Praise for Rowena Cory Daniells
“Rowena Cory Daniells has a splendidly devious way with plotting.”
SFX
“I loved that Daniells went with such a great scope for the first book... it was unexpected, and a blast to read.”
A Fantastical Librarian on Besieged
“Besieged is the fifth book by Daniells that I’ve read, and belongs with the best books I’ve read in twenty years of reading fantasy. Take the time to learn the know the world and its inhabitants, and you’ll be in for a treat.”
Fantastical Imaginations on Besieged
“The plot is handled expertly... The threads converge on an immense climax that lays the tracks for a fantastic conclusion.”
The British Fantasy Society on Exile
“If there was a word that described a complex, intense, nail-biting, leg-swinging, edge-of-your-seat, dramatic, action filled story filled with ‘oh-my-god’ moments, I’d use it.”
Dragons, Heroes and Wizards on Exile
“As usual, Rowena’s writing is crisp, the plot rich and complex. Great stuff.”
Falcata Times on Sanctuary
“One aspect that elevates this book above the previous two is that the decisions faced by the characters are much harder and the consequences direr than anything they’ve faced to this point. Having travelled with them thus far, the reader has a greater connection to them.”
The British Fantasy Society on Sanctuary
“Pacy and full of action and intrigue.”
Trudi Canavan, author of The Black Magician trilogy,
on The Chronicles of King Rolen’s Kin
Also by Rowena Cory Daniells
The Outcast Chronicles
Besieged
Exile
Sanctuary
The Chronicles of King Rolen’s Kin
The King’s Bastard
The Uncrowned King
The Usurper
The King’s Man (ebook)
King Breaker
ROWENA CORY DANIELLS
DARK
DREAMS
BOOK TWO OF THE FALL OF FAIR ISLE
This edition published 2015 by Solaris
an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd,
Riverside House, Osney Mead,
Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK
www.solarisbooks.com
Broken Vows first published 1999 as The Last T’En by Bantam Australia.
Dark Dreams first published 2001 by Bantam.
Desperate Alliances first published 2002 by Bantam.
ISBN: 978-1-84997-899-6
The Fall of Fair Isle copyright © 2015 Rowena Cory Daniells
Broken Vows copyright © 1999 Rowena Cory Daniells
Dark Dreams copyright © 2001 Rowena Cory Daniells
Desperate Alliances copyright © 2002 Rowena Cory Daniells
Cover by Clint Langley
The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of he copyright owners.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
To my editors,
thank you for your patience
and dedication
Chapter One
IN THE PAST the palace of a thousand chambers had overwhelmed Imoshen; now she strode its corridors the uncrowned Empress. But her position was as precarious as the man she would rule alongside.
General Tulkhan and his Ghebite army were the overlords of a conquered people who remained loyal to the Old Empire, but the invaders were in the minority. Every day the palace servants deferred to Imoshen, when in reality she was the General’s captive. Every day the Ghebites flaunted their barbarian splendour, carelessly insulting her people.
Imoshen smiled grimly. Though she had seen her island conquered and been forced to surrender her family’s stronghold to the Ghebites, General Tulkhan had claimed her for his own, which put her in a position of great tactical strength.
Much had been achieved since the Harvest Feast. Only last night Tulkhan had signed the document recognising church law, returning to Imoshen all she had lost and more. For, on their bonding day, she would stand before her people as co-ruler of Fair Isle, the first pure T’En woman to take a bond-partner in six hundred years.
The clash of weapons made Imoshen freeze, wary as a hunted woodland creature. She had become intimately acquainted with fear, and the knowledge that her life hung by a thread shadowed her every move. Heart hammering, she followed the razor-sharp sounds to a balcony where half a dozen servants were avidly watching a confrontation in the courtyard below. One glance told her the General and his men were at sword practice.
Relief flooded her, yet she was dismayed to see the Ghebite fascination for violence infecting her servants. ‘Get back to work, the lot of you!’
They made guilty apologies and hurried away.
In the confines of the courtyard the swords’ song resonated harshly. As Imoshen watched unseen from the balcony’s shadows, she could not help but admire the Ghebites’ skill, even as she abhorred their love of violence.
Once past boyhood, a Ghebite warrior practised with battle-ready weapons, scorning the use of blunt swords. It was not unknown for Ghebites to take a fatal wound in practice. The warriors were feared for their ferocity, and Tulkhan was the very embodiment of the Ghebite ideal. For at only nineteen he had assumed command of the army, leading it south, creeping inexorably across the mainland. In eleven years no kingdom had been able to withstand the General’s onslaught, and it had appeared he would conquer the known world.
But instead of attacking the last of the southern kingdoms, he had turned his eye on Fair Isle, making a surprise assault. Betrayed by her allies, unprepared for war on her own shores, Fair Isle had crumbled in one spring-to-summer campaign.
The memory of those desperate times made Imoshen shudder, and she returned her attention to the scene below. General Tulkhan was renowned for his tactical skill and physical bravery. Given that, why was he taking on three of his trusted swordsmen while his elite guard watched? What was he trying to prove?
