Veils of Silk

by Mary Jo Putney

  Still, no matter how sparing he was of ammunition, by the time dusk fell his supply was beginning to run low. With nightfall, activity on the other side ceased, but there were no sounds of withdrawal. He suspected that they were reluctant to retreat when they had already come most of the way through the Shpola. Turning back now and trying the Khyber would cost them days, and possibly be even more bloody.

  He assumed they would slip out under cover of darkness, with a few of them climbing up to his aerie to put an end to him once and for all. But the night was clear and the moon bright enough to illuminate the track. After he had picked off several men who ventured out, they stopped trying.

  The worst time was after moonset, when the pass was lit only by the faint light of the stars. Ian stood on his ledge and listened. It wasn't long until he heard stealthy movements along the opposite track. He waited until they ran into the first of his stone barricades. There was an oath, hastily cut off, followed by the grating noises of rock being shifted.

  In prison, his ears and eye had gown uncannily perceptive, and he was able to make a shrewd guess as to which dark shadows were human. He fired, and the sound of a shriek filled the gorge.

  Reloading by touch, he fired again, then again. He wasn't sure if he made any more hits but his first lucky shot had been enough. The footsteps retreated to safety and he heard a voice cursing him as a demon. But still they didn't withdraw.

  Nothing more was tried that night, though he had to stay awake and alert to be sure. By dawn, fatigue was starting to affect him. It was an open question whether his ammunition or his stamina would give out first.

  As he ate cold chapatis and a handful of raisins, he waited and listened. There were still human sounds from the opposite side of the gorge, but no one appeared. They were planning something, he knew it in his bones. The question was, what?

  * * *

  Kuram proved an excellent guide. Laura gave silent thanks. More and more she felt that she and Ian were in divine hands. There had been too much amazing good luck for it to be coincidence. The way they had met; the perfect matching of their needs; Kamala's timely insight that had enabled Laura to free herself of the past. Pyotr's notes; Meera's banyan tree eavesdropping; Gulzar Khan; now Kuram.

  Perhaps it was all what Ian had called iqbal, preordained good fortune. Laura wasn't particular about where help came from, as long as it could stop a war and, she prayed, save her husband's life.

  Soon after setting out the next morning, they saw a cloud of dust in the distance. Kuram reined in his horse and peered at the dust, his hand shaded against the eastern sun.

  Laura asked, "Is that the road to the Khyber?"

  "Not yet." He lowered his hand. "It's a group of Company lancers. Your reinforcements are here, Lady Falkirk."

  It was faster than she had dared dream. The troops must already have been on their way north when Zafir met them. Iqbal, indeed. Recklessly she spurred her horse toward the troops, Kuram following behind.

  As they galloped up to the approaching lancers, the guide in the lead whooped and waved his hand. Laura was delighted to see that it was Zafir. But what really convinced her that iqbal was at work was the approaching British captain.

  "Laura, thank heaven you're all right," David said when he pulled up beside her. "What about Ian?"

  Right in front of the interested eyes of dozens of soldiers, Laura leaned from her horse and hugged her brother-in-law. "He was fine when I last saw him, but we'll need to move quickly to insure that he stays that way.''

  He hugged her back, though he said, chuckling, "Better behave, or I'll never live this down. Must uphold the dignity of the Sirkar, you know."

  "I've given up on being an English lady, but I'll try to control myself for your sake," She gave him an unsteady smile. "Merciful heaven, I'm glad to see you!"

  She introduced Kuram, explaining how much he had helped her. Since Zafir was Mohmand and Kuram an Afridi, at first the Pathans bristled at each other. Laura said. "For the purpose of this engagement, can I offer you both temporary British citizenship so you won't be at each other's throats?"

  Both men laughed. "Very well, lady," Kuram said. "As long as this curly-tailed son of an unclean beast knows that he'd better not venture onto Afridi land alone in the future."

  Equally good-natured, Zafir said something in Pashto, probably some version of, "Your mother's one, too."

