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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Be careful!” she shouted as she saw him stumble, then right himself and wave to her.

  “There’s a gate. I’m going to have to knock it down,” Doms announced, and leaned into something in the snow. A short while later, there was a whoosh, snow flurried into the air, and Doms led his animals into the paddock. It was less that five strides to the door of the byre.

  “The drouches are closer,” Ninianee warned. “I can try a confusion-spell on them, if you would like.” She was becoming nervous, her awareness of the drouches wearing on her nerves.

  “Let me get this door open, and it won’t be necessary,” said Doms, leaning into the upright handle on the sliding door. With a crack and a crunching shriek, the door finally moved, revealing a small byre with room for six animals. “It’s got enough room for all four,” he told her while he pulled his mule and pony into the protection of the byre. “And hanging sacks of bedding for the stalls. Watch you don’t bump your head on them when you come in.”

  Remembering the fallen gate under the snow, Ninianee dismounted and led Jenshaz and Danliree through the trampled snow. “Grain and oil tonight, for all of you,” she said. They had grain enough for a week, but then they would need to replenish their supply or find someone with feed to sell, or their animals would have to go hungry. This was a prospect she didn’t like. Before she went into the byre, she looked at the southern sky, frowning at the rapidly advancing bank of dark clouds. “An hour – two at most,” she said, more to herself than to Doms.

  “We’ll have a fire going by then,” he told her as he took a bucketful of shavings and began to bed the second and third stalls, spreading the shavings about with a rake before going back to the hanging sacks for more.

  “This hut is well-supplied,” Ninanee remarked as she led her pony and mule toward the fourth and fifth stalls.

  “It is,” Doms agreed, adding more shavings to the bedding. “We should leave a handful of gaylings in the maintenance-box.” Satisfied with the first stall, he led the mule into it, sliding the brace into its slot behind him. “As soon as I have both stalls finished, I’ll tend to the packs, and then the saddles, bridles, and halters.”

  “I can manage my own,” said Ninianee, more sharply than she had intended.

  “I know,” said Doms mildly. “But I was hoping you could get into the hut and start a fire – assuming there is kindling and cut branches to do it with. A heating spell can’t do much against the storm heading this way.”

  She bit back the retort that had formed in her mind, knowing what he said made a great deal of sense. To concede the point without actually capitulating, she responded, “I’ll help you to close and bar the door. The drouches will be here before the storm, I think.”

  “Drouches and a magical storm,” Doms marveled, the sarcastic note back in his voice. “What luck for us.”

  “Bonti’s luck,” she said drily, and tied the reins and lead to the stall-door before going to help him shove the door closed and set it in place with a length of fencing wedge against the handle. “Unless the drouches have spells with them, this should hold.”

  He said, “Yes, it should,” then went back to bedding the stalls. “There’s a door at the end of the stalls. It leads into the hut.”

  “I see it,” she said, picking up a large scoop and pulling bedding out of the nearest sack. “As soon as I have stalls ready for these two, I’ll go work on a fire. They need to be taken care of first.”

  He took the scoop from her. “Let me do that, Ninianee. The heat is just as important as the care of these animals – probably more important, come to think of it.” He pointed to the chest that contained their food. “Take that with you. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

  “It’s just cheese, sausage, and hard bread,” she warned him.

  “Sounds delicious,” he said, pointing to the door once again. “Go on.”

  As if to punctuate his request, the eerie ululation of drouches began, sounding much too near.

