To the High Redoubt (15 page)

“Right.” Arkady was willing to suspend their disputes, perhaps more willing than Surata was. He took her by the arm and led her into the hallway, where he found Yevgen and Tibor emerging from an equally small room across the hall. “God be with you today.”

“And with you,” Yevgen said brusquely, turning away from Arkady to speak with Tibor again. “That is the best course.”

“If you like,” Tibor said, glancing nervously at Arkady and Surata. “But what…”

“It's not urgent,” Yevgen muttered and stomped off toward the main taproom. “Be saddled and ready to go within an hour, Captain Sól,” he ordered over his shoulder. “We won't wait for you if you're late.”

“We'll be ready,” Arkady answered. He was comfortable hearing his own language again, no matter how badly spoken, and he found himself seeking to prolong the conversation just to hear Polish. It was not the same with Surata, whose abilities made him wary of her.

“You may talk at breakfast,” Surata said behind him. “Warn me where the steps are, Arkady-immai.”

“Right,” he said, following Yevgen down the hall. He could hear the heavy sound of Tibor's boots behind them, but he ignored their tread. He did not like to be caught between two armed men this way, friends or not, because such a position was dangerous. He was so preoccupied with the hazard he sensed that he almost forgot to mention the two steps to Surata. At the last instant, he put out his arm and warned her.

“Thank you, Arkady-immai,” she told him softly, faltering in her movements and reaching out to brace herself.

“I forget you are blind, sometimes,” he offered as an explanation, salving his conscience with the notion that he was not being entirely untruthful. It was not easy to remember her blindness because she was so strangely gifted in other ways.

“There are many kinds of blindness, Arkady-immai,” she said, staying two steps behind him. “Mine is more obvious.”

He made a noise to indicate he had heard her, but he gave his attention to the three long tables where many early-rising travellers waited for the pots and tureens to be carried in from the kitchen.

Old Milo waved Arkady to a place across the table from him. “You come in good time, Captain,” he called out over the general hubble of conversation.

“Soldiers are used to rising with the sun,” Arkady said, guiding Surata to a place on the bench beside him.

“They feed slaves in the kitchen,” Old Milo reminded him.

“Not this slave,” Arkady said. “She remains with me.”

The old merchant laughed. “I suppose if I had such a slave, I would keep her by me, as well. I've been told—and when I was younger, had some hints myself—that the women of the East are very…capable.” He waggled his thick eyebrows for emphasis.

“I've heard that,” Arkady said in what he hoped was a bored tone. “I've also heard it about women of Africa, of Italy and of Russia. In fact, I have heard it of every nationality but my own and the Prussians. The farther away their homeland, the more fabulous the women.” He braced his elbows on the table and reached for one of the hard, flat breads that had been carried to the table in baskets. “How far do you wish to go today?”

Old Milo shook his head. “I would like to get to the river crossing by tomorrow night, but who knows how it will be. They are saying that there is a windstorm coming, and if that is the case, we'll have to seek shelter while the blow is on. That will slow us down.” He took one of the flat breads himself and murmured a brief prayer over it. “I noticed you did not offer thanks for your meal,” he observed to Arkady after he had taken the first bite.

“I pray upon rising. It's a soldier's habit, good merchant. We do not always have the opportunity to offer thanks later on.” He reached for another bread and handed it to Surata. “There will be more coming. Start with this.”

“Thank you, Arkady-immai,” she said, her attitude so subdued that it startled him.

“Are you well?” he blurted out.

“You are kind to ask, Arkady-immai. I am well.” She started to eat, her face averted.

“Well, at least she shows proper respect,” Old Milo said, cocking his head toward Surata. “Some slaves, when they have the pleasure of their master, think they have his mind also. It's wise not to give that impression. But that must be part of soldiering, too.” He waved one of his merchants toward the table. “That's Jurgi for you, always late. Over here!”

The other merchant hurried to the table just as the kitchen door swung open and one of the potboys came out with a tray of boiled eggs.

“Make sure you eat two,” Old Milo advised everyone in his party. “They will sustain you.” With that, he fell to eating himself.