  But both Pathans had lived in a wider world beyond their tribal lands, and the hostility seemed more pro forma than real. With a truce declared, Laura filled David and Zafir in on what she and Ian had done.

  At the end of her recital, David said, "Well done, Laura. Do you think the Pathans who helped you earlier will let you stay with them again while we go into the pass and retrieve Ian?"

  Her eyes narrowed. "I'm going with you."

  David studied her face for some time. "Mmm, so you are."

  She smiled. "You learn much more quickly than Ian did."

  He rolled his eyes. "God help my poor brother."

  He turned and lifted his arm as a signal for his men to move forward. Laura stayed at the head of the troops, riding between David and Zafir while Kuram led the way back to the pass.

  In a few hours, just a few more hours, she and Ian would be together again. And never again would she let them be separated, she swore, not even to save the British Empire.

  * * *

  Ian found out the hard way what the Afghans' next stratagem was. After several hours of inactivity, something appeared at the bend. He swore when he identified a piece of light artillery. Then he raised his rifle and aimed at the gunner.

  The cannon fired at the same moment he did. His shot was more accurate, clipping the gunner, but the cannon was enormously louder. It discharged with a deafening boom and a ball crashed into the cliff face fifty feet from Ian, setting off reverberations in the cave around him.

  Bloody, bloody hell! As cannon went, it was rather small, probably a nine-pounder. It must had been difficult to get even that up the pass. But the gun was plenty large enough to kill Ian if they targeted the cave mouth accurately. Worst of all, the artillery piece offered some protection to the men firing it, so he wouldn't always be able to take them out.

  A grim duel began. The cannon would fire, then was dragged out of sight for reloading. Ian would move forward and wait for a good shot at the gunner until the fuse was ignited. Then he retreated into the cave, simultaneously ramming another cartridge into the breech so that he would be ready for the next round.

  After half an hour, his ears were numb, and he was beginning to lose some of his accuracy from sheer fatigue. His rifle barrel was already too hot to touch, and there was a very real possibility that the gun might explode in his face. On top of everything else, the afternoon sun was glaring into his face and his eye was stinging from exhaustion and smoke.

  But if he stopped firing, the Afghans would pour around the bend. If enough managed to get onto the track, he would be unable to shoot fast enough to turn them all back.

  Ka-boom! A cannonball smashed into his crude parapet. He ducked instinctively as rocks flew in all directions and stone chips peppered him. The ball itself didn't enter the cave. It must have bounced down the cliff. Ears ringing, he crawled to the end of the ledge and peered over.

  The gorge had filled with acrid, vision-obscuring clouds of smoke, but he saw that this time the gunner was reloading in position so the cannon wouldn't have to be aimed again. A man with a jezzail was providing cover, and he fired as soon as Ian looked down. The ball was so close that Ian heard it whistle.

  He didn't waste time flinching. Instead he squeezed his trigger and shot the jezzailchi in the shoulder. Then he swiftly reloaded and fired again. The gunner ducked but managed to touch off the fuse in the cannon.

  The cannonball smashed into the cliff just above Ian's head, causing another rain of debris. Yes, they had definitely found the range.

  As he automatically reloaded, he thought with detachment that the end was
near, for he was close to the limits of his endurance, and he was almost out of ammunition.

  He raised the rifle and fired, this time hitting the gunner. The man fell back with a cry and was dragged away, along with the cannon. A minute later, the reloaded cannon was shoved out by someone else. Christ, these devils were brave!

  Ian fired but wasn't sure if he hit the gunner. He retreated into the cave, sliding another cartridge into his rifle.

  Ka-boom! The cannonball didn't strike as closely this time; shifting the gun had wrecked the aiming. I

  nstead of moving forward to shoot again, Ian stayed in the back of the cave. He had only a couple of dozen cartridges left. When those were gone, he'd have only his revolver, which wasn't accurate at any distance. Best to stop returning their fire for a while, perhaps lull them into feeling they'd knocked him out of action.

