The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise
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Vildecaz Talents
Nimuar's Loss
Book One of The Vildecaz Talents
Stirring high fantasy adventure as two sisters must find their power in accepting their journey.
Ninianee and Erianthee, the daughters of Duez Nimuar of Vildecaz, have unusual magical talents: Ninianee has a close relationship with animals, Erianthee can summon up the Spirits of the Air to take on human form and act out legends and myths.
When Erianthee is summoned to the Imperial Court, Ninianee remains behind at Vildecaz, not only to administer the Duzky, but to begin a search for Duez Nimuar who has disappeared.
The Deceptive Oracle
Book Two of The Vildecaz Talents
Duez Nimuar is missing and his two talented daughters are determined to find him, Erianthee through her magical Puppet Shows. Ninianee through her close knowledge of animals.
Both sisters are accompanied by their declared suitors. Kloveon with Erinathee and Doms Guyon with Ninianee; what each discovers in her own way makes it clear that there is more to their father's disappearance than anyone expected.
Agnith's Promise
Book Three of the Vildecaz Talents
While at the Imperial Court, Erianthee witnesses an enormous Conjure Storm that turns half of the palace complex to rubble.
Afraid of what could come next, she heads for Vildecaz and home with Kloveon escorting her.
Meanwhile, in her searches for possible clues to Duz Nimuar's location and condition, Ninianee has come upon something that sends her and her partner, Doms Guyon, back toward Vildecaz,
But both sisters find their travels marked by hindrances and unexpected difficulties.
When they finally arrive, they discover that malefic forces have been at work here, too, and they have little choice but to take them on, or lose their Duzky, their father, and their talents completely.
Vildecaz Talents
Copyright © 2007 Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Published by Avalerion Books, Inc.
Nimuar's Loss Copyright © 2007 Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Nimuar's Loss Cover design by James Abel
Nimuar's Loss Stock photography by Jessica Truscott http://faestock.deviantart.com/
Nimuar's Loss Additional artwork by Irinama - http://irinama.deviantart.com/
Deceptive Oracle Copyright © 2007 Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Deceptive Oracle Cover design by James Abel
Deceptive Oracle Stock photography by Jessica Truscott - http://faestock.deviantart.com/
Deceptive Oracle Additional photography by János Zoltán Kis
Agnith's Promise Copyright © 2007 Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
Agnith's Promise Cover design by James Abel
Agnith's Promise Stock photography by Jessica Truscott - http://faestock.deviantart.com/
Agnith's Promise Additional artwork by Latyrx - http://latyrx.deviantart.com/
All Rights Reserved
First e-book edition December 2013
This ebook is for your personal device only. No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincident
Table of Contents
Book One - Nimuar's Loss
Chapter 1 - Vildecaz Castle
Chapter 2 - Reapers' Moon
Chapter 3 - Entertainments
Chapter 4 - Discoveries
Chapter 5 - Guests
Chapter 6 - Hazards
Chapter 7 - Disappearances
Chapter 8 - Undertaking
Book Two - Deceptive Oracle
1. Expectations
2. Arrivals
3. Departures
4. Revelations
5. Cross-Purposes
6. Ramifications
7. Adversities
Book Three- Agnith's Promise
1. Disruption
2. Complications
3. Turning Points
4. Wiles
5. Desperate Measures
6. Returnings
7. Realizations
8. Epilogue
Glossary
About Author
More Books By Author
Book One Nimuar's Loss
For
Tanith Lee
on one hand
and
Marvin Kaye
on the other
1. Vildecaz Castle
“The west wall near the kitchen-garden needs repairing,” Nimuar, Duz of Vildecaz announced as he sat down to the mid-day meal with his two daughters. “I’ve put a fixing spell on it, but it won’t last more than a week. The men will have to get mortar and bricks out there soon.” They were in the family dining room in the main part of Vildecaz Castle, and while smaller than the Great Hall by half, it was still intended for many more occupants than these three. He was in his scholar’s long, deep-blue doga over his tan hupslan, both of which showed the wear of long use, more due to his absent-mindedness than any lack of funds or poor manners. His appearance was a bit untidy, his silvery hair not quite combed, his short beard a little scruffy, his light-brown eyes slightly distracted, yet his manner toward his daughters was sincerely affectionate.
“I’ll have Hoftstan Ruch get a crew to work on it this afternoon,” said Ninianee, the older of the two. She had been out for most of the morning, supervising the fall pruning of the espaliered fruit trees all along the south and west walls of the castle, and was about to go to work on the standing orchard beyond the eastern wall. “Just as soon as the trees are all done. The magic should hold long enough for that.” She had not had time to change out of her leather brikes and drugh-ox wool smock; her profusion of russet ringlets were haphazardly confined by a thin, golden double-coronet and a Mozh-cloth scarf that was nearly a match for her clear, light-green eyes. With a glance at her sister – a year younger than she – Ninianee said, “You and Ver Mindicaz must have had a busy morning, what with the shipment of spices from Fah, the last of the harvest coming into the castle, and the new cheeses to store as well; knowing Ver, you’re made lists of every peppercorn and dried plum; she won’t have relied on a magical tally.”
