“Say that you are tired, or your horse is tired or the ass is tired, it doesn’t matter. We must stop before it gets truly dark.”
“And there is an inn ahead?” Arkady asked, not willing to question her too closely.
“Yes. It is off the road, but we can see it in the light. There are many merchants there, and several thieves. The landlord tolerates the thieves because they share their booty with him. Guard your pouch of gold closely, if we sleep there.” She took a deep breath. “It is enervating, knowing so much.”
Arkady grunted to show that he had heard, but would make no judgment either way. “An hour to the inn. All right. I’ll suggest it to the others.” He raised his arm to signal Yevgen. “How much further, do you know?”
Yevgen shrugged extravagantly. “I don’t have a notion. Old Milo has said nothing.”
“It’s getting on. It will be dark soon.” Arkady did not have to make this sound worrisome; for any traveller, being on the road after sundown was risky.
“I know. I’m concerned.” He rode a little closer to Arkady. “The others want to push on, because they’re afraid of being attacked in the night, or having their mounts stolen, but I don’t know if it’s worthwhile pushing on this way.” Saying that, he glanced back over his shoulder toward the merchants. “They’re strange men, so greedy and frightened. They will stand up to any man for two pieces of copper, but long shadows make them cringe.”
Arkady nodded. “I’ve seen such before.” He looked away and then back at Yevgen. “My slave says that there is an inn ahead, and we will reach it in an hour.”
Yevgen raised his brows. “And how does she know this?”
“She has been on this road before,” Arkady lied. “She said that the village Old Milo remembers has been burned. Those sheepfolds we saw—”
“I wondered about that,” Yevgen said thoughtfully. “And your slave is certain she is right?”
“If she tells me she is, then I believe her,” Arkady said, not entirely truthfully. “It is up to you, I think, to decide what’s best for us to do.”
Yevgen rubbed the stubble on his chin with his gloved hand. “So near an inn is a risk. There are desperate men who stay near the inns, hoping for merchants just such as these.”
“True enough,” Arkady agreed. “But there are three of us, and we should be able to fend off all but the most ruthless thieves.” He did not relish another fight, but he knew he had to make it clear he would not refuse a battle.
“And the merchants will swoon if we find a boy with a skinning knife.” He spat to show his disgust. “Very well. I will put it to Old Milo and see what he would prefer. They are paying me, after all. If I take their gold, I might as well do whatever they ask to earn it.” He braced one hand on his hip as he turned his horse to ride back to the merchants.
“Why did you tell him that I came this way?” Surata asked when Yevgen was out of earshot.
“Because he would accept that more readily than if I told him you have ways of knowing things that are not Godly.” He snapped this last at her, glaring with annoyance because she could not see his expression.
She reached up and touched his cheek. “Do not be angry with me, Arkady-champion. I do not know these things to shame you; I know them because I know them.”
“But how?” Arkady pleaded, grabbing her hand with his own. “Tell me just that: how.”
“I have shown you how,” she said quietly. “You have left this world for that other world, and you know how different it is. Once you know how to travel in that way, you can learn many things.” She paused, then said in a distant way, “There are men in this world who are far away, and so strange that we would find them more baffling than monsters. There are men who live in jungles so vast that no one has ever penetrated them, and there they wade in rivers that wind among trees, so that much of the forest is under water. There are fish there that are not fish, that swim amid the sunken trees. The river is more enormous than the sea, and where it meets the ocean, the water of the river drives away the salt.”
Arkady shook his head. “That is your fancy, Surata. No such thing can be. It is like the mountains that melted…” His words straggled off.
“No; I have seen the river. It is not of that other world, but this one.” She patted his arm and dropped her hand back to the cantel. “The cook at the inn is pregnant.”
“What?” Arkady said, trying to swivel around far enough to see her.
“The cook at the inn is pregnant. I tell you that so you will be able to see for yourself that my vision is clear. Go to the kitchen and look for a young woman with yellow hair done up in a red cloth. You will know that what I said is true.”
