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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “I have to find him,” said Ninianee, decision reflected in her straight back and lifted jaw. “Day after tomorrow, I will set out.”

  “Duzeon!” Merinex exclaimed.

  “Have you any notion where you will go?” Zhanf asked calmly. “Theninzalk is a vast world, and the port of Valdihovee bristles with ships from all of the Six Worlds and the Drowned World. He might be anywhere in the Great World.”

  “So he might.” Ninianee was undaunted.

  “And you are but one person,” Merinex cautioned her. “If you are gone and he sends word, how are we to reach you? Mightn’t it be better if you remain here and wait?”

  “I am tired of waiting,” said Ninianee. “I must do something or I will become desperate. Don’t try to dissuade me,” she warned Merinex.

  “But Vildecaz will be leaderless.” Merinex held up his hands in consternation.

  “Hardly that,” said Zhanf.

  Emboldened, Ninianee went on, “I will seek guidance first from the Golozath Oracle. My sister and I are agreed on that. When I have learned as much as I may, I will send word of where I will journey, so that you may dispatch messengers to me along the way. If there is anything that requires my immediate attention, I will have a scanning-ball with me, and I will use it to communicate with the two of you. Every day at high noon I will inspect the scanning-ball. If you have sent me word through the scanning spell, I will answer before sundown through the scanning-ball.” She saw the disapproving scowl on Merinex’s face. “Why don’t you like the idea?”

  “It could help your enemies to track you,” said Zhanf.

  “And if a spell should send a false message, or your scanning-ball should be cloaked as your father is, what then?” Merinex seemed more worried than ever.

  “Very well, I won’t take it,” she said, making light of it, although she was troubled. She coughed softly. “Vildecaz will not be rudderless. As long as I am gone Magsto Atoreon Zhanf will have my authority, and that authority will last until Erianthee returns from Tiumboj and takes up our duties.” Saying this, Ninianee went to the door and flung it open, expecting Doms Guyon to be on the other side.

  “Duzeon Ninianee,” said Rai Pareo with an insultingly profound respect.

  “Secretary Pareo,” she responded, trying to conceal her disquiet at his presence.

  “You mustn’t wonder that I should be here,” he said smoothly. “Someone has to guard your door from eavesdroppers.”

  Ninianee wanted to shout her indignation at the man, but stifled the words. It would shortly be time to dine, and she decided she wanted to watch him more closely, to see what he might do or say that would give himself away. “It isn’t necessary. These magicians have spells on the room that protect from such intrusion,” she said, and passed by him.

  Merinex was not so accommodating. “Officious popinjay.”

  Pareo looked shocked as he stepped back. “Is this how you reward my diligence?”

  “Did you expect a reward?” Ninianee asked over her shoulder. “I am afraid you should apply elsewhere for it.” It was all the sarcasm she would permit herself, and she relished it. But as she descended the stairs, she began to worry that the momentary satisfaction of a sharp retort could create an implacable enemy in Pareo. With that repugnant thought, she steeled herself for the splendid dinner Cook-Major Ver Mindicaz was just putting the finishing touches on, four floors below.

  3. Departures

  For three days Hajmindor Elet set a furious pace, doing his utmost to cover as much ground as possible before the next rainstorm struck and to make up for time already lost, pulling his company along with him by dint of authority and harangues that left him hoarse at the end of the day. The roads were muddy but not yet quagmires, and though the going was hard, the party struggled onward, pausing only to change horses and mules at the various streams and rivers along their route. In spite of mud and sharp winds, the escort moved deeper into Udugan on their way to Tiumboj, in the Imperial Province of Porcaz. On the fourth night, they camped on the crest of the foothills of the Warinach Mountains, on an exposed plateau that gave an excellent view of the valley below, filled with time-blasted ruins from before the Cataclysm.

  Goriach Elet ordered a handsome meal prepared for Erianthee and the rest of the company in reward for the day of hard-traveling, saying as their meal drew to a close, “It’s a good thing we don’t have to camp in the old city. The place is filled with ghosts.”

  “Does that surprise you?” Erianthee asked, making the most of this attempt at conversation.

  “No. Ruins always are.” He looked around him, nodding his satisfaction. “Better up here. We have the stream for good water and nothing can approach us that we will not see it.”

