To the High Redoubt

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  The merchant smiled and nodded, holding up three fingers and launching into another tirade, this time not quite as cordial.

  “He says that you are an ignorant foreigner trying to cheat him and that if he accepts so little money his family will starve. He says that you are to be forgiven because you are ignorant.” Surata twisted her hands nervously. “Be swift, Arkady-immai. We should not linger.”

  “He’ll demand the three pieces of gold,” Arkady said, clinking the coins in his hand.

  “Tell him this,” she said and then softly recited a phrase to Arkady. “He will be offended, but he will let you have the grain for the two coins.”

  Dubiously Arkady repeated the unfamiliar sounds, and saw the merchant draw back, making a sign with his fingers. He nodded several times in a deprecating way, and bowed deeply to Arkady, then began to fill one of his large sacks with oats.

  “What in the name of the Saints did I say to him?” Arkady asked Surata as the merchant hastened to his work, continuing to bow in a most self-effacing manner.

  “You said that you had the power to make his manhood dry up and fall off if he did not charge you a reasonable price for the grain,” she answered. “It was harsh, but he would have taken half the afternoon settling on a price, just for the amusement.” Her words grew swifter. “We do not have that much time, Arkady-immai. We have hardly any time at all.”

  “They are getting nearer?” He glared at the merchant, pointing to the next large sack. “Hurry up,” he said, trusting that the merchant would get his meaning from his manner.

  “Arkady-immai, look for a man, a tall man, without a turban, who carries a bamboo staff. He is near us, very near.” She reached down and plucked at his sleeve. “He is walking with others, so that you will not know him.”

  “How would I know him, in any case?” Arkady asked, trying to soothe her.

  The merchant handed Arkady the first of the three sacks of grain, lowering his head and speaking in a placating tone as he did.

  “They saw you when you bought me. You might have noticed them, since they were foreigners,” she said.

  “Everyone in that town looked strange to me, Surata. I wouldn’t have known one foreigner from another.” He looked up at her. “Except you. You were unlike anyone I had seen, ever.”

  Her smile was fleeting and unhappy. “Do not let him touch you with his staff. You know what it will do to you.”

  He busied himself tieing the sack to the fender of his saddle. “I saw what one of those staves can do,” he said softly, thinking first of the youth in the deserted village, and then of the shattered stained-glass window in that other place. “I won’t let it touch me.” He fiddled with the edge of his worn saddle pad while he watched out of the corner of his eye, hoping to catch some unexpected movement. “I can see no one with a bamboo staff.”

  “Look for men with burdens on poles. Perhaps they are water carriers, or men bringing more of the colored stones.”

  The merchant demanded Arkady’s attention; the second sack of grain was ready.

  Arkady bowed slightly as he accepted the sack, and patted his gelding as the bay nickered, his nose twitching. “There aren’t any water carriers nearby,” he said as he made certain there were not.

  “But he must be close. I would not feel him so if he were not.” She narrowed her eyes in a fruitless effort to pierce her darkness, then hissed with vexation. “I can tell he is coming. Do not think me crazed, Arkady-immai.”

  “I think you’re tired and hungry and worn out, as I am.” He touched her leg. “He might not be as close as you fear, Surata.”

  “I hope he is not,” she said.

  The merchant brought Arkady the third sack of oats, spat on his shadow, then held out his hand for the coins in a placating way. He grinned with his mouth while his eyes burned contempt.

  “We have the grain for the horse. Now we must find something for us to eat, as well.” He remembered the way the Margrave Fadey would enter a marketplace and order that half the goods there be confiscated for the use of his men. He wished he had the power to do that now, and to require that the officials of the city give him shelter and protection.

  Arkady took the loop of the reins and led his horse toward the food vendors stalls, saying as he went, “You’re letting your worry get ahead of your good sense, Surata.” He could not deny that he was feeling less confident than he wanted to admit, and he did not know what he should do about it.

