To the High Redoubt

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Arkady nodded, then said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  Surata struggled with the unfamiliar garment; it was difficult to adjust the voluminous folds so that the cloak was properly balanced on her shoulders. “It is very warm,” she said, approving of the cloak. “At night I’ll be glad of it, but during the day, it might be too much.” She untied the ribbons in the front. “I had these wrong, didn’t I?”

  “You did,” he said, looking down at the scuffed toes of his boots.

  “If I make that mistake again, you must correct me,” she told him as she pulled the cloak off. “I won’t improve if you don’t correct me.”

  He remembered the many times his teacher had made him repeat exercises with his weapons for exactly the same reason. “All right, I’ll tell you.” His promise did not come easily, and he wondered if it was because he knew how bitterly she hated her blindness.

  “Arkady-immai,” Surata said, breaking into his thoughts, “you let yourself worry about the wrong things. If you are afraid to mention my blindness, then I will become ashamed of it. If I had lost a hand in battle, you would not think twice of it. You would help me when I needed your help and you would encourage me to excel where I could. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Possibly,” he hedged. He wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her, vowing that she would never have to suffer for her blindness, giving her his word that he would be her eyes and her hands for as long as he lived. None of these sentiments reached his lips, and his hands stayed at his sides.

  Surata smiled wistfully, the corners of her mouth not quite turning up properly. “I wish…”

  “Yes?” Absurdly, he hoped that she would be the first to speak, to offer assurances and oaths to him.

  She shook her head. “Never mind. Let me inspect these other garments you’ve brought. And tell me which you want me to wear when we leave tomorrow.”

  Arkady swallowed his disappointment. “Well, here the religious robes would be best. By the time we reach Sarai, there may be other clothes we ought to buy.”

  “And the gold? You have been free with it, Arkady-immai.” She was not critical, but curious.

  “There is no reason to worry about poverty yet. We are not in danger of running out of money for quite some time.” He patted the pouch that hung from his belt. “Soldiers know how to haggle. And how to forage, if it comes to that.”

  “Beyond Sarai, it may. There may be a trade route through the desert there, but it is a bleak land, from all I have been told of it.”

  “Bleak,” he said. “A stretch of desert and salt marshes by the old sea.”

  “There are tigers that follow the caravans, feeding on stragglers.” She paused, giving him time to consider this. “They might follow us, since there are only two of us, and the mules would be a good meal for a tiger.”

  “And the Bundhi?” Arkady asked.

  “Yes, he might use them. He likes them, respects them. They are so good at killing.”

  “I have heard that,” he said in a neutral voice while he thought back to the tales he had heard of the enormous striped cats that would fix you with their hard stares and sap your will before they attacked. Legend was that if you threw a glass ball in front of them, they would become fascinated by the reflection they saw and mistake it for their young, and would abandon the hunt. Arkady did not want to put that theory to the test.

  Surata reached toward him. “Arkady-immai, I would not fear for you if you meant nothing to me.”

  “I know.” He took her hand in his and bent to kiss it.

  By that night, the worst of their fears were forgotten, and they enjoyed a lavish meal before going up to bed. In the dark they lay side by side, hardly touching under their blankets.

  “Surata?” Arkady ventured after they had laughed about the pompous way an old Greek merchant had ordered the porters around in the taproom.

  “Yes?”

  “Could we…would you take us to the other place tonight?” It was wrong to ask it, and he knew he was succumbing to worse sin than before. It was one thing to respond to her when she made the advances, but it was another to be the one initiating their intimacy. He could no longer pretend that he did not seek her love.

  “If you wish,” she said, a warmth in her voice. “It’s also possible simply to be lovers, if you would prefer that.”

  “No,” he said, too quickly, though he was curious to discover what it would be like to lie with her without being transported to the other place. But that would be admitting more than he could bear. “If we can be in such danger, it might be best to scout the activities of the Bundhi.”

  She turned so that her body met his. “It might be more dangerous than wise, Arkady-champion.”

  “Not knowing anything would be more dangerous,” he said stubbornly. Now that he had gone so far as to ask, he was determined to proceed, no matter how great the risk.

  “Perhaps,” she said doubtfully. She was still a short while, then said, “I am glad you have asked me, Arkady-champion. I was afraid that you would never want to ask, and that in time you would distrust all that we do together because you never sought it.”

  She was so close to being accurate that he could not answer her for a moment. “I…I am not used to your ways, Surata.”

  “And there are times that they cause you chagrin,” she added for him. “I know that what I do is contrary to what your priests told you. I know that you are disturbed by it, and that does not surprise me, though it…saddens me.” She kissed his cheek, her tongue brushing the stubble there. “You will have quite a beard soon.”

  “With no shears to trim it,” he said, more pleased with her comment than he could express.

  “Buy them, if you wish,” she said, grinning toward him.

  “I will. With our other supplies.” He whistled a bit, suddenly nervous as an untried boy; the tune was a marching song his men had sung before battle. The words rang in his head:

  “Saint Michael and Saint Barbara

  How bright their banners glow!

  For glorious Saint Raffael

  We arm against our foe.