  Although Erianthee doubted this, she said, “Then this is the better place.”

  Elet nodded. “It is.” He ate in silence for a bit, then remarked, “Tomorrow we should arrive at Janailee. We will rest for two days there, then continue on.”

  “At The Omen-Falcon, no doubt,” said Erianthee as she cut more of the Nach-boar from the large carcase turning on the spit over the main campfire.

  “Yes,” Elet scowled. “At The Omen-Falcon. You’ve made the journey before. They must know you there.”

  “I would suppose so,” said Erianthee, trying not to miss Kloveon as she looked at her rough-faced companion.

  “That cook of yours has a way with boar,” Elet said as he cut another slice.

  “This is better than what I usually get on the road.”

  “I will tell him you said so,” Erianthee responded, thinking that this journey seemed remarkably long. Had it only been four days since they left Kloveon and most of her Vildecazin escort to continue toward the Porzalk Empire capital with Hajmindor Elet and his men? It felt as if it had been so much longer than that. “I estimate we are six or seven days away from Tiumboj. We will miss the first ceremonies of the Zunah, I fear.”

  “If the weather holds, we will be there in seven days.” He poured more of the dark-pink wine from Udugan into his large cup and offered some to Erianthee. “Duzeon? More to drink?”

  “No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve had two cups and that is enough.” She did not mention that her cup was half the size of his.

  “As you wish,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll see what your guide has to say about travel tomorrow. You were right – he is pretty reliable. No wonder you kept him with you.”

  “Do you want me to call him?” Erianthee asked courteously.

  “I’ll talk to him later,” Elet said, as harsh as she was polite.

  Erianthee did her best to ignore this slight, more angry because she knew it wasn’t deliberate than if Elet had intended to be insulting. To think that she would have to endure his company all the way to Tiumboj – the prospect made her feel slightly ill. She hoped she could remain civil all the rest of the way, but admitted it would require an effort on her part. As she often did when making this journey, she wished travel-spells were more reliable, less subject to magical manipulation than they were, for it would eliminate the need for this long trek to Tiumboj. One small ritual, one recitation of a spell, and poof! she would arrive at her destination in the blink of an eye. But travel-spells were notoriously untrustworthy, and so she resigned herself to the long journey on the road. “I will retire early tonight. No doubt you will want to leave at first light.”

  “True enough.” He drank deeply and took another large bite of the Nach-boar on his wooden trencher. “The men are tired. We’ll make an early night of it.”

  Erianthee thought of Fithnoj, her travel-cook, who slept in the second partition of her tent, and of Rygnee Tsandej, her travel-maid, who slept with him. She sensed that the two would need to be alert tonight, and much as she wanted to dismiss her uneasiness, she couldn’t manage to do it. Had Kloveon still been her escort, she would have mentioned something to him, but she was sure it would be unwise to bring up any misgivings to Hajmindor Elet. She noticed her brikes were spotted wit
h mud again, as were her boots, and resolved to ask Rygnee to clean them before morning. Little as she wanted to admit it, she was growing tired of men’s clothing and was longing for an occasion to wear a gaunel and guin instead of brikes and dolaj. Perhaps at The Omen-Falcon she could spend a day in women’s clothes and wear her hair unclubbed, she told herself, and reached for the last of the puff-bread. “Is there any more soft cheese, Goriach?”

  “Soft cheese?” He checked the small tub. “No. Would you like me to ask your cook to find another tub for you?”

  Erianthee shook her head. “It’s hardly worth it. I’ll use the boar-fat on my trencher for a spread.” She broke the puff-bread in half and demonstrated with the smaller portion. “This suits me very well.”

  “Just as you like,” said Elet indifferently. He finished his wine and poured more, this time not bothering to offer her any. “As soon as we’re through here, I’ll post the night-guard.”

  “Very good,” said Erianthee.

  “It may be a windy night,” said Elet, staring up at the cloudy sky. “You can see how fast they run, the children of Aubindimei.”

  “I will order my servants to set extra lines to hold my tent. Thank you for the recommendation.” She had another bite of the puff-bread, though it seemed dry and flat to her taste.

