“Are you sorry you didn’t go with my sister?” The question was muffled as Nininaee strove to get into the gaunel.
“I went last year, and that was enough of Court life for me.”
Ninianee laughed as her head popped out of the neckline of the gaunel. “Too formal? Too elaborate?”
“Too boring,” said Giuynee. “All the servants think so.”
“Boring?” That possibility had never occurred to her.
“Yes, boring. You spend hours in the servants’ wing of Tiumboj Castle, waiting for something to do. So everyone gossips and there’s petty bickering. And rivalries? The smallest change in position can cause animosity that lasts for years. I kept to myself and attended to Duzeon Erianthee’s clothes, just to avoid being caught up in the servants’ factions. If you think courtiers are underhanded and treacherous, they have nothing on their servants, I promise you.” Giuynee folded her arms. “But I can only sew so many seams and press so many garments before I wish to be spirited away by a Bindomaj and left on a mountain-peak – for variety. So I will remain in Vildecaz where most of us get along and duplicity is rare rather than expected.” The half-human, half-bat Bindomajes were said to like to kidnap Vildecazin women, although such abductions were more fable than fact.
“I can understand that,” said Ninianee as she tried to tame the profuse corkscrews of her hair. “Do something with this, will you?”
“Of course,” said Giuynee, picking up a comb and brush, a look of determination on her face, and purpose in her every move.
“Nothing too elaborate,” Ninianee warned.
“Certainly not. It would not be appropriate,” said Giuynee as she set to work. “Not with such hair as yours.”
* * *
By morning the worst of the storm had blown out, and only scudding swaths of clouds hinted at more to come. The ground was soggy underfoot and three tree-branches had been wind-flung across the clearing as if discarded by an impulsive child. On the hitching-line, the horses and mules moved restively, not trusting the nose-bags they were offered in lieu of flakes of sweet hay. The air was chilly, and smelled of autumn mustiness and mushrooms.
On the other side of the meadow, the hastily-erected tents of Hajmindor Elet’s company thrummed like the sails on ships as the wind buffeted them. A few of the Elet’s escort were up and tending to their horses, but most were still asleep, recovering from the demands of the previous day. Elet himself was among those still within his tent, but his scout, Joaican Temej, was pottering about the two wagons Elet’s company had with them, his expression disgruntled.
“Is anything wrong?” Kloveon called out as he watched Temej struggle with the chest of cooking supplies.
Temej looked up from his task and nearly dropped the chest. “Bontaj,” he muttered, then raised his voice to answer, offering a hint of a respect to Erianthee, and then to Kloveon. “All’s well. I should have done this earlier, but with the company so tired and the day so wet . . . “
”Truly,” said Kloveon.
“At least our tents are boiled Haverartbow wool, strong and warm. They’re heavy, of course, and hard to fold up, but they keep the weather out. We stayed dry once we got inside them.” He started to heft the chest again, looking annoyed when Kloveon and Erianthee did not depart.
“That is something to be glad of,” said Kloveon, very nearly smiling in the hope to establish rapport with Temej.
“I see your company has broken their fast already,” Temej went on, as if slighted that Erianthee’s escort had not waited for Elet’s company to rise.
“On a damp morning, they need to be warm, and we, unlike you, had a day to rest, so today we are restored. Your company has a greater need of rest this morning than we do,” Erianthee said, and added, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there is pillow-bread enough to share, and honied cheese.”
Temej took a deep breath and tried to focus his attention on the pots and utensils in the chest. “I’ll mention it.”
“Thank you,” Erianthee gave a warning look to Kloveon, and tugged him back toward the red pavilion, which, in spite of protective spells, looked a bit bedraggled in the blustery morning. “It might be best to accommodate them – I and my servants will have to travel a long way with them.”
“As you insist upon reminding me, and I would prefer to forget,” said Kloveon, trying his best to sound resigned. He saw the exasperation in her eyes and relented. “Oh, very well. No doubt you’re right.” He respected her and then sighed. “I’m sorry if I have caused you any difficulty. It was not my intention.” His handsome face became wistful as he stared at her. “Truly.”
