by Myers, Karen
His excited smile took in Najud and Penrys, then lingered on Dzantig. “I found her where you said she was. I’m glad to see you again. Maybe you’ll tell me your name, this time.”
Dzantig bowed and introduced himself. “No one else knows of your involvement that night, nor Kor Pochang’s.”
Najud said, “I should tell you both—“Zandaril” was just a name I took for this journey, while I learned my craft. I have presented my masterwork to a master, and now I am free to take back my name. Please call me Najud.”
Tak eyed Penrys. “Wizard stuff, I bet.”
Penrys noted a tidily-made cot in one corner, and Tak, following her glance, said, “This is my room, for now. The rest is occupied.”
At her frown, he continued, “No, it’s all right. They’ve recognized my title to my uncle’s business—it’s mine now—and they let me run it. We even dine together, very civilized. These aren’t the men who killed him that night.”
He gave her a brief grin. “I have a lot to learn, but we’ll manage.”
“I’ve brought you new business, Trader-chi,” Najud said. He explained his caravan plan to Tak Tuzap, and the role he saw for Dzantig in it. “I look to you to help Dzantig learn the trade, as your uncle taught you.”
Tak glanced at Dzantig and nodded. “That’s easy enough, as long as he can spend some time with me, learning. Nothing too hard about adding more traffic to the perimeter runs in the southern cove, in Song Em, that all the annual traders take. You should just make your base on our side of the pass at Jaunor with an outpost here in Gonglik, or maybe in Kunchik, in case you want to expand west to Linit Kungzet or east out the Gates. Your letters can be carried along the trade network, and accumulate in your posts until someone can carry them to the next stage. And the uncertainty about how much to commit to get started—that’s a common problem. We can help with that. We finance many of the small circuit traders, you know.”
He ran his hand over his face, making him look instantly a decade older, and Penrys hid a smile.
Must be his uncle’s gesture. I wonder if his uncle had a beard?
She’d seen a few beards in Neshilik. They were thicker than the ones in the squadron. Was it Rasesni blood?
“No,” he said, “The real problem is politics. I don’t know how to help with that. I know my uncle’s friends, but they’re not my own friends, not yet.”
“I have an idea about that,” Najud suggested. “What about Kor Pochang? How can we get a message to him requesting a meeting?”
Tak sat down again, laid his pen aside, and took up a brush and a fresh sheet of papyrus to compose a formal message.
He’s so young, gangling in his clothing that’s he’s not yet grown into, but he looks prosperous and here, in his element, he knows what he’s doing. What will he be like in a few years?
Tak blotted the ink, picked up a small hand bell and rang it, then rolled the papyrus and dripped turquoise wax on the join, sealing it with a ring that he removed from his thumb.
He caught her eye on him and held it up. “My father’s ring. He was my uncle’s partner. Too big for me now, but I’ll grow.”
“I don’t thing anything will be too big for you long, Takka,” Penrys said, approvingly. “Najud, tell him about Len-len.”
Following a knock on the door, a head popped in. “Get me a messenger boy for the central district,” Tak told him, and the door closed again.
Najud told Tak Tuzap how the little girl was doing and what he’d done for her. “I gave her guardian information about how to find you. Perhaps you’ll meet again sometime. You saved her life, you know—that makes you responsible, though maybe you are too young to just adopt her.”
Meanwhile, Penrys pulled Dzantig aside to thank him for the books.
“It was my honor, brudigna. I could not just give you books from our library—I hope you understand—but the grammar and dictionary, that’s no more than any student would have, and my own god, Dzangab, he would want his word spread, even to unbelievers.”
He coughed apologetically at the term, but she waved it away.
With another knock, the door opened and a boy of about Tak’s age popped in and bowed to his master. “You needed a messenger, Tak-chi?”
“Take this to Kor Pochang—you know where his compound is? Bring it to the kitchen door and wait for an answer.”
The boy tucked the scroll into his tunic, bowed again, and walked out of the room. As soon as the door had been carefully closed, Penrys could hear his running steps receding down the corridor.
