To the High Redoubt

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

Arkady shook his head. “Not without you.” He kept his voice so low that he doubted he was audible.

  “Go! Please.” Her plea was little more than a breath, but carried all the weight of her fear and her love.

  Whatever protest he might have had were lost. There was a sudden outraged shout behind him as the Bundhi reached of his staff, enraged to the point of frenzy.

  Arkady turned and jumped over Vadin, who was just opening his eyes. He saw the Bundhi swing his staff toward him, and knew that if the bamboo touched him, he was lost. Peril spurred Arkady: he kicked out, aiming not for the staff but for the Bundhi himself. The toe of his boot caught the sorcerer high on the chest. He could feel bone give way under the impact. As the Bundhi howled with pain, Vadin lurched toward him, dragging Surata after him.

  The Bundhi screamed his outrage, and the mountains around them echoed them back eerily. He pointed at Arkady. “Kill him!”

  Vadin, terrified at what was happening, untied the ropes that bound him to Surata, and launched himself at Arkady. He kicked out at her to get her away from his feet so she would not hamper his movements.

  “KILL HIM!” the Bundhi raved.

  Vadin swung his staff at Arkady, but he ducked, then started toward the slope of the mountain.

  The Bundhi rushed at him, his mouth square and foam-flecked.

  Arkady ran, shoving Vadin toward the Bundhi as he went. He strove to keep his footing on the edge of the narrow path, stumbled, recovered, reached out to grab Surata’s arm.

  Then the staff thumped his shoulder and he, with Surata, fell over the edge of the trail, down the path of an old avalanche.

  Chapter 24

  They came to rest on a ledge about halfway down the gorge. Clinging together, hurt and shaken, they huddled there, afraid to move for fear of dislodging more stones and themselves.

  Above them, the Bundhi’s voice roared. “You shall not get away! You shall never get away!”

  “You needn’t tell me,” Arkady whispered to Surata, holding her close to him with bleeding hands.

  “He will try to reach us,” she warned. She was battered, her garments torn; a cut over her lip made it difficult for her to speak.

  “He won’t, not without endangering himself,” Arkady assured her, hoping he would be able to think of some means to get them away from the rabid man who stood shrieking at them on the trail.

  “He has other means to reach us,” she said, no longer held by fear. “He can find us.”

  “You will die! You will die for me!” the Bundhi screamed. “Hear me, Surata-of-Bogar—you will die for me, when you have served me, when your power is mine!”

  “What is he saying to you?” Arkady asked as he felt her shake in his arms.

  “He wants me to…surrender my…magic to him. He wishes to…drain me.” She brought one hand to her eyes. “If I could see, then…”

  “Shush,” Arkady whispered. He was already taking stock of the position; he could not tell how far the old avalanche extended on either side of them, and knew that the area of slippage would provide unstable footing at best. It would be hazardous to cross the slope by day, by night it would be suicidal.

  “Vadin! Vadin!” the Bundhi ordered. “Vadin, you let her go! You permitted her to go! You are not deserving of your staff, Vadin.”

  “I…did not think she would fall, Great Teacher, O Bundhi,” Vadin bleated.

  “You have carried your staff for more than two years, you accepted it from me. You took it into your hands, and still you could not keep a blind girl for me!” He was crooning to his disciple, the singsong cadences full of menace.

  “She…is Surata-of-Bogar, O Bundhi, and not simply a girl, blind or not.” Vadin cringed, backing toward the edge of the trail.

  “Oh, no,” the Bundhi said as his hands closed on Vadin’s shoulders. “There will be no convenient fall for you, Vadin. I am going to reclaim the staff. You realize what that means to you.” The cold laughter was magnified by the stone walls of the gorge.

  Surata clung closer to Arkady.

  “Is it bad?” he asked in an undervoice.

  She nodded. “Very bad. If there were something we could do…”

  “But what is it?” Arkady wondered, sensing her horror at what was happening on the trail above them.

  “He will take back the staff, and…Vadin, as well. Then he will have two staves, and with that he can create a portal.” She held her breath, listening to the Bundhi.