“Thank you for understanding. I don’t want to have to begin badly with Elet.” She took Kloveon’s hand and led him aside. “I wish I had the talent that reveals the whole of another’s character – “ she began.
“Do you?” he murmured, his eyes softening.
“Yes,” she declared more forcefully. “And not simply to discover who is and is not sincere or reliable. I want to know what makes up the nature of everyone I meet.” She stared into his eyes. “I may be able to summon up the Spirits of the Outer Air and mold them to my purpose, but that doesn’t mean that I can see into the hearts of those around me.” Realizing she may have said too much, she looked away. “You can grasp the reason for my desire to have such a talent, I’m sure.”
“Then I’m sorry you don’t have that talent, not that I believe it would be as satisfactory as you suppose it would,” he said, and might have said more but stopped when the flap of the Uduganish tent was flung back and Hajmindor Elet, Goriach of Udugan, stomped out into the morning.
“Wretched day,” he announced to the world at large. He was a big barrel of a man with an equally big voice, one who took up more space by his mere existence than anyone else in the meadow. His face was impressive – craggy instead of handsome, with a broad jaw and a cleft chin. His greying hair had been cut fashionably for Court, his glass-green long-tailed pelgar magnificently emblazoned with the Elet family arms as well as the crest and military badge. Jewels flashed from rings and coronet, and his brikes were embroidered in gold thread. His tall boots were of tooled green leather from Pomig, grand and expensive. He regarded Kloveon, noticing the plainness of his clothes, and nodded in satisfaction.
“At least the storm is over,” said Kloveon with the same cultivated diplomatic charm as he used when negotiating with the League of Korzareon Cities. He respected Elet before Elet respected him, even though Kloveon as a Mirkal outranked a Goriach. “A good day to you, Hajmindor Elet.”
“Fauthsku, isn’t it?” Elet asked as if he were wholly disinterested. “I suppose we’ve met before?”
Stung by this insulting response, Kloveon nonetheless bit back the sharp reply he wished to give, and said, “Yes, several times at Court. But those occasions were so frantic it is hardly surprising you are uncertain.”
Belatedly Elet offered a casual respect to Kloveon. “It all becomes a blur,” he agreed, and then respected Erianthee. “Duzna,” he said possessively.
“Duzeon,” she corrected him, offering her respect. “My father is missing so my sister and I function in his stead.”
“Missing,” said Elet. “That is . . . deplorable, but given the state of his mind, hardly remarkable, I should say. Surely a man who has been the victim of a mind-blast can’t be expected to function well.”
Before Kloveon could defend her and Nimuar, Erianthee said, “It is possible that his state of mind has become a factor in this. But I think it may be more important to keep in mind that Yulko Bihn and his student visited Vildecaz Castle shortly before my father vanished, and since it was Bihn who attacked Duz Nimuar so long ago, his disappearance may be linked to his recent guests.”
Elet stared at her, shocked by her boldness. “Are you accusing a Court magician of skullduggery?”
“He has resorted to trickery and treachery before,” she said as innocently as if she had given Yulko Bihn a compliment.
To stop this dispute from escalating, Kloveon interrupted. “If you have heard anything about where Yulko Bihn might be, I ask you to tell me, and the Duzeon.”
“Why would I hear anything about Duz Nimuar in Veth? We trade to the south, not the north, except for furs. Udugan doesn’t concern itself with Vildecaz – why should it? We care more about Fauthsku and the League of Korzareon Cities.” He nodded to Erianthee, saying “Your pardon, Duzna – “
”Duzeon,” she corrected.
“Duzeon,” he repeated. “I don’t mean to make light of your Duzky, but it isn’t part of the Porzalk Empire, is it? And off at the edge of Theninzalk, with only Valdihovee to give it importance, well, you can’t expect me to be too concerned about it, not with – “
”You’re right, of course. As Goriach, Udugan must have your full attention.” Erianthee did her best not to glare. “And the Empire is a stern master.”
“True, true,” said Elet, and added one last dig, “As the Mirkal must know.”
