by Myers, Karen
He looked down at Penrys. “It is awkward for him. He doesn’t know how to treat us, as you saw. And I am warrior, and trader, not just wizard. And you are mystery. What will he do if there is trouble?”
Shaking his head, he said, “I would not expect him to work all that hard to get us out, if something happens.”
He stared at her directly. “It’s not too late to turn back.”
Penrys frowned. “Tun Jeju is different. I think he values us higher.”
“Doesn’t mean we’re any safer with him in charge. You know what they say about him—he lives with his wife’s family.” He grinned.
Penrys lifted an eyebrow in puzzlement, and he explained. “In Kigali, the wife does not go to the husband’s family, like the Zannib. They live with the more powerful family, whichever it is. Imagine people even sneakier than Tun!”
As if by cue, Tun chose that moment to beckon them over to join him. He seemed especially pleased with the hastily erected canopy, a simple piece of fluttering cloth over ten raised staffs that provided a nominal shelter for their talks. “Means they’re serious,” he said. “Part of their traditions.”
The camp chairs were arranged on the grass three on a side, with the little tables separating them. Once they sat down, they completed the formal introductions, with Kigali-yat as their common language. Tlobsung, the man they had heard of from Tak Tuzap, was in charge of their military, and Pyalshrog was some sort of leader of the hill-tribes. Penrys wasn’t clear on his exact role.
The wizard, Zongchas, studied his two counterparts, and questioned them. Penrys had been expecting this moment since they’d met.
“It was a surprise to us to see a Kigalino envoy with two foreign wizards,” he said, politely, in excellent if accented Kigali-yat. “Have you been with them long?”
“I joined them to find out what had happened here,” Zandaril said. “Sarq-Zannib has an interest in whatever happens to our good allies, the Kigaliwen.”
“I see,” Zongchas said, and turned to Penrys, his eyes flicking to the chain and reluctant to look away. “And you?”
Here it comes. “I was visiting from Ellech, from the Collegium…” She saw the narrowing of his eyes as he made note of the name. “When I heard the news myself.”
There. Let him make what he wants of that.
“And your role with this military expedition?”
“Advisors,” Zandaril said. “We help them with matters that are… beyond their military experience.”
“And what sort of matters would those be?”
Penrys paused a moment and looked at him. “We met the Voice, up on the Horn. He grabbed us but we got away.”
Into the dead silence, she added, “Those sort of matters.”
CHAPTER 37
One day later, Penrys and Zandaril rode borrowed horses over the trampled grassy spot where the canopy had been placed. Negotiations had just begun, and their ending was uncertain, but a temporary truce was in effect and the two wizards, specifically, had been released to meet with their counterparts.
Zongchas had urged it from his side, and Zandaril and Penrys had agreed. Chang had declared them foreigners not under his direct control, and that was the end of it. For now. Penrys thought that absolved him of all responsibility for them, and wondered how they would defend themselves if it came to that.
There would be no commingling of the two armies. Too many Kigali soldiers had died from the Rasesni sabotage, and the blood spilled in Neshilik was too sore a topic. Chang had no plans to move his encampment for the moment, keeping it out of garrison in Shaneng Ferry and ready for action.
Penrys looked back just once as they joined the trade road and passed under Koryan headed for Harlin. “Aren’t you worried about your horses?” she asked Zandaril.
“Better they stay with the Horsemaster in the herd, and yours, too, rather than weaken in a stable in some town, here,” he said.
“I suppose.” Or he expects to lose them here, like the last ones we brought into Neshilik. And us, too, maybe. What would happen then? Would Chang try to send them back to someone in sarq-Zannib? How does that work?
The Seguchi ran close to the road as the gorge narrowed, and the roar of the water grew louder. Penrys’s nose flared to the moisture in the air that had been river moments ago. The clouds overhead threatened rain as if in competition.