  “Lie down, disciple, and accept your chastisement. Be grateful that your end serves the Left Hand Path and my goals, or it would be slower for you.” He spoke softly, making a caress of his dire words. Then he called out, “Listen, Surata-of-Bogar, and know what awaits you. You hear me. You know what I can do.”

  Surata did not answer, but her hands tightened convulsively. “Vadin…” she began, but could not go on.

  “Hear this, enemy and daughter of my enemy,” the Bundhi cried. “The staff will claim Vadin. Hear it.”

  There was a scuffle on the trail and a few loose rocks cascaded down, then the thud of a falling body.

  “O Bundhi,” Vadin screeched, “I will prove myself worthy. I will serve you!”

  “Most certainly you will,” the Bundhi said, pitching his voice so that it would carry through the length of the ravine. “As you have never served me before.”

  What came after was a latrant howl, born of a rapturous dread.

  Arkady half rose at the sound. “What is that?” he asked, as the hairs on his neck prickled.

  The noises grew more hideous once the ululation ceased; a wet, voracious gobbling replaced it.

  “The staff,” Surata muttered, appalled at what the Bundhi was doing. “He…the Bundhi placed it in Vadin’s mouth so that it could…consume him.”

  “You mean…eat him?” Arkady demanded, bile at the back of his tongue.

  “Yes, and more than that. It devours more than flesh, Arkady-champion. It was Vadin’s staff, so…” She pressed the heel of her hand to her mouth.

  “Shortly I will have my portal, Surata-of-Bogar,” the Bundhi shouted, mocking her. “What shall I rain down on you then? What avalanches will bury you and that soldier? Think of it, Surata-of-Bogar. Anything in that other place will come through the portal at my summons.”

  Quickly Surata explained what the Bundhi was determined to do. “He could bring…anything.”

  “But can he do that?” Arkady said, unable to believe it. “How? What would give him…the power.”

  “The portal. He has two sated staves, and they can be joined, and once joined, they form a…doorway that will bring whatever he summons through.”

  “I will rain fire on you, and burning stones, Surata-of-Bogar. I will send serpents the size of oxen to crush you. I will bring every malignant spirit from every quarter of the winds to prey upon you before I let you serve me and die.” He sounded delighted with his plans. He chortled in anticipation.

  “What can we do?” Arkady asked, needing no translation to know that the Bundhi was determined to terrorize them.

  “If we were in that other place, then we…” She let out a long, trembling sigh. “As it is, we can do nothing.”

  “What could we do in that other place?” he wondered aloud. “If the Bundhi is bringing through whatever he wishes, what good would being in that other place be?”

  “We could…affect the summons, and what the results would be.” She paused. “He will not let us die quickly. Or easily.”

  “If I had just one of my weapons—my sword, my maul, even the cinquedea, then I might be able to stop him, but…” He gestured to show how helpless he felt.

  The Bundhi took the staff from Vadin’s husk and thumped it on the ground three times. A small slide of stones and pebbles rattled down the slope, gathering momentum as it went.

  “Do not let this little avalanche hurt you too much, Surata-of-Bogar. Stay conscious and afraid, for my pleasure.” His laughter this time was louder, more insistent. “How sad that you will
not be able to see what I will be doing. Shall I assist you? Let me describe it to you, Surata-of Bogar.”

  “We’ve got to move. He’ll be peppering us with stones continuously if he thinks he can hurt us and distract us with them.” He peered through the gloom, trying to discern anything that might provide a foothold for them. “I might do the same thing, if I were in his place and had an enemy below me.”

  “Arkady-champion!” Surata protested.

  “It’s a good tactic, but it has a limited use.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “If we stay here, it’s only a matter of time before one of those rocks does some damage. Crossing the slide is…risky. The Bundhi is counting on us to remain where we are.”

  “How great is the risk?” she asked when another flurry of stones had clattered by them.

  “We’re in greater jeopardy if we remain where we are,” he said, not answering her question.

