“You’re growing too dependent on this touching, Arkady-champion,” she chided him gently. “There have been battles not far from here. The birds gave true warning. Many men were killed, and a village was burned. None of the merchants knew who had done it, for the villagers had been dead more than a day when the travellers came upon them. They were worried when they saw what had happened, because the village was a place where many travellers stopped. Now they will have to find another place, a safer place, to rest when they return.”
“Why was this village so important, do you know?” Arkady asked, pulling her to her feet.
“It is…was a crossroad, or a fork in the road. Yes, I believe it was a fork in the road. That is where two roads meet and become one, isn’t it?” Her hand trembled in his. “The killings were brutal, or so the merchants thought.”
“Did you…?” He could not ask the rest of his question, for his memories of battlefields were too stark.
She answered him anyway. “Yes, Arkady-champion. I saw it.”
He could find nothing to say that would lessen her desolation; he did the only thing that came to mind. “Surata”—he put his arms around her to give her the warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the day—“here.”
Surata quivered but she did not weep. Slowly, very slowly, she relaxed against him, letting him support her until the worst of her wretchedness left her. “I’m…not sorry. This happens when I don’t guard against it. I wasn’t anticipating anything so…” She ended on a shaky laugh.
“It doesn’t matter, Surata,” Arkady said, taking unexpected pride in his ability to comfort her. He could remember all the despair he had felt after the dead were gathered at the end of a battle, and the black misery that had consumed him when they had to be left where they fell. For a woman like Surata to have such visions in her blindness gave Arkady a sensation close to sickness.
“Arkady-champion,” she said, holding him in return, “do not fear for me. I’m not as fragile as you think me. And what I dreaded to find was not there.”
He stared at her. “What was that? A sacked village was not as worrisome at this other?”
“For me,” she said cautiously. “The Bundhi has those whom he…sends forth, to watch for him. There have been two before, but there might be more. He has used many. When he captured my family, he sent more than ten who carried staves.” This time there was a silent terror about her that filled him with concern.
“Ten men with staves, what can they do against my swords and my maul?” He had seen soldiers who fought with long staves that he would not want to fight with anything less than a mace-and-chain, but refrained from saying so.
“If the staves are fed…” She stopped, forcing herself to a composure that was not as genuine as it appeared. “But you have your swords and your maul and your cinquedea. You are a good fighter.” She turned her face toward him. “And you are my ally.”
“A disgraced captain,” he dismissed, unable to make light of his self-accusation.
The wind blew the last of the caravan’s dust back to them.
“A sensible captain,” she corrected him. “It is safe to leave now. They are all passed. Arkady-champion, watch carefully. The merchants have dropped something of value.”
“Something of value? What use is it to us; we’re not merchants.” He was already busying himself with checking all their paraphernalia tied to the saddle. He had not wanted to release her hand, and he chided himself for letting her affect him so.
“Gold. Anyone can use gold.” She went on awkwardly. “Arkady-immai, you are…not happy that there is not much money. Gold is good.”
“Useful,” he suggested. “Good or bad, it’s useful.” He took her arm. “Ready? Up you go.”
She got onto the bay without fuss, holding the cantel, the hem of her robes hiked up to her knees, revealing the embroidered leather shoes with pointed toes that Arkady found fascinating. As he stared at her shoe, she said, “Arkady-immai, your head…what color?”
“My head?” He paused, his hand already on the saddle. “You mean my hair?”
“Yes; hair.” She almost smiled. “I want to see you better.”
“It’s…uh…light brown, sort of like dry grass.” He felt awkward answering the question, and wished, for reasons he could not comprehend, that she had not asked.
“And your eyes,” she persisted.
“No special color,” he said curtly, swinging onto the horse and narrowly missing her with his knee.
“What color?”
“It’s not important,” he snapped, kicking the gelding more forcefully than he had intended.
The bay jogged into a trot for a short distance but pulled back to a walk when they regained the main road.