Kloveon concealed his discomfort at this barb. “It is the work of men of position within the Empire to uphold its rule, and to protect the rights of their provinces.”
“No doubt,” said Elet without interest. “I am pleased you didn’t put the Duzn-” – he caught himself – “the Duzeon through a day of travel in that weather. Not that you could have got far, with rain and mud all about. But it means we must go swiftly now, or the Emperor will not have her to entertain when she is expected.” He rubbed his big, square hands together.
“It is my honor to appear before Riast II,” said Erianthee, knowing it was the expected response.
“I will surrender her to your care today,” said Kloveon, trying to keep the rancor out of his voice. “May you travel in safety and comfort, may your passage be swift, may no misfortune overtake you,” he added, in courtly form.
“Excellent. You are a good man for Court, Fauthsku. You know how things work, and you do not do more than the required amount of indignant posturing.” His small, bright-brown eyes gleamed with something very like malice. “I will inform the Emperor of the fine service you have rendered.” He swung around toward his men and shouted, “Ae-Dysin! Wiandoj! Here!”
At this summons, two of the officers accompanying him broke away from their morning tasks and came to his side. “Goriach,” they said, almost in unison.
“How soon until we can depart? I want no delays. There will be more rain in a day or two, and we must make good progress before it begins, or we will not arrive at Court in time for the opening of the Zunah and the Fading Light Festival. It would be most disrespectful of us to postpone our departure any longer than necessary.” Elet glanced at Kloveon. “You and your escort can remain here, of course, but the Vildecazin come with their Duzeon. I am sure you understand this.” His slighting tone was deliberately offensive. He turned to Erianthee. “How many go with you?”
“Five,” she said. “They are already packing and loading our wagons.”
“I will want to leave as soon as possible,” said Elet, and rounded on Kloveon, “If you are willing to allow it, Mirkal.”
“What did you have in mind?” Kloveon inquired, anticipating the answer with misgiving.
Elet answered promptly, “Separate your men from her servants at once.”
This time Kloveon permitted himself the satisfaction of a reposit. “I have already done so.”
“Then you need not linger once your men are ready to depart.” Elet rubbed his big hands together.
In spite of all his skill in courtesy, and his talent for diplomacy, Kloveon could not keep himself from saying, “How inconvenient, to have the Duzeon’s servants to deal with when without them you could treat her in any way that suited you, she being dependent upon you to – ”
“Mirkal Kloveon,” Erianthee warned him. “You have no call to suppose that Goriach Elet would in any way harm a guest of the Emperor.”
Hajmindor Elet glowered as he spoke over Erianthee’s attempt at calming the two men. “Do you impugn my honor?”
“No. I merely point out that honor can be inconvenient.” Kloveon turned to Erianthee. “I leave you to the Emperor’s deputy, Duzeon Erianthee.”
“So I see,” she said, hoping to end the verbal fencing the two men were engaged in. “I thank you for your escort, Mirkal Kloveon, and I look forward to seeing you upon my return.”
“I will meet you when and where you designate, and I anticipate your message with gladness,” he said, making a grand respect and stepping back from where she stood, not quite meeting her steady gaze. “I and my men will break camp, and help your servants to prepare for travel.”
“Then I thank you most sincerely for all your help, and for your excellent care,” said Erianthee, respecting him as she did. “When I reach Tiumboj I shall inform the Emperor that you were – “
”Never mind all the persiflage,” said Elet abruptly. “We must be on our way shortly, Duzeon.”
Erianthee looked at Elet measureingly, then spoke with unexpected dignity. “I know what Mirkal Kloveon deserves from me, and I will not be kept from properly acknowledging his service to me.”
“It’s all right, Duzeon,” said Kloveon, with a flash of his most engaging smile. “I know that you value my escort.” With that for a parting shot, he respected her a last time, swung around and made for the red-silk pavilion.
Elet snorted as he watched Kloveon stride away. “Fop.”
“If you think that, you underestimate him,” said Erianthee coolly. “You mustn’t be fooled by his manner. Beneath his smoothness lies dedication and purpose that you cannot grasp if you dismiss him lightly.” As she said this, she wondered again if she had been too much captivated by Kloveon of Fauthsku.
