“Then this is more than sufficient. I’ll even offer you a bushel of grain for your animals when you depart. In winter, you’ll need it.”
Doms glanced at Ninianee. “Will that suit you, Duzeon? The best suite in the inn for us to share?”
“Since you are my Official Suitor, Yaolaj, nothing else would suit me so well,” she said, sensing that this was not the time to disagree with him. She reminded herself that they had spent enough time together that their sleeping arrangements should no longer be an issue. More than that, she was sufficiently unnerved by this place that she didn’t want to be alone while they stayed here. She determined to keep this last to herself.
“The bargain is struck,” said Tuleraj, pocketing the damzejes before Doms could change his mind. “This will pay for three nights in the best suite, with meals paid separately.”
“And a bushel of grain when we leave,” Doms added.
Tuleraj managed a sour smile. “And a bushel of grain when you leave. You’ll need something more for your animals, but we’ll arrange that later.” He produced a key and a spell-chain. “This will open the door to the suite. It’s up at the end of the corridor one flight up. On the left,” he added.
“Is there a porter to bring up our cases from the stable?” Ninianee asked, her whole attention on the landlord.
“There are two. They’ll attend to it in half an hour.” Tuleraj glared. “Dinner is the hour before sunset. You can arrange your meal for a later hour, for a minimal charge. If you want a meal in your suite, it’s four gaylings extra for breakfast, five for dinner.”
“Tonight we’ll dine with the rest of the guests in the public dining room,” said Doms. “We want to hear the latest from the northern road, and we can’t do that alone in the suite.”
“As you wish,” said Tuleraj, looking as if the gaylings had been snatched out of his hand.
Ninianee accepted Doms’ respect as he stood aside to allow her to precede her up the stairs. As she climbed, she wondered what it was about this place that so unnerved her – nothing suggested itself. The walls were of good-quality wood somewhat darkened with age, the tapestries hanging in the upper corridor depicted the Six Founder Gods and Goddesses with their attributes. The place smelled clean enough, and there was no hint of residual spells in the air, although there was a kind of prickle from a source Ninianee couldn’t name. She stopped in front of the door the landlord had described while Doms worked the key and spell-chain, and the door clicked open, revealing a sitting room with a two chairs upholstered in drugh-ox wool, a square guest-table set with four oil-lamps, and an upholstered bench near the fireplace. A second room stood open on the far side of this chamber, a faint light glowing within it from an open shutter that let in the wan afternoon cloud-filtered sunshine.
“It looks well enough,” said Doms, stepping through the door.
Again Ninianee felt the uncanny shudder that had taken hold of her out in the inn-yard. “It bothers me,” she said before she could stop herself.
“Bothers you? Why?” Doms closed the door so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “If you would prefer to go elsewhere – ”
”No. I don’t think it would make any difference,” she said, thinking that she didn’t want to trouble him, not at this stage of their travel. “The whole town has an air about it, I fear.”
“Jampersi-Ayo has an odd reputation among magicians – something about how it’s situated; energetic lines pass through it, apparently. It’s said that peculiar things happen here, that spells attach to travelers, although I’ve never experienced any such manifestation.” He set down the case he carried on a strap over his shoulder. “You’re more sensitive than I to such things, I suspect. Talents like yours often are aligned with other sensitivities.”
“I don’t know what’s causing it,” she said, too edgy to banter with him. “But I can’t help feeling this . . . this bizarre shudder.”
“Then there must be a reason you respond to it,” said Doms. “I’ll set a watch-spell on the room, just in case we have trouble.” He pressed his hands together, fingers steepled. “The two times I’ve been here before it was summer and the whole town was alive with traveling merchants. Every inn was full. The taproom here was crowded with men and women from the north of Theninzalk. Others came from Haverartbow and Pomig. What you saw in the square just now was a pittance of a market compared to the summer.”
“Does that bother you?” she asked.
“It does, and I don’t know why. Many markets in the north close entirely for winter – Jampersi-Ayo remains open, and has been open since the stockade went up. It is a most diverse place in summer, not at all like it is now. You will see men and women from all of the Great World in these streets, in summer,” he told her, coming to her side and putting his arm around her. “If you think we shouldn’t remain here, tell me, and I’ll tell the landlord we’ve changed our minds.”
