To the High Redoubt by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

will take it away from you.”
    â€œFrom what?” he snapped.
    â€œFrom whatever it is that you cling to and is so painful to you.” She began to massage the center of his chest, from the base of his neck to his navel. “It is still there, whatever it is. I can feel it, like a cold current in all the warmth, like a death that strangles life. It has made you unworthy in your own eyes, and that is the saddest of all.”
    â€œI’m not unworthy,” Arkady said curtly.
    â€œNo, you are not, but there is something within you that believes you are. Nothing exonerates you, or so you believe. You accepted your disgrace not only because there was no direct way to fight it, but because, deep in your heart of hearts, you were certain you deserved it. You are willing to be an exile because that part of yourself blames you, and welcomes your punishment.” She pressed close to him.
    â€œThose who have nothing of guilt are arrogant and uncaring,” Arkady said defensively.
    â€œIs that what you have been told: it is a lie.” She touched his forehead. “Your eyes are pressed shut and your features are tightened. Your whole body is distorted. What brings you this pain, Arkady-champion?”
    â€œNothing!” he burst out. He shifted so that part of his back was to her. “It’s nothing.”
    â€œArkady-champion, it is something because you make it so.” Again she put her hands on his face. “Though it is less than you believe it to be.”
    He laughed in despair. “How do you know?”
    Seemingly without effort, she drew him around to her again. “Because it is always thus. It was with me, when I was brought to myself, four years ago.” Her voice grew wry as she leaned her head against his chest. “I was filled with dread and the certainty that it was not necessary for me to observe those disgusting parts of myself, for as an alchemist, I would put them behind me in any case. I tried to convince my master that there was no purpose in dredging in the midden”—she chuckled—“so you see how frightened I was.”
    â€œAnd?” he demanded in spite of himself when she did not go on.
    â€œOh, when I found out how I had deceived myself I was very irate, and it was some time before I could pardon myself and accept that I had permitted such things to happen to me.”
    The night around them had turned cold now, and the fire was burning down. The creatures of the dark had begun to emerge from their resting places. As if to signal the others, an owl hooted twice as it glided silently overhead.
    â€œI’ve got to do something about the fire,” Arkady told her, breaking away from her. He sat up, gooseflesh appearing all over him. Reluctantly he not deny that most of the aches that had made his day miserable had faded now and were nothing more than occasional twinges. Even the wound on his arm felt better, but he was not in the mood to see if there had been any improvement. He grabbed three branches and rather haphazardly placed them on the dying fire. “We’ll be warmer in a little bit.”
    â€œArkady-immai, down again?” She was not actually touching him, and most of her words deserted her.
    â€œNot right now. I want to put on my tunic before I go to sleep.” He started to get up, but her arm went around his waist.
    â€œNot yet, Arkady-champion. Let me do this for you, so that the hurt will go away. Otherwise you will come to fear and mistrust me, and that would be…very hard for me.”
    â€œBecause you’re afraid of being a blind beggar?” He knew as he said it that he had struck home; it amazed him that he felt only contempt for himself rather than satisfaction.
    â€œOr a blind whore,” she said calmly. “As you fear begging or being a criminal.” She continued to touch him. “Arkady-champion, I—”
    â€œDon’t call me that!” he shouted at