At the point where the shelf carrying the road on its embankment was at its narrowest, a barricade had been erected. Their promised escort awaited them on the far side, a young dark-haired wizard with a prominent scar across his left cheek, still livid, and they passed through with no difficulty.
The escort trotted up to them on his gray horse. “I’m Ichorrog. Brudigdo Zongchas has assigned me to be your guide.”
“We’re pleased to meet you, Ichorrog,” Zandaril said. “This is Penrys, and I am Zandaril.”
Ichorrog nodded briefly, then moved to the front and led the way.
“Doesn’t have much to say,” Penrys muttered.
“Better than shooting at us,” Zandaril replied. Penrys had noticed how many of the soldiers had bows, though this wizard bore no obvious weapons.
“At least he spoke Kigali-yat,” Zandaril added.
“We’ve got to do something about the language issue,” she said to him. “I’ll bet most of them don’t. You and I are going to work on it again.”
He looked at her in dismay. “It’ll never succeed.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “I noticed last night you’re getting much better at reading deeper into minds. Just a matter of practice.”
She watched with interest as his cheeks reddened.
They walked their horses on through the gorge which gradually widened out. The road’s elevated surface hugged the right edge, and between the river and the road stretched the floodplain of Harlin, level as a table top. It was filled with tents and other temporary shelters, marked here and there with patches of bright color. Well-defined avenues between them allowed for unimpeded movement. A herd of horses was confined to the grass meadows along the river, but there weren’t enough for a cavalry unit—this was clearly infantry.
At this time of year, the ground was firm and covered in low vegetation, wherever it was not worn away by the foot traffic, and the Seguchi was restrained by its banks, but it was clear to Penrys that come spring it would likely all be underwater.
“Where will they move to, for permanent quarters?” she asked Zandaril.
He just shook his head.
She had expected their guide to lead them off the embankment and down into the meadow, but he kept to the road and passed the army encampment behind.
Over the next few hours, the embankment gradually subsided and the road returned to the surface of the natural land, which was starting to rise. Penrys felt the spray in the air before she heard the increased sound of water and, as they turned past a wooded hill, the river narrowed and hissed down an endless series of shallow rapids.
A good-sized village was sited there, at the base of the riffles on the north side, with an outsized set of sturdy landings for river-borne traffic, and a ferry crossing to a smaller settlement on the far bank. Tak Tuzap had described how no boats could ascend the Seguchi at this point, but the locals made a living moving goods via the trade road to the head of the series of falls, some two miles west, where local boats and barges could navigate the river again. Every outlying building they could see from the road seemed to have stables and a wagon or two.
“That’s Gonglik Jong, the Steps,” Ichorrog told Zandaril, pointing at the rapids. “There’s a big town at the upper end, biggest one in Neshilik, on both sides of the river. It’s called Gonglik, too. We’re based there.”
Zandaril nodded silently and Penrys kept her thoughts to herself. That’s where Tak came from, and I imagine he’s there now.
She was surprised at the solitude of their journey, as the road climbed with the land. There were no compounds here, along the ascending rapids. Onl
y the noise of the occasional passing rider disturbed them.
“Is it the invasion, d’ya think?” she asked Zandaril. “I’d expect to see goods moving.”
“Anyone with sense is hunkered down, waiting for things to sort themselves out. Put your goods out on the road, next Rasesni soldier’s likely to seize it.”
She said, “You’re right. Every warehouse and barn is probably full, and the caves in the hills, too, if there are any.”
Every so often a track left the road on the left and headed to the rapids. She pointed them out to Zandaril, and he suggested they might be camping places, near the water.
The well-maintained road swung out some distance to the right around the last little fall on the river, and then turned left decisively. Only a small local spur continued upriver the way they had been going.
They paused on the slope to breathe the horses where the first compounds and warehouses sprouted before entering the main body of the north half of the town. From that position, they could see all the way down to the river, to the famous bridge that crossed the Seguchi here, and then up to the much larger south-side town, really a small city.
