The tiger disappeared; in its place, a vulture flapped into the sky.
Arkady, pulled by the weight of his weapon, took a hasty step forward, crying out in dismay as he began to fall.
Chapter 14
Where the grassland had been, there gaped an abyss deeper than anything Arkady had ever seen. In his attempt to keep from falling, he let go of the halberd. “Surata!” he shouted, trying to reach her, to catch her before he, too, dropped off the side of the bed. The blankets were wrapped around his ankles, and he was still panting and flushed. “God and Saint Michael!”
Surata extricated herself from the tangle of the sheets and reached out for his hand. “Arkady-immai. Are you…?”
His fingers closed on hers. “I am well, Surata,” he said in a shaken voice.
“Your legs…arms?” There was greater concern in her question. She tried to touch him.
“Insect bites,” he admitted shakily. “They sting,” he added when he scratched at them.
“Don’t. You’ll give more blood, and it is like a scent for dogs to follow. If you can, avoid touching them. The Bundhi already has some part of you. Don’t let him have blood as well, or we will never be able to escape detection.” She held on to his hands tightly.
Arkady felt a tingle where the bites had been, and then a mild numbness took away the irritation. “What…did you do?”
“It will last for most of a day,” she said, letting go of him and starting to gather up the bedding. “By nightfall, we must be far away from here. The Bundhi will send his minions tonight, and it would not be good for us if they found us. Can you find a vendor of salt before we leave?”
“Salt?” he repeated, puzzled by the request.
“We are going into a hot and arid place. And salt can be used for other things.” She had most of the blankets gathered up and was trying to straighten out the sheets. She paused in her work to sniff the muslin. “I like the smell of you, and the smell of us together.”
Arkady knew he was blushing; women did not say such things to men. If they mentioned smell at all, it was to compare him to a goat.
Surata was apparently unaware of his discomfort. “There are baths in this place. We must go there before we leave and make sure we clean ourselves with the salt as well as water.”
“Salt?” He thought of the bites on his arms and legs and he shuddered. “Not salt, Surata.”
“It will not hurt, Arkady-immai,” she promised him. “I will make sure of that.” By now she had most of the bedding gathered together, their own blankets folded and ready to be packed. “It’s almost dawn. We can get up.”
“How do you know that?” Arkady asked, not truly doubting that she knew, but unable to figure out how she came to the knowledge.
“Sounds,” she said after a little hesitation. “Rhythms. There are scents in the air, in anticipation.”
Arkady unbarred one of the windows and looked out. Overhead the sky was slate, but far in the east, there was a silvery tinge. The air was rustling. He stood still, thinking of the many times he had waited for the dawn, knowing that battle would come with it. Twice he had risen late in the night for a camisado attack with his men, but for the most part, dawn had been the signal to prepare to fight.
“Do you still miss your soldiering?” Surata spoke softly, barely above a whisper.
“Sometimes. Perhaps not as much as I thought I would.” He closed the window again. “Come here. I’m going to put you in the nun’s habit.”
“After we have a bath,” she told him. “Until then, our other clothes will do. And when we bathe, we can leave them behind to be burned or sold, as the bathhouse owner chooses.” She folded her arms, her unseeing eyes staring. “We must move quickly, Arkady-immai. Does that bother you?”
“Only that I don’t know what I’m fleeing, or why.” He touched one of their packs with his toe. “It won’t take long. Shall I tell the ostler to ready our steeds?”
This brought a faint smile to her mouth. “Yes. And I will take care of everything here. How clumsy to have to tend to all this material, when, in the other place, you have only to conjure a thing and it is so.”
Arkady laughed obediently and hurried out of the room. He rubbed the places on his arms where the bites were as he hastened to the stable, all the time marvelling that Surata had been able to take away the sting and itch of the bites.
