The Chained Adept (3-4)

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Najud studied the Ellech party at their table, while they waited for Tun Jeju to resume the meeting. He’d wondered what Penrys’s sponsor was like, from her brief mentions of him.

The relationship struck him as mildly affectionate, more like a distant uncle than a father. Vylkar had found her, when she appeared more than three years ago, and steered her into a suitable occupation at the Collegium of Wizards at Tavnastok, but Najud didn’t sense any particular partnership between them. All the work she’d done on devices and research was on her own. Must’ve been lonely, surrounded by wizards, and not quite part of them, obscure and little regarded, except for the respect accorded to her power that had earned her the ancient title of “adept” before they left her to conduct her own experiments alone.

Lonely, perhaps, but lucky. Very lucky, considering what might have happened to her. None of those chained wizards several levels beneath them had been as lucky.

He caught his wife’s puzzled glance and patted her hand, below the level of the table. Time enough to tell her his thoughts later, in a safer, more private place.

Tun Jeju cleared his throat, and the small conversations around the tables subsided.

“It’s taken us more than four months to assemble all of you together in this room, plus two months before that when we began trying to discover just what might be hiding in plain sight in our empire.

“We have a mandate from the emperor to pursue this, but I’ll confess that we’re not sure how to do it. We would value your suggestions.”

“Stop killing them,” Penrys said. “That would be a good start.”

Najud winced.

Her hand went up before the notju could defend himself. “I say that seriously, not in anger. I understand how that… slaughter you showed us might have happened, but you’re better off if they can be persuaded to come to you willingly.

She shifted forward in her seat. “You have ordinary wizards out there,” she said, waving her hand vaguely to the west. “And these chained ones. Both should be an asset to your nation. The chained ones are new, probably unskilled—a wizard learns skills partly from others, which is why we’re good with languages—but where are the wizards these chained ones could learn from? The Voice may have met Rasesni mages, but the girl we found in sarq-Zannib met no one, and was less skilled because of it.”

She shook her head. “I’m more worried about the ordinary wizards that have probably been living within your people for generations. Have they gone all their lives never knowing? Never meeting each other and discovering they could mind-speak? I think that unlikely. Don’t you?”

After pausing a moment to wait for a comment, she went on. “I would expect there to be communities of wizards, doing what they could to study and teach, hiding their work from official notice. After all, if you don’t think wizards exist, why would you look for them?”

Najud watched Tun Jeju who listened to her without changing his polite attentive expression. The rest of his staff was less successful concealing their uneasiness.

“So,” she said, “where can they hide? In the temples? As scholars? In particular professions, like healers? You know your people far better that I do, notju-chi—where would they be? They’re not like these chained ones, scattered and lost and three years old. They’d have been able to move or congregate.”

“Once you’ve found them, you have to persuade them to come out of hiding. If you want wizards now, after all this time, you have to make it safe for them. Recruit them. Have them find the others, and start educating them. Make them part of your nation, valuable people. You’re going to need them, because these chained wizards are a different matter altogether.”

Tun Jeju finally interposed some questions. “How many could there be?”

Penrys snorted. “Najud, how many Zannib are bikrajab?”

“Perhaps one in a hundred or two,” he replied.

“Mpeowake, how many are wizards, sanctioned or otherwise, in Ndant?” Penrys asked.

“That sounds about right.”

“Vylkar?”

He pursed his lips. “Not quite so many. If half of them come to the Collegium at some point in their lives… One in four hundred would be my first estimate.”

Penrys had only to look at Chosmod. “One in two hundred in Dzongphan or on the plains, fewer in the high hills,” he said.

“How many people are there in Kigali, notju-chi? Divide by two hundred for an approximation.” Penrys clearly relished the startled realization on Tun Jeju’s face.

“It’s like saying, how many are musicians, or quick with numbers, or fast on their feet. It’s a family trait, like any other.”

Vylkar glowered briefly at Penrys before interceding. “It’s not likely to be that bad, notju-chi. Not everyone who has a turn for drawing becomes an artist. Just because they have a skill doesn’t mean they want to develop it. Only half the wizards in Ellech work in the profession, doing research or teaching others.”

Penrys looked at Tun Jeju unrepentant. “So divide that first number you thought of by two or three. Or ten. Feel any better?”

Najud kicked her, under the table.

She took a breath. “Look, I’m sorry to be abrasive about this, but it’s going to take big actions to change this situation, and years. Many years. You must have thousands of people out there who’ve been hiding what they are all their lives. You’ll have to make them trust you, and you’ll have to make it worthwhile for them to expose themselves. You’ll have to make the rest of the people trust them, unless you want a disaster like the one below ground here.”

