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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “You mean have I decided to accept your invitation to come to the Agnitheon?” Erianthee asked.

  “Of course.” There was a touch of impatience in Magstee Meanaj’s response that Erianthee heard with some dismay. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate this woman.

  Choosing her words carefully, she responded, “I have, Magstee, but I don’t know if I can reach a conclusion for you yet. I ask you to permit me some time to deliberate. It is difficult to have time for calm reflection at Court, don’t you think? There is always so much to command one’s attention, and so many unadmitted intentions in every seeming opportunity that it isn’t possible to be sure an impulsive decision is free from influence. The commitment you propose should not be given in haste, nor without careful consideration.”

  “You are right, of course. Nothing at Court is ever lacking in complexity. So many courtiers have reasons of their own beyond their stated one that you can see none as simple,” said Meanaj. She looked around as if searching for any eavesdroppers. “I can comprehend your reticence.”

  “It is a posture that will spare me and my House much possible humiliation, wouldn’t you agree. Magstee.” She all but held her breath.

  “A great deal of that is true, I would agree,” said Meanaj, once more serenely calm. “Yet even I may have a secondary purpose for approaching you.”

  As much as Erianthee wanted to find some phrase to make it clear her reservations didn’t extend to the Magstee, all she was able to manage was, “It is hard to separate genuine interest from more complex ones.”

  “I believe some of our study-techniques could help you to discern more clearly,” said Meanaj.

  They reached the end of the walkway and turned right, going to the display of quazmei trees from Pomig. These were all fine specimens, ranging from shoulder-height to three times that, impressive frondy top-knots of green frills extended toward the bright blur of sun overhead. “I am interested in the work you do. It is very much along the lines of my own studies, and I know I would like to be part of it, but how much a part, I haven’t decided yet,” said Erianthee. “In any case, I am in no position to make a commitment now, with my father still missing.”

  “That is a problem,” Meanaj allowed. “But once he is returned, do you think you might want to train with us – for a time?”

  “I am of two minds on that point as yet, and anything I might agree to now would be in the spirit of conjecture, not promise,” said Erianthee clumsily, disliking the pressure she was being given. “I ask your pardon, Magstee, but while I can see many advantages to learning from you, I can see an equal number of disadvantages, as well.”

  “So you do think a visit to the Agnitheon might be useful? If you travel to the Agnitheon, it would be easier to see what agendas have been served during this stay at Court, do you think? I can arrange for you to travel there directly as soon as you are released from the Zunah.” She didn’t make the mistake of pushing this proposition, but only offered it up as one of many possibilities.

  She answered promptly and without apology for her manner. “I am mindful of the honor you do me, but I believe I must decline. With my father gone, I believe I should return to Vildecaz as soon as my work for the Emperor is completed. My sister and my people – “

  ” – depend upon you. Of course.” She smoothed the front of her mauve, tongue-satin gaunel and offered Erianthee a cordial smile. “I do understand, you know, and I am certain that you are being candid with me.”

  “I am, Magstee,” said Erianthee.

  “Then I will not press you further. But I hope you will take time to discuss your talents with me while you and I remain at Court.”

  “I would be delighted to,” said Erianthee, her eyes brightening.

  “Then I will consider my mission completed. For now. I will remind you of your interest now and again, and I’ll send a formal invitation to Vildecaz when you return home.”

  “That would be most welcome. When my father returns, I would be happy to make arrangements to visit the Agnitheon, assuming that Vildecaz can spare me.” She smiled at Magstee Meanaj, regaining her composure as she did. “I am flattered you’ve asked me.”

  “As am I, that you should consider the offer.” She folded her hands, watching Erianthee out of the corner of her eye. “Your talents are praised throughout the Great World, and there is nowhere you could go where your abilities are unknown. Because of that, you may wish to strengthen those talents.”

  “That might prove as much another disadvantage as an advantage.” Erianthee gave a nervous burst of giggles. “Already many expect me to perform without preparation or notice and in the most inappropriate places.”

  “It is difficult to disappoint such requests, isn’t it?” said Magstee Meanaj, sighing a little.

  “Yes, it is. But I’m not capable of just sitting down and summoning up Spirits of the Outer Air as one might send a page for a cup of wine. They show more concern for troubadours than most do for me.”

  “That is because your work is invisible to them, and your Shadowshows have the quality of ease that appears to those unaware of the difficulty of what you do that you do very little – always the burden of remarkable talent,” said Magstee Meanaj. “But we of the Agnitheon would not make such an imposition – we appreciate what your gifts demand.” She nodded toward an elaborate fountain of graceful Challim-deer carved in alabaster and chalcedony. “This shows talent, too, of a different sort than yours, but not without commonality. We do not think of the sculptor alone in his studio with a block of stone and many chisels. That we do not consider the statue’s origins is an encomium to the sculptor who made it.”

  “Truly,” said Erianthee, wondering what the Magstee was leading up to.

  “No doubt you would be pleased to have similar talents displayed in those who grace your Castle,” suggested Meanaj.

