To the High Redoubt (44 page)

“And is there any chance the Bundhi will come down from his redoubt?”

“It's…possible,” she said carefully. “He does not often leave there, but he…might. If he is determined and vengeful enough.”

“Would he be likely to come beyond Ajni?” This was the crucial question as far as Arkady could think.

“I have never known him to do that,” Surata said. “He does not like leaving the mountains entirely.” She did not add that the House of Bogar had similar reservations—all but she were dead, and the reservation no longer had any bearing on her.

“Then we'll have to escape before we reach Ajni,” Arkady decided. He lay back and stared up into the black clarity of the night, tracing patterns in the stars while he pondered their situation.

The day had been warm, but now that the sun was down, the chill breath of the mountain snows swept over him, and soon Arkady could think of little but the ache of the cold in his exhausted limbs.

For the next six days, the little party followed the Zeravšan River upstream toward Ajni. Each day they covered a little less ground as the river canyon grew narrower and steeper. Vadin insisted that they press on, reminding Mayon and Hara that the Bundhi would be unforgiving if they delayed so long that they could not reach Gora Čimtarga because the passes were blocked with winter snow.

“It must be tomorrow night,” Arkady told Surata just before they fell into vitiated sleep. It was an effort to raise his voice enough for her to hear him; he was hoarse.

“You're certain?” She was as enervated as he.

“We're getting too close to Ajni. And those three are showing the strain as much as we are. If we can get out of the bonds and reach the horse before they're awake enough to fight much, there's a good chance that we can get free of the Bundhi's lieutenants without too much risk. If we don't go tomorrow night, we might not have the chance again.”

She agreed. “The Bundhi will come. You're right to want to escape before Ajni. The people living beyond Ajni live in fear of the Bundhi and would not be inclined to help us, even if we are fortunate enough to succeed. Here, they might be willing to let us have food and shelter.”

Arkady felt the stirrings of hope, and he stretched as much as his bonds would allow. “Get as much rest as you can. Thank God they've permitted us a blanket apiece. I think we might have frozen without them.”

“It is better sleeping with you, Arkady-immai. Your arm is better than a blanket.” She yawned. “I wish they'd feed us some of that roasted fowl they've been eating. Every time I think of it, my stomach gurgles like a millrace.”

“What would you know of gurgling millraces, Surata?” he asked, amused by her analogy.

“You had a mill not far from your house, didn't you?” she responded, her words coming slowly as sleep came over her.

The next morning, the bay went lame, and after a brisk argument, Vadin announced that it was useless to keep the horse with them. “Without the animal there will be less to carry,” he announced. “We're carrying more than two sacks of grain to feed the beast as it is, and aside from the bedding, our tent and the water sacks, there is nothing the animal is carrying that is essential to our needs. The weapons can be left behind. A man like that might be scheming how to use them, and it would be wise to have them out of his way.” This last was accompanied by a self-congratulatory smirk that made Arkady long to hit him, for although he did not understand what Vadin was saying, he could grasp the intent.

“The horse
is
useless lame,” Hara agreed. “And there are other beasts of burden, those with two legs.”

Mayon nodded. “And the tigers are growing hungry.”

“
No!
” Surata shouted. “Not the horse.”

“What is it?” Arkady demanded, fearing what she would tell him. “What are they planning?”

“Your horse…” she began, then waited to hear more.

“What about my horse?” Arkady asked apprehensively. “What are those devils saying?”

“Once we get into high country,” Hara remarked, “the tigers will not be able to keep pace with us, and it would be best to let them have the horse now, so that they will not be tempted to take…something else.” He gestured toward Arkady. “The Bundhi may have other uses for him, and if he has gone to the bellies of the tigers, not even his power can call the man back.”

“Do not!” Surata pleaded, trying to bring her bound hands together. “You would not do that.”

Vadin conceded. “It is true. It would be courting this anger of the Bundhi.” He indicated the bay. “Better take off the saddle and tether him. The tigers are not far behind us, and they will want to feed soon.”