* * *
By mid-day, Ninianee was out on the battlements, doing her daily rounds of the inner defenses, and also avoiding having to deal with Rai Pareo, or Doms Guyon. She stopped at the Guard Station over the main gate, where the Vildecaz and visitor’s flags flapped in the desultory breeze, and summoned Burinar, the Vildecaz messenger, to carry a message for her to Valdihovee, the city below the Castle on the River Dej.
Burinar arrived promptly, respected Ninianee, and said, “What do you need of me, Duzeon?”
“I would appreciate it if you would go down to Valdihovee and deliver a message for me to Krunn Howei.”
“The city magician?” Burinar looked startled.
“If you would.” She handed him the folded parchment she had written upon before beginning her inspection. “You may wait for his answer.”
Burinar respected her, and turned to look out at the long series of switchbacks on the road down the mountain. “Someone is approaching,” he remarked.
Ninianee managed to conceal her surprise. “Approaching from Valdihovee?”
“Yes.” He squinted in order to make out the vehicle. “It’s a small carriage – two horses – bright red ones, from Dozinthroee.”
“Dozinthroee? Why would anyone from Dozinthroee come here?” Ninianee was suddenly interested: Dozinthroee in the Drowned World was the learning center of the Priests of Mirvex-Doz. She went to another of the narrow windows and looked out. “Sanzi! I think you’re right.”
“Why would the Priests of Mirvex-Doz be coming here?” echoed Burinar.
Ninianee grinned as she allowed herself to hope. “Someone is coming to help find Papa! He’s still one of their Order, no matter what happened to him. Finally!” She took two bouncing steps toward the stairs leading downward. “I should go meet him.”
“And this message?” Burinar held up the folded parchment.
“Yes, take it. By all means.” She heard a shout go up from the battlements outside. “I must go.”
Burinar made a hasty respect, but Ninianee was already rushing down the stairs.
“Duzeon,” shouted the gate-warden as she reached the courtyard. “A carriage is – “
“ – coming. Yes, I know,” she answered as she adjusted her box-sleeves to hang more be
comingly. “Open the gates and be prepared to greet our guest.”
The gate-warden shouted orders. The portcullis rose, clanking and majestic, and then the gate groaned as it yawned wide. Six soldiers hurried into position to honor the new arrival.
It wasn’t long before the carriage swung into view, aimed at the gate. The cherry-red horses, moving at a steady trot, checked to a walk as they came into the entry-court of Vildecaz Castle. The coachman halted the carriage and swung down from his driving-box.
“In the name of the Priests of Mirvex-Doz, greetings to Vildecaz,” the coachman announced as he went to let down the panel for his passenger.
“Such a fuss,” said the occupant of the carriage, more amused than nettled. He scrambled out of the vehicle unceremoniously, smoothing his cobalt-blue dogaza, and the opalescent silken gaihups beneath it once he was on the stones of the courtyard. “Agnith favor you,” he said politely. His eyes were bright as Ymiljesai emeralds, making his deeply wrinkled face seem impish rather than aged. Pausing to take stock of his surroundings, he respected Ninianee and said, “I’m sorry it took so long to get here. Contrary seas, don’t you know?”
Ninianee returned the respect, doing her best not to appear confused. “You are welcome, Magsto, to Vildecaz Castle.”
The Mirvex-Doz priest nodded once. “Your father sent me word that you would need a deputy, and I have come as soon as I could. You didn’t know to expect me, did you?” He smiled broadly.
“How did he send you word? When?” She forgot her good manners and leaned forward as she posed these questions.
“He sent me word some twenty-two days ago. He feared he might be spirited away or abducted, although he could not say why or by whom.” He cocked his head as he studied Ninianee. “You seem surprised.”
This direct challenge took Ninianee aback. “I . . . I am. I didn’t know my father had made any preparations for his . . . his absence.”
“So he is missing – his fears were not misfounded. Yes. I can see that he had good reason to summon me, whether or not he could explain what his reasons are,” said the priest, shaking his head. “How like him.”
The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise Page 23