Zandaril pointed across the river to the wooded summits of the low hills south of town and told Penrys, quietly, “That’s where we waited for news from Gonglik, the night we sent Wan Nozu and Tak Tuzap in.”
Their taciturn guide circled back to speak with them as they started forward again. “You see, down there in Kunchik, where the buildings widen into a market square, short of the bridge? We’ve taken back the temple school for the wizards, that one on the left with the colonnade on the second floor. You see it?”
“Clear enough,” Zandaril replied.
“It’s Venesh’s, now. Again. They weren’t teaching wizardry here, anymore. We had to bring our own books.”
Ichorrog wheeled his horse about, and they followed behind him.
As they entered the market square, with its cobbled paving, Penrys was surprised to find everything looking so… normal. The small permanent shops with their arcades were open, and the temporary farmer stalls were covered with produce. Both uniformed men and apparent townspeople were visible. When she tasted the mood it seemed not exactly relaxed but concerned, as if they were waiting to see what would happen. Even children were out, here and there, despite the threat of rain.
The old stone temple and merchant buildings that surrounded the square, three and four stories high, were weathered, mellowed into place, all except for the broad colonnaded three-story building that made up half of the long east side. The first floor was solid and fortress like, its expanse broken only by a double door, raised several wide steps from the pavement, and a closed-off archway at ground level. It had no windows at all on that floor, not even grilled or barred ones like the other buildings. The long row of thin columns that fronted the second floor for its entire length screened a sheltered walkway, backed by a wall with windows. The solid wall of the third floor was pierced by casements, open to the air, and a flicker of motion within them betrayed curtains.
The visible walls and columns looked freshly cleaned, and the Rasesni characters carved over the doorway had been touched up. ‘School of the Secrets of Vanesh,’ they said. Pennants hung from the staffs that jutted from the roof corners, bright in scarlet and gold, but she couldn’t make out the devices. Nothing like that fluttered from the roofs of the other, dingier buildings.
Without dismounting, Ichorrog pounded on the wooden doors that blocked the tall archway, and they swung inward, allowing them to walk their horses through a long flagged passage and into the interior courtyard of the compound, a place of walkways and exercise spaces interrupted by small gardens whose colors were muted by the not too distant approach of winter. The familiar sounds of smithwork hit Penrys’s ears, and her nose told her the location of the stables.
Ichorrog took charge of their belongings and sent the two of them up to Zongchas’s office through a simple back entrance with a young woman whom he introduced as Isven. Penrys took her for a student wizard, but her efforts to get her to chat, even in Rasesni, were fruitless. Everywhere she led them, from the stable yard, through the kitchen corridors, and up the back way to the second floor, they passed people who stopped talking when they saw them.
These were clearly not the public parts of the building, but the smells were familiar to Penrys from the Collegium—the ineradicable remnants of hundreds of meals, the cleansers and polishes, the traces of candle soot on the ceilings, the wear in the stone floors of thousands of feet. She wondered how old the students had been who had been schooled here, and for how many generations, some of them Kigaliwen, and some of them, perhaps, not.
As they worked their way forward toward the front of the building following their guide, they passed along one bare corridor unpunctuated by inner openings on the right until a set of carved double doors spread wide allowed them a glimpse of the immense interior room there—bookcases and tables stretched back into dimness.
The shelves were perhaps three-quarters empty, but the familiar smell of moldering covers, dust, and ink stopped Penrys in her tracks. There were lights in this unwindowed space, but no flickering attended them. Powered devices, they must be. There were people in the room, too, but she only had eyes for the distant rows of books.
Zandaril halted with her, his eyes widening. “And here I thought I would look for a few books to take back with me. I’d need an entire pack train. Two.”
Isven, their guide, circled back skittishly to retrieve them and chivvied them along. They left the library entrance reluctantly and continued down the corridor until it turned the corner of the building. Penrys thought they were now on the side fronting the square.