“All right. If we go to the inn, I give you my word, I will try to find this cook of yours.” He was pleased to hear the sound of approaching hoofbeats. He saw Yevgen come up beside him. “What did they say?”
“They want to press on to the inn. They’re frightened of the night and of bandits and of creatures of the Devil that are abroad when the sun is gone.” He patted the hilt of his sword. “I say there are few Devils that can resist cold steel.”
Arkady chuckled. “A good sword solves many arguments,” he declared.
Yevgen nodded, then spurred away to inform Tibor of their plans.
Chapter 8
“She is pregnant,” Arkady told Surata as they retired for the night. They had been alotted a private room that was only slightly larger than the wide cot it contained. One small window, now shuttered closed, gave a little ventilation to the close air, which smelled of old cooked onions, urine and sour wine.
“Yes,” Surata said as she pulled off her clothes. “Be certain to put the bolt on the door. There is a rat-faced man who will come in, otherwise.”
Arkady, holding the single candle they had been provided, watched her in fascination. He ought to blow the light out, he told himself with little conviction. When he looked at her, he sinned and sinned. It was not possible to remain unmoved by her, for to do that, he would have to be less than a man. He wanted to reach out and touch her hair, and could have done so with no effort, but he stood silently, unmoving, while she took off her clothes and folded them neatly. “Are you ready?”
“Aren’t you?” she asked, turning toward his voice. “I have to unbraid my hair. Do you want to do it for me, or shall I?” She had put her hand on his unerringly, as if she knew exactly where he was.
“I…” In order to say nothing more, he set the candle aside and began to scramble out of his garments, grateful that this inn had no bathhouse where they might wash themselves.
“Take all your clothes off, Arkady-immai,” she suggested as she climbed into the bed. “It will be better if your clothes are off.”
He stopped moving. “You’re not going to…”
“No, not tonight. You are not ready for…all of it. I will explain as much as I can to you.” She stretched thoroughly, like a cat, and unselfconsciously began to adjust their blankets.
“What kind of explanation can you give me?” It was a challenge now, and he meant to discourage her. His memories of the night before were as stinging as they were pleasant; he had no intention of inviting another such incident.
“Not much of one,” she said with a diffidence that surprised him. “The best I can give.”
Arkady followed her example and made an attempt to set his clothes aside neatly. He pinched out the candle, then crawled into the blankets and tried to find a position in which he could sleep without touching any part of Surata.
As he squirmed fruitlessly, Surata shifted her body so that it lay, so very naturally, in the crook of his. “Be still, Arkady-champion, and do not be troubled that we are close. No harm will come of it.”
“You and I have different notions of harm,” he growled but he resigned himself to her nearness. “I’m very tired.”
“And am I. Transcending this plane is very exhausting, especially when you are not trained for it. Had I been with my family, I would have spe
nt half the day in pleasant relaxation, reading, watching the birds and deer in my father’s garden, and playing music. But that isn’t possible now, and too much has changed.” She fell silent.
“Surata?” Arkady ventured when a little time had gone by. He reached to pull her closer and discovered that she was crying, making no sound. “Surata.”
“It’s nothing,” she protested in a muffled tone. “I thought I had stopped this.” She wiped her eyes with her hands, then put one of her wet palms on the center of his chest. “You may feel what I feel, if you wish. It isn’t difficult to learn how.”
“Thanks; my imagination is vivid enough,” he said, drawing back as much as the bed would allow.
“Arkady-champion,” she wailed. “Don’t do this. You can’t want to be so…”
“Cruel? I’m a soldier, and I’m schooled in cruelty.” He set his jaw, hoping that he had armed himself sufficiently to resist her tears. “You forget that sometimes.”
