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

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The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise Page 22

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro


  The maitsee flittered, paled, and vanished, leaving Erianthee feeling nervous. How could such encounters enervate her when she could manifest whole pageants of Spirits of the Outer Air? It was a question she couldn’t dwell on, for she heard Kloveon tramping back through the wet from the other pavilions. She gathered up her conjuring-tools and returned them to their place in her chest, closing its lid just as Kloveon came through the double-flap.

  “There will be a meal shortly, with real food,” he announced as he pulled off his cloak and hung it, dripping, on the cloak-hook near the front flaps. “The storm is miserable. It is a good thing we aren’t on the road.”

  “But others are,” she said.

  He swung around toward her. “Others are what?”

  “On the road,” she said.

  “Who would be traveling in such weather?”

  “Probably Hajmindor Elet,” she told him unenthusiastically. “I summoned up the local maitsee and it said that a band of riders carrying Uduganish flags are approaching.”

  “Did it mention when they might arrive?”

  “Not specifically, no, but it could see enough to know where they’re from. Their banners are Uduganish.”

  “Which means they’re getting near, if a maitsee could make out so much detail,” said Kloveon heavily.

  “I think they must be,” said Erianthee with a quick glance in his direction. “Should we wait for them, to include them when we dine?”

  Kloveon thought about his answer. “How many are there in the party, could the maitsee tell?”

  “Ten or more, I gather.” She paused. “I suppose we could augment the food we have with magical food. We would have enough then, wouldn’t we?”

  He rubbed his lower lip, a sure sign of dissatisfaction, she had learned in their travels. “We may have to. I’ll have to ask your help in conjuring the food. I’d almost want to go out on a hunt instead, but in this weather, it would be useless. And Rakin Moricaz has his hands full just keeping this meadow as still as possible. Extending his talents to cover a hunt is out of the question.”

  “I wasn’t going to suggest it,” said Erianthee. “We will just have to make do as best we can.”

  For a long moment, Kloveon stared at her in silence. “I hate having to give you over to Elet’s escort.”

  “I know. I’m not pleased, myself.” The tension went out of her, as if this admission had been enough to bring her back to a sense of her immediate situation.

  “I should go with you. I don’t care about what Emperor Riast thinks is most diplomatic – I know it would be better if I could stay with you. I want to stay with you, as much for Vildecaz as for you. Once your father is safely back, it will be otherwise, but for now . . . ” He took three impulsive steps toward her. “Everyone at Court has motives of their own. You shouldn’t trust any of them.”

  “I met you at Court,” Erianthee reminded him slowly.

  “Ah, but I came away from Court. I sought you out, not once, or twice, but three times, in your own Duzky.” He sighed slowly. “If only you would tell me what you want me to do.”

  Erianthee tried to hide her confusion. “Would it make any difference? Riast’s orders are clear and neither of us are in a position to defy him.”

  “If you asked me, I would,” said Kloveon softly.

  It was so tempting to succumb to his offer, thought Erianthee, but Kloveon was a courtier with his own Mirkalin to protect, as well as a family with expectations for him, and much more to lose than her affections. He might be testing her, even though he gave every appearance of sincerity. “That would put both of us at more of a disadvantage than we are now,” she said at her most reasonable, yet feeling as if she had betrayed him.

  “Better to have one ally you are sure of than a dozen sycophants,” said Kloveon.

  “Oh, Mirkal, you say that so readily.” She shook her head slowly.

  Kloveon contemplated her for a dozen heartbeats, then looked toward the double-flap. “I suppose I had better go and warn Fithnoj to expect guests.” He reached for his cloak again. “I’ll tell him to use magical foods for condiments and sauces. That way, the meal will be fairly substantial.”

  “Very good,” said Erianthee, feeling as if all the air had gone out of the tent.

  He seemed about to say something more, but changed his mind. With an engaging salute, he once again slipped out into the storm.

