Chained Adept

by Myers, Karen

She threw the twisted blanket off of her and sat up in the wagon. Tak Tuzap was slumped against the far side, next to the open tailgate, snoring lightly. She tried to ease out without disturbing him, letting herself down over the tailgate until her bare feet touched the ground.

  She walked stiffly around the wagon to his side. Up behind the seat she found the clothing he’d brought along. She reached over the buckboard’s wall to root through it. The men’s breeches were very large on her, but there was a belt. She tied a knot in it for now, over the doubled material—when Tak woke, she’d borrow his knife to cut holes for the buckle. With the crotch pulled up to the right place, the waist came halfway up her ribs, but the tunic she found would cover that well enough. She’d miss having access to the breeches’ pockets, though.

  A long bandage wrapped around her breasts provided some support, and the shirt was fine after she rolled the sleeves, but the tunic needed its own cord to hold it reasonably close to her body. Tak could probably find her something.

  She still had her shoes, and the socks had been rinsed of blood and were almost dry. She leaned against the wagon wall and put them on, before continuing her search.

  Ah, two spare packs. Perfect. She added the bottles which were still full to one of the packs, and looked at the food. I feel like I may never eat again, but that’s probably not true. Besides, what if I find Zandaril?

  That decided her, and she added hardbread and cheese, and even Tak’s sweet rolls.

  All that remained was to roll up a blanket for a bedroll and strap it on.

  She looked up and met Tak’s watching eyes. Oh. Two spare packs, not one.

  “Without me? You can’t go look for Zandaril without me.”

  He sat up and rubbed his eyes, his disappointment plain on his face.

  She swallowed. “Come,” she said. “I want to get a little exercise, and I need to talk to you. You can show me your uncle’s warehouse.”

  She had woken up shielded, something she’d never been able to do before. She took a moment now to cast a scan around her. Her range seemed to be limited to a mile or so, but she was much closer to normal. The drug must still be wearing off. No sign of Zandaril, anywhere, as far as she could reach.

  “Here’s the truth, Takka. One warrior to another.”

  He drew himself up straight and walked with her while she worked on her limping stiffness as they proceded down the main aisle in the dim building.

  “The Rasesni have an enemy, someone like me—a wizard with a chain. He’s got himself a rough army, a bodyguard of mountain tribes, and a bunch of captured wizards which give him lots of extra power. They call him the Voice.”

  She looked down at him—he was almost her own height. “That’s why they invaded Neshilik this time. They were running away.”

  “Why didn’t they fight?”

  “They tried, but it didn’t work. You told us something about this, remember, when we came up to Gonglik with you and Wan Nozu. Zandaril and I went on afterward, and we found him. He caught us, but we were lucky, we got away.”

  They reached the double doorway and turned to go back. Her muscles were easing, but she still felt weak. Blood loss or the drug?

  “Chang made a truce with Tlobsung, the Rasesni commander, and we came in to work with the Rasesni wizards in the temple school, to find out more about the threat and to help them defend against it, if we could.”

  She could feel Tak listening hard and reserving judgment.

  “What happened last night… One of their powerful wizards—the one who owned those books I had, remember? He came out of hiding and sent Zandaril away. Then they grabbed me and…”

  Her voice faltered, and she lurched to a stop. “They drugged me and they questioned me but it didn’t work for them the way they wanted. They left me alone with one of them and I killed him.”

  She could hear the toneless quality of her own voice.

  “And later I tried to kill Dzantig when he was trying to help me, and then you. I’m not safe anymore, Takka. Not the least little bit.”

  She started walking again. “Before all that, we heard news yesterday that the Voice is coming down off the Horn and into the corner of Neshilik. He might go west into Nagthari, or come into Neshilik to winter—we don’t know. I think this wizard who captured Zandaril, I think he was working for the Voice. I think he sent him there. I hope not, but I have to go look for him.”