Surata heard them with repugnance. “The Bundhi will be pleased with your decision, no doubt. You are striving to follow his example so well.”

“Oh, not completely,” Vadin said, his ghastly smile lost on Surata. “You and that servant of yours are alive and still unharmed, aren't you. Once you are in the Bundhi's hands, that will no longer be the case, Surata-of-Bogar. Think what became of your father and your uncles.”

“I have not forgot them,” she said stiffly.

Arkady listened to these exchanges with growing suspicions and anxiety. “What are they saying to you, Surata? What do they want?”

“They want to see us dead, destroyed. They want us obliterated. But that is for the Bundhi to do. Now, they want…to let the tigers have your horse.” This last was almost impossible for her to speak, and she had to clear her throat twice in order to get the words out. “They do not want to keep a lame animal with us, for fear it will slow us down.” She had started to cry, but there were only tears; she did not sob.

“My horse? Give him to the tigers?” he repeated, furious. “It's cruel. And it's stupid. What do they plan to do with all the material he's carrying?”

“I think they intend that we should take up some of his burdens, the sacks and the tent and the water. The rest—”

“You mean my weapons?” he asked, not truly needing to hear the answer. If their positions were reversed, he would find a way to take their weapons from them.

“Yes.” Her answer was almost entirely without emotion, but Arkady could hear the anguish she strove to conceal and saw her tears. He wanted more than anything to spare her from what they were enduring together and what he was afraid they would still have to endure.

Before Arkady could think of some words of comfort, Mayon shouted at them. “You! Stop that. Tell us what that barbarian is saying to you! We will not permit you to make plans against us.”

“I am trying to tell him what I have heard you say,” Surata said as calmly as she could. She wiped her face with the hem of her sleeve. “It is his horse you are planning to give to the tigers. He has a right to know of it.”

“He has a right to know nothing,” Hara shouted. “He is carrion, but for a little time more, he walks.” He turned, storming off to where the gelding stood, his head down, breathing hard. “This animal is fortunate to go to such creatures as the tigers of the Bundhi. It is more of an honor than he deserves. A white bull with garlanded horns would be better, but we must make the offering that is available.” He struck the bay in the withers. “This is nothing but chaff.”

“What is he doing?” Arkady asked, watching the Bundhi's disciple with growing rage.

“He is going to leave the horse,” Surata said, the resignation in her voice worse than her hurt.

“For the tigers?” He pulled at the thongs that held him. “
No!
” It was more a bellow than a shout. Veins stood out on his forehead and he heard the roaring of blood in his heart.

Vadin kicked him, knocking him off his feet, and indicated the bamboo staff he held. “Tell this fool, Surata-of-Bogar, that if he does such a thing again, the staff will have his eyes as one has had yours.” He paused. “Tell him.”

Surata repeated what she was told, adding, “He will do it, Arkady-immai, if you give him the excuse. The Bundhi would not mind him taking your sight.”

Arkady panted with the force of his emotion, but he brought himself under sufficient control to be able to speak more calmly. “I am going to kill him for this. Soon or late, I will kill him, by the Sword of Saint Michael.”

“Is he making threats?” Hara asked, laughing a high, nasal sound that made Surata cringe.

“He is making vows,” she answered for him, knowing that Arkady would not regard what he had promised as a threat.

“The men of the West are great fools. But you have discovered that for yourself, haven't you, Surata-of-Bogar?” Vadin asked. “Well, Mayon, it will be best to unsaddle the creature. Leave the saddle and the weapons on the ground.”

“Should we save anything from it, the girths or…?” Hara suggested. “The leather is not too poor and perhaps we can use it.”

“If we can use it, fine, if not, leave it.” Mayon was not interested in the leather. “Is there rope?”

Hara inspected the saddle—Arkady ground his teeth as he watched—and shrugged. “A few lengths, most of it worn or frayed. Our ropes are better, stronger.”

“Then leave it. Take the water sacks and one of the grain sacks. The rest of their gear is…nothing.” He spat casually, making it apparent that he regarded Arkady and Surata as little more than sacrificial animals, or prizes of the hunt. “Hurry. I do not want to waste any more time. We've lost enough as it is.”

