up. He knew that if this wound wasn’t treated very soon he would bleed to death. It was better to die of blood loss than a festering stomach wound.

His hands and legs tingled. One knee gave way but he did not drop his guard.

‘You are too much trouble to kill outright. I would like to stay here till you die, and watch the Parakletos take your soul, but I have to go. My people need me.’ Reothe studied Tulkhan’s face from a safe distance, his expression strangely intent. ‘You can die knowing you did well, Mere-man. But you had no hope of winning.’

He straightened and strode off.

Tulkhan shifted. A sharp jab of pain made him gasp. If he pulled out the blade or tried to move, it would speed up the bleeding. He could not die here, but moving would hasten his death.

He blinked tears of pain from his eyes. His blood soaked into the soil, but there was no mist. Whatever fell sorcery Reothe had been working, it had faded when Tulkhan distracted him.

Imoshen!

Even if she had turned the tide with the rebels, Reothe himself was coming for her. Tulkhan felt the stain of failure.

Reothe had said she would win no matter which of them lived. Yet Imoshen had assured him that Reothe could tell the truth and make it sound like a lie.

Tulkhan’s vision blurred. He had to move. He couldn’t.

He should have been there at her side to face Reothe. Despair, more painful than the knife’s blade, seared him.

I
MOSHEN HAD KNOWN
the moment Tulkhan confronted Reothe, because the mist had vanished and with it the Parakletos. Once free of the mist’s effects the Ghebites had formed a solid core of resistance, their training coming to the fore. When the commander had asked for Tulkhan she’d explained he had gone to defeat Reothe.

But they fought on and still Tulkhan did not return. Imoshen hid her growing dread. Despite the disparity of numbers, the Ghebites held the rebels at bay. The battle could go either way.

Just as Imoshen thought this, she looked up to see Reothe ride through the gate. The dawn breeze lifted his silver hair as he looked down on the struggle.

She knew as soon as the Ghebites saw him they would lose heart. If only it had been Tulkhan.

Darting forward, she pulled the commander away from the fray, pointing. ‘General Tulkhan has returned.’

The commander’s gaze followed her gesture and he saw what she willed him to see. He gave the Ghebite war cry. His men echoed it, calling Tulkhan’s name and attacking with renewed vigour. The rebels faltered.

Imoshen looked up at Reothe. Even from this distance she could tell he was furious. The air between them seemed to crackle. Her breath caught in her throat.

She cradled the baby to her chest and shouted, encouraging the Ghebites. The rebels lost heart, turned and ran. The defenders surged after them. But none of the Ghebites tried to stop Reothe as he dismounted and walked towards her.

Imoshen’s stomach lurched. Her legs threatened to give way. Heart pounding, she stood her ground. Oblivious to the approaching threat, her son slept on.

When Reothe came to a stop within an arm’s length of her, Imoshen could hardly breathe. She expected him to strike her down with one blow. She had no defences against a T’En warrior who could barter with the Ancients and bind the Parakletos to his will. She faced Reothe in the knowledge that, now he knew her loyalties, he would kill her.

And what did it matter? Tulkhan must be dead. Otherwise Reothe would not be standing before her, eyes blazing. She had wagered everything on one throw of the dice and lost. The baby woke and struggled against her. She cradled his warm head, feeling his fragile skull under his powder-fine hair and skin.

Why did Reothe hesitate?

Perhaps he did not want to hurt the baby. How could she be so naive? He was the ultimate pragmatist. He would not hesitate to kill Tulkhan’s son before the boy grew old enough to cause trouble.

A flood of fury engulfed Imoshen. While there was still breath in her body no one would touch her child.

Reothe studied her. Amid the mass of fleeing, fighting figures only they were still.

‘Very clever, Imoshen. This time you’ve won, but it is only a skirmish.’

Tension sang through her limbs. She did not understand why he hadn’t dealt her death blow.

‘Tulkhan is dead,’ he said. ‘Do you really want to stand alone against me?’

When she looked into his hard eyes she saw an image of Tulkhan, bleeding but still alive. Imoshen’s heart leapt with relief but she was careful to hide this from Reothe.

‘Think on it, Imoshen, then come to me. I will not be so patient again.’

He turned and walked unharmed through the milling Ghebites who were tending to their wounded.