  2. Arrivals

  Morning caught Ninianee unaware. She came to herself under a joalliberry-bush, her hands scraped almost raw from a night of determined Salah-badger digging. Most of her fur was already gone and her body was completely human. Still, she sat up with care, avoiding most of the long, sharp spines that guarded the bush from being plundered of its fruit. Although it was late enough in the year that most of the berries were gone, the spines remained unrelenting. Ninianee carefully plucked one of the few remaining berries and let its tangy sweetness revive her as she renewed acquaintance with her human body. Squinting upwards, she saw a thin veil of clouds over the newly risen sun, a warning that the weather was changing, coming in from the unusual direction of southeast.

  Getting to her feet, she began a rapid search for the dolaj, zenft, and brikes she had brought with her to the edge of the woods. Her clothes were where she had left them the night before, in the satchel, behind a cluster of beehives. She dressed quickly, tugged a comb through the tangle of her russet hair, and set out for the Castle, trying for as jaunty an air as she could muster. She went to the small northern gate where she hoped she would not be noticed. There she ended the night-spell on the lock, and slipped through the small door into the espaliered pear-orchard that ran along the tall stones of the south-facing inner wall to the western Guard Tower. Taking the time to inspect the nearest of the trees with the intention to order pruning, she then resumed her walk back to the Castle, passing the second wall without incident, and arriving at the inner wall just as the Guards were changing. She had reached the stable-yard gate when she was stopped by a shout.

  “Duzeon! Duzeon Ninianee!” The caller was Senijer ae-Miratdien, the Captain of the Night Guard. He was looking tired now that his watch had ended, but he gave her a full respect. He had put on his broad dolamine sash as a tribute to the guests in the Castle, and it made him look more formidable than he generally did.

  Ninianee stopped, shaded her eyes and looked up. “What is it, Captain ae-Miratdien?”

  “The Keeper of the Mews is looking for you. He said you were not in your quarters.”

  “No. I left quite early.” She lowered her eyes to avoid the dazzle of the sun. “Where is Keeper Terichovee?”

  “The last I saw him, he was with Shodoch at the kennels. They’re about to take the spell-hounds out for their morning run.”

  “I’ll try to catch them before they leave,” Ninianee said, and waved a dismissal to Captain ae-Miratdien. Continuing on toward the stable-yard gate, she frowned, wondering what Lomcoz Terichovee could want with her. Had he noticed her absence and been troubled by it, or was his business on some other matter? Although she knew it was useless to speculate, she could not keep from turning over a number of things in her mind, none of them pleasant. “Stop it,” she told herself firmly. “You don’t know what Terichovee wants. It’s probably nothing so dire as you fear.” This admonition eased her a little as she made her way along the long, narrow passage to the spell-hounds’ kennels.

  When she reached the small kennel courtyard, she discovered that Terichovee, his assistant, and his five spell-hounds had already left. It would be some while before they returned, and waiting here would accomplish nothing. She stretched, and decided she would have a bath, change clothes, and then, if she were very lucky, find an hour or two for a nap before having to deal with any of her Duzeon duties. With a quick invocation for favor to Nyolach, the Unexpected, she went to the main courtyard and entered the Castle by the main door. Once inside, she hurried up the broad main staircase toward her own apartments, reminding herself as she
went that while Nyolach could be erratic in her favors, to ignore her at this difficult time was folly – there was still one more night of the full moon to come, and the goddess of turns of fortune could preserve Ninianee from discovery.

  Giuynee was waiting for the Duzeon in the dressing room of her quarters on the north side of the Castle, her ordinary face hiding a keen mind and a true devotion to Vildecaz. Her manner, as always, was impeccable, but there were questions in her eyes that she would not voice. “What do you want me to do for you, Duzeon?” she asked as she respected Ninianee. She looked over Ninianee’s shabby clothes in obvious disapproval. “That dolaj is hardly worthy of you.”

  “But I can scramble about in the underbrush and do it no real harm,” said Ninianee as she began to pull off the offending garment.

  “Not that a Duzeon should be out in the underbrush,” said Giuynee, making no excuse for her disapproval.

  “It would be unwise to wear fine garments on such errands – you will grant me that, will you not?”