  “As would anyone,” said Erianthee calmly, concealing the sudden excitement she felt.

  “We of the Agnitheon have information on many skilled and talented builders and artists. Some of them could be . . . made accessible to you.”

  “That would be most welcome,” said Erianthee, now more puzzled than before.

  “I won’t be here much longer,” Magstee Meanaj said as if she were talking about trivial things. “I leave for Fauthsku in six days, with my companions. There are signs of great danger coming, and I want to be safely away from the Porzalk Empire before that happens, whatever it may be.” She paused, watching Erianthee. “You could come with me, if you like.”

  “What kind of danger? Can you tell?” Erianthee asked.

  “I haven’t discerned that, not yet. It is hidden by protective and deceptive spells, but it runs through me like an earthquake runs through the ground.” Meanaj paused by an especially dense quazmei tree. “This species is said to be poisonous two months out of thirteen.”

  “Which two, do you know?” Erianthee asked politely.

  “Not this month,” she answered obliquely, hurrying past the plant toward another that opened fragrant blooms of large, scarlet petals. “This is harmless.”

  “It is very pretty,” said Erianthee.

  “That it is,” said Meanaj, starting toward the forcing-house. “Come. Let me show you some of the hybrids we have developed at the Agnitheon.”

  Erianthee nodded and followed Magstee Meanaj into the forcing-house, noticing as she did, how much warmer the forcing house was than the garden outside. She wished now she had worn a sajah over her gaunel, to keep out the insidious rawness that marked the coming of winter. A shiver went through her though she tried to disguise it. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized that she was cold.

  * * *

  To Ninianee’s displeasure, upon leaving the hut at the first glow of morning, the Bindomaj Amejgon directed her to an inconspicuous track that led through a number of small valleys descending along the Enzboarth River to the outskirts of Chamirjen with its formidably tall gates of iron and thick planks of zhorel-wood. I
t was mid-afternoon when they arrived, and the Dorachjin – the famous flying guards of Cazboarth – patrolled overhead, their weapons displayed. Consternation gripped Ninianee: she had not yet thought of a plan to deal with the coming night and the full moon, and sunset was only a few hours away. She forced herself to be calm and muttered a spell for clarified thought.

  “We have stables and paddocks for your animals, and men to attend them. Your saddles and other tack will be cleaned for you. You need not fear to entrust them, or your animals, to the grooms,” said Amejgon as he alighted next to Ninianee, ignoring Jenshaz’s attempting at shying. His large, upturned nose and pointed ears gave him an impish appearance, and even though he was smiling, it was more of a grimace to Ninianee’s eyes. “I will have you inside in a moment, Duzeon. This is the Mountain Gate, and it is the larger of the two main gates.” He signaled for them to be admitted; a panel rolled up, exposing a huge iron latch. Like most Bindomajes, he had short, bandy legs that inclined him to a rolling walk, like a sailor. He kept his big bat wings folded so that he appeared to be a man wearing a vast leather cloak. His first and second fingers had become supports for his wings and so were useless for manipulating things, but his fourth and fifth fingers, while very long, could function quite well with his attenuated thumb. These allowed him to grasp the massive latch and turn it, setting the opening mechanism of the gate in action.

  The gates swung ponderously back, their motion accompanied by the clanking of chains. A large entry-court was revealed, with galleries and flying buttresses like vast networks of wooden lace above it where a great number of Bindomajes were hanging. The complex pattern of shadows made by these structures and bodies was breath-taking. In the higher reaches above the courtyard Bindomajes glided among aeries and pole-chambers, although a few used the broad walkways to move from place to place. The constant whish of wings made for a gentle whisper that was a bit too uncanny to be pleasant.

  In spite of her many apprehensions, Ninianee was impressed. When she had visited this capital several years before, she and her father and sister had been received on the harbor side of the vast structure, not the Mountain Gate, and therefore she had not seen the enormous structure that was the bulk of the castle. Looking up again she wondered if she might conceal herself on those high walkways during her Change. After a quick perusal of the place, she reluctantly had to admit that it probably wouldn’t work.

  She was about to extend her search when three humans approached her, respected her; the tallest said, “Duzeon Ninianee of Vildecaz, we would like to take your pony and your mule. As is the custom here, we will remove and clean their tack, and put your cases aside. Your animals will be housed in the stable over there, in stalls that are next to each other. They will be turned out into paddocks in the morning, if the weather is good.” He pointed to a cluster of buildings that had the look of barns and stables. “The paddocks are behind the box-stalls. We will not permit them to become stall-sour.”

  Ninianee handed over the lead-ropes and gave a minor respect. “Thank you. You yourself will see to the unloading of the pack-saddle, or will someone else attend to that?”

  “The Housekeeper-General will appoint someone to attend to that,” said Amejgon. “Unless you would prefer another arrangement?”

  “No, this suits me well,” she said, and sent Jenshaz and Danliree reassurances and gratitude, for they were alarmed by this place and uncomfortable about the Bindomajes. She projected the prospect of oats and deeply bedded straw along with prolonged grooming. She felt the pony relax, but the mule remained unconvinced, her long ears turned back, her shoulders stiff. “Be easy with them, especially the mule,” she told the grooms. “We have had a long journey and they have worked very hard. They are tired, hungry, and irritable.”