While Hara and Mayon went about the task of unsaddling the bay and going through the last of the equipment and tack, Arkady said to Surata, trying to keep his tone level and his temper under control, “Tonight, Surata, it has to be tonight. If we do not escape now, it will not be possible. They are expecting us to carry their gear as well as our own, and after the first night, we will not have the strength left to break away. Are you willing to try?”

“Oh, yes,” she said gratefully. “Even if they kill us, at least our deaths will not go to add to the Bundhi's power.”

“We're not going to die,” Arkady told her through tight lips. “We have too much to avenge. They will pay.”

“Yes, they will have their karma and it will not release them.” She tried to sound satisfied with this, but there was still a longing in her voice that revealed her desire.

“The hell with karma. I want to take this out of their hides.” He tossed his head, wanting to tear his way out of his bonds by will alone.

“That is wrong thinking,” she said automatically. “I have wrong thinking, too. I am anxious to see them answer for all they have done. See. That is part of what they must answer for.” She turned toward him in confusion. “You have done this to me, Arkady-immai. You have made me different than I was, and I…am not what I was.”

“I am not what I was either, Surata,” he said, with a complex welling of conflicting emotions that he could not describe. “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” she promised.

They left the bay tethered in a small hillside clearing. He raised his head, whinnying after them as they moved on, going away from him up the canyon.

“I wish I could have killed him, rather than leave him this way,” Arkady said.

“Arkady-immai, they want the killing,” Surata said to him as gently as she could. “It is what they seek.”

Not long after, they heard a shuddering roar that echoed through the ravines, and the terrified scream of the horse. The roars grew louder, and the bay gave one last, high squeal, and then there was a sound of falling.

“God damn them, and all their issue,” Arkady swore between his teeth. He had the water sacks strapped to his shoulders, and he bent under the weight of them. Listening to the distant sounds of struggle and killing, he bowed down more, as if he carried the weight of the bay as the horse had carried him for so long.

“Do you hear? The tigers are pleased!” Myron jeered, pointing to Arkady but speaking to Surata. “Tell him, Surata-of-Bogar. Let him know what we say.”

Patiently, Surata translated the words. “He wishes to see you angry, Arkady-immai. It will give him power and will please him. Do not let him know that you are as…moved as you are.”

“You're asking too much,” he hissed back to her. His jaw and neck ached from the way he had been holding them.

“Then let him know just a little. Please. For both of us, and for the horse, as well. They will stop if they think that you are uncaring.”

“What is he saying?” Vadin demanded, jabbing Surata with his finger. “Tell us, and no more talking with him.”

Surata took the poke in her shoulder without comment. “He says that the horse was a warhorse and it was his right to die in battle, not as fodder for angry cats. He is shamed for the honor of the horse.” It was close enough to the truth that Surata did not feel she was speaking against either Arkady or disobeying the orders of Vadin. “He is a soldier. He regards his horse as a soldier, too.”

“That is the first sensible thing I have heard from a man from the West,” Mayon observed. “Most of the time they are too concerned about their devas and other protective spirits to notice that there are those creatures around them who are worthy of their attention. I think all of them will be reborn into the bodies of asses and oxen. Tell him that for me.”

This time Surata took advantage of this order to say, “If there is a way for you to need to stop earlier than usual this evening, it might give us a little advantage, so that we will not be as tired, and we can go farther tonight, when we escape.”

“Right,” Arkady replied. “Is that what you're supposed to tell me?”

“No, but I will attend to this.” She raised her voice to their captors. “He tells me that he will sing Hosannahs—which are songs and shouts of praise—at the right hand of God while we are all in the depths of Hell.”

The three disciples of the Bundhi laughed aloud at this, and Mayon said, “Does he think that all he must do is live once to earn Nirvana? Has he no knowledge of…but Western men do not. They prate of rewards that cannot be had on earth, they deny karma and they do not know of the ages of the world. They are all fools and liars.”