“Did I tell you how well they did after the Voice released them?”
Zandaril’s voice bubbled over with enthusiasm as he described his success at showing the captive wizards how to organize themselves to raise their own shield.
“They only had half a day’s worth of lessons, passed mind to mind while touching. It’s remarkable what they were able to do.”
She commented, “They were motivated, and they had a good teacher.”
He looked back at her, startled.
“Well, you are a good teacher. I could always tell the improvement in the students after you sent them back to me. They worked better for you, learned more.”
She smiled at the surprise on his face. “In fact, wasn’t this what you wanted to do? Organize wizards? I don’t see how anyone could have done it any better.”
He stopped his horse, and she drifted up alongside him on hers.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“My nayith, my masterwork,” he whispered. “Is that what you say, jarghalti?”
She nodded. “I think so, anyway. For what that’s worth.”
He kicked up into a trot and she followed, concentrating on sitting as comfortably as she could without jostling her arm.
Eventually he slowed back into a walk, and they passed an hour or more alternating between the two gaits, trying to make time.
Penrys dozed during one of the longer walking sessions. Images of the head rolling in the dust occupied her mind—the furry ears, like hers, now bloody, now dusty. The feel of his mind as it died, the surprise, the unknown language, the obscure skills.
Zandaril jolting to a stop woke her fully, and he pulled them both to the side of the road as they passed Tlobsung’s camp at Harlin to let the traffic pass unimpeded. There were wagons of wounded wheeling into camp, she saw, and other men marching out, to the west.
“Let’s get out of here,” Zandaril said, and they picked up a trot again, the westering sun behind them lengthening their shadows in front.
It was still daylight, just, when they finally encountered the outermost scouts around Chang’s squadron.
Their horses were tired, but the smell of other horses livened them up, and it was with straight spines that the two riders rode, exhausted, into the camp.
Word traveled ahead of them, and both Chang and Tun Jeju stood outside the command tent and watched them stop and dismount, Zandaril, clinking from his tied chains, pulled Penrys off of her horse and supported her until her legs worked well enough.
“I take it there’s news,” Chang said. “Better come in before you fall down.” He waved a trooper over to take their horses.
They helped each other to chairs and collapsed.
Tun looked them over. “Maybe we should reconvene in the healer’s tent,” he commented to Chang.
Zandaril laughed and held out a booted and shackled leg. “A smith first for me, Notju-chi, and then both of us there, I think. But we can spend a few minutes here, on the way.”
Tun waved his hand in encouragement.
“The Voice turned into Neshilik,” Zandaril said, “and headed east. Tlobsung took his force out to meet him, north of Gonglik, and the Rasesni wizards from the temple school came to join them. There was a fight, several of them, but…”
He looked to his right, at Penrys asleep in her chair, her damaged arm cradled in her good one.
“Well, it’s a long story. We won, the Voice is dead, lots of people died. That part’s over.”
He stood up. “Come to the healer’s tent, in a little while, and I’ll give you all the details, but I only know my side, not hers. She’s the one who killed him.”
The lanterns flickering overhead seemed strange to Penrys. A tent, a large one.
She was on a cot, and there were two more nearby, only one of which was occupied, by a sleeping man.
Must be the healer’s tent. But I don’t remember how I got here…
She overheard Zandaril’s voice. “I don’t need anything, Shiksupju-chi, I’m not pissing blood anymore.”
I didn’t know he was hurt that bad.
Everything felt clean. She was wearing the shirt Zandaril had given her, and not much else, but the pair of blankets over her kept her warm enough.
She raised her hand to her throat and felt the flat bandage there over a layer of something oily. When she brought her fingertips to her nose, she couldn’t identify the soft, pungent scent. The burn was dull, now, not sharp and urgent.
What would have happened if the fight had taken longer? Would it have burned through my throat altogether and killed me?
She wished she could have seen the damage the Voice’s chain did to him, if any.
