To the High Redoubt (32 page)

“Do you think there really is fighting ahead?” She sounded unconcerned.

“I don't know. It's always possible. If these Islamites are anything like the Turks, they fight for the pleasure and glory of it and care nothing for their own lives.” He paused. “And the Bundhi? What of him?”

“He has not forgot us,” she said with quiet determination.

“Do you think…Surata, would he try to lead us into danger?”

“If he could. He would find it amusing.” She shook her head twice. “His agents are good at deception, and without my eyes to aid me, I cannot always tell…I dread that one of them will find you, and I will not know of it. You would be in danger and helpless. I've dreamed of that, Arkady-immai, and in my dreams, I hate myself because of—”

“Stop it,” Arkady ordered her. “When I've led men into battle, Surata, I have never allowed them to say that we might not win. You say that the Bundhi is a formidable foe, and I believe you. But you are a formidable foe as well, or the Bundhi would not be bothered by you, or attempt to stop your return. Remember that when you are tempted to tell me that our chances are slim.”

For an answer, Surata smiled.

They continued on through the night, stopping shortly after sunrise for food and water and to rest their animals. They resumed their trek as soon as Arkady was certain the horses and mules could take it, and kept on through most of the day, halting only at the hours of greatest heat. They made camp shortly before sundown, and Arkady pitched their tent with great ceremony, saddened because Surata could not see it. They retired shortly after their evening meal and slept deeply until dawn.

The next day went more slowly, for the steady heat taxed the animals more than it drained the strength of their riders. Arkady warned Surata that they would have to rest earlier in order to give the mules a chance to regain their strength. “One of them is breathing too hard. I don't like it.”

“Should he have more salt?” Surata asked.

“If we find a well tonight, yes, but otherwise we might not have enough water to go around.” He was more concerned about their water than he liked for her to know, but she was not deceived.

“Arkady-immai, there will be wells. And there are still the two casks you loaded on the third mule.” She made a curious gesture. “You may not want to open them so early, but you take no risks by doing it.”

Arkady did not answer her.

That night there was a well, and the night after that. Surata helped him refill all the skins they carried and said, “Tomorrow will be dry, and most of the day after. Is the salt holding, or must we purchase more in Itil?”

“We'll get more whether we need it or not.” He checked the mules to be sure their feet were all right, and he took great care with the pick around the shoes. He did not want another animal going lame on him.

In the tent, Arkady and Surata lay back together, lightly embracing, their eyes half-closed. Arkady felt the beginning of desire stir deep within him, and he smiled lazily.

“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
.