Najud took this moment to walk up to the table before Tak could rise again, and he summoned Penrys to join him.
“Tak Tuzap,” he said, “we have yarab mar-uthkahi, honor gifts, for you, to thank you for your rescue of Penrys and the weapons of your house.”
He reached into his robe and brought out the two empty sheathes, with the blood dried upon them. He gave them to Penrys.
But I don’t know what words they expect.
She cleared her throat. Awkwardly, she laid the knife sheath onto her deceptively full gloved palm.
“This knife was my only shield in the final combat. It served me well until I was overwhelmed at last.”
She took it back into her right hand while she removed the glove to show him the wrapped remnant, then put the glove back on.
He blanched but otherwise heard her in dignified silence.
“After the fight, this sheath carried away all that survived of the Voice.” She lay the knife sheath on his table, tucked the ax sheath under her left arm, and reached into her inner tunic pocket to pull out and show him the three-link fragment of chain.
She put it away again and transferred the ax sheath back into her right hand.
“This ax, an heirloom of your house, killed the Voice, saving my life and many others. All honor be to it.”
She lay that sheath next to the other one.
“I apologize that neither survived what followed the Voice’s death.”
Najud reached again into his robe. First he drew out the new knife in its sheath and laid it before Tak Tuzap.
“May this simple tool have as glorious a career as the one it replaces. May it always remind you of your daring journey alone through Seguchi Norwan, the saving of a little child, the warning you carried, and the help you provided us.”
It was a fine example of military smith work, Penrys saw, stamped on sheath and blade with the wolf that was Chang’s squadron’s emblem.
Next, Najud pulled out a small sheathed ax. He held it in balanced on both hands and bowed with it, as if it were a sword in miniature.
“I cannot replace an heirloom of your house. I can only hope this may find your approval as a new heirloom, to remind you of the old.”
He unsheathed it and displayed both sides. One was marked with whirlwinds similar to the ones she had described to him. The other bore a single eight-spoked circle engraving in the upper center of the blade.
“The zamjilah, the eye of heaven— it’s the mark of my clan, to remind you of our debt to you.”
Dzantig had stood off to the side respectfully during this ceremony, and Tak was speechless. He fought for control of his features, while Najud and Penrys backed away to give him some privacy to recover.
Finally, he rose and bowed deeply to them both, one at a time. “My house is honored by these gifts, and they will occupy a place where they are always under our sight.”
A tap on the door brought welcome relief to the charged atmosphere in the room, and Tak waved in the messenger who bowed and handed him a scroll, then bowed again and left.
Tak cracked the yellow wax seal and read it quickly, surprise on his face.
He looked up at them. “He wants to see us now, we’re to use the main entrance. ‘Walk right up to the door,’ he says.”
CHAPTER 64
The Councillor’s samke was a startling sight to Penrys. The forecourt gravel was raked and clean, and the iron of the gates showed no trace of
rust. The main domicile had a charm and balance that was enhanced rather than diminished by the additions that had accreted over time, and the sound of running water from some unknown source overlaid the whole with a sense of peace, despite the noise of activity outside the walls.
Tak Tuzap’s clothing identified him as a prosperous, if over-young, citizen of Gonglik, but she felt decidedly dowdy in her own ill-fitting clothes, and Dzantig looked the modest student-priest that he was. At least Najud looked suitably exotic, if travel worn.
Too bad we couldn’t do this tomorrow, in our new clothing.
Najud caught her eye and smiled. “You should see Yenit Ping,” he murmured. “This place is a backwater, in their eyes.”
Tak headed their little party as they walked up the steps, and the door opened before he could tap on the wanbum. A grave and dignified elder servant bowed them in and led them through a wide hall into a large and comfortable room, clearly a place for receiving guests. They found two men waiting for them there, one of them in Rasesni military clothing.
One of the officers quartered in Kor Pochang’s residence?