“Tell me, Arkady-immai. It is good for me to know this,” she said.
“Why?” he asked, perplexed and uneasy. His uncertainty was more with his own reluctance than her question. What was it about this that vexed him so? Was it only her blindness, or did it go further than that.
“There are reasons.” She leaned forward so that her head rested against the back of his shoulder. “It doesn’t bother me that you are not blind, Arkady-champion.”
The acuity of her remark stung him. “I didn’t mean—” He stopped. “Yes, I did. My eyes are greenish brown. My mother hoped they would be blue. My sister had blue eyes.”
“Ah.” It was a little time before she spoke again. “Watch with your greenish brown eyes, Arkady-champion. We are not far from where the thing was dropped.”
He could not resist asking her, “How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “I know it. I saw it.”
He had to be content with that, for she would say no more. As they rode, he watched the ground ahead of them and scanned the sides of the road. He had no notion what he might be searching for, but he could not refuse to look. He was not sure he knew what Surata meant when she said gold: a coin, a piece of jewelry, a small cast bar. Then he noticed a small leather sack, hardly larger than a pouch, half-covered with dust, and he reined in. “There’s something,” he said.
“Good.” She sat still while he dismounted. There was a faint smile on her lips. The mark in the middle of her forehead appeared brighter than usual.
Arkady lifted the pouch, slapping the dust off it. He was surprised at its weight. “I don’t know what’s in it, but—” He broke off as he untied the thongs that held it. Inside the pouch, he saw the gleam of gold. “Coins,” he said in an odd tone.
“Are there very many?” She did not seem the least startled by his announcement. “Are they all gold?”
“As far as I can tell,” he said carefully. “There are quite a few of them,” he admitted, bouncing the pouch a few times. He had never held so much money at one time in his life.
“Enough to take us to Samarkand?” she asked. “Will it buy us what we need?”
He swallowed hard. “I don’t know what it costs to go to Samarkand, but I’d guess we could go to the court of the Great Khan himself and return again on what’s here.” He told himself sternly that he would wait until they made camp at night to count their treasure. He tied the pouch shut and looped the thongs around his belt before he got back on his horse. As he tapped the bay with his heels, he tried to bring himself to ask Surata how she be so certain the gold would be there, but the words refused to come and they rode in silence across the Giants’ Causeway.
Chapter 6
Eight days later they had left the mountains far behind and had come to the main caravan road running from Iaş to Tana and on to Sarai.
Still feeling giddy with wealth—the little sack contained a staggering sixty-three pieces of gold—Arkady suggested that they buy another horse or a mule for Surata to ride. “You won’t be bounced around so much. You’ll have a proper saddle. I’ll see to it.”
“What would be the point?” she asked, holding him closely. Her hands rested just above his belt. “You would have to lead the horse or the mule, and if
there was trouble, I would be more of a burden to you on another beast than I am here.”
“Not in a real fight,” he said before he could stop himself.
“You do not know that, Arkady-champion. I have my own skills. And this way, we can speak easily. If I were on another horse, it would not be as pleasant, would it?”
“Well, you’re getting better all the time.” He had come to like having her near him, but he was concerned for the load his gelding carried as well as for his own desires. These he could not hide from himself, although he hoped she had not yet discerned the true nature of his feelings. He decided to try again. “Surata, if we are to cross the desert you say is ahead, then we must lighten the load my horse carries.”
“Then buy a mule for the food and other provisions,” she recommended.
“And if we lose the mule?” he asked. “It would be a risk.”
Surata laughed outright. “Arkady-champion, breathing is a risk. Buy a mule or two, or a camel, if that is what you want. After Sarai, the way is difficult, and then you will be glad to have more than one animal, in case there are…problems.” She lifted her hand to touch his face. “The scar over your brow isn’t as serious as you think it is.”
“Soldiers have scars,” he said, attempting to turn her attention.
“Not like this one, for you did not get it in battle.” Surata hesitated. “Do you want to travel with a caravan to Samarkand?”
