To the High Redoubt

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “You would like this, Arkady-champion?” Surata asked, her hand moving over the Centers, touching each one in a different and stimulating way.

  “Yes, I would like this,” he said softly. “All of this.” He let his hand drift over her breasts, cupping, fondling, gentle and forceful at once. “I love your skin,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers over her ribs and down to her hip.

  “It is better when I have bathed and been rubbed with sweet oil,” she said but without any particular regret. “One day, you will learn this, I hope.”

  There it was, the faint but constant reminder of why they were together. Arkady did not argue with her, for it was apparent to him that this could serve no purpose but to keep them from their enjoyment of one another. “I hope so too.” He kissed her mouth the way she had taught him to—slowly, lightly, the tips of their tongues touching. He could not imagine ever again being content with the grapplings he had known with women before.

  Surata did not hurry her caresses; she took time to explore, to bring every part of Arkady’s body to the highest pitch of sensitivity. Her hands, her body, her lips all played a part, and Arkady fell into that languid frenzy that made the rest of the world seem distant and unreal. She moved over him, reaching over his head to pull one of the packs nearer. “Use this for a pillow,” she whispered, helping him rise so that he was half sitting. “Now.”

  Too elated to question this, Arkady leaned against the pack and watched with bemused delight as Surata settled in his lap, taking him into her with a long, ecstatic sigh and the soft chimes of distant music that was part of the shifting lights.

  Arkady felt no armor on his body and there was nothing in his hands. He was clothed, he saw, in white shining cloth, so soft that he decided it must be silk. There were designs worked in gold on the cloth. He shimmered more brightly than the shapes around him and when he walked, the distant music grew louder, more beautiful. He looked around him. “Surata?”

  “Here,” answered his silken garments.

  “You’ve changed from armor.” He chuckled, making the lights around him reel and dance. “Why?”

  “Just as there are more ways to fight than with swords, so there are more ways to shield than with armor,” she answered.

  “If this is a shield, it’s very pleasant,” he told her, sliding his hands over the marvelous fabric. “Although I can’t imagine this would stop any sword I’ve ever seen.”

  “It would depend on the sword, Arkady my champion, and on the silk. I could be nothing more than a mist hovering around you, and there is still no weapon that could penetrate it.”

  He had heard that note in her voice before, under the loving, an implacability that he wished he had had in all his soldiers. “Right.” He walked on a little further, although he did not sense anything solid under his feet nor have an idea where he was going.

  “Make what you want here, Arkady my champion. If the Bundhi wants to plague us, then he will have to come to us, this time.” Surata pressed her silken self close to him, as if a breeze were blowing his clothes against him. “For once, this is for us.”

  Arkady grinned, taking great satisfaction in her announcement. “How good, to have this all to ourselves.”

  “Perhaps, when this is finished, it will be possible for us to have this for ourselves often.” She did not sound very confident, but there was no lack of courage in her. “Then there would be no reason for caution or doubt, and there would be so much more pleasure in doing this.”

  “Are you still being cautious?” he asked, hearing what sounded like the susurrus of a river not far away.

  “Yes. If I were not, I would be here as myself, and we could do here what we do in the daily world.” The silk caressed him. “It would be like nothing you have known, Arkady my champion.”

  “Everything about you is like nothing I have ever known, Surata,” he said to her with a deep affection that pleased and surprised him. “Surata?”

  “I am listening to the river. Did you want a river?”

  He shrugged. “I must have. After spending the day in the hot sun, a river, and grass, would be so nice. We could swim, and then lie on the bank until we were dry.”

  “We can be wet and dry in an instant in this other place,” she reminded him and added more softly, “It would be very welcome, wouldn’t it?”

  The sound of the river was louder, more luring in the melody of its current which blended with the haunting sound of chimes that remained with them. “And perhaps we can conjure up a feast, with all the foods that are rich and rare to give us luxury and delight.” He was beginning to give his imagination free rein.

  “What foods do you want, Arkady my champion?”

  “Oh…” He thought about it a moment. “Pomegranates, for a start. I’ve never tasted them, but I saw some once. And then…honey wine. I have had that, twice, at weddings. And fresh buttercakes, with raisins.” He thought a little more. “Capons soaked in wine and oranges. I’ve never tasted it, but the Margrave Fadey served it to his noble officers once, and I still remember how it smelled.”

  Surata hummed, making the silk quiver on his skin.

  “And spiced barley, with green onions. My mother used to make that, with lots of pepper when we had it.” He looked ahead and saw a grassy riverbank forming out of the shifting colors, as beautiful as any he had ever seen as a boy. “Ah!” he cried out for sheer satisfaction.

  “Is that what you wanted, Arkady my champion? The riverbanks of my home are not like that.” Surata had very little apprehension in her voice, but enough for him to realize she was not certain it was quite right.

  “They weren’t like this at my home, either, but I wish they had been. Look at it. And the river!” They had come to the place where they could look into the water, and Arkady stood not far from the little bank of sand and pebbles that framed the river, smiling down into the clear, rushing water. “It’s so beautiful.” He reached for the hem of the silken tunic to pull it over his head, then stopped as Surata tweaked his arms.

