The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Ninianee shook her head in disgust. “If you think so well of him, you make him your official suitor.”

  Erianthee shook her head. “It’s different for me.”

  “It certainly is. You have all the men at Court to choose from, and they know what kind of magic they’re getting with you.” There was no jealousy, no rancor in this remark, only a kind of ruefulness.

  “But I don’t like to think of you being lonely, Nin,” said Erianthee. “It’s bad enough that you can’t come to Court with me, but for you to have to remain alone –“

  Ninianee got up and put another cut branch on the fire. “I’m used to it. And luckily there is more than Maeshar to beguile me.”

  “How can you be used to it?” Erianthee asked. “When you never know until the first night of the full moon what – “ She stopped and glanced around, as if recalling that they might be overheard.

  “That’s why it wouldn’t be wise to go to Court,” said Ninianee drily, and sat on the arm of the chair she had occupied. “Don’t worry, Eri, I’ll be fine, and so will Papa. He’s still gathering information on Agnith’s Treasure, and that will occupy him for some time.”

  Erianthee allowed herself to be distracted. “Do you think it really exists – Agnith’s Treasure?”

  “I don’t know. It may. Or they may – who knows if it is a single thing or many? But it might not be real. Whatever it is – or they are – there is so much said about it that I can’t imagine anyone would know it if they stumbled across the real thing.” She laughed a little, to hide her skepticism. “It’s strange, isn’t it, to think Papa was once a powerful-enough magician to do all those spells, to summon Agnith herself?”

  “Do you think he ever did?” Erianthee asked. “Summon Agnith?”

  Ninianee shrugged. “I think what matters is that the old Emperor believed it, twenty years ago; you could probably find out if Riast believes as his great-uncle did, while you’re at Court.”

  “No.” Erianthee spoke with unusual firmness. “I’d have to deal with Riast’s heir, and Prince Bozidar is a trying young man; he acts as if he were already Emperor Bozidar VIII.”

  “Zlatz! He wants to be your official suitor, does he?” Ninianee lifted one eyebrow.

  Erianthee locked her hands together. “No. He wants to be my unofficial suitor.”

  In spite of her concern, Ninianee could not suppress an impish smile. “How very awkward.”

  “It is,” Erianthee said. “You don’t know what he’s like.”

  “Have you mentioned it to Dowager Empress Godrienee?” Ninianee asked. “If you haven’t, you shou – “

  “She mentioned it to me, shortly before I left last time I was at Court. It was mortifying.” Erianthee put her hand to her mouth as if to restrain herself from saying anything further. “The Dowager was so very understanding, and warned me that Prince Bozidar is not very trustworthy, and that he was known to be sportive with women.”

  “Perhaps it’s a family trait: I have met his father, and Emperor Riast is no one I would want to have to depend upon,” Ninianee stared into the fire, as if reading the omens there.

  “Don’t say that.” Erianthee put her finger to her lips. “You don’t know if he has spies in the household.”

  “He probably does, and spells, too, until Senkei is through hunting them down,” said Ninianee. “Surely we’re not the only people in the Empire to have doubts about Riast II.” She stood up and stretched. “In fact, I wonder why he bothers with us. What kind of foes are we? Most of our relatives will have nothing to do with us, and I can’t imagine either of our neighbors – Maeshar or Hircaj Chogrun – would be part of a conspiracy against the Emperor, and even if they were, that we would be included in it. Our talents cannot determine events. You and I have no fortunes beyond our share of Vildecaz, and Papa left the Court so long ago, his influence – what little he had left – is gone. You have more power at Court than he does, now.”

  “But not the way you mean,” said Erianthee. “And if Papa is really so powerless, why does Yulko Bihn come here? He defeated Papa in their magical duel. He was the one who blasted Papa’s mind, so he must know how little Papa retains of his former pow – “

  ”He comes here to gloat,” said Ninianee firmly. “He has a deep desire to reassure himself that Papa is still . . . as he is, so he can continue to relish his triumph. He won their duel by guile, and that makes him uneasy, as well it should. Papa lost, but Yulko Bihn did not truly win, and he knows it. So he has to remind himself that Papa is still unable to challenge him again.” She looked up to the gallery as Lomcoz Terichovee, the master of the mews, came to the high railing. “Is everything taken care of?”

