The bustle at the entrance of the command tent attracted Zandaril’s attention. It resolved itself into Penrys, escorted in with two guards in front and behind. They dropped the flap shut behind her.
She washed up. Smart.
Her expression was masked, but he could feel the anger radiating off of her, stiffening her shoulders.
She slid her eyes sideways as she passed the table with all their belongings, and paused, taking a moment to rhetorically pull her empty jerkin and breeches pockets inside out before the gaze of everyone there, and leave the pocket linings dangling in contempt.
When she raised an inquiring eyebrow at Zandaril, he snorted. Then he stood up and got her another chair, inviting her to sit.
Chang stayed silent throughout this pantomime, his fingers steepled in front of him as he watched.
She sat and folded her hands, waiting for Chang to speak.
“While you two were gone,” Chang said, “we received a letter.”
Penrys said, “How, exactly?”
Chang tucked his chin in, as if surprised at being interrupted. “Tied to a lance, stuck in the ground in the path of the patrols. Written in Kigali-yat on paper, with a brush.”
She nodded.
“It said, in short, that our wizards were spies returning to their master to report. That this master would send them back with his weapons for the next step, to turn us into slaves to fight against our countrymen.”
He waited for their response.
Penrys asked, “Signed by…?”
“No signature.”
“I see,” she said.
There was a pause.
Tun Jeju said, “It referred to the master as ‘chained.’”
“Ah,” she said, icily. “And that got your attention.”
She glanced at Zandaril, then addressed Chang. “His men refer to him as the ‘Voice.’ He has enslaved dozens of Rasesni wizards, the ones we didn’t know existed. We left them at the Horn a week and a half ago and they’re headed this way—it’s why the Rasesni have fled their lands.”
“And now, perhaps,” Zandaril said, “you’ll let us tell you the whole story, before they overrun you. Or slaughter everyone in Neshilik. Or both.”
Penrys stayed in the command tent during a break in the debriefing, while Zandaril took the opportunity to get cleaned up. Tempers had eased somewhat in the long afternoon of reporting and questioning, but she had not forgiven Chang the treatment they had received nor, she suspected, had Zandaril. The smoking braziers at the entrance of the tent did little to melt the icy atmosphere between them.
Real damage had been done to the relationship between Chang and his wizards and, even though she knew this was one of the goals of the letter, she found it hard to set aside the effects.
The letter had played into the Kigaliwen suspicion of what they didn’t understand, and it risked dividing them from their Zannib allies if Zandaril couldn’t get past this.
She was personally affronted by the indisputable fact that this “Voice” was somehow related to her, as evidenced by the chain, and that the letter exploited that. Better to save my outrage for the sender. She snorted. If only I could master my emotions at will.
While she waited impatiently for some food to carry them into the next session—anything to distract her—Tun Jeju surprised her by breaking off from his quiet conversation with Chang and taking Zandaril’s seat next to her.
He cocked his head at her, as if evaluating her mood. “No point being angry at what happened,” he said. “See if you can convince Zandaril-chi of that.”
“Maybe you better convince me first,” she said. “Why shouldn’t I just walk away? Declare this not my fight?”
“I don’t know,” Tun said, and that compelled her attention. “Why did you help find the Rasesni traps? Why did you go into Neshilik with Zandaril, and then come back and give us a warning?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Tun looked at her with both sympathy and calculation. “Because that’s what you are. Zandaril, too—that’s why he joined us. That’s why I find that anonymous warning… uncompelling.”
The chair creaked as he leaned forward to keep their conversation private. “Chang needs you both. I don’t know what that chain you wear means, and you say you don’t either, but it means something. I think you want to find out what that is.”
He sat back again. “Don’t let resentment rob you of what you want to do anyway.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I would rather have remained friendly.”
Tun half-smiled at her. “That’s a luxury for civilians, not soldiers. Chang’s responsible for too many lives to let that stand in his way, nor should he.”
Penrys grimaced, but she recognized truth when she heard it, however unwillingly. Tun Jeju stood and walked away, and left her brooding on his advice.
When Zandaril returned, it was in his formal Zannib robes, with the more elaborate turban she recognized from the kuliqa celebration that seemed so long ago. Gone was her companion of the last three weeks, Penrys thought. I understand why he’s done it, distancing himself from these Kigaliwen who have so offended him. But Tun Jeju’s right—if we want to accomplish anything, we have to get past it.
He surveyed the room and its little pockets of conversation coolly, but when his gaze fell upon Penrys, it softened and he made his way through the tent to take the seat next to her that Tun Jeju had just vacated.
“Hing Ganau did quick work, I see,” she said, admiring the cleaned and restitched boots.
“There’s still a hole in back,” Zandaril said, “not enough time to fix that right now.”
“Listen, Zandaril…” She switched to mind-speech.
*We’ve got to put our anger aside. Chang has a job to do, and we’re just tools. It’s not personal.*
His reply was tinged with residual scorn. *This is not how a warrior leads his people.*
She took a breath. *Remember how you wanted to organize wizards? This is what it means—people filling slots professionally, being led professionally. Not people deciding to follow a man. Their loyalty goes to an institution, not a man.*
He made no overt response, but his nose wrinkled in disgust.
*Look at you. You’re clothed in your people’s robes. You’re filling the slot of “ally,” not your individual role. You know this is how places like Kigali work, and you’re using that knowledge whether you like it or not.*
That goaded him into a reply. *It is not honorable. We were not treated honorably.* He glanced over at Chang, assembling a plate of camp bread and broken meats and speaking with Tun. Tun had his eye on them.
*No, it isn’t. Not the way you mean. But professionals have honor, too, a pride in what they do. Soldiers fight so as not to let their temporary brothers down, not because they are actual blood-brothers.*
She could feel his mood begin to shift to a black humor.
*Our tribes will never make this change. Maybe some of the Zannib-tahgr, the slow ones, the ones who have settled down… Of course, that is why we are such little allies for the great Kigaliwen, isn’t it?*
He swallowed, and then looked at her with a real smile, and said, “So, how does a professional wizard behave? Can you guide me, o Collegium expert?”
“I’m angry, too—there were better ways to handle it. But there, you see, that’s a professional complaint.”
Chang brought his plate back and took his seat behind his work table. He paused to give them both a half-nod before he called everyone back for the next session.