  She leaned against the wagon as they came up to it and looked away from him. “I don’t know if he’s alive. I can’t reach him, but maybe that’s the drug. And maybe not. And if I do find him and he’s with the Voice, then we’re both sunk, because I can’t beat a wizard that strong.”

  She turned finally and looked at Tak Tuzap directly. “And you can’t help me. I’m sorry, but it’s true. You can’t go with me—that’s just two of us dead instead of one.”

  As he opened his mouth to protest, she overrode him and wagged a finger in his face. “What you can do, what you must do, is tell all of this to Kor Pochang. Warn him. The Voice will ruin Neshilik, especially if some of the mage council are traitors. You have to retreat in front of him if he comes this way. Ask Kor to get word to Chang. Maybe the main Kigali force can do something when it comes, but that’s still weeks away. And they have no wizards.”

  She challenged him. “Can you be a man and do the right thing, instead of what your heart wants?”

  “But what will happen to you?” Tak whispered, “And Zandaril?”

  She snorted. “If we’re lucky, we won’t live to see it. But maybe, just maybe, I can find Zandaril and sneak him out. I won’t lie to you—it’s a long chance. But maybe.”

  “How will you get there?” He cleared his throat. “You can have the horse, but I didn’t bring a saddle.”

  “I don’t need him.” She felt a genuine smile stretch her cheeks.

  “You know how you wanted to see something wizardly?”

  He nodded cautiously.

  “Well, what do you think about this?”

  She stretched out her arms and invoked her wings to match, and this time they came.

  CHAPTER 52

  “Psst. Hey, you, Zan.”

  The man next to Zandaril poked him on the arm, then faded back a pace. Zandaril lifted his face and looked left, to see who was speaking. He’d been walking head down for a long time, concentrating on keeping up and trying not to think about anything else.

  A gray-haired woman in dingy clothing took the spot next to him.

  “Where’d you come from, huh?” She spoke a rough sort of Kigali-yat.

  He tried to bespeak her, but nothing happened.

  She must have seen his expression. “That won’t work, not while he’s got us on full drain.”

  He asked, hoarsely, “Is it always like this?” He stumbled over his chain and she grabbed him by the arm to keep him from falling. He tried not to wince for the bruises already there.

  “He’s got to keep them under control.” She hooked a thumb at the horde of people walking in front of them, silent and dusty. “That’s always a big task, especially when they fight.”

  She scowled. “Sometimes he has jobs for us, and then he let’s us keep a little, to get the work done. Then we can talk.” She tapped her forehead to show her meaning. “But he can hear what you say that way, if he’s listening, so better you talk out loud.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Zandaril, bikrajti.” He tried to sketch a quick bow while walking, but his stiff muscles made a botch of it.

  “Well, I’m Rinshradke, from up Shirtan-pur way. I’ve been with him since near the start.”

  She glanced around at the other shackled wizards in their ragged clothes.

  “I’m a survivor, I am. The others look to me.”

  She gave him a challenging glance. “So, how’d you get here?”

  “It’s a long story, bikrajti.”

  She snorted. “You got anything better to do?”

  He pulled his mind aw
ay from his injuries. She reminded him of one particularly acerbic dirum, herd-mistress, of his youth, and it had never paid to treat her with less than full attention.

  For the next half-hour as they walked along, he told her about Penrys and the rest of his story.

  “Do you mean those honorless scum from the temple school sold you out?”

  “Revenge, I think, for finding Veneshjug before he wanted to be found.”

  “I’m not surprised. Even in Shirtan-pur I heard about Vejug. He’d take it personal.”

  They trudged along for a few minutes in silence.

  “D’ya think you could teach us, like you did those students?”

  “What, how to work together?” Zandaril said. “But you haven’t got any power.”

  “Not now, maybe, but who knows what might happen. You live as long as I do, you learn that things change. Even like this, if we touch each other we can follow along with a lesson, an’ he can’t hear. Might look clumsy, but it works.”

