Chained Adept

by Myers, Karen

  Following the drag marks, he wriggled under the intertwined branches, and there he found a woman’s body in the dim shaded light of the new day.

  The sight of so much blood on the clothes stopped his heart, but there was none on the ground, and her chest moved up and down steadily. Her face was hidden, and for a moment he hoped there’d been a mistake. When he shook her shoulder, she mumbled something, but subsided again when he ceased.

  This was going to be a problem, he realized. He couldn’t carry her, so he would have to get her moving on her own, and quickly, before anyone saw them.

  He shook her again more vigorously, but to no effect. After a little thought, he crawled out to the buckboard and fetched a stoneware bottle of water and several bandages. When he sat down beside her again he poured some water onto a bandage and wiped her face with it. That roused her, as he’d hoped, and he put the bottle in her groping hand and helped her drink.

  “Come on, Penrys-chi, come follow me. Time to get you out of here.”

  Her eyes had no focus, but her muttered “Takka?” encouraged him.

  “Yeah, it’s me, just like you asked for. Let’s go, gotta get up.”

  He pulled up on her shoulder and she half rose to support herself on her elbow. “Where’s Dzantig?”

  “Is that his name?” Tak asked. “He’s gone back, he said.”

  Her eyes closed again, and her head drooped.

  Taking a deep breath, he said, “Sorry, minochi, but you gotta wake up,” and he leaned over and slapped her cheek.

  She snatched his hand, like a snake striking, and her eyes blazed open and held his captive. For a long moment he froze, feeling something in his mind, looming over it. “Dangerous and strange” about described it, after all.

  Then she blinked and released him. “Sorry, Takka. I’m… not myself.”

  She rolled over on her stomach and crawled back out of the bushes and made enough room for him to follow.

  He helped her up, relieved to see she could walk, and led her to the buckboard. She leaned on the side of the wagon while he dropped the tailgate, and seemed to be glad of his help to pull herself up onto the wagon bed.

  Jumping up beside her, he wrapped her in a blanket, as much to cover the distressing sight of her from his view as to warm her, and laid another blanket over and around her, trying to prop her so she wouldn’t roll around too much once they got moving again. After he’d raised the tailgate and covered the whole wagon bed with the canvas cover, he paused on the ground beside the wagon seat with his head down, and shook, thinking about the clutch of her hand and those burning eyes, and the tickling sensation in his mind like threatened lightning, before regaining command of himself and mounting up to drive her away.

  CHAPTER 50

  Zandaril’s eyes bleared open, and he commented thickly, “What are all those birds doing, singing at night?”

  And what am I doing sitting by the side of the road? Where am I?

  He shook his head to clear it, and discovered he was bound to a young tree, just off a narrow road. He tried to raise his hands to his throbbing head, but they didn’t budge.

  The sun was rising to his right, and he turned his head aside to keep the piercing light from his eyes.

  I was talking to Dzantig about Veneshjug, then I headed to my room for something before joining him in the square, and then… what?

  He couldn’t make sense of it, but the pounding in his head told its own tale.

  The ropes that held him to the tree were coiled around his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. His bound hands protruded in front of him, below where the coils ended. What is this, the goat in the tiger trap?

  He scanned his surroundings and found the mind-glows of small animals, but only at the edges of his range did he detect other people, and none of them were Penrys.

  If someone’s taken me, they’ll have gone after her, too.

  He wore himself out for a couple of minutes struggling with the rope, but it was a professional job, and he achieved nothing other than to wake himself up thoroughly and sharpen the pain in his head.

  Something rustled overhead, and he ignored it, taking it for leaves on the tree, but when he glanced up, he saw a piece of paper, tied to the tree above him.

  Probably written in Rasesni. Can’t read it anyway without one of them around to draw on.

  Looking at the low wooded ridges rising in front of him, on the other side of the road, and the trail out of them that joined the road directly across from him, he felt the hair rise on his skin.

