Silk and Secrets

by Mary Jo Putney

  Ross grimaced. "It may come to that soon. Our rifles are our one great advantage, especially since most Uzbeks aren't the marksmen that Pathans and Afghans are. But there are still a dozen of them to only two guns for us."

  Juliet gave a worried glance at the sky. "If we're going to make a stand, we should do it soon, before the sun sets."

  He studied their surroundings, which consisted of low, rolling sand hills. "I would cheerfully trade all of this sand for a nice rocky defile, with us holding the high ground."

  Juliet smiled faintly. "I would trade all of this sand for just about anything you could mention."

  Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from Murad, who had just rounded the next sandy hill. Alarmed by the note in his voice, Juliet and Ross spurred their horses forward until they caught up with the other two men.

  Less than a quarter of a mile ahead was a party of black-hatted Turkomans. There were at least twenty young men and no women or children, so it was a raiding party—and the Turkomans had seen the newcomers and were cantering forward to investigate.

  Juliet muttered an oath. "Talk about being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea."

  "Frankly, those are two choices I would prefer to these," Ian said acerbically.

  Juliet tried to decide what would be the best course, but her weary mind was blank. They might have been able to outshoot the men following them, but there were too many Turkomans to fight, and trying to outrun both hostile groups would be hopeless, given the debilitated state of their horses.

  Ross exhaled with a soft, rueful sigh. "There's only one solution. Throw ourselves on the Turkomans' mercy and hope that the laws of hospitality protect us." Then, to Juliet's horror, her husband spurred his horse directly at the Turkoman war party, his right hand raised in a sign of peace.

  "He's right," Ian said tersely. Putting his heels to his mount, he followed Ross.

  Juliet and Murad exchanged an appalled glance. "They are mad to trust themselves to Turkoman marauders!" Murad exclaimed.

  Juliet couldn't have agreed more, but she didn't have a better suggestion. "Are not madmen holy in Islam?" she said wryly as she adjusted her tagelmoust. "And is hospitality not sacred? Let us pray that these Turkomans believe both of those things."

  With a kind of light-headed bravado, she raced after Ross and Ian, who were now face-to-face with the Turkomans. Behind her hooves sounded as Murad did the same. They joined the group just as Ross said, "We beg your hospitality, for the last well was dead and our horses are sore pressed."

  "You ask hospitality?" The elaborately dressed young man who seemed to be the leader was incredulous; doubtless he was more accustomed to travelers fleeing in the opposite direction.

  For a moment their fate wavered in the balance between social obligation and bandit greed. Then another Turkoman said excitedly, "It is Khilburn, the ferengi who defeated Dil Assa and won the bozkashi match!" He edged his mount forward for a better view. "With my own eyes, I saw him do it. Never would I have believed an infidel could play bozkashi so well."

  Two other men who had been at the bozkashi match chimed in. One was a cousin of Dil Assa's, and he described how Dil Assa had given his opponent the wolf- edged cap after the match.

  The suspicious mass of Turkomans dissolved into a laughing, boisterous group. The youth who had made the first identification said curiously, "I heard that you were traveling to Bokhara to ask for your brother's release, Khilburn. Did the amir grant your request?"

  "No, he refused." Ross paused with deliberate showmanship. "Hence, because Nasrullah gave us no choice, I and my friends Murad and Jalal"—he nodded at both in turn—"were forced to steal my brother from the Black Well."

  As the listeners gasped with amazement, Ross gestured at Ian. "And here my brother is, reclaimed from the amir's dungeon." With his bandaged eye, full red beard, and gaunt height, Ian was a figure to impress even Turkoman marauders.

  When asked how the rescue had been accomplished, Ross briefly described his disguise, forged documents, and bluster, a story his audience found uproariously funny. When the laughter died down, Ross said, "Some of the amir's soldiers are pursuing us and are scarcely more than a gunshot behind, with a dozen rifles to our two. This is another reason we beg your aid."

