To the High Redoubt by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

can be sure.” She held his hand without rising. “They have seen much trouble, and they are as frightened as they are tired. They have been moving since well before dawn, and they have not yet rested for a meal.”
    â€œTell me,” he said, fascinated by what she was saying even though he could not imagine how she had learned it. He could not doubt that she told him the truth.
    â€œYou’re growing too dependent on this touching, Arkady-champion,” she chided him gently. “There have been battles not far from here. The birds gave true warning. Many men were killed, and a village was burned. None of the merchants knew who had done it, for the villagers had been dead more than a day when the travellers came upon them. They were worried when they saw what had happened, because the village was a place where many travellers stopped. Now they will have to find another place, a safer place, to rest when they return.”
    â€œWhy was this village so important, do you know?” Arkady asked, pulling her to her feet.
    â€œIt is…was a crossroad, or a fork in the road. Yes, I believe it was a fork in the road. That is where two roads meet and become one, isn’t it?” Her hand trembled in his. “The killings were brutal, or so the merchants thought.”
    â€œDid you…?” He could not ask the rest of his question, for his memories of battlefields were too stark.
    She answered him anyway. “Yes, Arkady-champion. I saw it.”
    He could find nothing to say that would lessen her desolation; he did the only thing that came to mind. “Surata”—he put his arms around her to give her the warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the day—“here.”
    Surata quivered but she did not weep. Slowly, very slowly, she relaxed against him, letting him support her until the worst of her wretchedness left her. “I’m…not sorry. This happens when I don’t guard against it. I wasn’t anticipating anything so…” She ended on a shaky laugh.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter, Surata,” Arkady said, taking unexpected pride in his ability to comfort her. He could remember all the despair he had felt after the dead were gathered at the end of a battle, and the black misery that had consumed him when they had to be left where they fell. For a woman like Surata to have such visions in her blindness gave Arkady a sensation close to sickness.
    â€œArkady-champion,” she said, holding him in return, “do not fear for me. I’m not as fragile as you think me. And what I dreaded to find was not there.”
    He stared at her. “What was that? A sacked village was not as worrisome at this other?”
    â€œFor me,” she said cautiously. “The Bundhi has those whom he…sends forth, to watch for him. There have been two before, but there might be more. He has used many. When he captured my family, he sent more than ten who carried staves.” This time there was a silent terror about her that filled him with concern.
    â€œTen men with staves, what can they do against my swords and my maul?” He had seen soldiers who fought with long staves that he would not want to fight with anything less than a mace-and-chain, but refrained from saying so.
    â€œIf the staves are fed…” She stopped, forcing herself to a composure that was not as genuine as it appeared. “But you have your swords and your maul and your cinquedea. You are a good fighter.” She turned her face toward him. “And you are my ally.”
    â€œA disgraced captain,” he dismissed, unable to make light of his self-accusation.
    The wind blew the last of the caravan’s dust back to them.
    â€œA sensible captain,” she corrected him. “It is safe to leave now. They are all passed. Arkady-champion, watch carefully. The merchants have dropped something of value.”
    â€œSomething of value? What use is it to