To the High Redoubt (36 page)

“Then they won't be able to follow us back here, not from that other place, will they?” He traced the line of her cheek with his fingers, wishing he had the means to tell her how precious she was to him.

“Probably not. There are other agents, but we know about them, don't we?” She caught his hand in hers and kissed it, holding the palm against her lips.

“The tigers and the rest of it?” He saw her nod. “It means that we need only worry about being eaten or dying of thirst,” he jested, his smile genuine, marred only because she could not see it.

“Which are minor matters,” she appended, going along with his lightly taunting mood. “To say nothing of collapsing from exhaustion.”

“Are you exhausted?” His sympathy was mixed with contented pride.

“Perfectly.” Her legs slid over his hips and along his thighs. “It is better to sleep this close to you, Arkady-champion, than anything else in the world.”

Hearing this, he was consumed by a tenderness that was almost painful in its intimacy. “I will not lose you, Surata.”

She held him fiercely. “No. Never lose me, Arkady-champion.”

They clung together through the night, unwilling to be parted even in sleep.

In the morning, Arkady decided to abandon the injured mule; the animal was clearly suffering and Arkady had no means to tend to the deep gouges the tiger had plowed in her hide. He looked at her pack saddle and tried to make up his mind what could best be left behind. He did not want to discard any of their food or water, but one of the bags contained their religious garments, and these, he knew, were expendable now that they were outside of Christian lands. He tossed the pack aside and divided the others between their other mules. While the extra weight would slow them down, Arkady was also aware that with Surata riding the bay with him, they would not travel quickly in any case. All that he had to do in the end was to make up his mind if it would be kinder to kill the injured mule. He walked to her side, making low, reassuring sounds as he bent to examine her flank. The wounds were puffy, with blood and watery fluid seeping from them whenever she moved. Arkady noticed that her breathing was labored, and she held her head low, long ears drooping. “Bad for you, old girl.” He patted her rump and nodded to himself as she shied, grunting. Regretfully he reached out and patted her cheek before going back for his maul.

Surata touched his arm. “It is wrong to kill her, Arkady-champion.”

“What else can I do? She's in pain now, and the scratches are very bad. This afternoon or tomorrow at the latest, the wounds will be infected. She will die slowly, in thirst and in pain. This way it is over quickly and she will not have to suffer.” He lifted the maul. “I don't like killing animals, Surata, but I don't like seeing them suffer needlessly, either.”

“It is not the way I have been taught,” she said stiffly but let go of him. “You are the one who understands these things as a soldier. If you must do it, you must.”

He kissed her cheek. “If she could understand, she could make the choice herself, and I would abide by it—I have with my men more times than I want to remember—but she cannot, and because I brought her to this, I must do what I think is best. I'm responsible for her being here in the first place.”

“It is karma, Arkady-immai.”

“It's also my obligation to that animal.” He felt a bone-deep sadness as he went back to the mule. “I'm sorry, girl,” he told her just before he swung the maul, striking her with full force between the ears. The mule went down with only the sound of her fall.

Surata was quiet for most of that day and the next, and Arkady was unable to break into her reverie. The heat dazed him, his eyes ached in his skull and the only thing that gave him any relief was the steady pressure of Surata's arms around him.

Four nights after he killed the mule, the tigers returned and claimed another.

“We'll have to leave most of the extra clothes behind,” Arkady said when he had taken stock of what they had to carry. “There's too much weight otherwise.”

“That's all right,” Surata said, sighing a little. “You choose what we should keep. You know better than I what will be the best use to us.” Her face was drawn and thinner than when they had started from Itil. She had deep smudges under her milky eyes, and her skin was chapped in many places. Arkady felt a pang as he looked at her, wishing that he could deliver her from this dangerous predicament.

“You're troubled, Arkady-immai,” she said, turning herself toward him.

“The mule…we really couldn't afford to lose it,” he hedged.