  The leader, who had introduced himself as Subhan, grinned. "It will be a pleasure to assist the legendary Khilburn." Turning to his companions, he said, "We come from an oasis and are well-supplied with water. Will four of you exchange waterskins with our friends?"

  Within two minutes the exchange had been made. Then Subhan said, "Our way lies opposite yours. When we meet your pursuers, we will chastise them for their effrontery at following you into the Kara Kum. The desert is ours, and none may pass safely but at our pleasure." A chorus of agreement rose around him.

  "A thousand thanks." Ross inclined his head gravely. "Courage such as yours comes from the heart and is beyond price, but nonetheless I would like to offer a small token of our gratitude." He delved into his saddlebags when the water was being transferred and tossed a clinking leather pouch to the Turkoman leader. "Though I cannot host a feast in person, I beg that you use this to celebrate and honor your generous courage."

  Subhan tucked the bag inside his chapan to the sound of cheers. "We will sing songs and dance the night through in your honor," he promised, "and someday I will tell my sons, when I have some, of the day that I met the legendary Khilburn."

  After a final exchange of courtesies, the groups separated, the ferengi party westbound and the Turkomans eastbound. Less than a quarter-hour later, when Juliet and the others had stopped to water their horses, the crack of rifle shots began rolling over the sandy wasteland. They all stopped to listen.

  Murad grinned. "I never thought the day would come when I would be grateful for the fact that Turkomans are bloodthirsty barbarians."

  "As long as they're on our side, they can be as bloodthirsty as they want." Juliet finished watering her horse, then took a small mouthful herself, moistening her cracked lips and rolling the precious fluid around her mouth before swallowing. As she remounted, she thought that it was typical of Ross to have found a way to harness that bloodthirstiness on their behalf. He was a man in a million. What a pity that she wasn't the woman in a million who deserved him.

  * * *

  As he bandaged his grazed wrist, Shahid cursed with vicious fluency. The damned Turkomans had almost ruined everything with their unexpected attack. After getting off to a noisy start, the skirmish had subsided to occasional shots and colorful shouted insults, continuing in desultory fashion until darkness fell.

  Shahid's force had scattered and eight of his soldiers were gone beyond recall, lost not to death but cowardice, for they used the fighting as an excuse to retreat. By now the swine would be halfway back to Bokhara.

  He managed to rally three of his men, and they were the toughest, the most dangerous, and the most willing of his patrol. They would be enough to finish the job. The Uzbek calculated that it would take about two more days to regain the hours that had been lost to the Turkomans; they should overtake Khilburn about where the desert joined the hills.

  Shahid remounted and ordered his three men to do the same. Then they set off into the night after the ferengi. The next two days were difficult, for they had to push themselves to the limit to gain on their prey. But four men raised less dust than a dozen, and Khilburn seemed to have no notion that he was still pursued.

  The infidel was finally overtaken in the rugged hills that marked the edge of the plateau of Persia. The rough terrain favored the pursuers and, without being seen himself, Shahid was able to lead his men along the stony track until he had his enemy in view. As a clear sign that fortune was on his side, the trail ahead dipped into a broad ravine before rising once more. Khilburn and his men were on the far side of the ravine and below the Bokharans as they picked their way up the steep track. It was a perfect site for an ambush.

  Shahid ordered his men to dismount an
d take cover. When all of their weapons were loaded, the rifles aimed, and more ammunition ready to hand, he gave the signal to shoot.

  The target he chose for himself was the swine Khilburn.

  * * *

  In spite of the constant blazing heat, Juliet thought that the last two days of travel had seemed easier for the worst was behind them. The next well they reached after meeting the Turkomans had been bountiful, and they had obtained enough water to last them all the way home.

  When the rugged hills came into view, Juliet had recognized their position and led the group to the most direct route to Serevan. Now, as they climbed the side of a ravine, the brisk wind brought the scents and cooler air of the highlands, and the travelers were in blithe spirits. "We're within five miles of the fortress," Juliet announced with deep satisfaction. "There will be time for a leisurely visit to the hammam before dinner."