  “Fire would help,” said Ninianee, took the chest of food, and went to the door, ducking down to get through it into the travelers’ hut. The single, L-shaped room was almost dark. Ninianee had to grope her way toward the central fireplace at the bend of the L. She found an oil-lamp filled and set out, ready for use, so she lit it and used the small amount of light it provided to search out the kindling and fuel, which she found in a large tub to the side of the fireplace. Working quickly, she laid the fire, and with a long twig, lit the fire from the flame of the lamp. As the fire began to take hold of the kindling and logs, a billow of smoke drove her back from the hearth, coughing and swatting at the black cloud as the rising wind groaned in the chimney, pushing the smoke down the cold stone channel. She whispered a clearing-spell, and as the smoke dissipated, she heard the drouches again, much nearer now. Forcing herself to keep her mind on what she was doing, she nursed the fire with more twigs and scraps from the box of cut branches and logs. Only when it was starting to blaze did she turn her attention to the chest of food, removing the small cauldron and setting it on the floor while she tried to make up her mind what to cook.

  By the time Doms came through the door, the drouches were almost upon the hut, their loud snorting snarls reaching them with the blustering wind. “I’ve put their blankets on them. It should help keep them warm.”

  “Have they been fed?” She looked at the lump of ice she had taken from one of the three windows – it had been the only one she could open – and set it to melt in the cauldron for water.

  “Yes. And there is water in the stalls, in covered barrels. I’ve removed the tops so they can drink, and warmed up the water with a small spell.” He walked to the fire and extended his hands to it as he removed his gloves. “We should get through the night well enough.”

  There was a sudden burst of short, angry cries and the sound of snuffling near the door, although it was partially submerged in snow.

  “The drouches are here,” said Ninianee.

  “And the storm is right behind them,” said Doms as the first peal of thunder rolled over the plateau, and the wind became a savage force tearing at the whole plateau, making the travelers’ hut shudder with every gust, and leaching the heat from the small stone room.

  The End

  Book Three Agnith's Promise

  For Gryffyn Phoenix

  with thanks and good wishes

  1. Disruptions

  “You see why I need you to help me,” Riast said to Erianthee as they picked their way through the wreckage of his Imperial Hall. In the two days since the conjure-storm had struck, all of Tiumboj Castle had been inspected, and where possible, repair-spells had been cast to minimize the damage, holding up walls and restoring what structure they could until the masons and carpenters could get to them, giving the Castle something of the look of a patchwork building – which it was. In this vast hall, a portion of the ceiling was missing, and a light, misty fog lent its blur and dampness to the late morning. “If my enemies are willing to bring this destruction upon me, I have to know who they are, and what they have in store for me. Otherwise I’ll be as naked to their next attack as I was to this one.” His face bore the stoic sadness of someone expecting the worst.

  “Tell me, Emperor, why you think my Shadowshow can do this for you? How will the Spirits of the Outer Air be able to embody you foes for you, when neither you nor I know who they are?” Erianthee asked, feeling sympathy for him even as she steeled herself to refuse his request. She felt shabby and gritty, the Castle baths having been one of the first buildings hit by the storm. She still wore the torn and blood-stained gaunel she had put on before the conjure-storm struck, for her apartments had crumbled during the onslaught – fortunately Rygnee had been in the Servants’ Hall, near the central kitchens when lightning bolts demolished the suite of rooms, and although bruised, was still alive, but like Erianthee, had no other garments than what she stood up in.

  “Because it must,” said Riast, his eyes dark with commitme
nt. “Surely you see that, don’t you?”

  “You have fine magicians at Court, many of them with more talents than I possess, many who share your goals,” she pointed out as she had done often before. It was an effort to keep her manner acquiescent – she wished he wouldn’t continue to ask this of her. “They must be able to provide you the information you want more reliably than I can.”

  “Your Shadowshows are less tainted than their prognostications – you are free from interests in the outcome of this attack, which inclines me to trust you more than I can afford to trust my magicians. If you were of the Court and the Empire, I would have doubts of you, too,” he responded, making a sign to the Imperial Guards who followed after him. “This is between the Duzeon and me. Make sure it is so. You’re not to allow an interruption.”

  The Guards all respected him and took up their protective stances out of hearing range, their pikes upraised.