Imoshen sank to her knees, dizzy with relief. Tulkhan lay out there, injured and alone. And if she knew Reothe, he was going back to deliver the killing blow.

‘Tulkhan!’ she cried silently, opening her T’En senses to search for him.

The merest flicker of his essence prickled on the periphery of her mind. She felt his fading strength. He lay dying without her.

As she ran out of the gate, the Ghebites called after her, but she ignored them.

T
ULKHAN SPRAWLED PROPPED
against a rocky outcropping where he could see the entrance to the narrow gully. Dawn lightened the sky and he could make out hazy shapes.

Once Reothe had secured the fortress, Tulkhan expected him to send several rebels to make sure the Ghebite General was dead.

His hand still grasped the sword but he did not raise it, preferring to save his strength. He would take at least one or two of them with him before Reothe’s prediction came to pass.

He heard running boots and shouts. This was it.

But they ran on past him. He heard hoof beats and suddenly a figure blocked the entrance. It was Reothe.

‘Come to finish me yourself? I’m honoured,’ Tulkhan grunted. He lifted the sword in greeting.

‘You are a hard man to kill, Ghebite.’

Stepping forward, Reothe drew his sword. Tulkhan knew the end was inevitable but he would not go quietly.

At that moment three of the General’s men charged through the cleft’s opening. They looked from him to the rebel leader.

Reothe spun around, saw the odds and hesitated. For an instant no one moved, then Reothe dropped his weapon and leapt. With amazing agility be scaled the almost sheer rock wall.

The Ghebites charged after him, but not one of them could climb the wall. They cursed fluently. Tulkhan looked up to see Reothe’s boots disappear over the crest.

The General’s men returned to him and took in the extent of his wound. He saw from their faces that there was no hope. How had Imoshen and his men turned the tide of the attack?

Almost as if the thought had called her up, Imoshen slipped through the gap into the narrow ravine. She stepped gingerly towards him, muttering something about the stench of Ancient greed.

‘We are too late. He’s dying,’ one man told her.

‘You forget who you’re talking to,’ another said. ‘This Dhamfeer can heal.’

When she crouched beside him Tulkhan noticed the baby asleep between her breasts.

‘My son slept through it all?’ he asked, his voice thick with equal measures of laughter and pain.

Imoshen smiled, but her heart sank as she inspected the General’s wound. There was blood on his lips and it bubbled with each breath.

What could she do, exhausted as she was? She met the General’s eyes. The sweat of pain stood on his greying skin but he looked at her with perfect faith. He trusted her to save him.

It was too cruel.

She took a deep breath. The stench of Reothe’s sorcery was so thick she almost gagged, yet the Ghebites appeared unaware of it.

Tulkhan coughed. It was a horrible sound. She could not,
would
not, lose him now.

She pressed her cheek to his chest, where she could sense his heart labouring. The baby’s weight made her back ache and she straightened.

‘I failed you,’ Tulkhan whispered. ‘How did you defeat him?’

‘No. You were victorious!’ one of his men insisted. ‘When you appeared in the gateway the rebels broke and ran.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Tulkhan rasped, voice fading.

Panic seized Imoshen.

Looking into his eyes, she searched for a flicker of something she couldn’t name. It was instinctive. Healing his grazed knuckles had drawn on his will, using only a small portion of her gifts, but this was a far greater healing. It would exhaust all her reserves and this time Reothe would not search death’s shadow for her.

‘When this is over, General, you must take me home.’

‘Of course.’

‘It could hurt,’ she warned.

‘You think it doesn’t hurt now?’

That made her smile.

Closing her eyes, Imoshen called on the General’s own fierce will. Whatever it cost her, she would help him to heal himself.

It was the second-hardest thing she had ever done.

T
ULKHAN WOKE FROM
a disturbed sleep, his mind a jumble of half-remembered images – confronting Reothe, facing death, Imoshen coming to save him.

‘Thirsty.’

The bone-setter helped lift Tulkhan’s head and held a drink to his lips. It was the sweetest water he had ever tasted.

He lay back and looked up, seeing the framework of the roof over his head, raw wood against an endless blue sky. Above him the men sang as they fitted wooden slates to the staves.

‘Don’t drop one on my head,’ Tulkhan tried to shout but it came out a croak. He pulled himself upright. ‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘One day.’

‘Where is Imoshen?’

The man moved to one side and Tulkhan saw her asleep on a pallet in the far corner of the room.