  Ross chuckled. "You're like a horse with the scent of its own stables in its nostrils."

  Juliet smiled, unabashed at the simile. They were riding in a close group, Ian just below her, and Ross and Murad ahead.

  "You did it, Murad," Ross said cheerfully. They reached a wider section of the track and he brought his horse up alongside the Persian youth's. "You led us safely across the Kara Kum on a route that you had never traveled yourself. I think that qualifies you as a master guide."

  Murad laughed. "Words are all very well, Khilburn"—he leaned forward to emphasize his point—"as long as you don't forget the bonus you promised if I did my job well!"

  The playful atmosphere vanished as a ragged volley of rifle shots rang out. One of the men ahead of Juliet cried out, but she didn't waste time looking to see which one. As bullets ricocheted from bleak stone, she dived from her horse and scrambled behind a tumble of boulders, then forced her mount down so that it would also be protected.

  A dozen feet up the hillside, Ross had already taken cover, pulled out his rifle, and begun firing across the ravine, his face calm and his hands steady. Ian was just a few feet away from Juliet, behind the same pile of boulders. As she whipped her rifle from its saddle holster, he said dryly, "Thank God they're bad shots, whoever they are."

  Juliet suspected that it was probably the stiff wind blowing through the ravine that had saved them, for it was strong enough to affect the trajectory of a ball at this range. Even so, their assailants had not been entirely ineffectual, for one of them had hit Murad.

  The young Persian screamed before tumbling from his horse and rolling several feet down the slope. Now he lay motionless, his left sleeve drenched with blood, in a position too exposed to permit his companions to go to his aid.

  Swearing, Juliet peered cautiously between two boulders and scanned the opposite hillside. Heat shimmered from the barren, sun-blasted sides of the gorge, distorting the air and making it hard to judge distances.

  One of their assailants fired again, the puff of dark smoke revealing his position before the sharp crack of the gun echoed through the ravine. Ross and Juliet both returned fire, then had to drop swiftly when their bullets attracted more in reply.

  The acrid scent of black powder stinging her nostrils, Juliet thought back to the initial volley and decided that there were probably between three and five attackers. She reloaded and looked for other targets, but none were visible. "One is by that twisted pine. Have you spotted the others, Ross?"

  "Two behind that pile of dark scree and one lower, to the left." He punctuated his words with a shot, then ducked again. "I think Shahid Mahmud and his merry men have caught up with us."

  Ross was right, for only someone who hated them and had the instincts of a bulldog would come so far, undeterred even by marauding Turkomans. Seeing a sliver of white rise above the dark scree, she fired and reloaded, then fired again, angling the shot in the hope that a ricochet might damage someone behind the stone ridge.

  In the lull that followed, she pulled out her pistol and gave it to Ian, along with ammunition from her saddlebags. "A pity we haven't another rifle, but this might be helpful if someone tries to sneak up on us."

  "A rifle would be wasted on me, for losing an eye has probably wrecked my aim." He checked the loading, then cocked the hammer. "But given that this is perfect sneaking country, I'll feel better with a pistol in my hand."

  He was right about the terrain, for the ravine was such a jumble of broken rock that a careful person could move almost anywhere without being exposed to fire for more than an instant. Ruefully Juliet said, "For the moment, it's a stalemate."

  "If we don't change the odds, Murad might bleed to death," Ross said, his voice hard. He fired again, reloading without haste. "And I don't want to leave the initiative in their hands. I'm going to work my way up to that ledge, which should give me a good range of fire over the whole ravine."

  Juliet scanned the hillside behind, which rose in a series of rough steps. "I'll make sure they're too busy to shoot at you."

  Ross gave her a faint, sweet smile, as if they were in their bedroom in Bokhara rather than fighting for their lives in a sunstruck mountain ravine. "Your skills are so much more useful than the more typical music and embroidery."

  She almost laughed. "Just remember to keep your head and other valuable parts of your anatomy down."