  “Yes. Senkei hunted out four minor spells; nothing to be concerned about. Heijot Merinex removed them.” Lomcoz motioned to the castle-magician, a fairly ordinary fellow in a magician’s long gaihups secured with a sash of the Dyskeleoc School.

  “The Castle is clear. We may all go safely to bed,” Heijot Merinex announced as he patted Senkei’s head.

  “Good,” said Erianthee. “I’m worn out.”

  “I am, too,” said Ninianee. “I could sleep all day and all night.” She reached out to give Erianthee a good-night hug, and was surprised when her sister clung to her. “Bontaj. What’s the matter?”

  Erianthee let go of Ninianee. “Nothing really. Just pre-journey nerves. I wish I knew what provisions have been made for my travel.”

  “That’ll come soon enough, Eri,” said Ninianee, and stepped back. “See you tomorrow, probably not until noon.”

  “You have more work to do in the wall-orchards?” Erianthee asked.

  “No; the vineyards, on the lower terrace,” said Ninianee, and made her way out of the Great Hall, glad that the first night of the full moon was still four days away.

  * * *

  Vildecaz Castle was an old-style fortress designed to withstand the outmoded siege warfare of centuries past, with two barrier walls some distance apart around the main building, which was a squat, three-storied cluster like five large, overlapping stone, mushroom-caps gathered together in the middle of the main courtyard, with stables and barns against the inner protective walls. There were three fortified towers in the inner wall, with crenelated tops and high battlement-walkways for the few guards to keep watch on the surround. The Main Gate fronted a deep, fast-running creek which was crossed by drawbridge. The castle sat on the southwestern promontory of the Valdishan Escarpment at the end of the Boarth Range, the Duzky still semi-autonomous despite the proximity of the Porzalk Empire. Between the outer and inner walls were steep slopes rising up to the castle, and three extensive gardens. Beyond the outer wall were the terraced fields, orchards, and vineyards of the castle, and a narrow approach-road that switch-backed up from the old port city of Valdihovee on the Dej River below. The weather was always controlled in the castle’s vicinity – Nimuar of Vildecaz had enough power left for that, which was why this pleasant autumn day would not be blighted by rain until nightfall.

  Riding her sturdy, sensible, mountain pony up from Valdihovee, the thriving port city that was the largest in the Duzky, Ninianee was struck again with how well-situated the castle was for the old-style wars: the most advanced of the siege-weapons would have been hard-pressed to lob anything more than a pillow over the tall, inner wall, let alone damage the castle itself. She had a strong affection for the castle and all of Vildecaz; unlike Erianthee, whose talents called her away from Vildecaz, Ninianee knew that her talents meant that she would probably pass most of her life in the Duzky, her life structured around the castle and the three nights of the full moon.

  The mountain pony halted, her head tossing once, shoulders tightening; she pulled at the bit as if to alert Ninianee.

  “What is it?” Ninianee said, using her talent for communicating with furred animals. An image of the gates of the castle came into Ninianee’s mind, and an odor she could not recognize. “Has someone come? There’s no guest-banner over the Main Gate yet.
” There was an impression of a team of horses and an elaborate carriage. “I’ll stay alert.” Four horses and two humans, like shadows. “Thank you,” she told the pony, patting the mare’s neck, and wishing, as she often did, that furred animals could think in words as well as pictures.

  As she approached the Main Gate, Ninianee saw that the drawbridge was already down and the portcullis up. Had one of the guards seen her coming and done this, or had some unexpected visitor arrived, as the mountain pony had indicated? Ninianee muttered, “Bontaj,” at the timing, since this night would be the first night of the full moon – the Reaper’s Moon as the workmen called it – and that would exclude her from any entertaining that the guests might require. Already she was making plans for the coming night. She crossed the drawbridge and turned her mountain pony toward the stables, a bit startled that no one had come to meet her. Dismounting in front of the stable, she saw the grooms were busy with a team of handsome copper-duns. “Gremmi bontaj!” she exclaimed as she recognized the team. “What a time for Yulko Bihn to arrive.” She reached into her wallet and pulled out a browned wedge of apple, which she offered to her pony. “Thanks for the warning. I’m sorry I can’t stay to brush and feed you.”