  “You may be assured, we will do our best for them,” said the tallest man, giving her a deep respect. “I am confident that they will soon be accustomed to us, and the Bindomajes around them.”

  “I may come to see them later,” said Ninianee, hoping the stable might provide her a needed refuge during the night.

  “As you wish,” said the groom, offering another respect before he and his two assistants led the pony and mule away.

  “There, you see?” Amejgon said cordially. “This isn’t the mad barbarian hold you feared it would be, now is it?”

  “No. It is not as I feared,” Ninianee said, choosing her words carefully, and not adding that in many ways it was worse. With Bindomajes hanging from rafters and galleries, and the Castle in a bustle, her hope of finding a place to Change unnoticed was now fading to nothing.

  “Do you think you will want to rest before the evening, or shall I take you to Hircaj Chogrun now?”

  “Now would probably be better. My gaunel is in my cases, and without my maid, it would take me an hour to make ready after I have my cases in hand.” And that, she reminded herself, would be precariously close to sundown in these short winter days.

  “If Hircaj Chogrun wouldn’t mind having me in my traveling gear, before I have washed the grime from my face, courtesy would be better-served by making my respect to him now.”

  “Very well-said, and more than worthy of you,” Amejgon approved, offering her a slight respect. “Let me take you to him at once.” He nodded in the direction of the main keep, a large building several storeys high, replete with galleries and high arches for the occupants of Chamirjen Castle. Striding along slightly ahead of her, Amejgon pointed out various parts of the Castle for her. “There is the map-school. You may want to visit it later, if you plan to travel on from here. There is the prison, and the covered corridor leads to the Reception Hall. That low building is the Merchants’ Hall. The wing on the keep is for visitors to the Court. The upper galleries are for the servants and staff of the Castle.”

  “Most impressive,” said Ninianee, thinking back to her earlier visits when she came to the keep through the Harbor Gate. Then she had not realized how vast Chamirjen Castle was, nor how many Bindomajes it housed. There had to be several thousand Bindomajes within its confines, and half as many humans, daunting numbers to keep in mind as she prepared for her Change. The farther they penetrated the keep, the more convinced Ninianee became that she would have to get clear of the Castle before the Change was upon her. The only question was how this could be done, for the Castle was a warren and she didn’t know her way about it.

  “The Reception Hall of Hircaj Chogrun,” Amejgon said to Ninianee as he halted before an elaborately carved portal. “I will announce you.”

  She suddenly felt wholly unprepared and wished she had asked to have an hour or so to bathe and change clothes, no matter how close that would bring her to sunset – anything that would allow her a chance to compose herself. She knew there was no point in postponing the meeting, so she lowered her head and frowned while she tried to bring some order to the riot of corkscrew tendrils around her face. If only she could make use of a mirror, but there had been none that she could see along the passages she and Amejgon had traversed. She whispered a quick grooming spell and felt her appearance neaten. At least she would not be a complete ragamuffin, although she came by her appearance magically, not by more lasting methods. Still, the spell would last until the Change overtook her, and that would be long enough. “All right,” she said to Amejgon, “I’m ready.”

  Amejgon stepped into the Reception Hall, saying as he did, “The guest of Hircaj Chogrun, the Duzeon Ninianee of Vildecaz.”

  The Bindomaj seated on the high ivory bench held up his the fourth and fifth fingers of his right hand, not, as it turned out, in welcome, but to receive a whispered message from one of the pages. He nodded, said something to the page, lowered his hand, and motioned for Ninianee to come forward. “It is an honor to welcome you to Chamirjen and Cazboarth, Duzeon.” He offered her a respect without rising “You’ll pardon my not greeting you at once, but I have just learned that it seems that we have an unexpected visitor at the Mountain Gate. I have given permission for him to be admi
tted.”

  Ninianee returned the respect, saying as she did, “A most gracious gesture, Hircaj, to receive me this way.”

  “I know what it is for you wingless ones to journey through our crags and valleys in winter, even so early in winter as we are now, when it is still the last of autumn to the south. You have had a long, arduous journey here. What benefit would pomp serve in such circumstances?” His voice was resonant and his manner was unusually polished for a Bindomaj, creating as ambivalent an impression as the rest of him presented, from the magnificent rings on his two free fingers to the twin axes strapped to his thighs. His wings and face were dark-bronze, his upper body was covered in dull-gold fur. The brikes he wore were dark-red shot with gold, and the chain-mail binjoz that covered him from throat to hips was of gold. His stiff, mane-like hair was braided into an upstanding row from his forehead to the nape of his neck. “Given your weariness, would you mind if we postpone the Welcoming Ritual for Guests until we dine tonight? I would prefer not to demand two separate banquets from my cooks in one day, if you will not be offended by this lack in my Court propriety.” There was a speculative note to his voice, and he watched Ninianee through narrowed eyes, his concentration fully on her.