They were entering more heavily populated country, she decided, as time after time they were challenged by unseen men from the hills. Always Iskander called back the same response and Lily guessed that passwords were being exchanged. Certainly the repeatedly called name of Iskander seemed to open all barriers. Usually, after a satisfactorily answered challenge, the challenger would show himself, waving his rifle in greeting. And a terrifying bunch they were too, Lily thought. All young, wild-eyed, grinning, with the general facial attributes of an eagle and heavy black beards. The troop moved smartly on, working their way through the hills and keeping the distant valley always to their left.
Iskander ranged up alongside and said, ‘Five miles more and we shall arrive at our destination,’ and rode off again.
When Lily had calculated they must be just about there they rounded a bend and came across a herd of sheep crossing under the care of their shepherd. This was a lad, small and still unbearded. He was wearing a tattered tunic and trousers and a felt hat decorated with two pink roses. He carried slung over his shoulder a gun so ancient it looked desperately dangerous but his reaction to finding the track blocked by a troop of warriors was instant. In one smooth movement the child had swung his rifle forward, sunk to his knees in the middle of the path and covered the front riders with an unwavering barrel. He rapped out a challenge, a challenge incongruous in his unbroken voice. The troop halted at once and Iskander answered the challenge. The boy was not satisfied and asked, apparently, for further information. Patiently and seriously Iskander replied and, after a moment’s consideration, the boy stood and lowered his rifle. Lily noticed that not one of the men laughed or said anything patronizing or even complimentary. The boy had done his job – he had behaved as they expected he would behave. She began to wonder what other surprises awaited her at her destination amongst these surprising people.
The little convoy wound on and the way grew narrower and the enclosing hills higher until the sky appeared only as a ribbon of blue, a ribbon of blue in which eagles ceaselessly circled above them. Fancifully, Lily thought that however efficient Fred Moore-Simpson might be a flight of eagles would be a good deal more effective than his little biplane.
Sometimes trotting but more often picking their way over stones they rode on. Dizzy from her sleepless night and choked with dust, Lily began to appraise her situation. ‘Well, I know for sure how I got here but I do wonder what I’m doing here in this moon landscape. This is . . . er . . . Saturday morning. To think – I could be partnering Edward Dalrymple-Webster at badminton if I’d stayed in Simla! Past – imperfect, present very far from indicative and future not simple, whatever else! I wonder what lies round the next corner?’
What lay around the next corner was predictable: a further narrowing of the gorge until they could only ride in single file, the thunder of a waterfall crashing down, it seemed, from the sky, the perpetual rattle of falling stones and the click of advancing hooves. The creak of saddlery and jingle of bits blended into a symphony of sound which to Lily’s dulled senses acquired a quality that was almost soothing and she hardly noticed that their way grew abruptly steeper as it led towards a saddle amongst the rocks.
Iskander came riding back towards her. ‘Miss Coblenz! Lily!’ he said with concern. ‘You’re nearly asleep! I’m sorry you’ve had this arduous journey. I’ve said it before and now I’ll say it again – a few more paces and you will see our journey’s end.’
He shouted to the men ahead of them and at his command they separated, leaving the way clear for Lily to ride to the head of the convoy and over the saddle. Here he waited for her and with a smile and a proud gesture pointed towards the land below. ‘Behold,’ he said, ‘Mahdan Khotal! The fort and the lands of my people welcome you.’
Lily sat back in her saddle with her hands on her hips. ‘What’s this you’re showing me? El Dorado?’ she said but, in truth, she was impressed, she was allured, she was even charmed by the landscape before her which was of orchards and cornfields, of peacefully grazing sheep and hastening streams, terraced cultivation and the tinkle of water blending with the tinkle of sheep bells.
Iskander was eyeing her intently. ‘Yes?’ he said.
‘Yes indeed! It’s perfectly lovely!’ said Lily, anxious to give nothing away, but all the same she saw this as a land worth fighting for and if necessary worth dying for. The hillsides were dotted with houses large and small, many with watchtowers enclosed within defensive walls. Folded with such skill into the hills that Lily was not at first aware of it was a considerable village, itself within a defensive wall, surrounding an interior fortress, large and forbidding, the home of Iskander and the home of Zeman.