  “Certainly, if I were irresponsible enough to need to be out in the underbrush,” agreed Giuynee as if she considered this response reasonable.

  Ninianee knew it was pointless to argue with her, so ignored the challenge in the maid’s remarks. “For now, I want a bath and a change of clothes – my bronze gaunel of Adamine-velvet, I think, and a guin of Fahnine-silk. They’re in the armoire in my bed-chamber.”

  “That is fairly grand,” Giuynee observed, “that ensemble.”

  “With that Pareo-person here, I think I should be a bit grander than usual, don’t you? He’s so far above himself, the rest of us are hard-put to keep up with him.” She tossed her dolaj onto the upholstered bench in front of the fireplace and then bent to pull off her boot, tossing it aside before removing the other. As she straightened up, she untied the waist-band of her brikes, and lowered them, exposing her skin-clothes. Her zenft hung open, a small smirch of blood at the top of one sleeve a reminder of the joalliberry-bush. “I won’t bother with breakfast. If you’ll tell Major Mindicaz for me, please?”

  “Are you feeling quite well, Duzeon?” There was an edge to her tone that suggested that Ninianee was hiding something from her serving-woman.

  “I’m tired. I . . . didn’t sleep well, which is why I rose early.”

  “Very early, since your bed hasn’t been slept in.”

  Ninianee muttered “Zlatz,” and did her best to make light of the gaffe. These were the kinds of details that Erianthee usually managed for her, and it galled her to realize she had made such a clumsy error. “No. I was restless, and tried to sleep on my hammock-chair, to try to calm my mind. I do that sometimes, you know. The rocking composes me, or it does most of the time. But last night, not even that worked.”

  “So you got up and went out, rather than conjure sleep,” said Giuynee.

  “Conjured sleep is like conjured food – pleasant enough, but lacking substance,” said Nininaee. “Walking is more restorative.”

  “And, by the look of you, had a little trouble on your rambles.”

  “Something of the sort,” said Ninianee, looking for her larnija. “If you would arrange for the bath?”

  “Hot water, of course? Here, or in the bath-house?”

  “Hot water, here, I think. There’s a tub in my sister’s quarters. She won’t mind if I use it.”

  “I’ll order the footmen to bring it,” said Giuynee.

  “Why bother?” Ninianee asked as she brought all her concentration to bear on this mundane problem. “That makes too much of a simple matter. I’ll go along to Erianthee’s quarters and the tub can be filled there without having to move anything, either tub or kettles. The water in the stove-cistern in the kitchen should be hot by now, and the pipes are in good order. I need only activate the spell to raise water to the spigot-fountain in Erianthee’s quarters and the tub will be full, and no one disaccommodated by my bath.” She looked at the sea-green Fahnine-silk rourua Giuynee held out to her. “What’s that for?”

  “It is more appropriate that you have a proper robe on if you insist on going about the halls,” said Giuynee.

  “What a stickler you are,” said Ninianee even as she took the robe from Giuynee.

  “One of us must observe propriety; you can’t go gadding through the Castle clad only in your skin-clothes. You aren’t eight any more, you’re twenty-three – not that you should have done it when you were eight, either,” said Giuynee, undaunted.

  “No doubt you’re right,” said Ninianee, determined not to argue. She pulled open the rourua and slid into its deep folds and capacious sleeves.

  Giuynee accepted this capitulation with a gratified nod. “While you bathe I will set out your gaunel and guin, as you requested. Is there anything else you would like to wear?”

  “My coronet and bracelet, and perhaps a pair of rings. I leave it to you to choose which ones.” She held up one bare foot. “Are these all right, or do you require I wear slippers?”

  “Not if you would prefer not,” said Giuynee, magnanimous now that she had made her point.

  “Thank you,” said Ninianee with a wicked smile as she hurried out of the small antechamber, bound for Erianthee’s quarters on the east side of the Castle. It took her very little time to reach the door to Erianthee’s suite of rooms, where she found one of the Day Guards standing on duty. For the first time Ninianee was glad of the rourua, and wished she had donned slippers.

  “Duzeon,” said the Guard, making a deep respect.