“No,” she said very unhappily. “Soldiers are often cruel, but you would not be my champion if you were. And if you were cruel, you would not have been able to transcend with me. Why do you persist in making yourself out to be the monster you are not? The Bundhi is cruel, and for him this is a virtue. He follows the Left Hand Path, and his manifestation of transcendence reveals this just as your transcendence showed that you were not cruel.”
“You’re talking nonsense; go to sleep, Surata,” he ordered her, shutting his eyes as if that would keep him from hearing her.
“Arkady-champion, it’s necessary that you learn to—”
“Go to sleep.” He deliberately slurred his words, making himself sound more worn out than he was. Inwardly he doubted he had fooled her, but he trusted that she would not press him to talk more. He felt her hand on his cheek, and the curve of her thigh resting next to his, and told himself that was more than he could desire. He was grateful when he finally drifted into sleep and did not dream.
The inn was bustling before sunrise, and since the room where Arkady and Surata lay was near the kitchen, they were wakened by the clanging of pots and the sound of wood being chopped for the stove. One of the ostlers was shouting in the stableyard, and nearer, there was the clomp of wooden shoes on cobbles as one of the guests stumbled out to the privy.
“We will have to leave when the merchants leave,” Arkady muttered to Surata after she had kissed the corner of his mouth.
“If that’s what you want,” she said in a neutral way. “Tomorrow and the day after will be safe, but beyond that time, Yevgen will not be trustworthy.” She had sat up in bed and was already gathering up one of the blankets, folding it first, and then rolling it so that it could be tied to the pack saddle on the mule.
“How can you do that?” Arkady marvelled at her in spite of his resolution to pay her little attention.
“You can dress in the dark, can’t you? You’ve broken camp in the dead of night. This is no different.” She presented him with the blanket and started on the second one.
Arkady dressed quickly, feeling his way in the little room. “They will have breakfast soon. Are you hungry?”
“No, but I will eat. We have far to go today, and we will have to move faster than anyone would like.” She paused in rolling the second blanket. “Tell Yevgen that he should have a care to being followed. Today there is more to fear at our backs than what may be approaching from the east.” Her face showed an intent curiousity, as if she heard something very faint in the distance.
“What is it?” Arkady asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered, making a sign for him to be quiet. “I fear that the Bundhi has sent his servants to look for me. They have assumed that I was taken away into the West where I could do nothing. If they discover that you are bringing me back, they will try to find ways to stop us.”
“He’d have to send quite a few men to do that as long as we’re with Old Milo and his crew,” Arkady said, determined to make light of the matter.
“He would not send anything so simple as men, not now. He had men following me until I was sold to you, but now, now he must be more careful, in case I am able to detect his actions.” She rose, tieing the blanket with a length of cord. “Here.”
Arkady accepted the blanket but stared at her with a mixture of impatience and vexation. “Surata, even if what you say is true, don’t let the others hear you speak this way. It wouldn’t take much for them to decide that you are a witch, and I doubt they would permit you to remain with them.”
“That doesn’t worry me,” she said as she began to dress, moving with great care as she adjusted her clothes.
“It should. Witches are burned by good Christians.” He had wanted to frighten her into silence, but instead she rounded on him.
“I have said before that I am no witch. I am an advanced student of the Right Hand Path, and my skill is alchemy. Witches are not real, and you are a fool to believe in them. If those merchants think that they must burn me, you and I need only strike out on our own.” She folded her arms stubbornly after she finished knotting her belt.
Arkady was not prepared for her outburst, and he lifted his hands, palms out, to pacify her. “Surata, please. I didn’t mean to say anything to anger you. I only wanted you to be warned.”
She could not see his gesture, but she heard his intent in his voice and was mollified. “Very well, Arkady-immai, but you are enough to enrage all the gods at once. And don’t,” she went on hastily, “tell me that there is only one god in the world. We’ve had enough contention for one day as it is.” She bent and drew on her embroidered soft boots with the pointed toes. “I’m ready. Show me the way to the breakfast table and to the privy afterward.”