  “Arkady my champion, don’t take this off. It won’t matter that I get wet. The clothes will not be hurt and you will feel all of the river that you wish to feel. Let me stay with you, Arkady my champion.” There was sweetness in her tone, and the cloth rested softly on his arms.

  Arkady chuckled deep in his chest, a low, sensual sound. “If we can stay close, it’s fine with me.”

  “We are close,” Surata said.

  (“So close,” Arkady murmured to the rise of her breasts.)

  He shouted, running over the spring-smelling grass to the bank of the river where the little pebbles rolled underfoot. He felt the first splash of the river as his left foot hit the water, and he made a half-dive into the ripples, gasping a breath of air just before he hit. The water was cool but not cold. It closed over his head as he started swimming, then lapped around his chest as he came up once again. Arkady tossed his head, shaking the water from his hair, a joyous grin stretching his mouth. He let his feet drift down and was pleased that they touched bottom at a depth that allowed him to stand with his head and neck out of the water. There were rounded stones under his feet, and the light pressure of the current to remind him of the strength of the river. He wondered, briefly, if the water would harm Surata, and he called out her name, not knowing what he would hear.

  “There is nothing that will bother me, Arkady my champion,” she said, sensing his concern. “Silk does not breathe air, and this water is like the other things in this other place.”

  “But if the bruises I get are lasting in the daily world, can’t I drown here, or you?”

  “If you truly drown, then it would be in both worlds, yes,” she said. “But do not let that ruin your pleasure. It would not be easy for you to drown in this river.”

  “But not impossible,” he qualified.

  “No, not impossible.” There was a pause, and the touch of the silk seemed to warm him in the cool embrace of the river. “But I am here, Arkady my champion,
and I would not permit you to drown or come to hurt, I promise you.”

  Arkady began to swim again, going slowly across the river, floating every now and then with the current. He turned and looked up at the fleecy clouds in a sky so blue that he thought he might be able to rise and swim in it as well.

  “If that is what you wish, Arkady my champion,” Surata said.

  Arkady shook his head. “No. It sounds like too much work for both of us.” He let the current carry him a little way once again. “This is like being a boy once more. All those days when I was terrified of the water, this is what I really wanted to do. When I finally learned to swim, it was too late to take off an afternoon and spend my time on a riverbank. My father was dead and I…”

  “Then this must please you very much,” Surata said.

  “More than I can tell you, Surata. I wish I had some way to explain it to you.” He noticed that the current was a little faster, and he sighed. “I suppose it’s time to dry off.”

  “Unless you’d rather not,” she told him.

  “I don’t like swimming in fast water—I never did. It’s too much like battle.” He struck out toward the bank, taking long, powerful strokes with his arms. The exertion was as pleasurable as the floating had been. He glanced at the shore, calculating where he would land, and his eyes widened in terror.

  Chapter 17

  There were scorpions on the riverbank, thousands upon thousands of them, all with their tails lifted for the deadly sting. Their carapaces shone in the fading sunlight, and Arkady was certain he could hear the clicking of their legs on the pebbles.

  Arkady yelped in distress and felt the silk he wore tighten on his body, not binding, but guarding.

  “What is it?” Surata asked, distressed at this change in attitude he revealed.

  “It must be the Bundhi,” he said, trying to turn away from the bank, but being swept further downstream by the current.

  “Scorpions!” she exclaimed in recognition. “He has found us.”

  “Did you think he wouldn’t?” Arkady asked bitterly.

  “I hoped he would not; you know that,” she answered, beginning to alter the silk to something more buoyant and substantial.

  The current was increasing, and there was the distinct sound of rapids ahead. Arkady turned in the river and started to swim against the weight of the river.

  “Arkady my champion, don’t. You’ll only exhaust yourself, and that is more dangerous than any rocks can be. If we must go through rapids, then let it be while you have strength left to fight them.” She was more like woven reeds now, encasing him in a suit like armor that held him up and provided some cushion against impact.

  The current grew more ferocious, and Arkady was swept downstream at an increasing speed. He felt his legs slap against a hidden rock and tried to gauge how badly hurt he might have been if it weren’t for the woven armor. He was spun once as the water eddied and swirled, and he looked toward the shore in the hope that it might be safe to swim toward it. The scorpions were there, and with them other creatures that Arkady had never seen and could not name.

  “They are made by the Bundhi.” Surata said breathlessly. “They are only found in this other place; they are not of the daily world.”

  Then the river had them again and they were carried toward the rapids.

  Arkady gathered himself into a tighter form, hoping this would make injury less likely. He felt helpless to resist the river. In the next instant, he had slapped against a rock, crying out and holding Surata fiercely, his fingers sunk into her shoulders as he gasped for air.

  “Arkady-champion,” Surata panted, her head pressed against his shoulder. “I did not think that would happen. Truly.”

  “I believe you,” Arkady said after a moment. His arms ached from fighting the river, and he was dazed from the suddeness of his return to the daily world. He shook his head, feeling the excitement fade from his flesh. “Does that happen every time I spend myself?”