He knew from her tone that she would not want this. “We’d be faster on our own, and you’ve said speed is important. There is more danger alone, but there is also speed. Also, if there are men hunting you for the Bundhi, it would be less easy for them if we are on our own.” He looked into the distance, toward the eastern horizon. “We’ll have to be careful if we encounter soldiers. I don’t know how they would feel about a discharged captain like me.”
“We will say that I engaged you to carry me back to my home. I will buy new robes so that they will think I am a fine lady.” Again she laughed, this time lightly, teasing him.
“That’s fine, if one of us can speak their language, and if they will listen.” He shaded his eyes with his free hand. “I think there is a caravan ahead of us on the road. I see mules.”
“How many?” The worry was back in her voice. “Can you count them?”
“Not accurately.” He squinted with concentration. “Wait. They’re…” He barked his laughter. “They’re hogs and cattle. There must be a farmer nearby. He probably sells his beasts to travellers for food.” Now he grinned. “Who knows what it will cost, but such farms usually have room for travellers to sleep for the night, if it’s only a barn.”
“It’s shelter,” she said warily. “And there will be a storm before morning. The smell of it is in the air.”
He agreed with her. The sky had turned metallic early in the afternoon, a brazen sun hanging over the flat copper plain. Behind them, clouds gathered over the unseen mountains and the air was waiting. “We can find out how long it will take to reach Tana. The farmer should know.”
“If he understands you,” Surata reminded him, not quite seriously. “If the farmer is so near the caravan road, it will not be difficult to speak with him. He will have a way to do it.” She sighed. “It will be good to sleep in a barn for a change.”
“With the cattle and the mice,” Arkady added.
“Cattle are not bad; even pigs are not bad. Mice are everywhere.” She made a pleased little sound. “Go on, Arkady-champion. Find us this farmer.”
“As you wish,” he said, nodding instead of bowing. “You’d think,” he added as he turned the bay onto the road, “that a man with sixty-three gold pieces could do better than sleep in a barn.”
Surata did not sound amused. “Be careful with the money, Arkady-champion. Do not let it be known that you have so much, or our throats will be cut before the sun rises again.”
“I’m not a fool, Surata,” he responded. “I still have copper and silver. The farmer can have some of that.” He patted the wallet tied to his belt. “We’ll conceal the other.”
“Excellent,” she said with a hint of asperity. “Be sure you haggle the price. The farmer will be suspicious otherwise.”
“I know.” He was irked that she should question him as if he knew nothing of foraging and living in the field. He had been a soldier and knew how it was done. His jaw set as he urged the horse to a trot.
Their shadows reached far before them when they finally came upon the collection of huts, barns and pens where the farmer lived. The buildings were less than a league from the road, huddled together like enormous tortoises basking in the sun. Low stone fences marked the boundaries of the fields where grain and vegetables grew, and most distant from the buildings was a small vineyard.
“It will be soon now, Surata,” Arkady told her as he tugged at the reins. “I can see men near the…I think they’re barns. If we approach slowly, they should not be alarmed.”
His prediction proved to be correct. As they drew near the huts, three old women, all wrapped in shapeless garments, came bustling out to meet them, waving, their smiles showing the gaps in the yellowish teeth. They indicated by mime that Arkady and Surata were welcome and that they could purchase food and a place to sleep and, for more coins, a bath.
“They have a bathhouse,” Arkady told Surata, sighing at the thought of this luxury. All of his skin felt crusted and gritty, and he was sure she must feel the same.
“How much do they want for that?” Surata asked, her words eager.
“Two pieces of silver, apparently,” he said as he watched the old women. “It troubles me that I see no men with them, just those coming in from the fields.” He stared around the farmyard. “We must be careful tonight, I believe.”
“If you think it’s necessary,” Surata said, not questioning his reservations. “Pay them the money for the bath, though. I feel as if all this dust is alive.”