  The mighty hosts of heaven see,

  And promise us the victory!”

  “What is that song?” Surata asked.

  Arkady stopped whistling and his memories faded. “A soldier’s song.” It was strange to feel so bashful with a woman he knew so well.

  She hesitated. “Do you miss being a soldier, Arkady-immai? No. You don’t need to answer,” she went on before he could speak. “You miss it very much, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “And this battle, the one you have taken on with me, does it mean anything to you?” She made no condition with her voice, no implication that he could give her any answer she would not accept.

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I have never fought this way, and there are times it doesn’t seem…real.” He made an apologetic gesture she could not see but was able to sense.

  “It is real, Arkady-immai. The other place is real, what we do there is real, and what happens there is real. You saw some of my memories, and you know that the Bundhi will not let you or me or anyone else set against him live. In the other place on in this daily world, he has power and he will not hesitate to use it.”

  “But…” Arkady did not finish.

  Surata went to his side and put her arms around him. “Arkady-champion, you are more able than I am to triumph. You know what it is to fight, and how to fight, which I do not. Tonight, we can…scout? Is that the word?”

  “That’s the word,” Arkady said, bending to kiss her forehead, just where the caste mark was.

  Again they waited until the rest of the inn fell silent before she approached him. The room they shared was on the second floor and had three large windows that were shuttered at night against the hordes of demons that were feared as much as the more immediate unpleasantness of insects. Their bed was covered with coarse muslin sheets and two blankets, but it was far t
oo hot for either Arkady or Surata to use them.

  “Later, we will want them,” Surata whispered as she rolled them toward the foot of the bed.

  “But it’s so hot,” he protested, kicking at the weight of them.

  “The night will grow cooler, and after being in the other place, you will be tired. Those who are tired often feel cold.” She patted the blankets, then crawled back up the covers to him.

  “This Bundhi—where do we look for him this time? In his redoubt, or some other place?” He could not stop himself from chuckling.

  “You are amused?” Surata demanded.

  “A little. I’m used to scouting in other ways.” He still wondered about what she had told him, but he had learned to withhold his doubts.

  “Why does this make you laugh?” She was rubbing his chest lightly, her hands describing brisk, interlocking circles on his skin that made him shiver. “Am I tickling you?”

  “That’s not it.” He reached up and stopped her so that he could speak without distraction. “You’re more than I thought you were when I…bought you. I don’t know what I assumed then, but you’re much more.”

  She smiled, her teeth bright in the shadow of her face. “I know that of you as well, Arkady-champion. You’re more than I thought you were. You are almost what I hoped you were.” Leaning down, she kissed his lower lip, nibbling it gently.

  “The Bundhi is a fool to hunt you,” Arkady said roughly as he felt the deep stirrings of desire.

  “On the contrary—if he is to have his victory, he is wise.” She resumed the feather-light massage, matching this with a rain of fast, tiny kisses over his face.

  “Surata…” He could not stop the long, luxurious shudder that moved through him, exciting him almost unendurably. He was so consumed with her that he nearly forgot to breathe. Then with a low, ecstatic cry, he pulled her to him, rolled onto and into her and the light blossomed around him, engulfing him in its luminosity. For a moment, he felt he was falling, and then his hand closed on the sturdy support of a pike shaft; he found his footing in tall grasses.

  “This time you must take great care, Arkady my champion,” Surata warned him from the length of the pike. “The Bundhi knows this other place far better than you do and can shape it as he wishes. You are his enemy and he will seek to bring you down.”

  Arkady looked around him as he might have done at the edge of a battlefield, looking for the places of advantage and disadvantage. “You are more his enemy than I am,” he said to her without thinking.

  “Yes,” she responded mournfully. “Because of me, you have the Bundhi for your enemy.”

  “No matter, Surata. Anyone seeking to harm you will have to answer first to me.”

  Some of her dejection lifted. “And yet I am the one who is your weapon.” The pike moved in his hand. “You were bruised in this other place once, and the bruise was with you in the daily world. Remember that when you fight, your wounds will be as real to you in the daily world as they are here. And here, they can be used against you.”

  He did not entirely understand what she meant, but he did not question her. “I’ll do what I can, Surata.” Carefully he looked over the vast, grassy plain that seemed to stretch farther than any expanse he had ever seen. “We seem alone.”

  “Seem,” she mused. “That’s correct. What is there but sky and grass, you wonder, and you are lulled into thinking that you are not watched. But the ground is alive with insects and little animals. You saw what the Bundhi could do with mice in the daily world. He could make far worse than mice here.”

  “I’ll be on guard,” Arkady promised and slapped at a mosquito that lit on his arm.

  “What was that?” Surata demanded.

  “Nothing. A mosquito.” He shrugged. “I probably have fleas here, too, just as I do in the daily world.”

  “How foolish!” Surata burst out, sounding frightened and angry. “I never thought of…”

  “Surata, don’t—”

  She did not let him go on. The pike he held became a long maul with a massive head. “Something will have to be done. We must get camphor and Arabian gum, and see that our clothes are redolent with them. We must bathe much more often.”

