And there was, since Mon, since he had breached the peace, no safety in return.
"You think the judge might call the soldiers," Taizu said, "and have them look out for my horse?"
"For your horse, for Jiro—a big red horse with a man of my description. I'm not much less conspicuous, and the Emperor's birds are more than show. A message can fly from here to Cheng'di—damn fast."
"So. So—we just go fast, that's all."
"Where's the judge tonight? Where have his messengers gone? Where are the nearest soldiers and how fresh are their horses, against Jiro?"
"Do you know that?"
"So we hide! We hide until they think the judge is crazy."
"Where?"
"I'll find a place. There's hedges. There's thickets."
"We're dealing with two horses, for the gods' sake. You said yourself, if we get into the paddies, there's no way—"
"You listen to me, master Saukendar, you from the Heavenly City: I got out all right, didn't I? This is the country. You see this orchard. You see that road? It's not fast. We'll have to wade. But I'll bet the soldiers won't do it. We get back among the paddies and back into Taiyi province—"
"There's a river. Jiro's carrying armor."
"Well, if we cross by dark and we split up his tack and let my horse carry half—"
He sat there thinking about his reputation, about a single, sharp fight on the road, a way for a man to go out with some credit and some satisfaction on his enemies—
And thinking with a little rise in his spirits—what Shoka-the-fool would have done in his youth, and risked everything for—having no hero's reputation to lose. Right through the rice-paddies, the fox's way—if he had a guide who was more than wishful thinking—
"You think you can find a way through to Taiyi?"
"I know I can."
"They'll track us. Horses don't come and go down the paddy roads."
"That's fine. Water covers a lot. Horses can wade the same as we can."
"Then let's do it by dark. Before the rain starts."
There was a moment of silence as he got up. A pitiful small grunt as Taizu gathered herself up.
There was more than that from Jiro, who stamped and shied around at being saddled up—and at being loaded this time not with a rider, but with the armor and the packs.
Shoka carried the armor when it came to climbing the main dike. He handed it up to Taizu, who set it on the ground, and he climbed the bank himself and pulled on Jiro's reins. After which Jiro came up in a rush and knocked him flat.
"Dammit!" he breathed, on his back on the ground, in the mud of the dike-side. And he turned and struggled to his feet and up the slope with his leg shooting pain up the inside.
Taizu tried to help him at the last, a shape in the dark that loomed up at the top. He shoved her. She was in his way, it hurt, and he shoved her. Then because he knew he was in the wrong he got angry at her. "Dammit, don't get in front of me!"
It was misting rain. It was wet, it was slick. Jiro was exhausted and panting with the treks through mud, they had scarred the flanks of more than one dike in a trail a child could follow, and the turns along the roads, every choice of paths—their zigging and zagging along the dikes, sometimes a long arm, sometimes a short one, sometimes simply where they could manage the climb, became a nightmare of moonless, starless choices.
He picked up his sodden armor from where Taizu had dropped it, while she was picking her gear up and putting it back on the mare's saddle. His leg hurt, gods, it hurt. He piled everything back on the saddle and tied it, thank gods for the cord they had gotten from the bandits.
"We've got to go down again," Taizu said suddenly in a hoarse and shaky voice.
"What do you mean we've got to go down again? We just came up this side."
"We're wrong. We're going wrong. I know we are."
He was freezing, with the wind driving against his wet clothing. His boots were double-weighted with mud. Jiro was in no better case. And at every turn it had been: I know, I'm sure. I know where I'm going.
"Look," he said hoarsely, "look, girl, you don't know where you're going. What are you trying to do, keep going until one of the horses breaks a leg? Let's get off this damn dike, settle down and rest till we get some light, so we can see where we're going."
"We're all right," she said. "We just got fouled up back there, we've got to go down again."
"We don't know where we're going, we're damn well liable to wind up north again for all we know—clear back to the damn road!"
"No. It's this way."
"You haven't got the moon, you haven't got the stars, you can't dead-reckon your way across this maze—"
"I've got the wind!"
"The wind shifts, dammitall!"
"And the feel! The way the land is, the way the dikes run, I know what I'm doing, dammit, I know where east is!"
"Oh, gods," he groaned, as the shadow that was Taizu started down the dike-side again.
Leave the bitch. Let her hike out there in the dark until she knew she was alone.
It was too damn cold to stop. His teeth were near to chattering.
"Damn her," he said to Jiro, and untied the baggage and the armor and tied it on his own shoulders.
He hurt so much already there was hardly worse. It was Jiro's legs he worried for—an old horse, under his own armor, a cold night and muscles gone weak with chill.
He fell on the slope; he hit the water and the mud and for a moment could not get his feet under him or get a breath. He made it. It was the bad side. Oh, damn, it was. But he got himself to his feet. Jiro was standing there on four feet and whole.
"Come on," he said, finding the reins. And he kept going, as far as the other end, where Taizu swore they could go on dry ground and trust the paths a while.
"Let my horse carry it," she said. "She's all right. She's all right, master Shoka."
"So am I," he said in what of a voice he had left. And added: "But Jiro's too old for this."
They put his armor up on the mare's saddle. Taizu started off again.
"We're lost," he said to her back. "We're lost. You know that."
"We're all right. We'll get out of this. It can't last too much further."
He swore a steady stream of line-soldier obscenities and limped after.
The sun was edging its way up a murky sky when the dike paths came to a line of trees; and as they came to that ancient stand of willow—
An uncrossable expanse of river.
Taizu stopped, when they came over the dike face to face with that—stopped. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned around with a look of absolute desperation.
"It's all right," he said. "It's all right. We've come back to the Hoi, that's what we've done. You've led us true east. We're all right."
Her lips trembled.
"The river's on the right. We're back where we started!"
"No," he said. "No! We crossed the river Hoi, at Ygotai. It's the same that flows past Mon. It's our river, after the Yan flows into it. It goes down to the Chaighin . . . Maps, girl. The benefit of maps, remember? The Hoi and the Chisei come together at the east end of Hoishi. . . . Taiyi's straight ahead. Straight ahead as we're going."
Tears started down her face. She came and put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, just stood there, shivering.