Within the hour, the entire group had assembled in the innyard, ready to leave. The sun was not far above the horizon and it cast long, spiky shadows. The air had an ominous red tinge to it, and the animals all were restless.

“It must be the wind coming,” Tibor said as he got onto his bucket-faced mare. “It always makes 'em crazy.”

Arkady's bay was restless as well, and he sidled when Arkady tried to lift Surata to his back. He slapped the horse with the ends of his reins. “Stand!” he ordered and swung Surata upward as he spoke. Behind him, the ass brayed, his long ears turning and big teeth bared.

“We'll not make good time today,” Old Milo declared and gave the sign for his company to mount up. “But the sooner we start, the better.”

Yevgen mounted his dun and took his position at the head of the little train, gesturing Arkady and Tibor into their forward positions. “If you see anything, warn me.”

It was all they could do to keep their beasts moving, and for the next two hours, most of the men were silent, giving their attention to horses and asses and donkeys.

“The wind will be here soon,” Surata told Arkady as the sun approached mid-heaven. “There is still time to find shelter.”

This time Arkady did not question her, for he had felt that change in the air and the scar over his eye had been aching for most of the morning. “I'll do what I can,” he said and raised his hand to catch Yevgen's attention.

“Trouble?” the other shouted.

“The wind is rising. It might be best to make camp now, while we can.” Arkady did his best to say this calmly, as he would have spoken to his own men, but he could see Yevgen bristle at the suggestion.

“I don't sense it,” he replied. “You're too cautious, Sól.”

“Rather that than capricious,” Arkady snapped before he could stop himself. “We'll lose horses if we fight the wind.”

That argument had an impact. Yevgen nodded grudgingly. “There is that,” he said. “I've spotted some trees in the distance. We should be able to shelter there.”

“Arkady-immai,” Surata whispered, “there is danger.”

Arkady nodded to show he had heard. “Very well. Should I warn the merchants?”

“I'll do it,” Yevgen declared, turning his horse toward the men behind him.

“Do not go to the trees, Arkady-immai,” Surata said as soon as Yevgen spurred away. “There are men waiting there already. They are eager for goods and slaves.”

“Then Yevgen should—” Arkady began.

“Yevgen can deal with the men. He has done so before.” She pressed closer to him. “If you let the ass run away, we may chase it.”

“And lose it,” he rejoined.

“Better an ass than a life, Arkady-champion,” she said very softly.

He shook his head, but could not ignore her warning as he might have done before. His skin was prickly with apprehension, and he could not rid himself of the impression he was being watched. “Very well. In a little while, I will release the ass and we'll chase it.”

Surata nodded. “It will go to the north and east, away from the road.”

Arkady started to laugh at this, then stopped. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I will guide it,” she said with a trace of mischief in her voice. “He will go precisely where I wish.”

“But—” He could not bring himself to say anything more, especially since he feared her answer.

“Then we will follow him and the others will go to the trees on the south side of the road. We'll be safe, Arkady-immai, and we will be able to shelter from the storm.”

“How can you be certain of that?” he asked curtly.

She sighed. “Arkady-immai, you have trusted me before and had no cause to regret it. Why do you hesitate now, when you yourself suspect the others?” Her hands pressed more tightly against him. “They go to a trap and you know it. Everything you ever learned as a soldier tells you that, and still, when I echo what your senses tell you, you question me as if you had no fear.”

Arkady rode in silence a little while. “I do trust you, Surata, and that frightens me more than the swords of a few highwaymen or robbers.”

For once, Surata said nothing. She clung to him, her head against his shoulder, her hands pressed to him where she had said the Sixty-Four Petaled Center was.

Yevgen rode over to Arkady, shaking his head as he came. “They want to make for the trees. Keep your eye out for a road. I don't want to have to cut across the fields unless we must. It always slows us down to do that.”

Arkady almost added that it also left a trail to follow, but was able to hold his tongue this time. “I will. But Tibor is more likely to find it than I am, being on the south.”

“True, but we should all watch, in case.” He waved and started away, then glanced back. “The wind's starting to rise, did you notice?”

“I did,” Arkady said.

As Yevgen hastened away, Surata said, “He is plotting death, Arkady-champion.”

