Read To the High Redoubt for Free Online

I’ll make some gruel.” He flung down the rabbits not far from his slave and saw her draw back in alarm. “They’re just rabbits, and dead ones at that,” he explained as he set about flaying them. The soft pelts were matted with blood by the time he was through, and he tossed them away with some regret, since he knew that when winter came, he might want a few soft rabbit pelts to line his one cloak.
    When he finally struck a spark for the fire, his slave was the one who made a nest of dry twigs and leaves for it and blew on it gently until flames appeared. She stayed close to it, and Arkady decided that she must be chilly, for night was coming on and she had fairly light garments—he had not seen such clothes before—and of course had not been given anything heavier.
    Once the rabbits were on the spit, Arkady went through the gloom to the stream and filled his single pot with water. Then he tossed some grain into the water and set it against the burning, dry branches.
    â€œDurran jamni, immai,” she said to him while he turned the rabbits on the spit.
    â€œWhatever that means,” he said, shaking his head. “What can have possessed me? You’d think you’d worked some sorcery on me, girl. But what would you want someone like me for? Tell me that.” He chuckled. “I suppose this is as bad as talking to myself.” He had a short, stiff twig and he used it to stir the gruel.
    The slave sat very still, then touched his arm so softly that he was not certain she had actually done it. She waited, then put her hand over her breast. “Surata. Surata.”
    â€œWhat?” He looked at her closely. “Surata?”
    â€œN’yeh, immai,” she said enthusiastically and repeated the gesture. “Surata.” Then she put her hand on his chest. “Immai?”
    â€œArkady Sól,” he answered, hoping that was what she wanted to know. He pointed his finger at her, letting her hold his hand as he did. “Surata.” He turned his hand back to himself. “Arkady.”
    â€œArkady,” she said, actually smiling. “Arkady.”
    â€œRight.” He could feel himself grin at this. It was not much, he had to admit, but it was better than nothing. At least his slave had a name and he could call her something other than girl now. “Well, Surata, it’s about time we had a bite to eat.”
    â€œN’yeh, Arkady-immai,” she said.
    â€œNot Arkady-immai, just Arkady. Arkady Sól.” He was worried that she might have misunderstood him after all. “Arkady.”
    â€œArkady-immai,” she corrected him, pointing to herself again. “Surata.” She put her hand on his chest once more. “Arkady-immai,” she said serenely.
    â€œFine. Arkady-immai, whatever that means,” he grumbled.
    Surata began to hum, plainly very happy. She swayed where she sat, her movements so beautiful that she seemed almost to be dancing.
    Arkady watched her for a little while, enchanted with what he saw. He realized with sudden irritation that his resolve to treat her with courtesy might be more difficult that he had first assumed. She was blind, but there was a fascination about her that Arkady felt as keenly as he felt the shame of his dishonor. He put his mind on stirring the gruel and turning the spit, so he would not dwell on the opulence of her body.
    After a time, she was still again. “Arkady-immai?”
    â€œHere,” he said shortly. “The food’s almost ready. You can have gruel now and the rabbit in a bit.”
    She nearly burned her hands on the side of the pot; she would have done so if Arkady had not restrained her. She made a strange exclamation, then drew back, blowing on her fingers and trying to keep the tears from her eyes.
    Arkady handed her his one spoon. “Use this,” he suggested, pressing it into her hand so that she could feel it. “And give it a moment to