“Imperial decree,” Tun Jeju said. “We thought we could arrange an imperial decree of welcome to our wizards and a blanket pardon for any past… irregularities in their actions to preserve their own safety.”

Penrys nodded. “That’s a good start. You’ll want to recruit some yourself, so you’ll know what to expect.” She paused for effect. “Think what good spies they’d make.”

Najud admired her deadpan expression while struggling to suppress a snort. That’s what the two of them had been suspected of, by Tun Jeju, just a few months ago.

Tun Jeju ignored the gibe and spoke to Vylkar. “Ndant and Zannib train wizards by apprenticeship. The Rasesni, by recruitment into the temple schools. How is it done in Ellech?”

“We have a diverse system, notju-chi. Apprenticeship for many, but also regional schools, and the national research academy, for students and permanent scholars. From what I know of Kigali, I think that might suit your needs as a structure.”

“I’ll speak more with you about this.” Tun Jeju turned his attention back to Penrys. “And the chained wizards?”

“On the one hand, they’re wizards like the others and need to be trained. That’s fundamental. They’re stronger, and some of them may be dangerous. But you’ve got to stop killing them just because they exist.”

She took a breath and looked around the tables at the other foreign guests. “All of you have reported missing wizards, except us, for sarq-Zannib, and we just don’t know. Have any of your missing wizards re-appeared in chains?”

Mpeowake shook her head. “We haven’t checked yet. We need the lists and descriptions of… all of that.” She waved her hand delicately to the levels below them.

In response to a gesture from Tun Jeju, one of his men laid a roll of papyrus sheets tied with a red ribbon in front of the leader of each party.

As he moved around the tables, Tun Jeju said, “This is all the information we have about each… person below. Can you read Kigali characters?”

At least one head nodded in each group.

“Where are they coming from? Who’s making them?” Penrys’s words grated out between her teeth. “Did it only happen once, more than three years ago, or have there been others, before or since? Do we know all the nations they belong to?

“And most importantly, why? What’s the point? What were we… they before? Are some of them your missing wizards? Were all of them wizards before they were chained?”

Najud watched her face take on an analytical look that he recognized. “And why are they different from each other? What are all the possibilities? There were surprises down there for me.”

Tun Jeju said, “You’ll begin your investigations of that, and whatever training you deem appropriate, tomorrow morning. It will take that long for the drug to wear off, I’m told.”

“They’ll need food, clothing…”

“Tell Gen Jongto here what you need, and he’ll provide it. You are not to move them from that level nor let them travel beyond the entrance—I hold you responsible for them, and the guards have their orders.”

She nodded. “It’s a start. Let’s find out how many of them are still sane.”

In the end, all the tasks were distributed. The Ndant delegation would focus on trying to identify their own among the chained wizards, especially the living one among the five.

The two Rasesni lingered with Tun Jeju’s team and the three men from Ellech to consider organization and infrastructure for identifying and training the assumed crypto-wizards.

Penrys was put in charge of everything to do with the chained wizards, both the dead and the living, with the resources of Imperial Security to draw upon, and she was still shaking her head at the magnitude of the task when she left at the end of the day with her husband and their apprentice. Zep Pangwit was their guide out of the building, sour-faced with the prospect of more time spent with foreigners.

They stopped outside the building when they reached street level and debated their next steps. She’d asked Najud if he wanted to stay with the group organizing the education of the wizards, and he’d shaken his head. “Our methods are different, and suitable for the Zannib, if not Kigali. I’m interested in what they’ll come up with, but I don’t need to be there.”

“But you liked organizing the Rasesni mages in Gonglik.”

“They were already wizards—this was advanced work for them. What they’re working on up there…” He c****d his head back at the building. “That’s elementary school. The wizards they find might surprise them, of course—maybe they’re not all that untrained. Maybe they’ve already got hidden schools. They won’t know until they start making themselves known.”

“So, how will you spend your time?” she asked him.

“Divided between you two, and the city, of course.” He waved a hand at Munraz to include him in the conversation.

“You will be in school, nal-jarghal, and so will I, when Penrys is working with the chained wizards.”

Very softly, now that they’d put some distance between themselves and the foreign wizards, he bespoke her. *Maybe it’s the chained wizards who will need organizing this time.*

She slid her eyes to him, avoiding Zep Pangwit’s attention, and nodded slightly.

“But you can’t be in school all day,” he said cheerily, “so we will spend time in the city. I have a caravan to plan.”

He smacked his hands together and rubbed them. “Now, we must organize ourselves—we need a place to sleep, and we’re expected at the ambassador’s tonight for dinner.”