  Leading Erianthee away from the Imperial Guards, Riast tried once more to explain his plan. “If you will do a Shadowshow as we had planned, you can reveal how the conjure-storm came about. This should be less arduous than performing a prophetic Shadowshow – the events have happened and you needn’t release the Spirits of the Outer Air to proceed on their own. Think of this as one of the myths you bring to life so well. You can do it as you have done so many other Shadowshows, and you can earn my eternal gratitude, and the gratitude of my House. For Vildecaz's sake, as well as the sake of the Porzalk Empire, tell me you will do this.”

  Recalling what Kloveon had told her about his own concerns, Erianthee said, “You say this as if you’re prepared for bad news. But if the Shadowshow reveals . . . If it is not what you hope to learn, what then? What use will it be, assuming that there is enough in what is revealed to help you. When I have performed such Shadowshows in the past, I had no control over them – either in what they showed, or what they addressed.”

  “Anything will help me. I know I will have to face the knowledge of betrayal, no matter what the outcome,” said Riast somberly. “It is not a thing I am looking forward to doing. But better to know, and to root out the treason, than to guess at its proponents and through ill-considered action, harm those who support the Empire and destroy allies instead of enemies.”

  The answer was too pat for Erianthee’s comfort, a rehearsed assurance that meant he had anticipated her reservations. “You place me in a very difficult position, as you must know. You may hold this against me, Emperor, but I am unsure I can do as you ask. You know my reservations from our previous discussions, and since the storm . . . I have been affected by the conjure-storm as much as anyone, and that may cloud my vision.”

  “But you have just said that you have no control over your prophetic Shadowshows.” The Emperor was clearly becoming annoyed.

  “Exactly so. You are the one who would like me to shape such a Shadowshow, Emperor. But I can’t promise that I’ll be able to separate myself from the events and their source, even if I were capable of performing as you ask.”

  “I’ve considered that, and I have consulted a few of my Councillors,” said Riast. “I know that all magicians and those with similar talents are subject to all manner of influences most of us with only minor abilities cannot fully comprehend. Yet I know you would want all this ruination to be retaliated. You can’t expect the Porzalk Empire to numbly accept this attack, can you?”

  “No,” she said forlornly. “But I see no use in escalation, and I fear that no matter what my Shadowshow reveals – if it reveals anything – will be nothing more than an incentive to more devastation and anguish.”

  “Your concerns do you credit,” Riast told her, patting her upper arm in an avuncular fashion. “I wish I were in the position to adopt it for myself, but alas, I mustn’t allow myself to be lulled by conscience. This affront is too great. The traitors must be found.”

  “Surely they must, but I doubt my Shadowshow would be the most effective way to do that. Your Court magicians will do you a better job of discovery than ever my Shadowshows could do,” she said, and went on before he could present another reason to have her attempt what he sought. “I have no sense of the complexities of your situation, Emperor, beyond that they are complex. If the Spirits of the Outer Air cannot grasp these subtleties through me, then whatever results I may accomplish for you, they’ll be inaccurate. I wouldn’t like to point a finger at one who is undeserving of condemnation, and leave the real culprits undetected.”

  “I’ve thought about that,” said Riast. “And I would like to include Magsto Horeion Kovat in your presentation. He has a very good talent for detecting accuracy in all things, and could help to evaluate what your Shadowshow – “

  ”I can’t do a Shadowshow under such conditions, not even one about myths – look at this place. It’s held together by cords and spells. To try to manifest Spirits of the Outer Air in such a setting – it would take someone far more accomplished than I to do so,” she exclaimed, daring to interrupt him. “If there is any secondary evaluation while I’m doing the Shadowshow, the Spirits of the Outer Air will not manifest at all.” She twisted her hands together. “I thought I’d explained this all to you, Emperor. I don’t say it to defy you, but to make certain you aren’t disappointed, or worse, misled. I haven’t the strength to exceed my talents, and I would not trust my results if I did.”

