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.
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.