  Surata smiled slightly. “For those who are advanced in their studies, no, because they can sustain their desire after spending themselves. For most men, Arkady-champion, it is as it is for you.”

  “And for you?” he asked, touching her face with the tips of his fingers. Her blind eyes were on his, and he had the uncanny feeling that she was looking at him.

  “It is different with women, Arkady-champion. It is not our part to give but to receive, and because of that, we are…capable of longer unity.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t give? You have given me…everything.” He leaned forward to kiss her. “Surata, no one has given me more than you have, ever.”

  “With my body I receive,” she said patiently. “The female is made to give love and receive the flesh, as a man is made to give flesh and receive love.” She tossed her head. “You wish to argue now?”

  “Yes,” he said emphatically. “Surata, I love you. Don’t you understand that yet?”

  “Ah, but which comes first? Did you know of this love when you bought me? When you allowed me to touch you the first time, was that for love, or the need of your body?” She kissed the lobe of his ear, his jaw, the curve of his collarbone.

  “It was…” He stopped. “I don’t know what it was, Surata.”

  “But you see, I loved you from the very first, because you heard my call and answered it.” She moved off his lap. “Arkady-immai, I am tired. Do you mind if I sleep?”

  He shook his head. “I’m tired too.” He felt around them for their blankets, shoved the pack away and in a little while was lost in his dreams.

  In the morning he saw the bruises on her arms and hips and legs. “What happened? What…who did that to you?” He feared that he might have hurt her without knowing it, and the very idea sickened him.

  “In the river, the rocks did it,” she said matter-of-factly. “It doesn’t matter that I was not in this body, I still was present and this—”

  “Do you mean that any time you are…” He coughed and started again. “When you are my protection, it hurts you?” He made no effort to conceal his indignation.

  “Not always, Arkady-immai. But when there are blows, the blows are real, whether they are in the daily world or the other place and…Are they very bad?” She moved a little stiffly.

  “You look as if someone has beat you.” Arkady could hear the anger in his voice, and the force of his emotion surprised him.

  “Well, someone has,” she said, still in a very reasonable tone. “I do not mind, Arkady-immai. Truly, I do not.”

  “I do,” he shouted. “I won’t have you hurt for me, Surata.”

  She set aside the blankets she was rolling to put in their pack. “Arkady-immai, that is not for you to choose, it is for me. You are my champion, and I am your protection. You may choose to fight or not, but you cannot stop me from defending you, for that is my choice.”

  Arkady had almost finished tightening the girths on three of the pack saddles. “And if I don’t fight, what then?”

  “Then I must face the Bundhi as best I can,” she said with no particular emotion.

  “I can’t let you do that!” His voice was so loud that the nearest mule laid back his ears and made a distressed sound.

  “That is not for you to say, Arkady-immai.” She went back to the blankets. “We should be away soon. Unless you would rather not go on.”

  “If I don’t, I suppose you will try to get to Samarkand and to Ajni by yourself? You’re my slave; I can take you away with me if I want to.” He folded his arms to keep himself from going to her and embracing her.

  “You can do that. But you would no longer be my champion,” she told him very calmly.

  “Right.” He turned back to the girths, tightening them so forcefully that one of the mules tried to kick him. Suddenly Arkady came to her. “It’s just that I can’t bear to see you hurt, Surata.”

  “I know,” she said to him as she handed him the filled pack.

  He took it silently and went on with breaking ca
mp.

  At the mouth of the Volga, the river split into many little rivers divided by marshy islands. It was on one of these islands at the edge of the Caspian Sea that Itil stood, its spires and domes rising over the water like enormous marsh grasses.

  “They’re Islamites here,” Arkady said to Surata as he paid the bargeman whose boat had carried them to the gates of the city. “We’ll have to be careful. There have been other religions here, or there must have been, but no longer.”

  “Very well,” she said serenely. “Pull the veil over my face, Arkady-immai. I know that they do not wish to look on me.”

  This time it took more than four days to find a caravan going to Khiva, and it cost Arkady four gold pieces to be allowed to join it. He complained to Surata that since he could not speak the language of the men of the caravan, he would have to rely on pantomime and signs. “I can’t draw well, or that might be a way to tell them what I need to know.”

  “When we reach Khiva, then I can help you. I know some of that language; not much, but enough.” She paused. “They will not like to speak with a woman; Islamites don’t.”

  “We’ll manage somehow,” Arkady said bracingly. “We will have to eat apart from the others; they’ve insisted on that, and it might be best if…if you and I don’t—”

  “Go to the other place,” she said for him. “Yes, I’ve thought of that. There is too much of a risk.”

  “Do you think…” He made a gesture which she could not see. “The Bundhi has agents, you tell me. Would these be his men?”

  “Islamites? No, they would not. To them, the Bundhi is an evil sorcerer and an Infidel. They would never deal with him.” She fussed with her veil. “This is foolish, veiling a blind woman.”

  “Surata, it would take little for them to abandon us, and it would not be easy for us to reach Khiva without them.” Arkady put a consoling hand on her arm. “It is only for the length of the journey, and then it will be different.”