  She watched for a moment as he started up the slope, rifle in hand. His green-and-gray-striped chapan and white turban were so imprinted with yellow dust that he blended into the rugged terrain, and he knew how to move swiftly and silently, taking advantage of every scrap of concealment. Hardly the usual skills of an English marquess. In this, at least, they were well-matched.

  Juliet turned and gave full attention to the opposite side of the gorge, grateful that her breechloader could be reloaded and fired so swiftly. Their enemies would not realize that only one person was shooting at them.

  But as she pumped off rounds at every sign of movement, she prayed that Ross was successful, for she didn't like their situation one damned bit.

  * * *

  Shahid Mahmud's cursing became a steady stream of obscenities, for his perfect ambush spot was flawed by wind and a rocky terrain that offered the enemy too many places to hide. By misjudging the wind's force, the Bokharans had lost their initial advantage of surprise; now that both parties had gone to ground, they might spend the rest of the day blasting away at each other without damaging anything but their ammunition supplies.

  Damn the wind, damn his men for not being better shots! Most of all, damn himself for hitting the guide rather than the ferengi.

  Then his eyes narrowed as he saw a wisp of dusty green move on the far side of the ravine. Khilburn was the only one in his party wearing that color. The Uzbek kept a sharp watch and was soon rewarded by another glimpse of green farther up the slope.

  The yawer swore even more as he realized that the infidel was climbing to a better position. Because the other side of the gorge rose toward the plateau, the bastard could go higher than the Bokharans; if he wasn't stopped, he would secure an impregnable position. Hence Shahid must stop him, but he would have to cross to the far side of the ravine for the best shot.

  Shahid crouched and dashed to another boulder, to the right and below him. Immediately a ball whizzed by, so close that it buzzed like a lethal hornet. Bare seconds later another bullet chipped stone by one of the other Bokharans.

  Damnation, the ferengi's men were good shots. But they'd have to see a target before they could hit it, and as Shahid began gliding from boulder to boulder, he made very sure that no one saw him.

  * * *

  Climbing the blistering hillside had been slow work, but Juliet did a superb job of covering him, and Ross managed to reach his objective without attracting lethal attention. The ledge turned out to be a tilted shelf of stone that angled downward more steeply than he had realized from below. Flattening himself on his stomach, he crawled down the slanting surface, the coarse stone gritty under his fingers.

  When he reached the edge, he raised his head cautiously and looke
d across the ravine. As he had hoped, he had a clear shot at three unsuspecting Bokharans.

  His mouth tightened when he saw that none of the men in sight had the distinctive burly build of Shahid Mahmud. A pity; if Ross could have shot the officer, it might have stopped the fight without anyone else dying.

  Very well, so be it. Ross did not enjoy killing, but if forced to choose between the lives of his friends and those of nameless strangers, he would do what was necessary.

  He spent a moment planning his shots, forcing himself to think of the Bokharans as targets rather than men. Then he set the rifle to his shoulder, took careful aim, allowed for the effect of the wind, and squeezed the trigger.

  The first ball sped deadly and true into the target's chest. Without pausing to watch the man crash to the ground, Ross reloaded and fired again. The second target was moving, trying to flee this unexpected new peril, and Ross hit only his shoulder, but it was enough to make the man shriek and drop his weapon as he spun about and clutched the wound. He wouldn't be doing any more serious shooting today.

  By this time the third Bokharan had ducked out of Ross's view, but putting two of the enemy out of action greatly improved the odds for the ferengis. After reloading again, Ross inched his way a little farther down the slab, taking comfort in the fact that another ledge jutted out about twenty feet below him; even if he fell, he probably wouldn't break his neck.

  Lifting his head, he tried to locate Shahid Mahmud, who must be somewhere on the far side of the gorge.

  Ross never felt the bullet that hit him.

  * * *

  Juliet wanted to applaud when Ross's shots rang out over the ravine. When the second bullet provoked a yell, Ian gave an approving nod. "Sounds like Ross got one."

  Fiercely Juliet said, "Two. With his marksmanship, his first shot would have killed someone outright."