In a flash of insight Imoshen understood – once her position as co-ruler of Fair Isle became known, his men would think she had emasculated him. They might even suspect he had been ensorcelled by her. Some of them still refused to meet her eyes, believing the rumours of treacherous T’En powers. No wonder Tulkhan wielded his sword with such intensity that his men could barely defend themselves.
Metal grated, setting Imoshen’s teeth on edge. She gasped as one man gave a guttural cry, dropping to his knee. At the last moment Tulkhan turned his sword, striking with the flat of the blade. The Ghebite sprawled on the slippery stone.
No one moved.
Imoshen took a step closer, drawn by the charged atmosphere. She could taste their intoxicating bloodlust in the air.
The sound of the men’s ragged breathing was magnified, trapped in the snow-bound inner courtyard. In the brilliant early morning light, two remaining swordsmen faced Tulkhan over the body of their barely conscious comrade, steam rising from their skin.
General Tulkhan’s naked back glistened with sweat as he stood poised to strike. He was magnificent and undeniably dangerous. Something tightened deep within Imoshen. With bittersweet self-knowledge, she recognised the sensation. She had known Tulkhan’s body only twice, but her need for him was already so strong it made her vul
nerable.
Moistening her dry mouth, she watched mesmerised as the confrontation unfolded. Swordsman Jacolm stood over his fallen sword-brother, bristling, ready to die for the man who was bound to him by the Ghebite warrior code. No wonder their army was invincible when the warriors shared this unbreakable bond and welcomed death in battle. Fallen Ghebite soldiers were ensured a place riding at the side of their warrior god. Imoshen’s lips curled with contempt.
Then the grizzled veteran, Piers, deliberately lowered his weapon. Turning his shoulder to Tulkhan, he helped the injured man to his feet. Following his lead, Jacolm also sheathed his weapon.
The General gave a disgusted shrug, though whether he was annoyed with them or himself, Imoshen could not tell. With a word he dismissed the others.
From her vantage point she saw the elite guard and Tulkhan’s trusted commanders leave the courtyard. The General walked towards her. He scooped up a handful of the snow, which had been swept into deep drifts, rubbing it vigorously over his face.
Imoshen’s heart raced as she stepped into the patch of sunlight illuminating the balcony rail. ‘General?’
Startled, Tulkhan looked up, his expression guarded.
‘Only me.’
‘Only?’
Imoshen smiled. She liked Tulkhan best when they were alone, when he did not have to play the public role of Ghebite General, nor she the role of T’En Princess.
With a tug Imoshen pulled the brocade tabard over her head, casting it aside so that she stood dressed only in her loose-fitting trousers, thin undershirt and soft-soled boots. ‘Teach me to use the Ghebite sword.’
The General’s eyes narrowed.
The women of Tulkhan’s homeland never touched weapons. They hardly dared raise their eyes to a man, let alone a sword. Imoshen knew she was breaking Ghebite law; this was why she had waited until the others had left.
Before the Ghebites invaded last spring, she had taken for granted the ways of Fair Isle. Now she understood that her island was a beacon of enlightenment in a sea of barbarism. Everything she believed in was under threat, but she was determined the Ghebites would not erode the position of women in Fair Isle. If this meant confronting Tulkhan and constantly forcing him to question his assumptions, then so be it. There was an ancient T’En saying which translated as, Truth is a precious but often bitter seasoning.
Imoshen swung her legs over the balustrade and dropped two body-lengths into the heaped snow near Tulkhan. Aware of the General’s keen dark eyes, she straightened, wiping crusted snow from her buttocks and thighs.
‘What now, Imoshen?’
Holding Tulkhan’s gaze, she tried to gauge his mood. For a Ghebite the General was a reasonable man, but he was proud, too. ‘I began instruction with the T’En sword the year before you attacked. But the Ghebite style is different and I may need to defend myself, so teach me.’
He prowled around her. ‘How casually you insult my honour.’
‘All I ask is to be able to defend myself.’ She kept her tone reasonable. ‘Where is the dishonour in that?’
‘Truly, you do not see. In Gheeaba a man is expected to defend his wife. His honour rests on –’
A surprised laugh escaped Imoshen. She caught herself, aware of the slow burn of his anger. ‘I mean no insult, General. But I fail to see how you could protect me unless I never left your side, and even then, wouldn’t you rather have me at your back with a weapon in my hand than clinging to you and encumbering your sword arm?’
Her question drew a reluctant grin from him and she smiled in return. She was not his wife yet, and she never would be. Bond-partners of Fair Isle stood shoulder to shoulder.
Tulkhan lifted his hands. ‘In Gheeaba my wife would be safe within the walls of my estate. You would be escorted to events of importance, protected by the elite guard of my house-line. You would never set foot outside alone, you –’
‘How boring. How could anyone live like that?’
Tulkhan grimaced. ‘You wilfully misunderstand me, Imoshen.’
‘Yes.’