  The Bundhi started chanting, a steady, monotonous repetition of syllables that might have been soporific in less trying circumstances. “Do you remember this, Surata-of-Bogar? Do you recall how your uncles died?”

  “Find a way across the slide,” Surata told Arkady.

  Arkady patted her arm in agreement. “If we go down the hill, not just across, we have a better chance. There are deeper shadows upstream. It would be wiser to stay in the shadows.”

  “Shadows will make no difference to the Bundhi once his portal is open.” She reached out for his hand. “Do not leave me, Arkady-immai.”

  “I won’t,” he said. “I only want to test the footing. If I trip, I’ve got a chance to catch myself, but you…Let me try it out.”

  “You should be here with me, Surata-of-Bogar, so that you could witness the opening of the portal. You could add your power to mine, you could feed my strength with your own. Do not waste your gifts on that soldier. He knows nothing. He cannot begin to understand what you are. I will reward you, I will let you share in the ruin I bring. I will spare your life until all the work is accomplished, Surata-of-Bogar, and for that, I will not make the death of your soldier too unpleasant, unless you decide that is what you want.” The Bundhi was confident, giddy with the prospect of triumph.

  Arkady tapped Surata on the shoulder, putting his fingers to her lips to keep her from crying out. “I think I’ve found a way. It will not be easy, but there is an overhang, down the hill and just beyond the slide. It will give us some protection, if there should be another avalanche.” He did not want to think what would become of them if another slide of rock should trap them in that niche. “We’ll have a little room to move, and after sunrise, we can try to find a way out of here.”

  “Yes, good,” she said, shutting out the ranting promises that the Bundhi called to her.

  As they were making their way to their shelter, the Bundhi began to chant again.

  “Why does he do that?” Arkady whispered. The sound irritated him, intruded on his concentration and sapped his will.

  “To gather power to himself,” she answered. “Hurry. He will join the staves soon, and then he will begin to summon his forces. It will take him a while to bring them through, but once he begins…”

  Arkady did not waste time in speaking. He urged Surata to a faster pace, all but carrying her the last few steps of the way. He thrust her ahead of him, under the projecting boulder, then crept in beside her. His head throbbed and he gasped, but he was able to smile. “We’re still alive; that’s something.”

  From the trail, there was a change in the Bundhi’s chanting.

  “He is starting to unite the staves,” Surata said, not bothering to keep her voice low. “He will have his portal soon.”

  “The things that he calls from that other place…will they be like what we’ve seen?”

  “That depends on the Bundhi. If he wants to have more destruction, he can bring it.” She reached out to him. “Arkady-champion, I am sorry that I’ve brought you to this. I thought we would be able to have more time.”

  Arkady stopped her. “Wait a bit. Can’t we still try? I don’t know if I can, but I’m willing to try. You said yourself there isn’t much we can do here, but in that other place, maybe we could…” He kissed her forehead, just above the faded blue mark. “Besides, if I have to die, I’d rather die that way than just hiding under a rock.”

  Surata held his hands tightly in hers. “If you want, we can try. Who knows?”

  Rocks, some much larger than the ones that had fallen before, thundered down the slide where they had been a little while earlier.

  “There will be more avalanches, Surata-of-Bogar, and they will not be rocks, but things worse that will wound you and break you to prepare you for me.” The Bundhi hooted.

  “Don’t listen to him, Surata. He is trying to scare you. I’ve ordered my men to do this to the enemy, to scoff at the enemy soldier and insult them to make my men feel strong, and to harass the enemy. The Bundhi is doing the same thing to you. Listen to me, not to him.” He felt oddly calm, since this was what he knew how to do. The sorcery and rituals bewildered him, but battle was another matter. “We have a chance if you will not listen to the Bundhi but to me.” He took her face in his hands, looking at her with all his concentration. When he knew she was no longer paying attention to the Bundhi, he kissed her, hoping that he would respond to her once more.

  “Arkady-champion, open your Centers to me.” Then she wrapped her arms around him. “No, not that. Be with me, close to me, in me. The rest is nothing.”