The first door on the outer wall was ajar, and the girl knocked on it and fled, leaving the two wizards bemused on the wrong side. Penrys pushed it further open, and caught Zongchas in the process of rising from his broad desk to welcome them in.
Behind him, a window let in both air and light, as well as a glimpse of the outer colonnade.
“Surely you didn’t find your way by yourselves?” he asked, in Kigali-yat.
“Our young guide was in a hurry to leave,” Penrys said.
Zongchas raised an eyebrow. “Our students aren’t accustomed to meeting foreigners, let alone foreign wizards.”
He waved his hand in the direction of the market square. “Neshilik is not foreign to us, not really. We have stories from here, and cousins.”
He offered them chairs, in front of his desk, and resumed his seat. Penrys tried without success to make out what the succession of characters carved into the smooth walnut sides of the desk were doing.
Zongchas said, “I’m pleased you were willing to come so soon, before we have any… formal agreement.”
Penrys waved that aside. “We need to know the story of this ‘Voice.’” She leaned forward. “D’ya know where he is now?”
“Still on the Horn,” Zongchas said, “Preparing to move. But wait a moment…”
His eyes unfocused a moment. “I’ve summoned our Grakeddo, our Devices Master, and some refreshment.”
“Devices Master?” Zandaril said.
“We have all sorts of wizards here—all we could save—and many of them were students. Are students. So we’ve made of this place a new sort of Mage School, with an unusual number of additional teachers.”
He cocked his head. “You must understand, every god in his temple has his adherents and his secret knowledge, and many priests are jealous of what they know. Some of us have started to work on sharing that, but there is resistance. You will find some of our teachers, and their students, are unconvinced this is the right path. Necessity has thrown us all together.”
“How many do you have here?” Penrys asked.
“Thirty-seven, counting us all. Twelve are students.”
“And in other places?” she asked.
There was a moment of silence, and her heart sank.
“That’s all that
have survived, that we know about,” Zongchas said.
“But we saw, up on the Horn…” Her voice trailed off, but she straightened her shoulders and continued. “Looked to me like maybe thirty, forty people that I took for Rasesni wizards.”
“That sounds about right. There were more, but he uses his captives up.” She heard the grief in his voice.
Could he be telling the truth about his losses?
“Careless with his tools, eh?” Zandaril muttered, and Zongchas nodded, soberly.
“But I don’t understand,” Penrys said. “Has your capital… has Dzongphan been destroyed?”
Zongchas grimaced. “No, not yet, but we do fear it, if he turns that way. Many of the wizards have fled.”
They didn’t stay to defend it? That didn’t sound right to her. Or maybe they tried an attack and it failed.
There was a knock on the door, and a tall, thin man stuck his head around the doorway.
“Come in, come in,” Zongchas said. “This is Vladzan, our Devices Master.”
The thin man came in and pulled over a third chair. He looked them over. “Zan and, what, Ellech, they said? You don’t look the part.” This last was directed at Penrys.
“Long story, I’ll tell you later. But, yes, three years at the Collegium, especially in their library.”
Noises outside the door intruded, and then two young men came in with bread, cheese, and fruit. Zongchas cleared space on the end of his desk for the platter, and for the tray with a pitcher of water and glasses.
When they left, they closed the door behind them.
Zongchas pointed them to the food, and leaned back in his chair. “Let me tell you about our great nightmare.”
“Two years ago, almost three… No, wait. I need to tell you a bit about our country first.”
He waved his hands in the air to illustrate as he spoke. “You’ve seen maps, yes? We are a spine of great empty mountains with coastal plains on the southwest and northeast, and the inland vale of Nagthari in the east. Most of our people are in the plains, and that’s where our cities and ports are. The hill-tribes range widely but they are small, and they share few interests with the settled people of the coasts. Nagthari trades with Kigali, when it is allowed, and holds our holy places.