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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  An amused voice spoke from the arch over the entrance to the family dining room. “Then what?” In the next breath, the familiar figure of Doms Guyon emerged from the shadows, though he also seemed to bring them with him. He was dressed in a simple hupslan of muted spruce-blue wool with a doga of silvery Mozh-cloth over it, more like the accomplished troubadour and juggler Ninianee knew than the Drowned World Yaolaj he claimed to be. His ice-blue eyes lit on her light-green ones. “Well?” and added, “Ninianee.”

  Startled, Ninianee halted at the foot of the staircase. “What?”

  “You said something about a Salah-badger just now, and that it could be worse. I was curious what it might be worse than.” He held out his hand to her, contemplating her features with increasing sympathy. “You look tired, Ninianee.” When she did not take his hand, he lowered it again.

  “I am – not that it is any concern of yours.” She hated the petulance she felt. “I . . . I am tired. I am testy when I’m tired.”

  “Oh, I know,” he said with his usual infuriating ease. “I hope you will find the time to rest today.”

  “Why would you hope that?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Do you believe I have overextended myself? I’m not so paltry a creature as to let a few sleepless nights incapacitate me.” This was precariously close to what she worried would happen and what she would have to continue to do for two more nights. “Have I committed some oversight that I will recollect if I take time to nap? Or am I haggard and need rest to restore my looks?”

  The amusement faded from his eyes to be replaced by a kind of heat that unnerved her. When he spoke there was something in his voice that added to the ardor of his gaze. “I say it because I am concerned for your welfare. You cannot claim that you are unaware of your vulnerability – I know better than that, and so do you. There is so much resting on you with both your father and sister away. You have more than double the responsibilities you had a week ago.”

  She tried not to respond to him, and almost succeeded. “It is what I was born to,” she managed to say.

  “That doesn’t make the burdens any lighter. Nor do you have to carry them alone.” This time he took her hand rather than waiting for her response. “If there is anything I can do to help?”

  “Not that I can think of,” she said, appalled that she wanted to burst into tears. She steeled herself with the inward reminder that his passion would not survive knowing about her Change. “Unless you have a talent for seeing at a distance, and can tell me where Erianthee is.”

  “I’m sorry, Duzeon; my talents do not tend that way. If they did, they would be at your disposal, as they are and have been since we met.” He still held her hand in his, not tightly, but enough to make it apparent that he would prefer to retain it. There was a suggestion of a smile on his mouth.

  “Then let me go to Heijot Merinex,” she said, as if unable to break away.

  Doms released her hand, saying, “If you do think of anything, will you permit me to do it for you?”

  “If I do, I will,” she assured him mendaciously, and hurried up the stairs, leaving Doms to look after her, his face revealing nothing of what he felt – only his eyes shone eloquently, like pale blue flames in the shadows.

  * * *

  In his personal quarters, Heijot Merinex sat barricaded behind a heap of books while his apprentice, Vazha Parumenz, busied himself collecting more from the shelves. As Ninianee gave a perfunctory knock before entering the room, Merinex jumped nervously and signaled to Vazha to stop his labors. His dark-gold gaihups was in disarray and his hair was clubbed untidily at the nape of his neck with a negligently tied band of bright blue velvet. His cheeks were in need of shaving; there were bags under his eyes and he bore the expression of one who has been without sleep for a great many nights. He respected Ninianee as she closed the door. “Duzeon,” he said, his voice pitched a bit too high for ease.

  “I have to speak with you, Merinex.” She folded her hands in front of her as a sign that she was not here to give orders but to seek advice.

  “Of course, Duzeon Ninianee,” he said more formally.

  “It must be private.”

  Merinex pulled himself up erect in his chair. “There are shield spells on this room. You need not fear we will be intruded upon.” He closed one of the open books, doing his best to appear severe.

  “I am also thinking of more mundane spying – the sort that is done by eavesdropping. If you would ask your apprentice to wait in the hall and make sure we speak privately?” She nodded to Vazha.