When she lifted her left hand for inspection, she admired the clean and tidy work that had replaced Zandaril’s workmanlike wrapping. A padded glove, that’s what she needed—something to protect it without exposing it to stares. It didn’t hurt so much, just a throb with every heartbeat.
What about the fragment of chain?
*Zandaril?*
“Here,” he called cheerfully, and he walked over to her in ragged boots free of shackles. “How are you doing, Pen-sha?”
He hauled over a camp chair and sat down beside her.
Coughing to clear her throat, she said, “What happened to our old clothes? I need the sheath, the one Tak Tuzap’s knife was in. You didn’t lose that, did you?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“It’s important,” she insisted.
“Let me go find it,” he said. “Be right back.”
She lowered her head again, an apology in her glance in reply to the glare from the healer.
“It really is important,” she muttered, defiantly.
When Zandaril returned, Chang and Tun Jeju followed him, with Sau Tsuo and others from Chang’s staff, and the area was a flurry of activity as camp chairs were commandeered for all of them.
Zandaril tossed Tak’s old knife sheath onto her cot. “This the one?”
“That’s it. Look inside. Tell me if anything’s there. I had Dzantig shove it in, deep.”
He picked it up again and stuck his own knife in to pry around. The point caught on something, and he dragged out the three-link fragment of the Voice’s chain, still stained with blood.
“Is that what I think it is?”
At her nod, he held it out to her on the point of the knife, careful to avoid touching it with his bare hand.
She plucked it off and dropped it casually in her lap.
“Help me sit up,” she told him, and he arranged a backrest for her while she pushed herself up with her right hand. When he was done, she waved him back to his seat. Then, facing Chang’s council, she picked up the bit of chain and slashed the air with it in her hand.
“Sennevi. It is done. This is what’s left of the Voice. Now, ask your questions.”
It took hours, and her voice was hoarse before the end, but finally Chang’s council was satisfied.
Penrys had listened with anger as Zandaril described his abduction and captivity. On her side, she’d been circumspect about exactly what had happened that night with the Mage Council, but she could feel Zandaril’s fury, unexpressed.
Penrys waited until all the officers had left, then turned to Zandaril. “Are you really all right?”
He waved off her concern. “That was just a beating, nothing broken, no permanent damage.”
She looked at him skeptically. What was it like for you, waking up bound and waiting for the horde to descend? I can’t ask you, can I?
She told him, “You know, Dzantig really did help me, ’cause he was so worried about you. When you went and made a friend to drink with, you probably saved my life, too.”
“Good.” He gave her a hard look. “And what exactly did their council do to you, and how did you escape?”
“I’ll tell you sometime,” she said. “The details don’t matter.”
“I think they do, bikrajti. I think I owe Tak Tuzap your life as much as Dzantig, and I want to pay my debts.”
“Poor Takka. I took his knife, and that little ax was an heirloom of his house. They’re both as gone as the rest of this.” She held up the fragment of chain.
Zandaril looked thoughtful. “How big was this ax? Show me.”
She sketched it out for him in the air and described the bison-horn grips and whirlwinds on the blade.
He was still angry, she could feel it. “Those Rasesni have a lot to answer for.”
She made a crooked smile. “They already did. Only two are left of the original five on their Mage Council, and think how they died.”
“That’s a start,” he muttered.
She adjusted her position in the cot, one handed, to ease her back. “Did you ever find out what Chang did while we were gone?”
“Just what we expected—he bottled up the Gate and let the diplomatic answers wait for his own commanding officers to arrive. I think he was trying to avoid contagion from a wizard war he didn’t understand.”
He looked down at her. “Tun Jeju told me privately that he thinks the temporary truce will hold for a while. I think everyone assumes Rasesdad will vacate Neshilik again, since they can. Not our problem, anyway.”
“Time enough tomorrow for everything else,” he said, standing and leaning over her.
He helped her slide down in the cot and she heard him settle back into his chair as she slid into a night of violent dreams and bloody death.