‘You are a trial!’ His hands flexed as if he would like to use them on her.
Imoshen’s heart rate rose another notch. ‘All I ask is to learn to use the Ghebite sword.’
He glanced up at the balcony where she had been watching. ‘So that is your excuse for spying?’
‘Spying? If you call watching your men wield those ploughshares spying, then yes, I was spying.’ She saw a flash of amusement in his obsidian eyes. Sweat glistened on his coppery skin.
‘For a woman to touch a man’s weapon is death in Gheeaba, Imoshen.’
She stiffened. ‘This is not Gheeaba. And I will not be limited, by your... by Ghebite attitudes. Teach me.’
Tulkhan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Very well, I will enjoy teaching you your place.’
He turned and walked to the courtyard door, calling to someone in the passage beyond. Satisfied, he returned his attention to her. ‘My servant is bringing you a ploughshare.’
Imoshen inclined her head, aware that she might have overreached herself this time. Her skills with the T’En sword were basic. The Ghebite weapon was much heavier and used in a different manner. Being a throwback to the T’En race which had settled Fair Isle, she was taller than an average True-man, but Tulkhan stood half a head taller again, and even a T’En female did not have the muscle bulk of a male.
Imoshen knew she had no chance of beating the General, but then she had no intention of besting him at swordsmanship. Her goal was to create a bridge between them. If he taught her to use the Ghebite sword, he would be one step closer to accepting her as his equal.
The courtyard door opened and a nervous servant handed Tulkhan a second sword. The General dismissed the youth and weighed both weapons in his hands, observing their blades.
‘I suppose you would rather fight with a toothpick and a knitting needle?’ he challenged. ‘Catch.’
Instinctively she caught the sword by the hilt, gauging its weight and unfamiliar balance. At that moment she wished for a sharp short dagger and a tapered sword such as she had been training with. The T’En blade would have given her the advantage of speed and length of reach against the Ghebite sword’s greater weight. Already she felt clumsy, and guessed that before long her wrist would be aching.
If she were using T’En weapons and this were a fight to the death, her only chance would be to strike fast before Tulkhan could use the advantage of his heavier blade and greater strength.
Like all pure T’En, Imoshen was left-handed. She turned her body side-on to the General to present as small a target as possible. Tulkhan took up the same stance. As he was right-handed, the two of them faced the same side of the courtyard, instead of opposite sides. It might unsettle the General, but only for a moment.
‘At least the T’En way offers precision and style instead of brute strength,’ she said.
‘You’re holding it all wrong.’
‘Show me.’
When he stepped around behind her, she felt the heat radiating from his skin. His hand closed over hers and she forced her arm to relax, letting him lower the sword.
‘Not high like that. Hold the sword more naturally.’
Imoshen swallowed, wondering how he could not be aware of her body’s reaction. She ached for him. As he resumed his place opposite, she met his eyes and knew he felt it too.
She cleared her throat. ‘In my lessons I was taught to use my wrist to deflect the attacker’s sword. But after watching your men at practice I see the Ghebite style is more –’
‘Crude?’ he suggested with a hint of anger.
‘I was going to say you appear to bring the whole weight of your body behind the blade, slashing as opposed to lunging.’
‘Hmm.’ Tulkhan’s black eyes studied her. ‘If you were a youth with those scrawny arms, I’d advise you to use a two-handed grip. These are hand-and-a-half grips, designed for two-handed fighting if necessary.’
Imoshen bristled. ‘I am stronger
than I look.’
‘Really? Defend yourself.’
He struck, telegraphing his intention but not restraining his speed or force. Imoshen barely had time to bring her weapon up. She took the impact of his strike on her blade, ready to deflect it with a twist of her wrist. But the force jarred her arm right up to the shoulder, numbing her fingers. Only by an effort of will did she maintain her grip on the weapon and divert the blow.
‘Wrong technique, Imoshen.’ Tulkhan’s white teeth flashed against his coppery skin. ‘These are not T’En weapons.’
She darted forward, aiming for his throat, knowing that he would deflect her strike. With a laugh, he caught her blade, using the force of his swing to throw her off balance. She danced out of range, recovering in an instant.
‘You are as light as a cat on your feet. It’s a shame you’re a female. You’d make a fine swordsman. If only you had the strength in your arms and shoulders. Try the two-handed grip.’
‘Wouldn’t that limit my range of movement?’
‘Always an answer. Pity your tongue isn’t a sword.’ He advanced. ‘Defend yourself. This time divert my weapon past your body. ’
He struck, she diverted. The shock of it ran up her arms to her left shoulder. He struck again on the other side and she understood why she should hold the sword two-handed. But there was no time to change grips.
Backing away with each strike, Imoshen barely maintained her guard. She suspected he was playing with her, and her suspicions were confirmed when he struck, skidding up over her weapon in such a way that she knew his energy hadn’t been directed into the first strike. His sword passed inside her guard, striking her ribs under her left breast with the flat of the blade. The blow knocked the air from her lungs.
Dark Dreams Page 1