  “Will you mind eating in the saddle?” asked Elet. “If we break our fast here, it will delay our starting.”

  “I will gladly eat in the saddle,” she said, willing to do almost anything in order to move on.

  “Very good, Duzeon.” He drank the last of his wine. “That’s enough for tonight. Tomorrow we will purchase more at Janailee.”

  “And some of the butter-wine from Pomig, if there is any.” She didn’t bother to smile with this request.

  “Whatever you like, Duzeon. I’ll tell you’re cook we’re through here.” He spat into the fire, then made a reverence. “May Kylomotarch, the Forgetter, keep us from harm, and bank our fires tonight.”

  “May Atakirath be kind and wise,” said Erianthee, offering a reverence of her own since she knew some kind of invocation was required of her, and the goddess of the waxing moon seemed a reasonable choice as any of the gods and goddesses. She looked at the Nach-boar on the spit. “I’ll have my cook put a preservation spell on it and bring it with us in the morning. In case we should not have a chance to hunt at mid-day.”

  Elet laughed. “We’ll be in Janailee tomorrow night. Why bother? Leave it here for the creatures to eat.”

  Doing her utmost to maintain a reasonable tone, Erianthee said, “I think it may be wise to take it with us, in case there is another delay in our travels. If we don’t reach Janailee tomorrow, we may be hungry, and if the rain returns, there will be little opportunity to hunt.”

  He shrugged. “If you insist. You are a Duzeon, and the guest of Riast II. I am only a Goriach, and subject to you both.” He stalked away, his big shoulders carried stiff and high.

  Erianthee did her best to hold her tongue, but the effort left her with a spark of anger in her that she found upsetting. Increasingly Elet irritated her, fraying her temper with his boorish conduct and ill-concealed resentment of her position. The journey was testing the limits of her capacity to deal with Elet. She carefully ate the last of her puff-bread and put her trencher aside, and her cup. Rising, she strolled off toward her tent, shivering a little as the wind frolicked over the hills. Already the promise of winter was in the air, and she quivered, trying not to anticipate the worst. The possibility of early snow persisted in her thoughts, like a pebble in a shoe, and she couldn’t ignore it. She wished she still had Kloveon’s Rakin Moricaz with them – they could use someone with weather-witch talents.

  “Duzeon,” said Rygnee as Erianthee lifted the flap of her tent. She offered Erianthee a respect, then indicated the larnija she had taken out for her. “If you wish to undress, your nightwear is ready.”

  “Not just yet, thank you,” said Erianthee. “If you have a moment, tell me how you’re faring. This journey has been a demanding one, hasn’t it?”

  “That it has,” said Rygnee with a dramatic sigh. She was almost the same age as Erianthee – twenty to Erianthee’s twenty-two, a sturdy young woman with a fresh, open face and neatly braided light-brown hair. She had a taste for the theatrical and was keenly aware of nuances of formal dress, which was why she was accompanying Erianthee to Court.

  “Has the pace been too demanding for you?”

  “It is not easy to keep such speeds, but there is good reason for it. If you can endure it, so can I.” There was a petulant curve to her mouth and she frowned as she spoke.

  “Is Fithnoj able to accommodate the pace?” Erianthee inquired while she added aromatic conifer-pods to the coals in one of the three large braziers giving heat and some light to the interior of the tent.

  “He is a man and a cook. Everything disaccommodates him,” said Rygnee said with a grand, fatalistic gesture. “But so far the meals have been adequate, no matter what he may think.”

  “Then, inconvenient though things may be, there is little to bother you beyond the exigencies of travel.”

  Rygnee’s shrug was filled with implications. “I wouldn’t say that, Duzeon.”

  “Have any of Elet’s men given you trouble?” Erianthee wasn’t sure why she asked, but she could see by the toss Rygnee gave her head, that something must have happened.

  “One or two have been . . . impertinent, but they have done little more than talk. Fithnoj has been more upset about it that I have. I’ve told him more than once to hold his peace. We don’t need our cook getting into fights.” Rygnee glared at the tent-flap. “These men of Elet’s are not a kindly lot.”

  “No, nor is their master,” said Erianthee.

  Again Rygnee sighed. “But you must have this escort, according to the Emperor, so complaint is useless.”