  I’m facing north, and that’s the Craggies, isn’t it? And that trail, where does it come down from?

  Just to hear the sound of his own voice, he muttered, “The road to Linit Kungzet, I bet that’s what this is. And I’m a present, left for the Voice when he comes on by.”

  He froze, then tried to stand up and move the ropes further up the tree to loosen the coils, but he found his knees had been tied to stakes, out of his reach.

  Can’t even run away this time.

  Zandaril lost track of time for a little while, before he could control his breathing. Maybe they won’t come this way. Maybe they won’t find me.

  Despite himself, he chuckled. Of course, if they don’t find me, maybe I’ll just starve out here. He smiled crookedly. Well, there are worse fates.

  If he does come, I can’t let him know about Penrys. Maybe he won’t remember me from last time.

  He passed the time scanning for people, but it was the animals that told him of the people coming, as they scurried out of the way before them.

  The first ones down the trail were scouts from the Khrebesni. They broke into coarse and casual laughter at the sight of him. One adjusted his clothing as if to piss on him, but a command from behind stopped him, and quieted all the activity.

  For the second time, he saw Surdo, and this time there was nowhere else to look. The chain recalled Penrys’s—don’t think of her! —but not his face, not at all. Dark unbraided hair framed his clean-shaven face, but his was thin where hers was not, his eyes slightly aslant and the eyebrows sparse instead of shaggy.

  His shield was torn away, and Zandaril heard that awful voice again, this time in his head. *Ah, the Zan is back. What are you doing here, eh?*

  At his gesture, one of the tribesmen brought him the paper tied over Zandaril’s head, and he read it in good humor, and cocked his head at Zandaril. “It seems you are a present, from an admirer. I shall have to remember him.”

  And then his eyes narrowed.*Where is the woman you were traveling with?*

  *WHERE?*

  The probe expanded to fill his mind, until he could hear or think of nothing else. Finally he screamed back, *I don’t know!*

  The pressure withdrew. Zandaril screwed his eyes shut and hung his head.

  Behind the Voice, the captive wizards, and then the horde came pouring out of the trees, spilling over the path on all sides as they came. They were strangely silent, except for the sound of their feet and the breaking of branches. The scouts maintained a clear space around Zandaril and their leader, leaving the road on both sides for the followers.

  Zandaril felt the ropes being cut from him, but a loop around his neck kept his hopes from rising. He would have felt the truth of my answer, and that must have puzzled him.

  He opened his eyes again and found Surdo staring at him. Then the man turned to one of the tribesmen. “I have a use for him with the others, so do nothing that will reduce his utility. But I want to know where his companion is. Find out.”

  But he knows the truth, he saw it. Why do this?

  The first blow to the stomach drove the thought from his mind, and the strikes to the kidneys that followed drove him down in agony. Throughout the beating, a man stood by and shouted at him, “Tell him! Tell him what he wants to know!”

  They kept their fists from his head and wouldn’t let him escape into unconsciousness, but there was nothing he could tell them. They left him alone eventually with a couple of we
ll-placed kicks.

  Surdo returned and looked through his mind casually. *Where is she?*

  From the ground, Zandaril muttered, “I don’t know.”

  Someone bent over him and hammered shackles on his feet. The clank of them closing and the clink of the chain smothered his heart.

  He felt the draw of power from his core, the way Penrys had done it, but this time it didn’t stop. He was left with the barest ability to feel other minds. But then, he didn’t want to feel any other minds now, not here.

  Hands hauled him up, and he swayed on his feet. The Voice led his people off to the east, and when the other captive wizards reached him, he was shoved into their ranks. He shuffled along with them as best he could, trying to muffle the sound of his chains in the dust, as they did.

  CHAPTER 51

  Tak Tuzap brazenly drove his buckboard right through the market square, past the temple school with its clean walls. He followed the morning traffic like any delivery vehicle, and no one gave him a second look.