“But he speaks Polish!” Arkady protested, hating to think ill of the man when they were both so far from home.

“Even then,” Surata said by way of consolation.

A little distance on, Tibor pulled in his chestnut mare and shouted, pointing ahead to a narrow pathway through the fields. “There! Yevgen, there it is!”

Yevgen signaled the men behind him to stop and rode ahead while the others waited.

“Let the ass run, Arkady-champion,” Surata whispered. “Let him run now.”

Reluctantly Arkady loosened the lead rein that was tied to the front of his saddle. He could feel the ass tugging on it as the length of braided leather pulled free. He forced himself to wait a bit before he noticed the ass. It was running to the north and east, as Surata promised it would.

“Sól!” Yevgen shouted. “Your pack ass!”

Arkady felt a great inward relief as he rose in his stirrups and swore. “I've got to catch him! He's got all my provisions!”

Yevgen shouted an objection, but Arkady had spurred his bay into a tired lope after the fleeing ass. He was glad that the gelding was not too fresh, for it would have been an easy task then to catch the ass and bring him back. This way, it would be some little time before he stopped the runaway, providing himself with an excuse for not trying to return to the rest of the party. Arkady loved the feel of a running horse under him, and he rode now with exhilaration. This had been one of his greatest joys since he was a child, and to let the bay have his head delighted him, though he had sense enough not to let him run too far.

By the time they caught up with the ass—it was standing with sweat-daubed coat and heaving flanks—the merchants and their two out-riders were specks in the distance. Arkady leaned out of the saddle and caught the lead rein. “What do we do now, Surata? You said there would be shelter, and I'm damned if I see any.”

Surata turned her head, for all the world as if she were looking over the landscape. “It is that way,” she said, pointing off to her left. “Not far. Look for a stream and two tall rocks.”

Although he was skeptical, Arkady did as she told him. “It had better be close,” he said as they started off again at a walk. “The wind is growing stronger.”

“Yes; we have time enough.” She held him tightly. “It was fun, wasn't it, chasing the ass?”

“It was,” he said with a smile. He leaned into the wind as he rode.

The first keening wail of the storm was sounding by the time he found the two upright rocks near the stream, and by that time he had almost given up hope of them. Arkady coughed as he tried to speak, for the wind had dried his throat. “The rocks are ahead.”

“Then stop,” Surata said confidently. “Take the blankets and make a shelter with the rocks and the saddles. Give me things to carry or hold for you. That will speed us.” As he drew up the bay, she slid off the horse and stood, her arms lifted. “Give me your swords and maul for a start. I know how they should be cared for.”

As he dismounted, Arkady did as she ordered him, no longer surprised at himself for following her orders. He blinked as the wind stung his eyes.

While Surata gathered small rocks to hold the blankets in place, Arkady secured both his bay and the ass in the lee of the rocks. He hauled the saddles off both animals and lugged them to where Surata waited for him. “They're safe enough, I think. I have tethers and hobbles on both of them. In wind like this, they won't want to go far.”

“Good.” She pointed out the little rocks and helped him with the unfolded blankets, giving him very little advice on what to do. “You have spent more time in tents that I have, Arkady-immai,” she remarked when he expressed amazement at her reserve.

“I'm glad you're aware of that.” He had to shout to be heard over the howl of the wind, and when, shortly after, he crawled under the protecting blankets, he said to her, “Not bad for makeshift.”

“You've known worse,” she said for him. “Now you can lie back, and I will rub your arms and legs for you, and while the wind blows, we can go elsewhere together.”

He looked up sharply. “Surata, if you mean—”

“I mean only that we have the ability to wait out the storm in pleasant ways. Come, Arkady-immai, it isn't too cold and we are not in any real danger here. Why do you refuse something so pleasant and useful?” She was sitting with her legs crossed in a way that Arkady thought was impossible. Her hands were folded in her lap, first fingers and thumbs pressed together in two circles; she smiled at him. “Arkady-immai, where we go when we are venturing together, you can fight trolls and dragons. You are the warrior, Arkady-immai, and in that other place, I will be your weapon, whatever kind you want.”