Penrys lifted the roll of papyrus sheets. “And we have homework to do. Where do we stay while we’re here?”

Zep Pangwit interrupted. “I was told to bring you to your ambassador for the evening. Housing you will be his responsibility. And if you don’t get started, you’ll never get there.” He turned north on the street, toward Tegong Him, and the bulk of the cliff face was a shadowed presence that dominated the blocks of compounds at its feet as the sunlight faded into dusk.

“One more formal affair, nal-jarghal,” Najud called over his shoulder to the wilting Munraz. “At least we’re already dressed for it.”

Penrys raised her own sigh and followed them both.

“What were they doing there, all day?” Rin Tsugo asked the runner.

The young woman who knelt before him was still breathing hard from her long run through the darkening streets all the way from the diplomatic section of Mentsek Tep to the gewengep in Chankau Tep.

She shook her head. “I don’t know, but we only started watching the place when the woman arrived, the Zannib-who-is-not-a-Zannib. I left Am Limzu there to see if anyone else interesting came out later.”

“These Zannib with their shaibo guide ended up at the Zannib ambassador’s compound. The guide parted from them there and arranged to return in the morning—I heard him. I assigned Paik Kanau to watch, just in case, but I think they’re there for the night. She’ll stay as long as necessary to be sure.”

Rin Tsugo evaluated the story. Kit Hachi was reliable—that’s why he’d put her in charge.

“Well done,” he said. “They didn’t see you?”

She reared her head back indignantly. “I was well-shielded. It’s not my first follow.”

He smiled. “Nor your last. Now go get some dinner.”

She stood up, bowed, and left.

The smell drifting through the dilapidated corridors made his stomach growl, but he preferred to wait until the end of the meal, when fewer were there. Even after months in the artificially close quarters of the compound with others chained like himself, he couldn’t shake the discomfort of watching all the diners sitting at their tables carefully spaced beyond the proximity range of the chains. Close enough to talk, but without intimacy.

When he’d been the only one with a chain in the village that had given him shelter, just another wandering laborer who was hired to help in the blacksmith’s workshed, the family and their servants all ate together, companionably, warmed at the same fire.

Here, no two of them could get close. He missed the human contact, the casual touches among friends. You had to learn to restrain your gestures and keep your distance.

And he wasn’t the only one. He had to remind all the ones with Kigali features, those who were the brotherhood’s face to the city, that they needed to remember to relax when they were outside the compound’s walls, to lose their new stiffness lest they stand out and prompt a second look from the City Guard.

*Am Limzu coming in to see you.* Sek Seto’s warning from the compound’s gate gave him time to settle back down cross-legged on his raised platform and compose himself.

The sound of Am Limzu’s footsteps preceded him, and the gleam in his eye alerted Rin Tsugo. “Wo-chi, big doings at the shaibo lair today. The brown-robes are up to something.”

He bowed briefly and sank to his knees, then launched right into his report without much of a gesture to formality. “I don’t know when they arrived, but well after Kit Hachi left with her Zannib folks, a group of three Ndanum left, one of those slithery women and her two attendants.”

He drew in the air to make the shape of her vivid, and Rin Tsugo suppressed a smile.

“Had to decide whether I should follow them or wait for more. So I waited.”

He smiled. “Glad I did, ’cause the next ones out were two men from Rasesdad. Here, in Yenit Ping! All dressed like priests they were.”

He winked at Rin Tsugo. “Well, all good things come in threes, I thought, and sure enough right after them came three men—must have been from Ellech. Tall and pale with hair all over their faces like bears. They chatted with the Rasesni ones, and then each group went off in a different direction. Made noises like they’d be meeting up tomorrow.”

He spread his hands. “I hung around to see if there’d be anyone else, but after a while I figured you’d rather hear all this even if something else came out that wasn’t just another shaibo or duimur, a lousy civilian.”

Well-pleased, Rin Tsugo told him, “And you were right. I’ll be setting up a schedule of runners for tomorrow. I want to know when they come, where they go, and where they’re staying. Speak to your togebi, your captain, in the morning.”

Sek Seto popped to his feet and managed to make even his bow seem cocky, before he spun on his heel and left.

Rin Tsugo shook his head. How did he ever manage to keep a low profile in whatever village housed him? What did they make of him?

There was no point speculating. The gewengep left the privacy of its members largely undisturbed. They revealed only what they felt they must. Once they found their way here and took the oath, they found sanctuary.

Time to draw up a plan for runners for tomorrow—three each for four groups of foreigners. That was a lot to try and conceal in the ordinary traffic that passed the Imperial Security building, but there were ways.