  Zandaril thought about it. She was asking him if he could organize these wizards, help prepare them for some opportunity. Better that than stewing in despair.

  “Yes, bikrajti. I will, gladly. When can we start?”

  “Now,” she said, “Just marching along.” She reached out to take his hand and stretched her other hand to the man on her left. “It’s gotta go a long way, so think slow and loud.”

  They stopped moving when the sun was high in the sky, and Zandaril turned his eyes back to his surroundings. Once he’d stopped thinking about his feet, his pace had adjusted to the fetters.

  Now everyone dropped hands and turned aside to the edge of the road for what little privacy they could manage, to relieve themselves.

  Strange how the personalities traveled over the long physical links they formed. He couldn’t match persons to faces, but they were nonetheless vivid, some questioning, some despairing, but all bludgeoned into at least a semblance of cooperation by the force of Rinshradke’s mind. No courteous persuasion was necessary—Rinshradke just told them “learn this,” and the grumbling stopped.

  As they returned to their section of the road, some of the wizards nodded to him on their way to resume their places in the rough column. I wonder which ones those are.

  A whirlwind of noise announced the arrival of a raiding party, whooping up from the south with a mixed herd of cattle, horses, and sheep, every animal that was large enough bearing improvised packs and bundled supplies. They passed by on the way to release their captured provisions to the care of the rear guard.

  Rations already cooked the night before were brought down the line from the horde in front, carried by men walking clumsily along the road.

  Those Khrebesni can ride when they choose, but they dismount once they don’t need the horses any more.Must not have many horses up in the high hills, above the trees.

  The tribesmen looked at ease with their heavy packs, the captured animals more food than transportation. This must be the way they travel all the time. Never pack more that you can carry on your own back, in case you need to eat the beasts.

  The silent horde carried supplies and water for everyone, while the wizards had no packs at all. I guess we’re more valuable. Renewable power, if he can keep us alive.

  When he looked down at his feet, he bemoaned the way the shackles were tearing up his boots. What is it about these foreign lands, that I can’t keep a pair of boots intact for more than a couple of weeks? A glance at some of the others showed him how boot legs became leather-lined shackles, once they separated from the foot portion.

  If you can’t keep up, what happens? Rinshradke’s clothes didn’t fit her well, but they weren’t as ragged as some, and she’d been there a long time. Do they loot the ones that fall behind?

  Something in the dust of the road caught his eye. He leaned down and picked up a stone, a little smaller than his palm, flat like a wavy sea with an unsightly hollow in its middle. Not my usual had-kighat, and yet, there’s something about it.

  He pocketed it.

  When he reached out to seek Penrys, he found nothing more than a few feet away.

  Stay alive. Don’t have her come looking for you, and you no longer here.

  When the water carrier came by, he drained as many cups as he could before they beat him away.

  Penrys waited until evening to leave, alone in the woods behind the warehouse. A disconsolate Tak Tuzap had departed without her, with a promise to warn Kor Pochang and, through him, the rest of Neshilik, on the assumption that the Rasesni occupiers might not. It was the best she could do for them—they were on their own, now.

  As soon as the darkness was thick enough to mask her flight, she headed north, scanning cautiously until she landed at the crossroads where Ichorrog had brought Zandaril and her, just a few days ago, on their way from the truce field.

  She judged herself to be about five miles north of the temple school, and twenty or more west from Harlin, where Tlobsung’s forces were encamped. She couldn’t reach the collection of mind-glows that represented Kunchik, much less Harlin, and there were no wizards within her reach. If Zandaril was alive, he wasn’t close by.

  Where was the Voice? If she could find him, she might find Zandaril. She could still feel the residue of the drug, in the slackness of her muscles and the soreness and limited range of her mind. Veneshjug had said it was long-lasting and in that, at least, he’d spoken the truth.