  “If you will permit me to pass?” Ninianee asked, tying to make light of the peculiarity of their meeting.

  “Of course, Duzeon,” said the Guard, and stepped aside.

  Ninianee admitted herself to Erianthee’s quarters and made for the solarium where Erianthee kept her bath-tub. The room was flooded with sunlight, but there was still a hint of autumn chill in the air, enough to make the prospect of hot water doubly welcome. Ninianee went to the arched water-pipe, swung it around so that it was directly over the ornate tub, and recited the spell to raise water. The pipes moaned, gurgled, then gushed steaming water from the huge cistern in the kitchen, three floors below. The tub filled rapidly, the sides bowing out to accommodate more water. When the full-line was reached, Ninianee shifted the pipe back to its closed position and spoke the spell to return water to its own level. Ninianee tested the water with her foot and found it at the upper range of the heat she could enjoy. Letting the luxurious rourua slide from her shoulders, she removed her skin-clothes and tossed them aside before she got slowly into the steaming bath.

  On the small table next to the bathtub was a vial of thesavee-oil. Ninianee unstoppered it and poured a little of the pale-purple, aromatic oil into the water, letting the fragrance enfold her as she lay back in the hot water, feeling her hair fan out around her, and her aching muscles begin to relax. The tub adjusted to her presence, supporting her so that she could keep her head enough above water to breathe safely, but deep enough to cover almost all of the rest of her body. The water was warm and would remain warm for most of the day so long as she was in the tub. She reminded herself that, tempting as it was, she mustn’t fall asleep here, and, almost at the same instant, she drifted away into dreamless slumber.

  She wakened some time later, when the water had just begun to cool and the sun had risen to mid-morning height of the autumn sky. Disoriented and chilled, she looked about, then recalled where she was, and then, understood what must have happened. Shocked at her lapse, she clambered out of the tub, reaching for the rourua while she castigated herself for neglecting to bring a drying sheet, for falling asleep, for neglecting her morning duties. How could she have let herself fall asleep? There was so much to do. As if to make up for these failings, she scurried from Erianthee’s quarters only to find a different Guard at the door, one who seemed surprised to discover that Duzeon Ninianee had been inside.

  “Has anyone asked for me?” she asked as he respected her.

  “No, Duzeon, not of me, not
in the last hour.” He held his pike a bit straighter. “I don’t think anyone knows you were here.”

  “Possibly not,” she agreed, fully aware that Giuynee did. She lowered her head as if in thought. “I have left the water in the tub. Will you ask Skoniz to attend to it? He knows what to do.”

  “I mustn’t leave my post,” said the Guard, seemingly embarrassed by this admission. “If I can wait until the end of my watch, then I will find him and inform him of your orders.”

  “That will do, I suppose. If I find Skoniz, I’ll send him up myself.” She offered the Guard a kind of salute, then hurried away to her own quarters, knocking on the door to alert Giuynee that she had returned.

  “You had best come in and dress,” Giuynee said as she opened the door. “I have put Pareo off until the main meal, which Ver Mindicaz has scheduled for mid-afternoon. He didn’t like it, but he’s in no position to push.”

  “Officious creature,” said Ninianee as she finished drying off before taking the clean skin-clothes Giuynee proffered and donning them. “Thank you for delaying our conversation. I think he intends to wear me down so he can get into my father’s private rooms.”

  “You haven’t the right to do that, do you? – admit him to those rooms?” Giuynee’s curiosity was more to keep Ninianee talking than from any real concern.

  “I don’t think so, and I’d rather err on the side of caution, particularly for someone like Pareo. If my father were dead and we knew it as a fact, then I could grant or refuse him access anywhere in the Castle, but with him missing, I cannot exceed my limits as a Duzeon. I will have to continue to refuse Pareo admission, I fear.” She had pulled on her silken leggings, secured them with thigh-bands and now took the guin, working it over her unruly cloud of damp, russet hair, smoothing it down her front. “I’ll need some help with the gaunel,” she said to Giuynee.

  “All right.” She prepared to lift the elaborate garment.

 

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