  “What do you see, Arkady-immai?” she asked sharply. “Who is ahead of us?”

  “Half the city of Samarkand,” he replied laconically.

  “Immediately in front of you, what do you see?” The anxiety was back in her voice, and she seemed to be listening to the babble more keenly than before.

  “There are sellers of gourds and vegetables, and a merchant of peas and…lentils, I think they are, and other beans. There are six or seven men and two or three veiled women waiting to buy from him. Then there is a stall with leather goods—not tack, but pouches and wineskins and the like. There’s a tentmaker setting up his stall with the help of two apprentices. Perhaps we should buy one of his tents.” He chuckled at this, ambling toward the struggling men.

  Surata’s words cut into him. “What kind of poles does he have for his tents? Are they bamboo?”

  Arkady started to dismiss her question, but a swift glance showed him that the poles were indeed bamboo. As he watched, the tentmaker unfurled an enormous length of striped cloth, and the fabric billowed in the wind, flapping toward Arkady and Surata.

  The bay whinnied in alarm, tossing his head and all but pulling his reins from Arkady’s hands. The ends of the loose tent snapped at his flanks and the horse reared.

  In the saddle, Surata clung to the bay’s mane, her hands sunk in the long hair. She shouted for Arkady, begging him to tell her what was going on.

  “What the Devil…!” Arkady expostulated as the tent fabric wrapped around him.

  “Arkady-immai!” Surata screamed, and in the next moment, she and the gelding were enveloped in the cloth.

  Vadin lifted his bamboo staff and sauntered toward his catch. “Well, a fortunate coincidence, girl,” he said to Surata, who stiffened at the sound of his voice.

  The gelding laid back his ears, sweating with fear.

  “Stay away from us!” Arkady said, trying to extricate himself from the imprisoning yards of cloth.

  Vadin ignored him. “When we moved you so far to the west, we were certain that you were not going to trouble us again, girl.”

  “You were mistaken, weren’t you?” she said, hoping that she sounded more courageous than she felt.

  “Lamentably, for you.” Vadin tapped the cloth with his staff. “Mayon and I have been kept very busy with you. That does not please us, and it does not please our master.” Again he struck the cloth, and it grew tighter.

  The two men who had been assisting Vadin stopped their work and came up to their captives. One of them nodded to Surata. “I saw you sold to this…moron”—he indicated Arkady with a contemptuous turn of his hand—“and assumed that would be the end of it. How did you persuade him to bring you here?”

  “What are they saying?” Arkady asked, trying to make sense of their words.

  “They are boasting, nothing more,” Surata told him, then added to the Bundhi’s men in their language. “Boasting always was the coward’s way, wasn’t it?”

  Vadin lifted his bamboo staff toward her face. “You’ve already lost your eyes to one of these, girl. Say more, and you will find there are other things you can lose, as well.”

  Surata tossed her head but said nothing more to them, addressing Arkady instead. “I told you that two men followed me to that slave market. They are here. I do not know who the third is.”

  “Hara,” he said unpleasantly. “You know me, Surata.”

  She nodded, stiff with fright. “I know you.”

  “What is it?” Arkady asked, hearing her dread.

  “The thir
d man is the nephew of the Bundhi, who is being trained to follow in the family tradition.” She swallowed, her body shaking no matter how firm her resolve to conceal her tension.

  “Not a son?” Arkady asked with some surprise.

  “The Bundhi does not father children. He would have to release his seed to do so, and this is not…desirable for him. It is the aim of the disciples of the Left Hand Path to remain permanently excited and to withhold the fulfillment, for fear of sharing life and pleasure, which saps their strength, or so they say.” She recited this in a flat tone, though her breath came quickly.

  The bay pawed in agitation, his worn shoes striking sparks from the paving stones.

  “My uncle awaits your visit, since you have been foolish enough to return, Surata-of-Bogar.” Hara bent at the waist, then said as he straightened up, “I forgot: such courtesies are wasted on the blind, aren’t they?”