“Right.” Arkady was willing to suspend their disputes, perhaps more willing than Surata was. He took her by the arm and led her into the hallway, where he found Yevgen and Tibor emerging from an equally small room across the hall. “God be with you today.”
“And with you,” Yevgen said brusquely, turning away from Arkady to speak with Tibor again. “That is the best course.”
“If you like,” Tibor said, glancing nervously at Arkady and Surata. “But what…”
“It’s not urgent,” Yevgen muttered and stomped off toward the main taproom. “Be saddled and ready to go within an hour, Captain Sól,” he ordered over his shoulder. “We won’t wait for you if you’re late.”
“We’ll be ready,” Arkady answered. He was comfortable hearing his own language again, no matter how badly spoken, and he found himself seeking to prolong the conversation just to hear Polish. It was not the same with Surata, whose abilities made him wary of her.
“You may talk at breakfast,” Surata said behind him. “Warn me where the steps are, Arkady-immai.”
“Right,” he said, following Yevgen down the hall. He could hear the heavy sound of Tibor’s boots behind them, but he ignored their tread. He did not like to be caught between two armed men this way, friends or not, because such a position was dangerous. He was so preoccupied with the hazard he sensed that he almost forgot to mention the two steps to Surata. At the last instant, he put out his arm and warned her.
“Thank you, Arkady-immai,” she told him softly, faltering in her movements and reaching out to brace herself.
“I forget you are blind, sometimes,” he offered as an explanation, salving his conscience with the notion that he was not being entirely untruthful. It was not easy to remember her blindness because she was so strangely gifted in other ways.
“There are many kinds of blindness, Arkady-immai,” she said, staying two steps behind him. “Mine is more obvious.”
He made a noise to indicate he had heard her, but he gave his attention to the three long tables where many early-rising travellers waited for the pots and tureens to be carried in from the kitchen.
Old Milo waved Arkady to a place across the table from him. “You come in good time, Captain,” he called out over the general hubble of conversation.
�
�Soldiers are used to rising with the sun,” Arkady said, guiding Surata to a place on the bench beside him.
“They feed slaves in the kitchen,” Old Milo reminded him.
“Not this slave,” Arkady said. “She remains with me.”
The old merchant laughed. “I suppose if I had such a slave, I would keep her by me, as well. I’ve been told—and when I was younger, had some hints myself—that the women of the East are very…capable.” He waggled his thick eyebrows for emphasis.
“I’ve heard that,” Arkady said in what he hoped was a bored tone. “I’ve also heard it about women of Africa, of Italy and of Russia. In fact, I have heard it of every nationality but my own and the Prussians. The farther away their homeland, the more fabulous the women.” He braced his elbows on the table and reached for one of the hard, flat breads that had been carried to the table in baskets. “How far do you wish to go today?”
Old Milo shook his head. “I would like to get to the river crossing by tomorrow night, but who knows how it will be. They are saying that there is a windstorm coming, and if that is the case, we’ll have to seek shelter while the blow is on. That will slow us down.” He took one of the flat breads himself and murmured a brief prayer over it. “I noticed you did not offer thanks for your meal,” he observed to Arkady after he had taken the first bite.
“I pray upon rising. It’s a soldier’s habit, good merchant. We do not always have the opportunity to offer thanks later on.” He reached for another bread and handed it to Surata. “There will be more coming. Start with this.”
“Thank you, Arkady-immai,” she said, her attitude so subdued that it startled him.
“Are you well?” he blurted out.
“You are kind to ask, Arkady-immai. I am well.” She started to eat, her face averted.
“Well, at least she shows proper respect,” Old Milo said, cocking his head toward Surata. “Some slaves, when they have the pleasure of their master, think they have his mind also. It’s wise not to give that impression. But that must be part of soldiering, too.” He waved one of his merchants toward the table. “That’s Jurgi for you, always late. Over here!”
To the High Redoubt Page 11