  It was a rule of thumb in these parts to save the last bullet for oneself. Good advice, that; if the Afghans took him alive, they would show no mercy, not after the number of them he'd shot. They were inventive people, and death would be a long, painful time coming. The revolver would be adequate for saving him from that.

  But first, there would be a battle for the cave. The advantages were still on his side. He should be able to take down a dozen or more of the enemy before the end. More important, he would be delaying the invasion a little longer.

  The cannon fired, striking closer. They were getting the range again. Time to move forward and shoot another gunner.

  Before he could act on the thought, the world exploded into chaos and blackness.

  * * *

  They heard the sounds of gunfire long before they entered the pass. Laura winced at every shot, even though the barrage meant that Ian was alive and holding his own. Because of the difficulty of riding so many horses along a narrow, hazardous track, David had ordered the lancers to dismount and proceed on foot. Most were now snaking their way though the Shpola Pass.

  Though pain stabbed her lungs and she was near exhaustion, she refused to give up her position near the head of the line of soldiers. She would have dropped out if she were slowing the advance, but on this rough track dexterity was as important as strength, and she was surefooted.

  David and Zafir led, Kuram and Laura right behind. She suspected that the Afridi had come along because he couldn't resist a good fight.

  Finally they reached the point where she could see the cliff where Ian was making his stand. The edge of his cave was visible, barely, though from this position his opponents were out of sight around the bend. Her heart leaped when she saw a curl of smoke and heard the report of his rifle. He was still alive.

  David turned to her. "Stay here while we advance, Laura. They've got at least one piece of artillery up there, and I don't want you within range."

  A cannon boomed, emphasizing his point. Laura nodded, knowing the time had come for her to be sensible. She wasn't interested in fighting Afghans; her sole ambition was to get Ian safely away. She devoutly hoped he wouldn't feel it was his duty to stay with his brother's troopers.

  The cannon boomed again, followed by an indescribable roar, a rumble so deep that it was more a vibration of the earth than real sound. Instinctively Laura looked up at Ian's aerie.

  Right in front of her eyes, in agonizing slow motion, the whole face of the cliff collapsed, and Ian's cave with it.

  Chapter 34

  Laura didn't know she was screaming until David grabbed her and pulled her against him, pressing her face into his shoulder so she couldn't see the catastrophe. Dust and thunder filled the air, and the earth shook beneath their feet.

  Gradually the din subsided to the rattle of occasional tumbling stones and gravel. Laura clung to David, her mind refusing to accept that Ian was dead.

  Yet no one could have survived what she had just witnessed. The artillery fire must have acted on a fault in the rock until the mountain sheered away. If Ian hadn't been killed outright, he had fallen into the gorge far below and been crushed by boulders. Ian was dead.

  Her vision faded and she was tempted to sink into darkness. But the pain would still be there when she regained consciousness and a fainting female would be a nuisance. When she was sure her knees would support her, she pushed herself away from David. His face showed the same anguish that must be on hers.

  But he was a soldier and would neither scream nor faint, even though he had seen his brother killed in front of his eyes. "Will you be all right here for a few minutes?" he said tightly. "I'm going forward to see what's happened to the Afghans."

  When she nodded, he said to Kuram, "Stay with her." Then he led Zafir and his own men ahead while Laura and the Afridi pressed into the cliff face so the soldiers could file past.

  Laura wasn't sure how long it was until David returned, for time had no meaning. Nothing did. Quietly her brother-in-law said, "The rockslide has destroyed a huge section of the track and the gorge below is impassable. No one will be traveling through here anytime soon, and maybe never again."

  Shuddering, she buried her face in her hands. So Ian had succeede. He had quenched the fire that Pyotr Andreyovich had set, then lived to regret.

  There would be no Afghan invasion through the Shpola Pass. The Punjabis could stick to the business of killing each other rather than invading India. Rajiv Singh would have to learn to live with his resentment of the Sirkar, for in the future he would be so closely watched that he would not have the opportunity to get into mischief.