  Merinex frowned, but motioned the young man away with a fussy flick of his fingers. “You heard the Duzeon. Go on, then.”

  Vazha respected Merinex and then Ninianee as he fled from the room.

  “He’s more capable than he seems,” Merinex said into the silence that followed Vazha’s departure.

  “No doubt,” said Ninianee, and pulled up a short step-ladder to serve as her seat. “I must enjoin you to complete privacy for this discussion. You will not be at liberty to reveal any part of our discussion once we have finished our conversation.”

  “My oath by the Six Founder Gods,” said Merinex solemnly. “And by my duty as magician of this Castle.”

  Ninianee nodded. “That’s sufficient; I accept your assurance.” She pondered for a long moment how to begin. “I will be leaving as soon as my father’s deputy arrives. I intend to seek out the Golozath Oracle, to ask if there is any way we might find Duz Nimuar.”

  Merinex had turned pale. “What do you mean? The journey to the Golozath Oracle is a dangerous one, even in summer. You would have to wait until spring if you plan not to leave Vildecaz without someone to act in your place, and your father’s. If you want to depart before then, Zervethus Gaxamirin isn’t supposed to arrive for six weeks yet, which would force you to travel during winter.”

  “I will leave earlier if possible, assuming something can be arranged. From what the weather-witch at Valdihovee has told the mariners, here will be storms before the moon is full again.”

  Merinex conjured up a placatory smile. “Nimuar could well be back by then.”

  “So we hope,” said Ninianee with another unexpected burst of strong emotion. “But if he is not, then it is one path that has not yet grown cold. Possibly the only path.”

  “It is tempting to think so.” After a diplomatic cough, he went on, “The Oracle could give you information that might help you,” said Merinex with careful emphasis.

  “‘Could’?” she echoed. “‘Might’?”

  “All Oracles are problematic,” said Merinex, peevishly tugging at the cuff of his sleeve. “The more celebrated, the more difficult they may be.”

  “Do you have any other recommendations you would like to make?” Ninianee asked, trying not to let her annoyance show.

  “You could consult one of the magical Schools – at least the teachers have discipline in what they do, and colleagues who are able to endorse or question their prognostications.”

  “What school would you recommend? The Agnitheon is far away, and so is your Dyskeleoc School. Is there another school you would recommend, one closer than the Drowned World, or Fah?” She saw that she had offended him, and added, “In this instance, the Oracle can be reached in under a month; you will agree that time is crucial in this instance.”

  “It certainly is a factor,” Merinex allowed grudgingly.

  “I have hoped that the Priests of Mirvex-Doz would send someone to help us find my father – after all, he trained there, and in spite of what Yulko Bihn did to him, he is still one of their own. They have talents that would be most useful now, but there is nothing from them.” Ninianee felt her vexation return as she spoke of this; she was bothered that Nimuar’s own school might want to disown him.

  “That he is – one of their own,” said Merinex, who was of the Dyskeleoc School, and keenly aware of the superiority of the magical training the Priests of Mirvex-Doz provided. “They must know something of his troubles.”<
br />
  “They must do. I sent them word of what had happened, ethereally first, of course, and a second dispatch written on parchment in kaimon-ink, so that there could be no confusion. The messenger left on one of the courier ships, so there now has been time enough for the ship to reach the Drowned World and either the chapter-house on Tirin-Dzur, or the school itself on Dozinthroee.” She looked at Merinex. “What do you think, Magsto?”

  “I think you have cause for concern.” He tapped the cover of one of the thickest books on the table. “If you like, Duzeon, I could use a divination spell, to see what has caused the silence.”

  “None of those spells could tell us where my father is,” she pointed out. “I must suppose there is some kind of magical barrier around him that could thwart anything done on his behalf.”