Kor was a thin man with an intelligent face. His confidence and self-composure reminded her of Tun Jeju.
Not much escapes him, I bet.
The officer bore a long scar down his face. It originated in the scalp above, and the hair refused to grow along that line.
Honorable wounds. A traditional officer, or a politician?
Kor bowed. “Thank you for coming so promptly. Allow me to introduce one of the officers who does me the honor of residing here. This is Menchos, currently seconded to Commander Tlobsung.”
Menchos said, in impeccable Kigali-yat, “We have a superfluity of senior officers scattered about Gonglik and the rest of Neshilik. Alas, I am one of them. We have imposed upon the hospitality of Councillor-chi, here.”
I never saw a less superfluous person. I wonder what his role really is.
Tak Tuzap performed the introductions for his guests, and the entry of servants bearing trays with steaming cups of bunnas and small pastries reduced the formality of the atmosphere, as Kor directed them to backless, silk-upholstered single benches matched with small side tables, clustered in the center of the room.
Penrys made sure her lips were clear of crumbs, and then addressed the affable Menchos. “Can you tell me, zendo, why the regular Rasesni army did not crush The Voice? Surely overwhelming force…”
His eyes strayed briefly to her chain before returning to her face. “His warriors rarely separated from him. When they did, it was always in superior numbers to the opposing force, as you recently saw.”
He set his own cup down on the table next to him. “When he was present, our wizards died or were captured, and he slew his way through our men, beginning with the unit commanders directing the actual fighting. Once the fighters were leaderless in the field, he worked his way up and down the ranks, killing more senior officers when he could, or returning to destroy what was left in arms if necessary. He killed thousands. Thousands.”
The room was silent, held by the cold intensity of his voice.
“We couldn’t get within ten miles of him, not our army, not our spies, and not—as you know—our wizards. To preserve our army, we had to send it elsewhere, to protect our other borders and to put as much of a protective cordon around him as we could afford, knowing we would lose it if he turned in its direction.”
And he’s talking to me calmly, in this room, though he obviously assumes I could do the same thing to him and this entire city, if I tried. A brave man, if he thinks this. And it’s true, isn’t it. If not me, then someone else—if there are two of us with chains, there must be more.
He continued as if he had never been concerned. “Both Kor Pochang and I wanted to greet the heroes of the battle at the fork. The wizards have told us how you did to the Khrebesni what Surdo did to us.”
Her heart thumped at that comparison and she felt her skin chill.
No, I’m not like that. I gave the power back.
But I could be.
Before she could say anything, Menchos cocked his head. “I don’t know exactly what the wizards are dithering about now—not my concern. But I did want to tell you—we in the army remember our friends. As long as they stay our friends.”
Penrys felt that narrow edge of balance, that the relationships could change in an instant. Without changing expression, she scanned the room and felt the presence of men positioned unmoving all around the outside. Her imagination conjured up images of hidden holes in the wall, and arrows.
I should have known this could be a trap.
Time for her to make what case she could.
“I admit the comparison, zendo, but I did not know your enemy, nor where he came from, nor what he wanted. I didn’t even recognize his native language.”
Dzantig broke in. “Our own mage council has reason to believe her, zendo.”
“Perhaps,” Menchos said, as he studied her. “What do you want?”
“I plan to travel to sarq-Zannib with my friend and colleague. What I want…”
She sighed. “In the long run, I want to learn more about the origins of this.” She flicked her chain with a finger. “I spent the last three years not destroying Ellech, and I think sarq-Zannib, and Kigali, and Rasesni are reasonably safe from me, too.”
She half-laughed. “Hard to prove it, though, isn’t it?”
Cocking her head, she challenged him, directly, “Perhaps you should kill me now and be sure.”
Her deliberate provocation froze everyone in the room.
Menchos made a tiny shake of his head, and the moment passed.
Kor broke the tension. “Najud, I understand you have plans in sarq-Zannib that involve us, is that so?”
Najud laid out his scheme to start a Zannib caravan over the High Pass, with Dzantig as his factor working with Tak Tuzap.