  “Perhaps,” said Erianthee, thinking of the Emperor’s mother.

  “It certainly is for now,” Rygnee added, prompting Erianthee to say more.

  “So it would seem,” said Erianthee, and offered no more explanation. She shivered as the wind picked up. “Tomorrow, will you lay out the barlo-cloak as well as my usual clothing? It looks to be windy, and colder. Oh, and these brikes and boots need cleaning. Mud gets on everything.”

  “So I have noticed. Even riding in the wagon, there is mud. It seems as if I am forever cleaning my gaunel. My shoes will need to be replaced.” Rygnee studied Erianthee’s clothes and added, “These will need some repair when we reach Tiumboj.”

  “So they will.” She held up her sleeve, and the frayed cuff of the dolaj. “No wonder Elet thinks I’m a hoyden.”

  “Has he had the audacity to say so?” Rygnee demanded.

  “Not directly, but it is plain he thinks me one.” And worse, Erianthee added to herself as she stretched abruptly, and yawned. “A long day.”

  “So it has been,” said Rygnee.

  “And a long day again tomorrow, I suspect. The Goriach wants to be away at dawn.”

  Rygnee laughed. “Well, at least it is the darker part of the year. We have longer nights and can get enough sleep.”

  “True,” Erianthee said, thinking that morning would still come very early. “If the rain holds off, we could make fairly good time, and arrive at Janailee well before sundown.”

  “You hope we do, in any case,” said Rygnee.

  “All right – I hope we do. We’re all in need of a little comfort and rest.”

  This time Rygnee’s laugh was knowing, almost cynical. She made no apology for it. “I’ve put the Aon-bear skin on your cot. We don’t need a weather-witch to tell us it’s going to be cold tonight.”

  * * *

  Shortly before dawn, Ninianee met in the stable of Vildecaz Castle with Hoftstan Ruch and Poyneilum Zhanf. It was a sere morning, and as they talked, their breath made ghosts in the air, shining in the lantern-light, a reminder that autumn was giving way to winter faster than usual. She busied herself saddling
her toughest pony – a thirteen-hand, stiff-maned, taffy-colored gelding called Jenshaz – as the other two secured her chests, cases, and bags to the pack-saddle already on the jenny-mule, Danliree.

  “Are you sure you want to give the Oracle the ivory gift-cup? It is a fine, rare offering, to be sure, but that makes it a precarious thing to take on such a journey, don’t you think? Mightn’t a book make a better gift, one you might carry more safely?” Hoftstan asked as he strapped the stout leather case that held it to the pack-saddle. “What if you should lose it?”

  “I’ve put a spell on the case,” said Ninianee, aware of the mule’s annoyance at being tacked up so early in the morning, and of Jenshaz’s determination to get as much grain as he could before they left the stable. “I won’t lose it. Also, as you see, the case it’s in is padded and banded. It is safer than a book could be, for size alone.” She began to buckle the billets to the girth, giving Jenshaz time to exhale before she tightened the girth the last two holes on the billets, fixing the saddle from slippage. Then she offered him another handful of oats.

  “You will meet your guide shortly.” Hoftstan picked up the heavy canvas tarpaulin and draped it over the pack-saddle. The mule put her long ears back but stood still.

  “He knows where you want to go, and tells me he can get you there.”

  “I should hope so,” said Ninianee. “This isn’t the time of year to go blundering about the Boarthine Peninsula, looking for the Golozath Oracle’s tower. If it really is a tower.” She patted Jenshaz’s shoulder.

  “I hope you won’t take too many risks. You’re a strong woman, but traveling alone is dangerous, so I’ve asked Umver to be careful with you, not to take too many chances.” Hoftstan continued to tie down the tarpaulin.

  “I thank you for arranging things with him for me,” said Ninianee. She unbuckled the halter and slipped the bridle into place, taking care to warm the bit in her hand first. “If I must have a guide at all.”

  “He’s a bit of a rogue, as all guides are. He will undoubtedly ask for more money than the agreed price, which I have already provided, and additional money for expenses on the journey. You’re not to pay him anymore. He swore by Womotomaj that he would not increase his charges, but since the god governs lies as well as bridges and roads, I am not easy about him.”