  Merinex nodded slowly, taking this as a criticism of his skills. “If you want, I will enlist Valdihovee’s civic magician to aid me. Together we might – ”

  Ninianee held up her hand. “Thank you, but Krunn Howei has already tried three times to find a magical scent, and each time has failed to find more than confusion. No one here has found a reliable trail of any kind, in spite of all you’ve done. The attempts the two of you made together provided nothing useful, although both you and Howei tried your best. You had Vazha and he had his three apprentices to assist him, and that wasn’t enough to penetrate the spells around my father.”

  “The two of us together with the Magsto from the Library of Duz Kinzyrach, perhaps? Howei has been willing to try, you know,” Merinex ventured. “I am mortified that our efforts failed the night of the manifestation, just before your sister left for Tiumboj, but now that we have a better sense of how we might search – ?”

  “No. It would only postpone what must be done.” She got up from her stool and moved around the end of the table toward him. “I think you have done a great deal, and all of us in the Castle are grateful, but there is more here than any of us are prepared to deal with – wouldn’t you say?”

  “I fear it may be so, Duzeon,” he admitted, directing his attention toward the open page in front of him. “I have been devoting my studies to finding a way to learn more about what may be working here – what kind of magic is operating.”

  “Then I will rely upon you to provide me with as much information on the Golozath Oracle as you can find in your books and your arts. I would like to leave as soon as I can be relieved of my obligations to the Duzky, so I urge you to work swiftly.”

  “As you wish, Duzeon.” He stared at the far wall as if reading some hidden message in the plaster. “You are sure I can’t dissuade you?”

  “I’m sure,” she said, the feral light in her eyes making this simple declaration a vow.

  Merinex gave a little sigh, repeating, “As you wish, Duzeon Ninianee. But it will be Bonti’s Luck if your sister finds out.” With that, he reached for another book and made a display of opening it as a sign he needed to be left alone.

  * * *

  The sound of rain was as steady, a constant susurrus accompanied by occasional gelid drafts that snicked through the red-silk tent, causing the flames in the lanterns to flicker in token of their passage, and dispersing any illusion of real warmth in the elegant confines of the pavilion’s main chamber. In spite of the spell to keep the tent from leaking, there was a small rivulet running down the seam opposite the door. Two large brass braziers provided heat and light, while Erianthee, warm in a pelgar lined with moon-hound fur over heavy drugh-ox-wool brikes, sat on the padded couch brought in from the carriage. Kloveon had donated a pile of cushions of all sizes from his carriage for use in the pavilion, and was reclining on a heap of them now, his husplan-and-doga of quadruple-ply lantern-red Fahnine silk, as warm as a cloak of drouch-fur. His light hair shone like brass in the lamp-light, and his deep smile-crinkles around his eyes and in his cheeks were made more apparent by the gentle shadows.

  “I might as well be wearing blankets,” he answered in reply to Erianthee’s question if he were warm enough.

  “Very good. And the rest in the other smaller pavilions?” She had just finished rolling up a map of the Porzalk Empire, and looked for the protective leather tube where it was usually kept.

  “They are as warm as we are. And the mules and horses are under protective sails – not as good as a barn, but at least they’re sturdy canvas and stout poles. The horses and mules have long coats to keep them from chill, and they will not have to stand in the rain all day.” He took the leather tube from her and slipped it into one of the two open chests. “Fithnoj will be making our mid-day meal shortly. Do you want real food, or will magical do for today?”

  “Since we will have to be on the road again tomorrow, I think real food should be best. We need strength, and magical food provides little of it.” She thought briefly. “There are still hedge-chickens, aren’t there?”

  “Yes,” said Kloveon. “And Vildecaz cheeses, and Otsinmohr wine.” He rose from his place and stretched. “I’ll go tell him.”

  “Thank you,” she said, still mildly preoccupied. “Don’t get wet.”