  “There is ruin, Surata-of-Bogar! You will bow to it!” The Bundhi gave a long, rising howl. “You will be the last, before they are turned loose to all the world. You will aid me, you will desire the end.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Surata,” Arkady urged her. “Listen to me. I tell you that we have a chance. If we can get to that other place, we can fight him.”

  “And if we can’t transcend, we will still defy him,” Surata murmured, her hands tugging his clothes.

  The ground shook and the rocks groaned and there was a sudden rushing of hot winds.

  “I want you, Surata. Help me to want you.” He stroked her arms, then pulled her close, unfastening her outer robe. “Let me have you.”

  She said nothing. Her tongue flicked over the Sixty-Four Petaled Center, then moved to the Thirty-Two Petaled Center. As he pulled out of his leggings, they shared a frisson as their flesh touched.

  At the foot of the ravine, gouts of flame sprang up, multicolored and smelling of metal and dust.

  Arkady suppressed an instant of panic when he did not feel himself respond to Surata’s skill. There had been other times, against the Turks, when in the first rush of combat he had been shamed to feel himself erect. He strove to recapture that thrill, to rekindle his lust as much as his desire. Then his body warmed and he drew her closer to him.

  Creatures, unearthly fanged toads the size of a hound, flopped down the slide, leaving smoking slag behind them. A gibbering filled the air and a buzzing that sounded like bending metal.

  “Jesus, Joseph and Mary!” Arkady yelled as one of the monsters crawled over the entrance to their hiding place.

  Surata turned, moving her hands in a series of passes while she recited three harsh phrases.

  The glowing creature faded, becoming a speck like a firefly as it rolled away from them.

  “We are too slow, Arkady-champion,” she said in despair.

  “No—don’t give up yet!” He laughed once, wildly. “At least let’s be together.” The sight of that thing had shocked him. He could fight any soldier in the world, but not something that was defeated by a collection of unknown sounds and gestures. He felt a gratifying surge in his groin and the strange, compelling tide that ran between him and Surata. The curve of her hip pressed against his as she moved over him, her mouth seeking his.

  Surata kissed him deeply, her hands tweaking his nipples while he cupped her breasts in his hands. Her thighs were soft, warm, open and the lights were more brilliant than they had ever been, a
s splendid as the vastness of the sky and as luminous as jewels.

  (“Surata?” he whispered, awed by what he felt for her.)

  That other place was alive with movement, with constant shifting and rustling of unseen beings treading unimaginable byways. Sounds, excited, alarmed, echoed in the radiance.

  (“Arkady?” she responded, lost in him.)

  Now the lights were all but tangible, and the

  ground shook as something enormous and vile from the farthest reaches of that other place lumbered through the portal the Bundhi had opened. The mountainside swayed with the tread of the beast while the glory faded to pale, mauve shades that were more like fog than light.

  “Ludicrous. Pitiful!” the Bundhi jeered sending rivers of stinking acid down the wall of the ravine, hooting derision at his enemies and calling forth more potent manifestations of his desire for destruction. They roiled and twisted, many with little of a body about them, but with their obduracy and savagery growing steadily more powerful.

  The fabric of that other place was rent with the impact of the Bundhi’s summons, and the distorted evocations that came through the portal blighted the clarity that had been present there before.

  “Do not be so unwise, Surata-of-Bogar!” the Bundhi called from the daily world beyond the portal. “You have no more strength, you are weak and useless. You are nothing! Let me take your life and give it some worth in adding to my power!”

  (“Don’t listen, Surata. Be with me.”)

  A flood of shames rushed through the tarnished brightness, some loathsome, some ghastly, a few so foreign that they could only confuse or disorient. Nothing else responded to the call that pierced the vast distances of that other place and echoed from the stones of the gorge.

  Something gigantic, winged and smelling of sulphur emerged from the portal and hung above them, mouth gaping.

  “It seeks for sustenance,” the Bundhi screamed. “You can feed it as well as anything else. There are more to come. Do not fight this, Surata-of-Bogar. I have won. You are destroyed. Let me take your flesh, let me use it, and give you to the staves, to keep the portal open!”