  Arkady did not need to have this translated. His hands tightened and he longed for the opportunity to reach for his sword. Color rose in his face, as much from shame as ire, and his blood roiled. “You craven,” he said to Hara, though some of his condemnation was directed inward.

  “This idiot insults me, Vadin. Castigate him,” Hara said offhandedly.

  “No!” Surata cried out.

  Some of the merchants and buyers in the marketplace had noticed the peculiar encounter that was taking place between these diverse foreigners, and many of them gathered around, talking and pointing, most of them amused, a few guarded in their demeanor.

  “Get these gawking cattle away from us,” Hara added, indicating the crowd. “We must not linger here. There could be questions.”

  “It wouldn’t matter,” Mayon assured him. “They cannot understand the soldier and they will not listen to the complaints of a woman.” Nevertheless, he took hold of his end of the cloth cage and pulled firmly on it. “You will have to come with us. You have no choice, either of you. If you resist, we have the staves, and we will use them. Tell him, Surata.” He pointed the end of his bamboo staff directly at Arkady. “Be very sure he understands.”

  Surata repeated what Mayon said, adding, “They mean it, Arkadky-immai.”

  “Immai!” Hara jeered. “You call that fool immai? You’ve lost more than your eyesight, girl.”

  Arkady’s face was like stone. “I don’t want them to talk to you that way, Surata,” he growled.

  “Hara is talking about you,” she corrected him. “He is attempting to interfere.”

  “What did you tell him?” Mayon demanded, poking at her through the cloth. “What was it?”

  “He was afraid you were speaking against me. I told him that you were insulting him instead of me.” She had better control of herself now, and she was able to speak without emotion and with a minimum of her dismay creeping into her voice. She fixed her unseeing gaze on a distant point and brought her breathing back to normal.

  “Move!” Vadin ordered. “The city Guards will be here soon. I do not want to deal with them.” He nudged Mayon. “The south gate. Quickly. And see that these two remain silent.”

  Obediently Mayon and Hara took up their positions on either side of their extensive bundle, and Hara said to Surata, “If there is any awkwardness at the gate, we will kill your soldier before we kill you. Let him know that.”

  Surata passed the warning on to Arkady, then told their captors, “He understands. We will not disobey you.”

  “That is wise of you. How much wiser you would have been to remain in the West, a slave. That way you would have lived, at least.” Hara laughed derisively. “It’s too late for that now.”

  Their passage through the narrow streets was marked by many comments and shouts. Once Mayon got into a dispute with the leader of a caravan of camels, which came to an abrupt end when Vadin lifted his bamboo staff and held it near the leader’s face. The caravan leader paled and stammered in apology, then retreated to the nearest sidestreet to wait for the little party to pass.

  “Where are they taking us, do you know?” Arkady asked as they passed through the gates of Samarkand.

  “They haven’t said,” was her wary answer.

  “What is your guess?” He wished he could reach her, if only to have the reassurance of their contact.

  “Stop talking, you two!” Vadin shouted at them. “And you two,” he went on to Mayon and Hara, “do not let them touch. You know what may happen if they do.”

  Surata spoke over this. “He wishes to know where we are going. So do I.”

  “We are going to the redoubt of the Bundhi, of course,” Vadin said nastily. “What else did you expect?”

  Chapter 22

  That night, Arkady was tied to stakes at one side of the campground, and Surata to stakes at the other. They could hear each other, but they could not reach out with more than their voices.

  “You see, we know your ruses, girl,” Vadin said to her as he checked the thongs before wrapping himself in his blanket. “It was good of you to provide the horse. It saves us much trouble.” He forced her hands open and rubbed the palms with salt. “I want you to stay where I leave you. Don’t be upset.”

  “That isn’t enough to stop me,” she told Vadin, trying to sneer. “Salt may stop your staves, but it can’t hold me.”

  “Then you won’t mind it, will you?” He straightened up. “If you and that soldier talk, we will hear you.”