  His goal was one of his uncle’s warehouses at the edge of town, his warehouse now, which stood full of non-perishable goods in these bad times, awaiting its new master’s attention and a more favorable market. He used his uncle’s agents to do most of his trades, fearing that his youth would earn him no respect.

  This warehouse was staffed only with a watchman who lived in a small cottage on the site with his widowed daughter. It was the safest place Tak could think of, north of the bridge.

  When he swung the buckboard under the covered loading shelter, the noise brought his watchman out of his front door, his mouth still working on his breakfast.

  “It’s me, Watchman-chi,” he called. “I’ve got a special load I’ll take care of myself.”

  “Let me help you, young Tak-chi.”

  Tak Tuzap held his hand up to stop him. “No, this one’s private. Go back home and I’ll come in and chat in a while.”

  He set the brake and hopped down to unlock the heavy iron padlock. He had made his own copies of most of his uncle’s keys as exercises in metal casting long ago, but now he had the originals, and it still felt strange to be using the real keys on his own business, instead of sneaking about with the copies.

  He pushed the two doors inward and latched them back so they couldn’t swing forward and startle the horse, then he led the horse all the way down the main corridor to the back of the building and through the wagon turn-around until it faced forward again.

  The watchman had walked over to the entrance and stood there, peering into the darkness. Tak thought he could hear muffled noises out the back of the wagon and he hastily began unharnessing the horse.

  Haik Anju started forward, and he waved him back. “I’ll bring him to you. Maybe you could put him in a stall for me.”

  The watchman halted, plainly curious, but obedient. He waited until Tak had finished unbuckling everything and led the horse forward.

  “That’s not your gear,” Haik said, as he took the horse’s lead from Tak’s hand. “What about the harness?”

  “I borrowed the rig. I expect I’ll return it tonight or tomorrow, and I’ll clean the harness when I bring it back. Don’t worry about it.”

  He have him a little encouraging push and the watchman reluctantly led the horse out the loading entrance. Tak unlatched and closed the doors behind him. He couldn’t lock them from this side, but he didn’t think Haik would try to sneak in, not with his job at stake.

  He walked back to the wagon, spurred by the noises which were becoming more urgent. When he unfastened the cover and threw it back, he found Penrys thrashing in a nightmare, crying out inarticulately.

  Should I try to wake her? Does that make it worse?

  He reached out his hand to shake her shoulder, and paused.

  Remember the last time you startled her awake.

  That changed his mind, and he withdrew his hand.

  All I can do is wait, as long as she’s not still bleeding. But how can I find out without waking her?

  She needs to be cleaned up, but I want her awake when that happens.

  He snorted softly. So wake her up gradually. She won’t kill you. Probably.

  Originally, he had planned to install her in a locked room at the back of the warehouse, where his uncle kept small, precious goods. But as long as he had the building to himself, there was no reason she couldn’t just stay on the wagon, as long as it was comfortable enough.

  He thought about their journey over the Red Wall and their mornings in camp.

  “Penrys-chi, it’s time we were up,” he called. “I’ve got the bacon started, and Zandaril’s taking care of the horses.”

  He gave the wagon bed a jostle to go with the speech.

  The murmurs stopped. A hopeful voice muttered, “Zandaril?”

  He looked over the wall of the buckboard again. “No, it’s Tak Tuzap, Penrys. D’ya remember?”

  Some of the confusion left her eyes. “Yes, I remember. Where are we?”

  “In my uncle’s warehouse on the road north out of town. We’re alone.”

  She pushed herself up and let the blankets around her fall away. Tak tried not to look.

  “Look, I need to get you cleaned up, and get you something to eat. You can sleep all day afterward, if you want. I brought clothes, like that Rasesni fellow said, stuff from Kor Pochang that might fit. Men’s things, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “There’s no time. I need to go after Zandaril,” she said.