  Yes, Ian had succeeded, at the cost of his own life. No doubt he would think that a fair price for stopping a war.

  Laura wasn't so sure.

  * * *

  He was buried alive. Sandy soil filled his mouth, weighing down his body, crushing his lungs until there was nothing in his mind but panic. Ian tried to scream his submission, to say that he would do anything they wanted, anything at all, if only they would give him an easier death.

  But his executioners said nothing. There would be no reprieve. Hopelessly he flailed at the dirt, not because he thought it would make a difference, but because it was physically impossible to lie quiet while they filled his grave.

  Abruptly one arm broke through into the air, then the other. He thrashed out and a moment later his face was clear. After coughing the dirt from his throat, he was able to breathe, though the air was thick and dusty. But it was dark, so dark, the heavy, suffocating blackness of a tomb.

  At first he thought they had finished the job of blinding him. Yet when he touched his face, he felt only a few days' worth of bristles, not the long beard he had grown in prison.

  Like a kaleidoscope, the pieces of his life fell into a coherent pattern. He was no longer in Bokhara. Juliet and Ross, then his own return to India. Laura. Marriage, Dharjistan, a plot to bring down the Sirkar, the Shpola Pass, his attempt to hold back an invasion.

  Had there been an explosion? No, artillery fire. Then what?

  He pushed himself upright and cleared away the dirt and gravel that pinned his lower body. Then he stood and explored his surroundings. After a few minutes he identified a squarish knob of rock as one that had been in the back of the cave.

  That's right; he had retreated for protection from the cannonballs. The artillery fire must have caused the front part of the cave to collapse, so his withdrawal had saved him from being crushed.

  But to what purpose? Dear God, to what purpose?

  Heart hammering, he investigated the debris that had fallen, and found that the tunnel was sealed boulders with too massive to shift. He was trapped and would die alone in the dark.

  How many days would it take for starvation or thirst to kill him? How many hours and minutes without light?

  The panic that had receded surged back. For his sins he must now endure all of his deepest, most shameful fears. Fear of darkness, of being trapped, of being alone. Anguish knotted his belly, then rose, expanding until it wrenched from his throat in a wordless howl.

  The sound clamored from the walls, then died away,
absorbed by the tons of stone and soil around him. He fell to his knees, unable to breathe. The weight of the mountain was pressing down on him, crushing his life inch by hideous inch.

  Another scream ripped from his throat. He jammed his wrist in his mouth, muffling his terror against his filthy sleeve.

  Escape was as close as the sash at his waist. Beyond thought, he reached under his loose coat and grasped the cool steel of his revolver. No one would ever know that he had taken the coward's way out.

  He cocked the hammer, then raised the barrel to his temple and squeezed the trigger.

  * * *

  David's softly insistent voice said, "Laura, can you walk? We need to get out of the pass.''

  She still leaned against the cliff face, so she straightened up. "I can walk," she said dully.

  The sun was winter bright. It was a lovely, if chilly day, but as she started stumbling along the rough track, all she could think of was Ian, lying still and cold beneath the earth.

  Your husband will be beneath the earth.

  Shocked, Laura came to such an abrupt halt that David, who was behind, bumped into her. She didn't notice.

  Srinivasa had never said that Ian would die. Hindus burned their dead; for a Brahmin priest, the image of being under the earth would not have the implication of being dead and buried that it had for a Christian or Muslim. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

  Furiously she realized that it was because she had refused to think about it at all. Instead, she had reacted with the same childish terror that had ruled her whenever she thought of passion and her parents' tragedy. Like an ostrich, she had tried to hide from what she could not endure.

  "Laura, are you all right?" David asked sharply.

  She spun around and stared at the mountain where she had too quickly assumed Ian had died. The time for childish terror was over. If Ian was to have a chance, she must fight for him with English logic and Russian tenacity.

  Her brother-in-law took a firm grip on her arm. "We'll rig a litter for you."