The sun was not far over the roofs of Tana when Arkady and Surata entered the bathhouse. This time the rooms for men were separated from the rooms for women, and they could not be together as they washed. Arkady followed Surata’s instructions carefully, cleansing himself three times, once with the rough soap provided by the bath slaves, once with salt and once with clear, cold water. He did not touch his old garments again but donned the priest’s robes, taking care to conceal his pouch of gold in the long folds of the black garments.
Before the sun was halfway up the morning sky, Arkady and Surata were outside of Tana, going north and east toward Sarai, the city of the Golden Horde. For the sake of the illusion that they were in religious Orders, Arkady had insisted that Surata ride one of the mules while he led on his bay gelding. He discovered he missed having her behind him, arms around his waist. That startled him, and he resolved to find the means to resume their old method of travel before too many days had passed.
For three days their journey was uneventful; from time to time they passed other travellers—sometimes large and prosperous caravans, more often smaller bands of merchants, or the occasional solitary wanderer—going toward Sarai, or come from there toward Tana. Although it was not yet the height of summer, the way was hot and dry, with silky dust rising at every step their animals took.
At Surata’s insistence they spent their nights in unexpected places: a barn, a deserted hermit’s cell, under the branches of a fallow orchard. When Arkady balked at the last, Surata faced him very directly.
“The Bundhi knows that we are coming to him. He knows where we were, and he played with us for a while.” She let him think about this. “But the closer we get, the more he will need to stop us. Do you think that he would let us sleep if he knew where we are?”
“If he’s as strong as you say, he will be looking for us,” Arkady reminded her, a note of doubt in his words.
“Yes, and he will be looking for us in the expected places, which is where we must not be. If one of us has to spend the night in wakefulness, I’d rather it be the Bundhi, not us.”
Arkady nodded, smiling a little. “I have heard of fighters, far in the north, who have a way of distressing those who invade their land: whenever the company of invaders camp by a river—and there are many rivers in their land—all night long they send wooden boats downriver past the camp of their enemy. In some of the boats, there is one archer, while others are empty. Yet the enemy cannot take the risk of ignoring one single boat, empty or not, and they pass the night with very little sleep. A few nights of this and the invader no longer wishes to fight, only to sleep in peace.”
“You see, you do understand.” Surata smiled at him.
“Right,” he admitted as he began to plot out their campsite.
For the next week, they went quickly, setting out shortly after dawn and finding shelter at sunset. They pressed for a fast pace during the day, pushing their animals as far as their strength would permit.
“In Sarai, we’ll have to get remounts,” Arkady said as he examined his gelding. “This old fellow’s beginning to feel the press.” He patted the bay and set about cleaning his hooves.
“Will you keep him?” Surata asked.
“Probably, but I’d like to have a second horse, just in case.” He braced himself to lift the bay’s off-hind foot. “We’ll need to find a farrier as well—he needs new shoes, and his hooves have to be trimmed. Same thing with the mules.” He wielded the hoof pick expertly. “Hard earth hurts their feet, Surata. They’d rather run on grass.”
“So would I,” Surata said, unwrapping their bedding. They were in
the lee of an ancient wooden wall that still showed the marks of charring. “The tinker who told us about this place,” she went on in a different tone. “He said it was haunted, didn’t he?”
“I think that’s what he said. I don’t understand much Georgian.” He was avoiding her question and they both knew it.
“Did he say—” she began more forcefully.
“Yes,” he admitted. “There was something here, a place for unwelcome persons, and it burned down.” He indicated the remaining portion of the wall. “There’s sign of fire.”
“What sort of unwelcome persons?” Surata asked.
“I…I’m not sure. I think they might have been mad, or suffering from degenerating disease. I told you I don’t know the Georgian tongue well.” He had finished with the bay’s hooves, so he hobbled the gelding and went to work on the larger mule. “Remind me to keep an eye on these shoes. They’re not holding up very well.”
“If you wish.” She continued with her labors. “Might they have been lepers?”