  Tak peered at her face more closely. Her eyes were unfocused, still.

  He put command into his voice, something he’d been learning as he took on his uncle’s work, and lectured her. “You’re hurt, and there’s something wrong with you—you almost killed me. You can’t be of any use to Zandaril if you’re no good yourself.”

  To his horror, she cringed in shame. “I’m sorry! I… the drug…. It’s getting better…”

  “Don’t make such a fuss,” he said, with an assumed sternness. “I’m coming up to help, and you need to let me.”

  He took her silence for assent and lowered the tailgate to swing himself up. She let him help her soak the cloth loose where was it stuck to her. The cuts were thin and clean, and hardly visible—it seemed impossible that they were the source of the blood everywhere. But there were so many of them. Not a fight. Something else.

  Her back was undamaged, but blood from an oozing blow on her head had made a mess.

  She did as much of the work herself as she could, reaching back for fresh bandages and water, and he let her. There didn’t seem to be any wounds that required actual wrapping.

  “How do you do that?” he asked. “How do they heal like that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, curtly. “That’s just the way it is. They wanted to know that, too.”

  Were those cuts experiments?

  Tak’s mind shied away from following that line of thought.

  “Shift over,” he said, and she shoved herself to the other side of the wagon. He handed her a shirt to pull over her head. The ends of the sleeves fell well past her fingertips.

  He laid out two clean blankets as a foundation, and carefully smoothed out any wrinkles. She had been drinking from the water bottles while they worked, and now he reached into a basket and brought out sweet rolls from Kor’s kitchen. When he offered them to her, she blanched and shook her head. “No food.”

  He put them back. “Maybe later, then.”

  Then he patted the fresh blankets. “Here. You need more sleep. Get as much as you can. I’ll be nearby.”

  She looked unconvinced, so he put the stern note back into his voice. “The sooner you get better, the sooner you can help Zandaril.”

  She nodded without looking at him, and stretched out on the blankets. He mopped at some of the stains on one of the blankets she’d been wrapped in and made it clean enough, if a little damp, to serve as a covering.

  She was already sleeping again when he gently laid it over her.


  He wondered about what had happened and where Zandaril was, but it would have to wait. He put things back into order in the wagon, and by the time he hopped down, she had started muttering, her face twisted.

  “Hey, now, go to sleep,” he told her. “You’re safe.”

  The sound of his voice must have helped, for she quieted for a bit, and then it happened again.

  Patience, his uncle had often told him, it takes patience to wait for the right time. It looked to Tak Tuzap like he’d be waiting all day.

  It seemed to Penrys that she wandered for days in nightmare. The image that kept recurring was the fall into the deep wide well, with the tiny lit circle of hostile faces receding rapidly above her. She fell until she was swallowed up in blackness, and never reached the bottom.

  Whenever she woke, she heard a young voice reassuring her, and she tried to make her muscles unknot, but nothing stilled the churning of her stomach. She remembered being poised to attack Tak Tuzap, coldly pleased that he was in her grasp, and ready to be killed. She thought she might have done something similar to Dzantig.

  What have they made me into? Maybe it’s my true self.

  She woke more seriously once, and Tak helped her to the privy out back. When she returned, she emptied one of the stoneware water bottles, but refused food. Her whole body felt drained, and her mind even more so.

  Tak had described the quantity of blood on her clothes. He thought it was all that blood loss that made her weak, made her drink, and he wanted her to eat something, but she just couldn’t face it.

  She still felt nothing when she thought of killing Vladzan, and didn’t think that would change, didn’t even want it to. But that she was prepared to do that to Dzantig, or Takka—that should have given her horrors. And the fact that it didn’t bother her enough… her mind shied away from that and found refuge in sleep. It was very strange.

  She laid down again and gave herself up to dreams.

  It was late afternoon before Penrys finally felt slept out. She was still tired, but there was no more rest to be found in sleep.