At the mention of the major-cook, Erianthee nodded her lovely head, as graceful as a deer and as beguiling as a fey-sprite. Unlike her sister, she was properly dressed for dining in a gaunel of amber-colored tassel-cloth over a guin of fine Fahnine cotton; she might have entertained aunts, uncles, and cousins – if there were any willing to visit – in such clothing and bring no slight upon her father or their guests. Everything about her was charming, from the shape of her eyes to the turn of her ankles. “Yes. I think we have all the provisions for preserving fruits and stocking the ice-house arranged so they’ll only need a little magic in the summer to keep them going until next year’s harvest. We should have all our plans for the winter finished tomorrow.”
By the standards of the Porzalk Empire, Erianthee was the prettier of the two, beautifully curved where Ninianee was lean, elegant where Ninianee was energetic, captivating where Ninianee was bewitching, having classic loveliness – softly waving honey-colored hair and dark-brown eyes in
a pert, gorgeous face that lacked the suggestion of tempestuousness that turned Ninianee’s reserve to something more compelling than what some thought was shyness.
“Now then,” said their father as if he had been interrupted. He reached for a small saucer and put a pinch of salt in it and then added a few drops of wine from his goblet, then held it up on a tripod of the thumb and two fingers of his right hand. “May Agnith, The Preternatural, goddess of all things magical, of continents and seas, of ideas and talents, protect us and keep all our spells true.” He stood, the saucer still balanced on his three fingers.
Ninianee did the same as Nimuar had done, rising and going about the ritual with the precision of habit. “May Hyneimoj, The Ineffable, goddess of mammals, hunting, games of chance, storms, and going to war, keep us from harm.”
Erianthee had her salt-and-wine ready. “May Analahor, The Inspirational goddess of mortality, rebirth, agriculture, arts visible and invisible, intuition, and victory, uphold Vildecaz.” She, too, rose, holding her saucer on her thumb and two fingers as her father and sister were doing.
The three little saucers were raised and set down on a single red-painted board hanging from the elaborate oil-lamp above the table, from which a forearm-long tubular bell depended; Nimuar struck this with his knife and its pure tone sounded, lingering on the air, pleasant and persistent as the promising aroma of their food, its footling tone making the whole occasion more amiable.
“A good omen,” Nimuar announced, for once delighted at this formality; the omens were often much harder to interpret.
Their Meal Rite complete, the three sat down once more and reached for the covered platter and raised the lid; a wonderful odor of apricots, sweet onions, and chicken filled the room.
Nimuar beamed, letting out a long, satisfied, “Aaaaah,” before reaching for a serving spoon as he pulled the platter toward him. “Ver knows what I like, harvest or no harvest.”
“There’s four-colored rice, too,” said Erianthee, opening the covered dish nearest her. “With new butter.”
“The last ship from the Zjin-Fah brought the rice, didn’t it?” asked Nimuar, whose memory was not what it used to be, and hadn’t been for nearly two decades, when he had lost his magical battle with Yulko Bihn, and with it, the knowledge of Agnith’s Treasure and all it had bestowed upon him.
“Yes, Papa,” said Ninianee, reminding him gently, “We bought five sacks of it, and Ver stored them in the grain-closet in the pantry. There are another five on order for the spring.”
“Oh, yes,” said Nimuar a bit vaguely. “Five sacks should last through fall and winter. Possibly until the next sacks come.” Before either of his daughters could speak, he added, “I like real food so much better than magical food, don’t you?”
“I certainly do,” said Erianthee, entering into this frequent topic of conversation as if it were new and exciting. “Magical food is so tiring to create and its nourishment hardly lasts half a day.”
“To say nothing of the complications it can create,” said Ninianee. “Regular food is best, no doubt, especially when Ver Mindicaz cooks it.” She picked up the covered basket of roasted yams and took one gingerly before handing the basket to her father, exchanging it for the chicken platter and serving herself. “There’s pork ribs under the long cover,” she added, moving that platter a little nearer.
“What are you going to do this afternoon?” Nimuar asked his daughters, looking from Erianthee to Ninianee and back again.
“I’m going to finish up the kitchen inventory with Ver, and then I’m going to have a good long soak,” said Erianthee, taking the platter from Ninianee.
“I’ve got more work to do so we can complete the harvest. The fruit is in, and half the fields have been reaped, but there’s a lot more to tend to before we’re finished.” Ninianee reached for the butter. “I’ll want a soak myself, come nightfall.”
“I’ll tell Skoniz to keep the bath-house warm and the water ready,” said Erianthee. “Probably he should ready the servants’ bath-house as well.” She wrinkled her nose. “After a hard day in the field, they’ll need it. The soldiers will undoubtedly want to bathe, too.”
