To the High Redoubt (34 page)

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, a trace of unbelieving laughter tinging his question. “How have you failed me?”

“I can tell you nothing, yet we're in danger. You are aware of it, and so am I, but I have no skill to find out what it is. Fine protection!” This time she brought her hands down hard on her own knees.

Arkady was reaching to stop her when a shattering roar filled the night. “Christ in heaven!” he burst out, crossing himself at the sound.

The animals echoed this dire sound with whinnies and screams.

Surata sat very still. “A tiger.”

“By Saint Michael,” Arkady whispered. “Near?”

They could hear the men of the two caravans shout and lament. There was a flurry of activity as they hastily armed themselves and prepared to fend off the huge cat.

A second roar sounded, nearer than the first.

“It's closer,” Arkady whispered.

“No,” Surata corrected him. “There are two of them.”

He did not doubt her now; she had that stillness that was part of her certainty. “They're hunting?”

“Yes. Camels and mules and horses. They're afraid of the fire, but their hunger may be greater than their fear.” She raised her head. “Can we build up our cooking fire?”

“There isn't much to burn,” he warned her.

“Still,” she said, her brows drawing together.

“The merchants won't like it.” He said it in a rush, and harshly. “They…”

When he did not go on, Surata folded her hands, and her expression changed to that vacant look that Arkady knew he should not disturb no matter how much it puzzled him. He moved closer to her, waiting for her to come back to herself. He listened to the sounds of the mules and horses, their increasing agitation and fear. One of the mules let out a high squealing bray that started the others doing the same. The noise was almost worse than the tigers' roars had been, and Arkady held his hands over his ears, hating himself for doing nothing.

There was another roar, and the sound of snapping cord as one of the mules broke free of its tether, racing away in panic.

“God,” Arkady muttered, waiting for what he knew he would hear.

It came quickly the galloping was interrupted by a few irregular hoofbeats, and then there was a shriek and growl and the sound of the mule falling, kicking and grunting, and then there was another roar.

“The tigers are sent. So is the holy man,” Surata told Arkady in a remote way. “They have been sent. They are…following us.” She lowered her head.

“And?” Arkady said, knowing there was more. “The Bundhi wants to stop us?”

“Yes. He wants us to die.” She leaned toward him. “I think I've held the horses and the other mules for the time being, but I can't do it for long. If the tigers stalk us, they'll flee.”

“If the tigers stalk us, I want them to flee,” Arkady said. “I hope they chase our stock all over the desert. I hope they glut themselves and die of it.” His vehemence was so intense that he hardly noticed his fingernails digging into his palms.

“First we should be sure we can go on,” she said. “The holy man will try to stop us now. I wonder, does he carry a staff?” She did not expect an answer but Arkady responded.

“I didn't see one, but to walk so far, and twisted as he is, he must have one.” There was a softer tone in his voice now, one that revealed his fatalism. “I ought to have thought of that before now.”

“It doesn't matter. If it had not been him, it would have been another.” With a sob of frustration, she reached for his hand. “Arkady-champion, it's as much my error as yours. I'm going distracted sitting in this tent, like a piece of meat in an oven. I've lost track of what I must do, and it's caused me to…make mistakes.”

There were sounds from the merchants' camp, a steady shouting like a chant. Above it all, the high, wailing voice of the holy man screamed in demented fury.

“They're as frightened as we are,” Surata said.

“They're angry as well.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. “I think…we'd better be ready to get away from here.”

Surata's hands tightened. “We can't.”

“We can't stay with these merchants either. Not tonight, but perhaps tomorrow night or the night after, they will decide that there has been too much wrong, and they will know it's our fault. I don't want them to be able to find us when they make up their minds. I've seen what Turks do to their enemies. I don't want to learn that these men are cut from the same cloth.” He pushed the images that had formed in his thoughts to a far corner where he would not have to look at them too closely, but one refused to be banished: a sergeant, massive and dependable as a workhorse, strapped to an X-shaped cross, held in place with long strips of his own skin.

“What should we do?” Surata asked.

“Give the tigers time to feed, then make sure we have all our goods ready. Tomorrow when we start again—they have said we must resume our journey tomorrow—we will follow as always, but we will fall behind, so that by nightfall, we'll be on our own.” He cleared his throat. “That ability you have, the thing you do when you…go look at things. Can you use it to guide us to Khiva?”

She considered his question. “I don't know. I've never tried to do it, but…I suppose it's possible. We know the direction we have to go, and some of the route is marked. If I take care, I think…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Arkady-immai, I will do the best I can.”

“Fine,” he said with enthusiasm. “That gives us a chance. If we continue southeast, we must come upon
something
eventually.” That sounded dreadful to him, and he knew it was terrible to her. “Surata, don't be troubled. I'm saying these things wrong.”

“No,” she said with resignation. “You are saying them truly. I don't mind that you do. I would rather not fool myself or you. There is a good chance we will go astray, and then…the Bundhi need not trouble himself to send agents after us. The sun and thirst will be enough.”

He could not contradict her. “In the morning, be prepared, Surata.”

“I will.” She turned away from him, listening to the shouts and chanting from the merchants, and the nervous sounds of the animals while the tigers dragged their prey off to feed.

Halfway through the next day, the caravan was so far ahead of Surata and Arkady that it appeared to be nothing more than a cloud of dust, like a distant storm, or the funnels that towered up out of the desert, swaying and coasting with the wind.

“Do you think they know we've gone?” Surata asked as they watered their animals.

“Probably. They will have stopped for food and water by now, and that should let them know that we're missing.” He took his hoofpick and went to work on his gelding's feet. “This hot, hard earth is bad for them.”