“It’s possible. Why?” He disliked discussing such matters, for the plight of the mad and diseased inevitably left him with a great desolation of spirit.
“There are lepers I have seen who had learned many things from their afflictions. Some of them acquired power.” The blankets were in place and she felt her way toward him. “I’m worried, Arkady-immai.”
“I know,” he said gently.
“It’s been ten days, and nothing has happened.” She reached out for him.
“Could it be that we’ve fooled the Bundhi?”
“By now, he knows we are not staying with other travellers, and therefore he will have changed his manner of searching. He could find a thousand ways to watch us and never reveal himself to us or anyone else.” She leaned against him. “I am afraid that we’re not as safe as we’ve hoped.”
He sensed how much this confession cost her. “Surata, we can search for him, too,” he reminded her. Since they left Tana, they had slept chastely, as much from fatigue as from the unspoken agreement to avoid greater risks by more exploration of the other place.
She gave a long, shaking sigh. “If there is no change after tonight, I fear you’re right.”
“Fear?” he repeated, stung that she should speak of their joining in such a way.
“Not for loving you,” she qualified at once. “I fear that in loving you, I may bring you to harm.” She reached up and touched his face. “In Sarai you must buy shears. Your beard is getting like a bramble.”
“Lend me your comb and I will do what I can for now,” he offered, not letting go of her.
She would not be drawn into banter with him. “When you cut your beard or pare your nails, burn what you cut away.”
“I will,” he said, not wanting to dispute anything with her now that she had come to him. “The Bundhi puts hounds to shame.”
“Yes,” she said, frowning to herself. “Is there any honey left, or did we have the last of it yesterday?”
They had gotten a piece of a honeycomb two days before, savoring its sweetness as a special treat. “There’s a little left. Some cheese and some dried fruit as well. And a bit of hard bread.” He grinned. “If anyone comes near, Surata,” he said, hoping to reassure her, “they will think we’re ghosts. They will leave us to ourselves in a place with the reputation this has.”
Finally her mood lightened. “Yes; I hadn’t thought of that.” Impulsively she hugged him. “Even the Bundhi would think that this burned place is haunted and would ignore whatever he sensed here. He wouldn’t think that we’d take such a risk, if he searched for us here.”
“And is there a risk? Is this place haunted?” It was a question he had wanted to ask but did not want to hear answered.
Surata laughed. “Ghosts can’t hurt you, Arkady-champion. They are…echos. You might hear them, but it would mean little.”
This lighthearted explanation did not make Arkady feel more secure. “You mean there are ghosts here?” he demanded.
“Oh, yes, of course. They are very miserable ghosts. There is no harm in ghosts, only harm in your fear of them.” She moved away from him. “I’m tired, Arkady-champion. My bones ache. I don’t understand how you can ride for so long and feel nothing.”
“I haven’t said I feel nothing,” he reminded her. “When you’ve asked me before, I’ve said I’m used to it, which I am. I’m a soldier. Long rides and sore bones are part of a soldier’s life.” He led her back to where she had spread their blankets. “I’ll light a fire and then we can have supper.”
“I’ll take care of the fire,” she said, a hint of reproof coloring this.
“Fine,” he said, too quickly. “Good.” That made it worse.
Surata did not respond, but her silence was louder than words. She made her way through the tall grass, finding bits of wood, some burned, some not, which she gathered and brought near the blankets. She pulled up the grass where she intended to put the wood and then began to place the wood and small dry branches so that they would burn most efficiently. Her back was stiff as she worked, and although it was dusk, Arkady could see that she was upset.
“Surata.” He hobbled the second mule and came to her side, kneeling next to her. “Surata, I didn’t mean to criticize you. I didn’t mean that you weren’t able to make a fire. God in Heaven, it’s hard enough to remember that you’re blind, with all that you can do. If I say things…without thinking, well, I hope you can forgive me. I don’t mean anything unkind, or…or…”
She reached over and found his hand. “Arkady-immai, try to understand: my blindness shames me.”