“It's more than that,” she said. “You're worried about the tigers still, and there is something more.”

He did not dare to say what had been gnawing at his thoughts for three days: what if they missed Khiva? They had no guides to take them to the city, and they had met no one coming toward them since they left the caravan. Arkady had been using the sun and the stars to point the way, but he knew only too well that it would not take much of an error for them to miss either city—Khiva or Samarkand—completely.

“Tomorrow we will make good time,” Surata said, trying to encourage him.

“We won't, but it's good of you to say we will.” He made a surreptitious check of their water supply and was not comforted by what he found. They would have enough water for another ten days and then they or the horse and mules would have to go without. Idly, he thought that it was possible for the tigers to take another mule in that time, and that would give them a day or two more water. He laughed unpleasantly.

“You're angry, Arkady-immai,” she said.

“Not at you.” He reached over and put his hands on her arm. “I'm angry because we're in a hazardous situation. Risks always make me angry”

“Water?” she guessed.

“In part.” He cleared his throat. “Would you mind if we rationed the water? We might find a well soon, but we can't depend upon it, and I wouldn't like to…” He made a resigned gesture.

“If you think it is wise to ration the water, then do so. I can manage with less.” The weariness in her face softened. “You have done what is best for us since you bought me. You will do the best now.”

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Those damned tigers will wear us down. They're staying on our trail.”

“You know why that is,” she said. “The Bundhi does not like to have to wonder where we are.”

“You're certain they're sent by him?” Arkady believed her most of the time now that he had been with her for so long, but he could not rid himself entirely of doubt. “Couldn't they be just a pair of tigers?”

She shook her head. “Tigers hunt in their own areas, and these follow us. They take no prey but our animals. If you were to put a goat out with the mules, they would still take the mules or our horse if they could get him.”

He made no argument; he was aware that they were under scrutiny. There had been many times in the past when he had felt that odd sensation, a prickling of his skin, and never more strongly than now. “Right,” he said to her, hoping to find a way to divert the tigers before they killed the rest of their animals.

They pressed on for more than a week and lost another mule to the tigers. The low salt flats gave way to hard scrub land with dust-colored grasses and occasional thorn bushes. They saw no one. Finally, sitting by a dying fire, Arkady voiced the fear that had been plaguing him for more than three days.

“Surata, it's possible that we're lost.” He thought of their waterskins, now almost empty, and their diminished food. “We might have passed Khiva and…not known it. There should have been some sign by now that we were still on a caravan route, but…there's been nothing.”

“What should we do, Arkady-immai?” She sounded calm enough, but he could see that her hands shook.

“Go on, I guess. There is supposed to be a riverhead somewhere and once we find it, we can follow it southward.”

“Will it take us to Samarkand?” she asked, dipping her fingers into the meager serving of peas and millet. It was all they had left to eat in their supplies, and Arkady dared not leave her to hunt for fear of what the tigers might do. He could tell from the way his gelding fretted that the enormous cats were not far off.

“No, but we should cross a caravan route eventually, and then we will be able to find where we're going.” It was a remote hope, and he took refuge in petulance. “And if you'd use your powers to see where we are, you could get us away from here.”

Surata set her food aside. “Arkady-immai, when I am tired I can see no farther with my skills than you can with your eyes. Beyond those limits, how can I or anyone tell where a place is? Once we are beyond the confines of the earth, we can be anyplace we wish to be in an instant. How far do we have to go to be there? How do you measure such a distance? And how can I guide you here with what we might learn there? It's useless, Arkady-immai. It's no aid to us to search where there are no landmarks and no roads to…”

He sighed. “I know. I know. I want a miracle, Surata. There are times I hope that you can give me one, but…” He did not know how to go on.

She had no comfort for him. She rested her head on his shoulder, then carefully scooped out the last of her food, licking it off her fingers with care. “We will have to find a well, won't we? And soon.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “For the animals as well as ourselves. Since I can't see anything hopeful, I don't suppose you…”

“I will do what I can,” she promised him, her face wan.