  One of the grooms heard her, and broke away from the other five. “My Duzna,” he said, hurrying to take the reins from her.

  “There’re three packages on the saddle. See they are taken to the Duzna Erianthee’s apartments as soon as possible.” Ninianee knew she was being brusque with the lad, but she was too preoccupied to modify her tone. “Do you know where my father is?”

  “In the Great Hall, Duzna,” said the head-groom, coming up to her. “You should change before presenting yourself: Yulko Bihn is a stickler for Court form. He wants us to put on our dogas to stable his horses.”

  “I remember; thank you, Nejoch.” She strode away from the stables, bound for one of the five side-doors that gave admittance to the castle without passing through the Great Hall. Her mind was buzzing with plans for what she ought to do at sunset, and came up with a clumsy-but-serviceable scheme, which she was rehearsing as she climbed the narrow stairs to the gallery that gave onto the corridor to her apartments in the northeast wing.

  “Oh! Thank goodness you’re back!” Erianthee was waiting in Ninianee’s sitting room; she was beautifully arrayed in a Mozh-cloth gaunel of pale-gold over a guin of burnt-sienna wisp-cotton. Her hair was bound with gold bands and she wore her Duzna coronet along with a pendant with the Vildecaz arms depicted in jewels on a gold shield. “You must know we have a guest – in fact, two of them.”

  “Two?” Ninianee asked, surprised.

  “Yulko Bihn hasn’t come alone. He has a companion with him, a young woman. He says she’s his student.” She made the last word an accusation.

  “And she may be,” said Ninianee with a wicked chuckle. “If we don’t limit studies to magic.”

  Erianthee’s dark eyes were knowing. “I don’t think it’s magic she’s learning, either. Or not the magic Yulko Bihn performs. You’ll know what I mean when you see her.” She laced her fingers together. “I put Heijot Merinex to work with a few refreshing spells so that the tapestries and the murals don’t look quite so shabby, but you know how Bihn is.”

  “I certainly do – he is a thorough-going snob, one who likes to see others at a disadvantage,” said Ninianee decisively. “He enjoys seeing us appear paltry, backward, and unsophisticated. I wish I could wear my jewels, but considering it’s a full moon tonight . . . “

  ”Have you any idea what you can do about sunset?” Erianthee flung up her hands. “Oh, why did he have to choose to come today?”

  Ninianee went into the dressing-room just off her sitting room and looked at the clothes hanging there. “What do you think I should wear?”

  “The sea-green gaunel and the copper guin, and your coronet, of course.” Erianthee had come to the door and was looking in. “You’ve worn that for other formal receptions.”

  “You’re probably right, although it should be a little grander. Yulko Bihn will think I’m a bumpkin. Not that he doesn’t already. He has decided that my talent for communicating with fur-bearing animals is proof of my – as I remember, he called it my rustic-ness the last time he came here.” Ninianee began to pull off her riding dolaj, then her tall boots, and last of all, her leather brikes. Standing in her skin-clothes, she took the copper guin off its peg. “If I had time, I would bathe, but a clean spell will have to do.”

  “You’ll look fine,” said Erianthee.

  “For a Duzna of a minor Duzky. I suppose this will do for even so grand a magician as Bihn. At least he won’t be able to fault you: you could appear before Riast himself in that outfit,” said Ninianee with a gesture of appreciation. “I don’t have anything quite so grand.”

  “You could,” said Erianthee. “And you know it.”

  “I suppose so.” She pulled the guin over her head, settling its soft tunic and scooped neck so that it hung perfectly, then she reached for her gaunel. “I’m going to put my arm in a sling, and say I hurt it while riding down to Valdihovee. It has happened to many another, so it’s reasonable enough to say that I sustained an injury in an accident, and have had the Valdihovee physician, Sharax Reiqui, take care of it, and on his instructions, I need to retire early. That will give me an excuse to retire early; no one will pay much attention. I must be here at sunset.”