  She should travel some distance to the west while it was dark, high above the road, and then make a camp off of it, somewhere. If the Voice was coming her way, then good, and if not, she could pursue it faster when she was better, when her range was longer.

  It felt right, leaving the other people behind, to go on into the west alone. When she woke up in the morning, she’d be able to focus on her task.

  CHAPTER 53

  When Penrys woke in the dim light before the sun’s rising, for a moment she thought she was still hiding in the stand of bushes, abandoned by Dzantig, until the differences in the birdsong registered. Country birds, not town ones.

  Her shield still held. Is that a permanent improvement, or can I thank whatever contribution Vladzan made to the chain’s power? I wonder how long the stolen power lasts?

  She dressed quickly, settling Tak Tuzap’s gifts on her belt. She’d ended up using a cord around the breeches and cutting down the belt for the tunic with his knife, and when she’d made to give it back to him, he’d pressed it on her, with its sheath.

  “You’ll be needing this more than me, minochi. And this, too—I brought it for you.”

  He’d taken off his own belt, and revealed the weapon that had been dangling from it—a leather-sheathed ax, for throwing or one-handed fighting. Engraved whirlwinds decorated the freshly-sharpened blade, and the bison-horn grips were well-worn.

  “That’s my da’s grandsire’s parkap, from off my uncle’s wall. Hasn’t seen war for a while, so I thought now would be a good time.”

  “You were going to carry that for yourself,” she’d accused.

  “This is better. You take it.”

  She hadn’t told him she’d bring it back—she didn’t want to raise that hope—so she’d just bowed her head to him and slipped it onto her cut-down belt.

  Now she adjusted both knife and ax until they hung comfortably with her smallest water bottle and a small pouch for food. She’d practiced drawing the ax until she was satisfied. The grip was a bit large in her hand, but not unusably so.

  With her pack ready on the ground beside her, she sat cross-legged to search.

  The road had forked the night before, one branch following the river to the southwest through the farms, toward Linit Kungzet at the border, and the other running along the base of the Craggies straight west. She’d gambled that a need for water would make the river route more appealing to the Voice, and if she was wrong about him coming east, it would also be the road he would take west into Nagthari. She’d made her camp accordingly in the woods just south of
the river road, a couple of miles past the fork, hoping for more range in the morning to help her make a decision.

  Now she reached first southeast toward Kunchik. Today she could faintly feel it, several miles away, the concentrated mind-glows making a dim background for the nearer minds she found as she started to swing more to the east, familiar minds—the Rasesni wizards from the temple school. She touched them only briefly, wary of revealing herself.

  They must be on horseback to have traveled so far this early in the morning. Can’t be but a mile or so off, on the river road past the fork.

  When she turned her attention directly to the east, she found a fainter cluster of mind-glows, with a feel that reminder her of Chang’s squadron. I bet that’s Tlobsung’s men. Must be on foot, what, an hour away? Less? Not at the fork yet.

  This means they both think the Voice is coming this way and they’re going to try and coordinate. Must have been traveling since well before dawn.

  She searched to the west for the Voice’s people, cautiously. And there they were, close enough that she would have felt them last night, without the drug’s inhibition. She would hear them, too, in a little while, close as they were. She peered through the trees that lined the far side of the road and tried without success to penetrate the morning mist from the warm river over the cold ground, hoping for a glimpse of them. They were in the fields a couple of miles away, between the two roads. This quiet spot was shaping up to be a battlefield today.

  To her mind, what lay to the west was a complex cluster of people, hundreds of them. A thin layer in front, and then a large group of dulled minds. I wonder if that’s the horde.

  Behind the horde and around the whole body were more like the ones in front, by far the largest of the groups. That must be the Khrebesni—they have the feel of Pyalshrog to them.

  There was a group on the inside, that seemed like they might be wizards, but the feel of them was weak. Where’s the Voice? In the center with his wizards, where he is best protected?

  No one’s mounted, anyway. The horses are all in the rear, with cattle.