  “Surata, what are you going on about?” He did not want to tease her for being too worried, but he also did not want to encourage her in this latest outburst.

  “Fleas! Mosquitos! Ticks! They sap the blood, and if the Bundhi has that, he can work magic with it, use it to feed his staves, drain us of more than blood.” The maul lifted of its own accord and swung slowly around his head. “If anything—anything at all—bites you, tell me at once. While I am a weapon, there is nothing that can be had from me. Remember, here you shed something more precious than your blood if you are bitten.”

  Arkady frowned, grasping some of her concern. “But a mosquito, Surata—”

  “There are no mosquitos in this other place unless they are conjured, as this grass is conjured, as your weapons are conjured. The Bundhi can come against us in many forms. Why not a mosquito, when you barely notice it?” She sounded impatient but no longer as dread-filled as she had at first.

  “Right,” he said, accepting her order reluctantly. “But if I have to worry about every gnat and louse, I won’t be much use as a scout.” His tone was calm enough, but he was not pleased with her. “If the Bundhi’s to be found, then—”

  “You had best pay attention to gnats and lice and lizards and ants and all the rest of them. Moles in the earth and birds over it, they can all be formed by the Bundhi.” The maul twitched ominously. The smell of cedar and camphor spread around him. “These pests are not…real as they are in the daily world, but this will serve to aid us. The Bundhi must withdraw the pests or reveal himself in them.”

  “If you insist,” Arkady muttered. “And what am I to do, other than count everything that moves in the grass?” This was not soldier’s work and it shamed him to have to do it.

  “You are to wait. If there are creatures in the grass, then we must know what they are. If there are things in the sky, watch them. The Bundhi’s army comes in many forms, and in this other place, they are more mutable than ever.” Now the scent of pyrethrum and wormwood was added to the camphor and cedar.

  “Won’t all this perfume attract the Bundhi?” he challenged her.

  “No more than the stuff taken by the thing that was not a mosquito will,” came the somber answer. “Take great care.”

  Arkady nodded, feeling more apprehensive than he wanted to admit to her. He looked down at his arm where the mosquito had bitten him and saw a mark like the kiss of a leech.

  There was a rustling in the grass, and a stoat peered out at him, its narrow snout twisting at the various aromas that filled the air. It was larger than any other stoat Arkady had ever seen, close to the size of a fox. Its eyes were oddly blank.

  “What is it?” Surata asked sharply as the maul swung around once more.

  “A stoat,” Arkady answered in a strange voice. “Over there.” He pointed to where he had seen the animal, but it was gone. Not far away from where the stoat had been, three badgers hunkered together, watching him suspiciously.

  “And now?” Surata inquired, her maul-self swinging faster so that Arkady felt the strain in his arm from holding it.

  “Badgers.”

  “How many?”

  “Three. No, four.” He noticed that the animals were moving nearer, not close enough for him to do much about them, but keeping their presence apparent. “And some foxes too.”

  “It will be bear next,” she predicted. “Be careful of the bear, for they might rush you.”

  “Not wolves?” Arkady asked with forced gaiety. “In Poland, we pay more attention to wolves than bear.”

  “The Bundhi would send dholes, if he sent coursers.” The maul settled, angled in front of him where it could be used swiftly and lethally.

  “What happens to the Bundhi if one of these creatures are killed?” Arkady inquired lightly enough, but he was
beginning to want to strike back at the elusive sorcerer.

  “It depends on what the…things are. If they are extensions of the Bundhi himself, their hurt will be his hurt. I do not think,” she went on, darkly thoughtful, “that the Bundhi is foolish enough to take such needless risks when he has so many agents to do his bidding.”

  Five bear, their maws gaping, had ambled up-behind the badgers. They stood, heads lowered between their shoulders, snuffling the odors that enveloped Arkady and his maul.

  “You were right about the bear,” Arkady said softly.

  Off to his left, a huge, sinuous shape crept nearer. “What else?” Surata demanded urgently.

  Arkady stared at the animal, which held his attention with its beauty as much as its menace. “It’s a tiger, I think.”

  “Yes, a tiger. I should have anticipated that,” Surata said with self-condemnation.

  The colors and shapes blurred, as if a clumsy artist had smudged a drawing, and then solidified once again.

  “What was that?” Arkady said nervously.

  Surata did not answer at once. “Insects. Are there insects?”

  Arkady had been so intent on the creatures that gathered around them that he had neglected to pay attention to his skin—if he had such a thing as skin in this other place—and what was on it. As she asked, he became aware that his legs and arms were itching, as if he had been set upon by the most voracious lice. He gave a frustrated shout and tried to slap at the places that were the most irritated.

  “No!” Surata ordered, swinging upward and lengthening into a halberd, with a long spike and a wicked hook on one side and a hatchet blade on the other. She moved in his hands even while he was trying to scratch, and the swing of the weapon whistled as it sliced toward the advancing animals.

  “Watch, Surata!” Arkady shouted as he caught the first, swift rush of the tiger toward them.

  The point of the halberd thickened into the striking head of a battle hammer, descending on the rushing cat with deadly force.