  “Yes, you did tell me something of the sort before, and I was prepared to do my best to extend a certain leeway to you,” Riast said. “But the situation now is much more grave than it was three days ago. Then I might have tried to accommodate your requirements, but I no longer have such an option. I don’t mean to exhaust you, Erianthee, or damage you, but I must know who is moving against me, or we may see a repeat of the bloodshed that followed my great-uncle’s death which preceded my coming to the throne. You’re too young to remember. You weren’t born when it happened, nor was your sister. But doubtless your father – when he returns – can tell you a great deal about those appalling four years.”

  “If he remembers,” murmured Erianthee.

  “Yes – if he remembers,” the Emperor repeated. “It was a dreadful time, and I will do everything in my power to keep anything like them from coming upon us ever again.”

  “Most commendable,” said Erianthee, and summoned up all her diplomatic skills to continue. “I would support all you do, but my talent, alas, will not bend to your order. Much as I would like to obey you, in this instance I cannot. I apologize for being unable to fulfill your command, yet I must, or offend you further.”

  “You are a most determined young woman,” said Riast with a sigh. “I had hoped not to do this, but you leave me no other choice.” He spoke a little louder. “I regret that I am unable to dismiss you from your service here. Until you can perform such a Shadowshow as I require, I fear I must detain you here in Tiumboj Castle. You know far too much of my current plans to allow you to expose yourself to my enemies. They would do worse than hold you as a guest – “

  ”Hostage,” she corrected without apology.

  “That is such a blunt word, Duzeon, and such a harsh concept,” he said with a condescending smile. “Not hostage, surely, for you have the means of your own deliverance within you. I would rather say that you are my appreciated guest, and that for the sake of your talent, I have asked you to remain where you can be guarded from those who might otherwise harm you.”

  “Not a hostage,” she corrected, “a prisoner.”

  “Nothing so uncharitable,” Riast said. “I know you would rather not be compelled to perform, but when I weigh one young woman against the safety of all the Porzalk Empire, I have to align myself with the Empire.”

  “To which Vildecaz does not belong,” she said, her temper rising in spite of all her good intentions.

  “More’s the pity,” he said. “Vildecaz must fend for itself in these hard times. Under other circumstances, I could offer you protection.”

  “As it has before, Vildecaz will get by,” she said cu
rtly.

  “You and I surely hope so. Yet I must suppose the conjure-storm reached Vildecaz. If it did – high winds being what they are - it would do damage, although it must have been near spent. It wrecked most of its force on Tiumboj, or so we must hope. For the sake of your people and your Duzky, don’t you agree that your talents could be well-spent helping me to identify those who sent such destruction? If not an alliance, we have a shared interest in this.”

  She knew she was being manipulated. This didn’t surprise her, but it did make her wary. She folded her arms. “Emperor, you are a man of dedication and prudence, but in this, I believe you are making a mistake. You are searching for a remedy that I can’t provide. If I were convinced that assisting you could bring about relief for any in Vildecaz harmed by the conjure-storm before it blew itself out, I would do so, but not for revenge, for the common cause we would share. And my efforts would not include an attempt at a prophetic Shadowshow, or one that would show you who your enemies are.”

  A discreet cough from one of the Imperial Guards demanded attention. Riast and Erianthee turned to see the Dowager Empress Godrienee approaching, her clothes as smirched as Erianthee’s, but without any sign of loss of dignity or authority.

  “You said you wouldn’t pester the Duzeon, Riast. Yet here you are, no doubt prompting her.” Godrienee’s tone was subdued and her voice low, but there was no mistaking her expression or her intention to be heard.

  “I don’t like having to do this,” Riast said, becoming justificatory. “You know something must be done, and done soon, or there may be more magical tempests unloosed upon us.”

  “There may,” said Godrienee. “But not immediately. The Great World cannot sustain conjure-storms for very long, or very often. If our enemies are to strike again, they will have to do it by other means, and you have several magicians who can set up protections against another surprise.” She stood next to Erianthee. “Don’t be bullied, Duzeon. You’ve done a great deal for my son already.”