To the High Redoubt Read Free Page B

Arkady said. “But you are in danger if you do not. Well, I’ve said more than I ought and you have been patient with me. I am grateful to you for being so calm.”
    â€œIt was not I. The men were silent, that’s all.” He looked back. “You need not tell me this, but which way will you go?”
    â€œHow should I know?” Arkady answered, more testily than before.
    â€œAs you wish,” the herald said, nodding. At last he stepped aside, permitting Arkady to go.

Chapter 2

    Two days outside of camp, Arkady came to a main trade route. He looked at the road, weighing his choices. Westward was all of Europe, and the center of his faith, but westward also lay the fruits of his dishonor and the life of an outcast. “If I am truly exiled,” he said to his horse, “then let it be on my terms.” With that he turned east.
    At the end of the third day, he came to a market town, a squalid, hot gathering of mud-covered buildings and old, crowded wells, where men, camels, horses, mules and goats congregated, all of them determined to make more noise than the other. Toward the center of the houses there was a large open square, and in this place a good number of merchants set up their awninged tents to show their wares. Many of the farmers brought produce to sell to the merchants, and the most enterprising of the villagers made food to sell to both merchants and farmers.
    Arkady dismounted and led his horse toward the market square, smiling a bit at the bustle. He knew that as a soldier he attracted some attention, but as he was alone, most of the others avoided him, fearing that he was one of those men turned rogue who was not safe to deal with. He made his way to one of the food booths, and since he did not know the language the woman spoke, he did his best to make himself understood in mime. The woman accepted two copper coins in return for two puffs of bread filled with a highly spiced mixture of lamb and onions. Arkady smiled widely at her and gave her another coin for a third helping.
    The woman returned his grin and said something in a friendly tone of voice, then scowled in the direction of a platform on the other side of the market square. She shook her head in disapproval and made another incomprehensible remark before giving her attention to a new customer.
    Arkady munched at his food and led his horse toward the well where other horses were tied up. He looked around in the hope of finding a farmer selling grain, since he was low on food for his animal. “I’ll try to find you some apples or dates, fellow,” he promised the horse.
    A turbaned merchant in hodgepodge of clothes had climbed up on the platform and had started to harangue the crowd in a high, metallic voice. The attention he attracted was not entirely favorable, for some of the villagers whistled through their fingers at him in a derisive way. Others approached the platform, some of them holding wallets ready in their hands. Whatever he was selling, those merchants were interested in buying.
    His curiousity piqued, Arkady strolled toward the platform, nibbling on the last of his food. He hoped to find out what it was the turbaned merchant had to offer.
    An assistant was summoned, and he mounted the platform, pulling two large chains with him. Fifteen men and women, all shackled, stumbled up onto the platform. Most of them were dragged down by hunger, fatigue and the enervating weight of their wretchedness.
    Arkady looked at the slaves in a little surprise, for although he had heard of open slave markets, he had never before seen one. He looked over the men and women offered for sale, wondering who they were and where they came from, that they should be where they were now. He had never seen clothes like they wore, or faces quite like theirs. He wished he knew enough of the local tongue to ask who the slaves were. He moved closer, as if proximity would explain matters to him. Once again he looked over the