  “I’ll do a small Shadowshow for them tonight, nothing major, just a few Spirits of the Outer Air doing some amusing things, perhaps a folktale or a classic legend. But tomorrow night, Bihn expects more extensive entertainment, and one way or another, he shall have it. I’ll prepare tomorrow morning so that we can be ready for the event.” Erianthee sighed, and fiddled with the sleeves of her gaunel. “I wish he hadn’t come so soon. He always puts Papa in a state.”

  “Because he intends to. It’s one of the reasons he never informs us of his visit, and never comes at the same time from year to year, only that it will be between the beginning of the Eighth Month and the end of the Ninth. So he can throw us all into disorder for his superior amusement.” Ninianee’s voice was muffled as she tugged her gaunel over her head, wriggling into its profusion of skirt, and then its well-fitted bodice. “Lace me up, will you, Eri?”

  “Of course,” said Erianthee, and helped settle the garment on Ninianee’s trim figure before tightening the laces up the back. “What will you use for your sling? Not that horrid canvas thing you usually employ, Nin, please.”

  “My square shawl, the bronze-colored one with the pattern of enicanthus flowers. It’s Mozh-cloth, and the colors will do with the rest.” Ninianee had taken her brush and was struggling to bring some order to her riot of russet ringlets. After several determined passes through her hair she set the brush down and turned to look in her dressing-mirror, making a frank appraisal of what she saw. “I suppose this will have to do.”

  “You look wonderful,” said Erianthee, who was knotting the shawl into a triangular sling. “Here. Try this.”

  Ninianee slipped the sling on, and fiddled it into the right position. “I hate not having the use of my arm, but better that than Change in front of the visitors.”

  “Especially these visitors,” said Erianthee, reaching for Ninianee’s Duzna’s coronet. “It is unfortunate that you can no longer use the closed stall you spent the nights in when your Changes first began.”

  “It is,” Ninianee agreed. “But too many people were becoming aware that something magical was going on there, and the gossip that resulted almost made my condition known from one end of Vildecaz to another. And that would have been much too dangerous for all of us.”

  “I can’t argue with you,” said Erianthee as she handed Ninianee’s coronet to her. “You’ll need this.”

  “So I will.” Ninianee stood still while Erianthee settled it onto her brow. “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready to go down to the Great Hall?” Erianthee asked, squaring her shoulders and turning toward t
he outer door.

  “If I must,” Ninianee said, and led the way out of her apartments.

  * * *

  Yulko Bihn accepted the tankard of hot, spiced wine from the footman extending a tray of eight tankards before taking the seat of honor in the Great Hall; there was more white in his hair and beard from the last time he visited, and his fingers were a bit knottier, yet he was decked out in an emerald-green doga embroidered in silver, worn over a dark dull-purple hupslan, elaborately decorated with patterns of stars and moons. He was fine enough for any grand Court reception, and although he had to admit that he had become a bit paunchy in the last few years, he knew he outshone his host and former rival, and that gave him great satisfaction. “How good of you to receive me – and my pupil Dinvee ae-Semilgai – so well, with no notice of my arrival.”

  The tall, sinuous woman beside him stifled a laugh and took her tankard with a movement that promised many things. In her gaunel of dark-red Limurgan velvet, every motion, every gesture, was rendered sensuous and promising by the luminous fabric. Dinvee herself was a dangerously beautiful woman, with masses of lustrous brown hair spilling in soft waves down her back. She had flawless, pale- peach skin, dark-hazel eyes, and a wide, full lips that were almost as darkly colored as her clothes. “The wine smells delicious,” she said, imbuing this simple compliment with ramifications well beyond any demands of courtesy.

  “From our own vineyards, of course,” said Nimuar, taking his own tankard from the tray. “And here are my daughters to greet you.” Relief shown in his eyes as Erianthee and Ninianee came into the Great Hall.

  Erianthee offered a courtly respect to the Emperor’s Master of Rites and High Spells, performing this with grace. “You honor Vildecaz with your presence, Magsto Bihn.”

  Bihn preened, and returned a small respect to Erianthee. “You are gracious as always, Duzna Erianthee.”

  Although her respect was more perfunctory, Ninianee was careful to communicate no lack of esteem to Yulko Bihn. “You distinguish our castle, Magsto Bihn.”