Dark Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page B

continued, Imoshen had not been able to resist leaning closer to Tulkhan to say, ‘See what a skilled sword player can do with a knitting needle and a toothpick!’
    He’d had the grace to grin.
    Having disarmed the last opponent, Crawen had approached the dais to accept the victory cup. She’d dropped a little wine on the ground before draining her goblet, an old custom that acknowledged the Ancients and revealed her peasant roots. The Beatific frowned. Worship of the Ancients was regarded as primitive.
    When the stronghold guard’s piper had saluted the victor, Imoshen had felt tears of pride prick her eyes. Her people had given a good account of themselves. Perhaps now Tulkhan’s men would not be so quick to cast aspersions. But having seen the Ghebite cavalry, she had to admit they were impressive.
    Now, as Tulkhan rode towards her, his men chanted a paean to the great Akha Khan. It was said that in times of danger the greatest of their gods took on a physical form. In some tales he appeared as a great black bear, or a stallion. In others he was a hybrid creature, half man, half beast and, on rare occasions, he took the form of a man, a giant in stature with brilliant black eyes. It was not surprising that Tulkhan’s men regarded him as the embodiment of their god.
    Triumphant, Tulkhan remained astride his destrier to accept the victory goblet from Imoshen. When he tipped a little of the wine onto the ground his gaze held Imoshen’s, as if to say, See, I honour your customs even if I don’t believe in them .
    As formidable as the General’s physical presence was, it was not his most dangerous attribute. She must never underestimate his intelligence.
    ‘A most impressive display of skill, General, but how many of your men nurse broken bones?’ Imoshen made her voice rich and mocking. Her stronghold guard had suffered nothing worse than bruises.
    Tulkhan’s eyes narrowed. A frisson of danger made Imoshen’s breath catch.
    The General drained the goblet then tossed it to his bone-setter, Wharrd. He offered Imoshen his hand. ‘Trust me?’
    ‘In matters of warcraft? Yes.’
    His eyes narrowed. ‘Then take my hand and I’ll show you real skill.’
    Imoshen stepped onto his boot and astride his thighs. The horse surged forward and she felt the solid wall of Tulkhan’s chest at her back. When he turned the destrier she faced the ranks of his men dressed in their purple and red cloaks.
    ‘Bring me three short spears and a target,’ Tulkhan ordered.
    Two men raced forward with them.
    Tulkhan took the spears and handed Imoshen the target. ‘You don’t ask what I do?’
    ‘You seek an opportunity to strut like the barbarian warrior you are!’
    He laughed, then urged his horse towards the edge of the field where canny shopkeepers had set up spits. The scent of roasting cinnamon apples hung on the air, making Imoshen’s stomach rumble.
    He halted the horse beside a waist-high tree stump. ‘Stand here.’
    Imoshen slid off his thighs to stand on the stump.
    He showed her how to thread her arm through the target’s support and warned, ‘Now brace yourself, and when this is over mock me no more.’
    As she spread her feet Tulkhan wheeled his horse, galloping across the field. The crowd fell silent. The steady thud of the black horse’s hooves echoed Imoshen’s heartbeat.
    The General selected his first spear, then with a shout spurred the horse on. The black destrier leaped forward, guided by the pressure of his rider’s knees.
    Tulkhan raised the spear.
    Imoshen braced her shoulders, centring the target which barely covered her chest. One mistake and she would be dead, a spear through her head or belly. One calculated mistake and Tulkhan would be free of her.
    Imoshen gritted her teeth.
    Tulkhan rose in the saddle, slewing the horse sideways. Even as the first spear left his hands he plucked the second and threw, then the third, moving so fast that all three were in the air at once.
    Thud, the first spear