“It might be,” Arkady told her, recalling all the times he had found lice in his hair. “It will be good to be clean, even for one night. We can wash our clothes, too.”
Surata laid a warning hand on his arm. “Wet clothes can be a risk. The Bundhi likes to surprise his foes when they are naked.”
Arkady nodded. “Very well. We will beat the clothes well before we bathe.” He unfastened his wallet and handed down three silver and four copper coins to the old women and watched while they tasted them. When they beamed at him and motioned him to follow them, he dismounted. “I’ll help you down once I find out where they’re taking us,” Arkady said softly.
“Good,” Surata agreed. Her head was slightly cocked to the side, as if she were listening to more than his words. “There are many men here, Arkady.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered as he led his horse through the gathering of buildings, following the three old women.
“We will be safe enough. The farmers will not harm us, but if other travellers come here, we must be on guard.” She sagged against the cantel, revealing her fatigue for the first time that day. “It is good to rest.”
“If we can rest, yes, it is.” He stopped the horse as the three old women pointed to a building that was clearly a stable. Four large cart horses were stalled there, and half a dozen squat-bodied asses. The most wrinkled of the old women pointed to two empty stalls, side by side, and nodded her encouragement.
“We get a stall,” Arkady told Surata. “It could be worse.” He bowed his acceptance to the three women and nodded until he was afraid he might get dizzy.
One of the women pointed to the building next to the stable and indicated the three chimneys rising from it, then mimed scrubbing with outrageous swoops of her hands over her massive bosom.
“The bathhouse is next door,” Arkady informed Surata.
The most wrinkled old woman indicated that a bell would be rung when the evening meal was ready, and Arkady relayed this to Surata as he went through the ritual of nodding once more.
Then they were
left alone, and Arkady led the bay into the stable before helping Surata down.
“It smells of horses,” she said.
“Small wonder.” His hands lingered on her body, and he wanted to curse himself for giving her offense. His face grew red, as much from desire as from shame, and he stepped back from her.
Surata stood while Arkady led the bay into one of the stalls and began to unfasten the girth. “Arkady-immai,” she said tentatively, “you will be with me in the bath?”
“Uh…” He wanted to say no, but he could not leave her by herself in an unfamiliar place. “I suppose I’ll have to,” he told her at last as he tugged the saddle off the gelding’s back. He lifted it onto the low wall separating the two stalls they had been allotted.
“Good.” She folded her hands in front of her and lowered her head, the stillness that perturbed Arkady coming over her once more. She did not move again until he had finished with the bay and had come to her side. “Arkady-immai.”
“I think the bathhouse is hot,” he said. “Before it gets much later, let’s get this over with.” He took her hand and all but dragged her out of the stable. He walked quickly, his thoughts disordered.
The bathhouse was warm and dark, smelling of wet wood and the harsh soap made by the farmers. There was also a faint scent of sweat, sharp in the gloom.
Arkady found the benches near the wall and pulled Surata after him. “You undress here”—how could he stand to see her undressed?—“and then I’ll take you to the sweat room.”
“You will undress too?” she asked as she began to pull her robes off.
“I’ll have to,” he said reluctantly, staring at her in spite of his resolution not to. “Surata…I…”
She did not turn toward him. “I do not mind, Arkady-immai. There is no shame.” She continued to take off her clothes. She made no attempt to be provocative or to affect a modesty she obviously did not feel.
With an oath, Arkady unfastened his belt and flung it onto the bench, then seized his brigandine and acton and worked them over his head. He looked at the acton and sniffed in disgust at the grime he saw on the padded cotton garment. If he were still in camp with the men of the Margrave Fadey, he would have given the acton to Hedeon with orders to clean it or burn it. He untied his breeches and, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped out of them, reminding himself that Surata could not see him, so his nudity did not matter. He took the little sack of gold, slung the thongs around his wrist and cleared his throat. “The sweat room is that way,” he said, pointing.
To the High Redoubt Page 8