“Thanks for attending to that.” Ninianee scooped a dollop of butter onto her plate and cut it in half, then passed the small tub to Erianthee. “I’ll tell the harvest crew to stop by the bath-house before supper.”
“You’re both taken care of – that’s good,” said Nimuar with a hint of a sigh. “I’ll go back to my library, then, and continue my research. You will be on your own, but you know how to manage.” He was about to eat when something more occurred to him. “I have books coming from the library at Buin Joam; they should arrive shortly. They will be carried by an official library messenger.”
This was news to his two daughters, but they took it in stride. “I’ll have Hoftstan post someone to watch for it.”
“Thank you,” said Nimuar, and fell to eating in earnest, and for the rest of the meal only engaged in cursory conversation.
* * *
A carving of Womotomaj, The Fabricator, hung in the traditional location, over the main fireplace in the Great Hall, his hands filled with a jumble of little castles and towers and bridges, as suited the god of all things constructed; looking up at him with his face lit from the fire beneath casting unsteady shadows that changed his appearance with every flicker, Ninianee was reminded that the oldest son of Hyneimoj was also the god of lying and deceit.
She drew up a chair and sat down, letting the waning evening soak into her bones along with the warmth of the fire. It was late, and she had finally come in from her bath only to be told that the Senkei, their best spell-hound, was hunting the upper floors for magical intrusions and spill-overs, a process that required the upper rooms be empty while the spell-hound did his work. Wiggling her bare feet toward the flames, she let herself enjoy this moment; had the chair been more comfortable she might have fallen asleep, but the sturdy frame nudged her through her downy, deep-brown jaem-cotton night-wrap from the Zaralk region to the southeast of Vildecaz. There was just enough discomfort from the chair keeping her awake enough to hear her sister’s quiet approach. Without looking around, she said, “How’s our father doing, Eri?”
“You know he gets edgy when the spell-hounds are patrolling. He’s like you in that. Hardly surprising, given how things are. I left him in his study working on a guardian spell to reinforce the removal of snooping spells, something not too complicated. He can manage that, and it does him good to practice. Who knows? it may prove helpful – it certainly can’t harm us.” Erianthee pulled another chair up to the fire and sat down; she, too, was dressed for bed, her night-wrap of Mozh-cloth, soft and luminous as a morning cloud. “I worry about him. He never seems to get any better.”
“But he’s not worse, either, and that can be a good thing,” said Ninianee. She shaded her eyes and turned toward Erianthee, taking note of the shine of the fire on Erianthee’s dark-gold hair.
“No,” Erianthee allowed. “Do you think we should contact Poyneilum Zhanf again? Do you think he could – ”
At the mention of their father’s old teacher, Ninianee frowned. “What more could he – or any of the Priests of Mirvex-Doz – do that he hasn’t tried already?” She felt her lovely lethargy begin to slip away.
“I don’t know,” Erianthee answered. “But Nin, if I have to leave for Court soon, I wish I could feel a little better about leaving him. You take fine care of him, but you can’t be everywhere all the time. Particularly not – ” She stopped.
“You’ve said this for the last three years. Every time you are summoned to the Imperial Court, you fret about Papa.” Ninianee smiled to reassure her. “You mustn’t worry about him. I’ll be here, and I’ll let you know if anything happens. I’m not so incapacitated that I can’t handle such a duty.”
Erianthee sighed. “I wish you could come with me.”
Ninianee sat up slowly. “That’s . . . impractical.”
“I know, and
I understand why you can’t come,” said Erianthee, her voice dropping. “But it would be so much nicer, having you with me.”
“Oh, no.” Ninianee shook her head. “You’re far more suited to Court life than I am. You get on with people better than I do: you’re charming, you’re pretty, and your magic is entertaining, unlike mine. Mine would be inconvenient at Court. Bontaj! It’s inconvenient here.” She made no apology for swearing. “At least here my ability to communicate with fur-bearing animals is a useful talent, and, as for the other part of it, here at Vildecaz I can prepare for the three nights without apprehension, no matter what happens.”
“But you’ve turned twenty-three, Nin, and you haven’t – “
”Chosen an official suitor or two? Someone to serve as an escort and bed-partner, if not a husband? And where would I find a man who wouldn’t mind accommodating my . . . variations in the capital?” Ninianee suggested sardonically. “You know why I haven’t. Nor have you, and you’re almost twenty-two.”
“Not an official one, no. But I do have possibilities.” She blushed as if she were ten years younger.
“If I could stand Maeshar of Otsinmohr, I could have an official suitor tomorrow. And he would use his suitorship to make claims on Vildecaz that would make this Duzky a part of the Porzalk Empire, which would be the end of our autonomy. He would marry me and our separate authority would be gone, and so, I suspect, would he. I couldn’t be party to that, even if I loved Maeshar.” She made a face. “If only his land didn’t share such a long border with ours, it would be easier to avoid him, and I wouldn’t have to be so blunt in my refusals.”
“But he wouldn’t be such a terrible official suitor,” Erianthee protested.