“Yes, I know that,” he said. “I wish I knew a way to convince you that you have no reason to feel that way.”
Her smile was slight and sad. “And I wish I could convince you that you have no reason to be shamed by what you and I do when we are joined. You have no reason to be shamed, but you are.”
Arkady nodded slowly. “Right.”
She lifted his hand and kissed it. “If the ghosts do not bother you, we can go spying tonight, if you are not too tired.”
He patted her hand, holding it between both of his. “If I fall asleep, then I’m too tired. If I don’t, then I’m not.”
This time Surata was able to laugh more openly. “Let’s wait, then. Once we’ve eaten, we’ll decide.”
“At least we don’t have to stay awake until everyone else in the inn is asleep.” He got to his feet, releasing her hand reluctantly. “There’s work to do.”
She made a sign of agreement, then said, “The ghosts will help, Arkady-immai, whether you believe they are there or not. They’ll confuse the Bundhi, and we need that. But don’t be alarmed by them. Truly, they can’t hurt you.”
Arkady indicated that he had heard, then did his best to put the whole thing out of his mind. All that he considered was that once again they would be lovers, and that no matter how sinful and damnable their actions, they would be joined in delicious frenzy before the night was gone.
“I think they were mad,” Surata said some time later as they rolled into their blankets.
“Who?” Arkady asked, not paying too much attention.
“The ghosts. They feel as if they were. It’s more than the terrible way they died, it’s a feel of…madness.” She slid close to him.
“Surata, don’t joke about such things,” he warned her, more worried than he cared to admit. “If…if there are ghosts here, then they are sent to bedevil us, and it would take a priest to exorcise them.” He crossed himself, just in case.
“I’m not joking, Arkady-champion,” she said, her lips against his shoulder. “It is a good thing for us that they are there and that they are what they are.” With the tip of her tongue she found her way along his collarbone and up his neck, over his beard to his mouth. “I have wanted this.”
“Oh, yes,” he groaned as he wrapped her in his arms, holding her as if he could absorb her through his skin. There was a distant echo of condemnation in his thou
ghts, the voice of a priest far away thundering about the evils of the flesh, but Arkady shut the priest away, delving into the mystery that was Surata, exploring her with his body and his senses.
Surata licked his Sixty-Four Petaled Center, murmuring, “You are not as afraid as you once were, Arkady-champion.”
It was an effort to speak, so he gave a laugh low in his throat instead. He shivered as she kissed him, then reached for her, impatient for her. His desire—more intense than any lust he had felt—coursed through him, relentless as a river in flood. He wanted to touch, to taste, to know her as if they lived in the same body.
“This is good,” Surata whispered as his hands slipped between her legs. Her back arched as he moved over her, and she opened to him as he went deeply into her, sighing her name so that the echos of “Surata” made the colors around him change, becoming more luminous and brilliant from his love.
“We will have to take care,” his chain mail reminded him. “The Bundhi has been waiting for us to try something. It must be that he anticipates some action from us.”
“Then we must be more prepared,” Arkady observed quietly.
Surata did not speak for a moment. “Do you want to try to reach his redoubt again?”
“Not if I have to go through more chasms,” Arkady answered, faintly amused. “It might be entertaining for a sorcerer, but for a soldier, it is simply hard work.”
His chain mail jingled in a feeling that was part sympathy, part laughter. “Arkady my champion, you are proud of your ability to endure these things. You would be disappointed if you were given a clear path and an easy assault.”
He did not reply to that accusation at once, but finally he smiled. “True.”
“And the redoubt? What do you want to do?” Surata persisted. “We can go there directly, we can approach it many different ways, but how you wish to go is up to you.”
“If the Bundhi can sense when we approach, then there must be some way that he would not notice, or would not anticipate,” Arkady said, thinking aloud.
“But what, Arkady my champion?” she asked patiently.
To the High Redoubt Page 21