They found no water the next day—neither dared to speak of it—nor the next. The skins they carried became flaccid and empty, and the parching sun did not spare them. Their lips cracked and bled, their skin chapped, breaking at elbows and knuckles. Their heads throbbed from heat and sun, and when they moved, there were roaring tides in their heads that frightened them as much as the inexorable, festering sun.

And when Surata insisted that there was a spring nearby, a cool place in the hard, rocky ground, Arkady was sure that she was suffering from the sun and thirst, that she had conjured up a vision of what she wanted for them both to make their ends a little more bearable. He did not have the heart to challenge her.

“We'll try it,” he said through his crusted mouth, knowing they had nothing better to do. “Where is it?” As he asked, the bay tossed his head, snorting and trying to bounce on his forefeet, though he tottered like a newborn foal with the effort.

“He smells the water,” Surata told Arkady.

“I hope so,” Arkady responded and let his horse have his head. He wobbled in the saddle as the gelding stumbled into what once would have been a brisk trot. “How far?”

“Not very,” she said, her voice cracking. “We can go a little further without food if we have water.”

“Right.” He tried to make out what lay in the distance, but his vision was blurred, and when he blinked, it made him feel dizzy.

The bay snorted again, moving more actively. Then he whinnied and started to run, going toward a place in the rocks where the shadows fell deep and cool.

Arkady blundered out of the saddle and stepped into the darkness. His foot slipped on the moss growing around the spring. He dropped to his knees, catching himself on his hands, then brought them to his face, seeing how wet they were, and how chilled. “Surata!” he shouted. “
Surata!
” He lurched to his feet once again. “There's water!”

“Yes,” she called to him. “I can smell, as your horse does.”

Leaning down, Arkady sunk his hands into the spring and brought up a handful of water. He drank it greedily through his palm, begrudging every drop that trickled through his fingers. After four such frantic gulpings, he knew he should stop, or he would get sick. Reluctantly he came out into the light again. “I'll help you down, and get the pail for the horse,” he said, reaching up to Surata and taking her around the waist.

“He is half-crazed, poor beast,” Surata remarked as she was led into the cave.

“Drink, Surata, but not too much at first.” Now that he had had some water, he became light-headed. He giggled as he filled the pail, and he was whistling when he gave the pail to his gelding, finding it amusing to listen to the horse blow through his nostrils as he drank. He looked up at the sky, and it no longer seemed to be made of heated brass. He pulled off his knotted cotton headgear and flung it away from him, then sunk his hands in his unkempt hair.

The bay brought his head up, snorting. He stamped twice, as if trying to dig more water out of the ground.

A little of Arkady's euphoria faded and he came back to his horse. “Not yet, old fellow,” he said, patting the dusty neck. “Wait awhile and I'll see you get some more.” He bent down and picked up the leather pail. “Surata? Are you all right?”

“Yes, Arkady-immai.” She sounded stronger. “It is pleasant to be out of the sun.”

“Good.” He found the hobbles on the saddle and knelt down to fasten them on his gelding. He had made up his mind that no matter how much sunlight was left to them, they would remain here for the night, and he wanted to make sure the gelding did not wander off. On impulse, he took his sword and scabbard, belting them on as he went back into the cave.

“The water is sweet,” Surata said to him as he came to her side.

“Don't drink too quickly or too much,” Arkady warned her again. “If you do, you may become ill.”

“Yes, I am aware of this,” she said, reaching out and dangling her hands in the water. “This is very nice.”

He copied her hesitantly, wondering if it would make his thirst more acute. “It's…restful,” he said a bit later.

She did not speak at once, and when she did, her tone was thoughtful. “Arkady-immai, doesn't it seem odd to you that this spring should be here and there be no signs that men come to it? Animals must—I can catch their scents a little—but there is nothing to say that men know of this place, not so much as a bucket or a pitcher.”