Menchos asked, “You would take it on to Dzongphan, if the Rasesni leave Neshilik?”
“I think it would be a good plan. New market, new goods, excellent trade. What do you think? Will it be allowed? Licensed?”
“It is an interesting thought,” Menchos said. “I will consider it.”
He slapped his thighs and stood up. “Meanwhile, good host, may I trouble you for writing materials. I will give them both a safe conduct for Neshilik, if they will wait a few minutes.”
Tak muttered, “I don’t think anyone will stop her,” and Menchos pretended he didn’t hear it.
Kor clapped his hands and summoned a portable desk for Menchos, who took a deliberate position in their midst to do his work.
Doesn’t want someone outside the room to shoot anyway? I saw that head shake.
While he pressed his seal to the bottom of the second document, he glanced up at Penrys.
“Where can we find you, brudigna?”
“I’ll be with Najud for some time,” she said. For how long?
“Tak Tuzap or Dzangabtig will be able to reach me,” Najud added.
He pocketed his safe conduct and turned to Kor, with a smile on his face as though no threats had been implied or acknowledged.
“Now, can anyone tell me where I can buy some donkeys, suitable to breed mules from our sturdy horses?”
Tak lighted up. “That’s a specialty of ours, as I told you. I will show you our very best.”
CHAPTER 65
The stableyard of the inn was crowded the next morning. Chak Zobu had come early, to deliver their purchases and to make sure that everything was to their satisfaction. Penrys had been delighted to change to new, well-cut clothing in the dark greens that she loved, and she approved Najud’s robes.
Now everything was packed away. The supplies for the journey itself were divided among three of the horses—a luxury, Najud had called it, but he thought there was no reason they couldn’t be comfortable and prepared for bad weather and the climb over the pass.
The rest of the horses in their two strings carried trade goods�
��the silks and linen fabrics that were always popular among the Zannib, buttons and ribbons, fine metal tools, a variety of sturdily packed ceramics, spices, seed for new varieties of crops, especially the oats that did so well in sarq-Zannib’s colder fields, and many other smaller items. Penrys had monitored Najud’s bartering sessions from the inside, fascinated by the complex combination of knowledge, pricing, and negotiation that made up a trader’s life.
So much for me to learn, all the skills of packing and travel. Is he wizard or trader?
The donkeys were waiting for them in Tak Tuzap’s care, along with the goods Najud had ordered from the markets in the main city yesterday afternoon. They would stop there, assemble packs for the donkeys, and then leave.
Penrys had been surprised at the size of the donkey jacks—they were almost as large as the small horses Najud had brought with him. Tak had been unwilling to sell him jennies, too, but Najud was insistent on building his own donkey herds, not to be dependent on someone else for jacks to cover his mares and produce mules.
“I plan to use mules for this caravan, as soon as they’re ready,” he’d told Tak, “Mules that are even tougher for the blood of our winter-hardy mares. I’ll be buying more donkeys to strengthen the blood of the herd, but these will be a start. No jennies, no deal. I can buy jacks somewhere else.”
Tak had looked willing to prolong the argument, but he laughed and gave in. “Only for you,” he’d said, “and only as long as you promise to come to me first for new stock.”
After they left, Penrys had asked, “What about those two mares you seized from the wizards? Will you be breeding them, too?”
Najud had grinned at her. “That’s why I took mares instead of geldings. But we’ll see how well they do, crossing the pass. They’re larger than our horses, but may not be as suitable for our life. Rasesdad has cold mountains, but it’s not horses that they use on them.”
Still, the two mares, tethered to posts and waiting for them to mount in the inn’s stable yards, looked good to her—sturdy, intelligent, and sound.
A small commotion at the inn yard’s gates turned her head, and she saw that Chak was back, and several people came with him. Some were clearly his family—a wife, two adult sons, and a smaller boy and girl, all of them well-dressed, as befit a tailor’s family. She couldn’t place the others.