  “Listen, if you wish,” she said, taking a little consolation from the fact that only she knew Arkady’s language.

  Vadin bent and grabbed the front of her clothes. “The Bundhi has said that we are not to damage you unless we must. If it were not for that, I would make your brains ache for your insolence.”

  “Be sure you tell the Bundhi that,” she responded, grateful for her defiance that kept despair at bay.

  Vadin poked her in the ribs with his knuckles. “Another time, who knows? I might forget and use my staff instead of my hand, and then you would regret your manner.” He sighed in anticipation. “Or that soldier—he might learn something from doing battle with my staff. What do you think, girl?”

  Surata flinched as he spoke. “He is not part of this fight.”

  “Not at first, but you brought him into it, and there is no escape for him now.” He stood over her. “There are two tigers guarding the perimeters of the camp. If you try to escape, they will catch you. I tell you this so that you will think twice before pulling out the stakes that hold you. It is wiser, believe me, to remain our prisoners than to get away from us.”

  Surata ground her teeth but said nothing. Her posture was defiant in spite of her bonds.

  “In the morning, if we forget to feed you, remind us, won’t you, girl?” He sniggered as he strolled away.

  “Did he hurt you, Surata?” Arkady called out when Vadin had taken his blanket and crawled into the striped tent.

  “Not seriously, Arkady-immai,” she answered candidly. “I am more frightened than hurt.”

  “That’s something…Surata?” He took a deep breath, then was unable to continue.

  “What is it, Arkady-immai?”

  “I was wrong.” Saying it was painful but it was less so than he had thought it would be. “I should have listened to you. I ought to have done as you told me. I know that. But…there is so much that I still cannot understand, and…I don’t listen because of it.” In his mind, he recited the words he had said so often to his confessor, especially on the eve of battle, and he wondered if he had ever believed the assurances the priests had given him then.

  “I know this, Arkady-immai,” she said kindly but with sadness. “It pains me that you will not trust me.”

  “It pains me as well, Surata.” He waited, then forced himself to turn his attention to more practical matters. “Do you know what they plan for us?”

  “They are taking us to the Bundhi. Beyond that, I don’t know.”

  “But you can guess, can’t you?” He braced himself to hear what she would tell him next.

  “A
t the worst—and it is the worst, Arkady-immai—he will compel us to be his creatures and give him our strength,” she said, feeling her breath go cold within her. “I would far rather be dead than do that.”

  “Surely he can’t do that to you.” He was horrified at the idea, and at the same time, he could not deny his pride that she had included him in her avowal of strength. She had not shut him away from her as he feared she might.

  “There are ways. He could use the staves to sap us and weaken us so that we are nothing more than walking corpses. We would not be as much use to him then, but there would still be various services that he could demand of us, and we would have to comply.” She let her body go limp, trying to put her attention on her inner resources. “The Bundhi has been able to build his power, unchecked, since he killed so many of my family.”

  “You won’t let him do that to you, Surata. You’ve got more resolve than that.” Arkady was uncertain how she would be able to do this if the Bundhi was as puissant as Surata claimed. He thought back to the various leaders he and his troops had fought, but he could not find an example of what he was pitted against now. “Surata?” he said uncertainly.

  “I am listening to you, Arkady-immai.”

  “How long will it take to reach the Bundhi’s redoubt?” There might be a chance to escape if they had to travel any great distance.

  “It is a long way off, in the mountains. It is growing late in the year, and it is…not likely that we will have an easy passage. The snow will come, and then we might have to wait through all the winter to resume the climb. The Bundhi would not like that, I think.” She turned his question over in her mind. “The first town we will reach is Ajni. From there, we will have to climb the mountains rather than follow the river valley.”

  “And is there any chance the Bundhi will come down from his redoubt?”

  “It’s…possible,” she said carefully. “He does not often leave there, but he…might. If he is determined and vengeful enough.”