“After Samarkand, we will soon be in the mountains.” She patted her mare's nose. “At Ajni we turn south. There is a canyon that will lead us toward Gora Čimtarga. The ZeravÅ¡an and the Jagnob are the rivers we will follow.”

“Tell me when we get there,” he recommended. “For the moment, all I wish to do is reach Khiva.”

“And Samarkand,” she added.

They deliberately went slowly that day and the next, putting as much distance between themselves and the caravan as they could without actually stopping.

“Do you think the tigers will be back?” Arkady asked as they made camp the second night.

“Yes,” she answered. “They have been trailing us since they killed the mule. They have the scent of us and the Bundhi to keep them constant on their hunt.”

Arkady still found it difficult to believe that the Bundhi could control such beasts as tigers and he said so. “Even the Pope cannot command animals, and he speaks for Christ on earth.”

“And did your Christ have power over beasts?” Surata asked while she gathered dried camel dung to burn in their fire.

“I…” He had never actually thought about it. “Well, he cast demons out of a woman so that they entered swine.”

“And what did the animals do? Did your Christ rid them of the demons as well?”

“No,” he replied after he had thought about it. “At least, the priests don't say that He did.” He looked at the pile she was gathering. “I should have remembered that all we had to do was follow the camels. That will guide us where we wish to go.”

“Not all camels are bound for Khiva,” she pointed out. “Some are bound for Bukhara and some for Rai. Doubtless some are wild and are going where wild camels go.”

“Right,” Arkady said, not quite comfortably. “It was just an idea.”

“It was cheering,” Surata said, continuing in a lighter tone, “Arkady-immai, we have already come a great distance, more than I would have thought possible, and faster than I assumed we could go. For that alone, I am grateful to you.”

“I don't want your gratitude,” he said kindly. “I have not done this for gratitude.”

“Then why have you?” She was searching the folds of her clothes for the flint and steel to start the fire.

“Does it matter?” He had asked this facetiously but stopped himself. “It
does
matter. It would be a simple thing to say that I was captivated by you—and I was—but that's not why I did this. At first I was running from my own disgrace, and saying that I was aiding you, or embarking on an adventure made it less like flight. Then…”—his thoughts turned inward—“I found that I wanted to do this. Expiation? Exoneration? I don't know. I do it for myself.” He saw the trouble she was having with the fire and came to her side, handing her flint and steel. “Here. Use mine.”

She took it from him. “Thank you, Arkady-immai.” She patiently struck several sparks before she was able to get a little flame, and all that time she did not respond to him.

“Well?” he said when she had got the dried dung burning.

“Your flint and steel,” she said, giving them back to him.

“You have nothing to say?” He could not imagine that she would refuse to talk to him after what he had said to her.

“Arkady-immai, do you want me to make light of what you've told me? Do you want me to say the easy thing or the true thing?” She remained silent while he thought this over.

“The true thing, Surata.” He turned away from her and took the tether-stakes from one of the packs.

“That will take a little time,” she said, adding more dung to the growing flames.

Arkady set the tethers and unsaddled the animals, then tended to their hooves once more. By the time he was through, Surata had grain and fruit cooking. “I'm hungry,” he said as he unpacked their tent. “You?”

“Yes.” There was something in her expression or the tone of her voice that caught his attention.

“What is it, Surata?” He looked out over the dry land, the occasional bits of brush and withered grasses. The shadows in the fading day were long and deep like fresh scars.

“The tigers are near.” She sighed. “Tonight or tomorrow night, they will be after the mules again.”

Arkady knew better than to doubt her. “When do you think they'll get close?”

“I don't know. There's a dry wash to the south, and we could move over there for the night. There's more fuel for fires,” she said.

“I don't like to fight in a trap,” Arkady said, thinking back to the battle he had refused that brought about his disgrace.

“Nor do I,” she said, “but for different reasons. I want to know what is coming after me, and in that wash, I might not be able to find out.”

“Then we stay here and hope that we can keep the tigers away.” He came and patted her shoulder. “I'm glad you warned me, Surata. It's easier to have a defense if there's a warning.”

“I'll stay awake tonight. If there is reason, I'll wake you,” she said.

“You are as tired as I am,” he reminded her.

“But I can sleep in the saddle tomorrow. You can tie me on. You must stay awake while we travel.” She hesitated. “If we lose another mule, we'll have to leave some of our supplies behind, won't we? The others can't carry it all.”

“If we lose another mule, then we'll talk about it,” Arkady said, and went to work putting up their tent.

Chapter 18

Two nights later the tigers moved in, killing Surata's mare and raking the flank of the smallest mule, leaving deep, bleeding furrows.

Arkady had stumbled out of the tent, his bow strung and the arrow notched. He let four shafts fly after the tigers and struck nothing.

“What about the mule?” Surata asked when Arkady came back into the tent.

“She's not going to be able to carry anything. I'm not sure she can walk. In the morning, we'll see.”

“At least we can ride together, the way we used to,” she said a little while later. “That's something.”

“I've missed it,” he admitted.

“Yes. I have too.” She thought a moment. “The tigers won't be back tonight. Do you want to ride the wave?”

He had missed the solace and elation of her body. “I have wanted to very much.”

“Do you still?” She was fussing with the blankets, trying to smooth out the rough parts where the ground protruded.

“Of course.” He had thrown on his outer robe when he had left the tent to try to kill the tigers, but he was naked beneath it. He untied the belt and tossed it away, letting the robe hang open. “You are better than wine and the intoxicating smoke of the Turks.”

She rose on her knees, arms around his hips, her cheek resting on the top of his thigh. “Arkady-champion.”

His skin tingled as her lips touched his flesh, feather-soft kisses on his hip and abdomen, then moving down, to his rising manhood. She roused him still more, her mouth and hands finding new ways to excite him, until he was afraid that he would topple over on her. He breathed her name.