  He tugged on a long cloak of jeneie-fur and prepared to step out through the double-flap. “I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”

  Erianthee nodded, and took a small book of spells made by the Magstee of the Agnitheon out of the chest and occupied herself in reading through a number of incantations, finally stopping at one that would summon up a local maitsee. This she studied carefully, then started gathering up the ingredients required – for local nature spirits, this was a simple list – and set about conjuring, convinced that this scale of spell was close enough to her talent for materializing Spirits of the Outer Air to guarantee useful results. She went carefully, taking the time to perform every detail of the rite, concluding with the chanting of an intricate quatrain on one specific note.

  An errant breeze whipped through the interior of the tent, and a small vulpine creature appeared before her, standing on its hind legs; it offered Erianthee a respect and said, “Oh, good – a traveler.”

  “On my way to Tiumboj,” said Erianthee, keeping the spell-book open before her. “At the command of Riast II.”

  “What is it you want to know?” If the maitsee was impressed, it made no sign of it in its reaction.

  “I want to know,” she said, taking care to enunciate clearly, “how serious this storm is, and what damage it has done around this meadow.”

  The maitsee waved a paw as if to take in its area of operation. “I don’t have a very large range,” it said with a little jerk of its head, “But for a league around, with the exception of this place and the spells that protect it, the rain is heavy and the winds high and blustery. The storm extends beyond what I can perceive, but through this region the weather is hard. Even the wallow-mojes at the edge of the marsh are keeping to their dens, and no birds fly. The roads are muddy and will slow travel, as those approaching are finding out to their grief.”

  “Who approaches?” Erianthee asked, trying to subdue a rush of anxiety.

  “One with the arms of Udugan on soaked flags. The horses are muddy to their saddle-flaps,” said the maitsee, giving off a kind of giggle. “Their travel-wizard has done a poor job thus far.”

  “Hajmindor Elet,” said Erianthee, almost certain it was he.

  “He is expected,” said the maitsee. “I can feel the horses weltering toward this place. There are ten or eleven of them, and two wagons.”

  “Are you certain?”

  The maitsee laughed aloud. “I am sure that they are coming. I cannot see them yet to count them, but there are at least ten of them, for the disturbance they make.”

  “Are they armed?” She asked this as a matter of course.

  “They are official, so they are probably armed,,” the maitsee allowed. “Will that suffice?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” said Erianthee, making a reverence toward the little figure.

  “You honor me too much, Magstee.”

  “As you hon
or me,” said Erianthee. “I am a Duzeon, not a Magstee.”

  The maitsee shrugged and snickered. “If you tell me so.”

  Although she knew it was dangerous to be fascinated by the nature spirit, Erianthee smiled. “I will not fall to your blandishments, maitsee, nor be turned from my purpose by your clever answers. You have skill, but you are still constrained by the spell I have worked.” Yet even as she spoke she could see the creature had grown. I must not give it any power, she reminded herself sharply. Maitsees were known to use such powers against the conjurer.

  “Certainly not,” said the maitsee, laughing nastily.

  Repeating the containing part of the conjuring spell, Erianthee did her best to return the maitsee to its original size, thinking that it was far easier to master the Spirits of the Outer Air than to deal with this one little sprite. “You are bound, maitsee.”

  “Am I?” It grew larger still, to the size of a ten-year-old child. “This is my place, and in it, I have the power, not travelers like you, no matter what that spell-book says.”

  Much as she wanted to make a stern reply, Erianthee would not be goaded into so impulsive an act, for that might well play into the maitsee’s scheme. She held up the vial of ympara-oil, saying, “By the power of the earth, by Tsoraj, the Enduring, and by the Word of Agnith, I command you to return to your proper manifestation.”

  With an annoyed squeak, the maitsee shrank down to its original size. “You are stronger than I thought.”

  “For which you should be glad,” said Erianthee, surprised at how well she had handled the conjuration. “I thank you and dismiss you. A token will be left for your service when we depart, providing no mischief or harm is worked upon any of us, or on our shelter, food, and animals.” It was a standard culmination of a maitsee-summons, and Erianthee said it so automatically that she almost overlooked the final part of the rite. “Neither you nor your place ever harm me and those with me, from this time until the Great World falls.”