It was tempting to accept his offer, but she resolutely shook her head. “The other inns are probably much like this one, and that means that we would trade one uneasiness for another. As you say, the town itself is strange. At least the room is clean and nothing smells musty.”
“Then let me recommend you have a little rest. I’ll see if we can arrange for baths.” Doms made a quirky smile and came over to her again. “I suppose I should take along some gaylings, in case there are other charges. I’m fairly sure the baths won’t be free. I only hope our landlord won’t demand another damzej for the heating of the bath-house.”
Ninianee actually laughed. “It wouldn’t surprise me if this landlord wanted at least a damzej for a bath. He’d charge to tell us about the stone building across the canyon. We’ll find out what that place is from someone else.” She went to open her sack of gaylings and handed him about thirty of them. Next she unfastened the lacings on her sajah and tossed it onto one of the upholstered benches. Her apparent comfort fooled neither of them, and she made no attempt to hide the jolt of trembling that went through her.
“Another shudder?” He thought about this. “I’ll make sure we have protection around the room – at the doors and windows. That should stop the shudders.”
“I hope so,” she said, clutching her elbows with her cold, gloved hands.
He studied the fireplace. “At least we have real logs and not magical flames.”
“That should keep the bath warm for a goodly time, if it, too, burns wood,” she said, rubbing her hands on the arms of her pelgar to hide her shivering.
“This is a wooden town,” Doms pointed out. “They needn’t resort to magic to keep warm.”
“Well, the sooner you arrange for the baths to be heated, the sooner we’ll be warm.” She bent to light the fire. “The room will be less chilly when you come back. That should help.”
“As you say,” he said, offering her a respect as he left the suite of rooms.
The fire took hold quickly, a testament to the dryness of the logs. The snap and chuckle of the flames were strangely comforting to Ninianee. She lit the lamp on the mantlepiece and had a better look at the room. The chairs were better than she had supposed on first glance, and the upholstery on the benches was new. She picked up the lamp and went into the bedroom, going to the window to close the shutter so that the heat from the fire in the other room would not be lost. Turning, she looked first at the sturdy wooden wardrobe, then at the bed, a high, broad piece of furniture that was large enough to accommodate more than four people. There were silk-stuffed blankets and a coverlet of kazelej-wool worked in a pattern of wreaths. The six pillows were plump and covered in Mozh-cloth the color of summer berries. The hangings around the bed were elegantly embroidered. It was all so pleasant that she was taken aback when yet another shudder gripped her. She hurried back into the sitting-room to take advantage of the warmth of the fire. She was still huddled next to the hearth when Doms returned, her sajah spread over her knees.
Doms paused in the doorway. “Ninianee?”
“It’s just the col
d catching up with me,” she said, determined to make light of her continuing malaise.
“The bath-houses will be heated – for ten gaylings – and a table will be set aside for our use in the dining room below – another five gaylings. They say they’ll be serving in little over an hour. The building across the chasm is some kind of school, according to the under-cook.” He came in, paying as little attention as possible to her shivering, aware that she considered it a weakness. “The porter will bring our things from the stable – another five gaylings – and we’ll be able to restore ourselves for the next two days.”
She sighed. “If you’ll set the watch-spell, I’ll thank you for it.”
“Wouldn’t you rather do it?” he asked.
“You’re better at that kind of spell than I am,” she conceded. “I’ll try a revelation-spell in the morning, to see if we can determine why this place feels so very strange. I don’t want to be surprised tonight by whatever is causing so much unease.” She stared into the flames. “I wish I could read them – Erianthee can, sometimes, but I don’t possess that talent.”
“Do you want that talent?” Doms asked.
“Not really,” she admitted, and watched him take out his magical kit to begin the watch-spell. She told herself she would soon lose this perturbation of spirit that still unnerved her, and even as she tried to convince herself, she felt her surety slipping away. The flavor of this inn, and this town, was wrong, like the smell of cheese that had gone off. But there was nowhere else they might go, not within a two-day ride. They would rest here or not rest at all. Still she knew to the core of her that the days spent in Jampersi-Ayo would be an ordeal – and she had no idea why that should be so.
* * *
Poyneilum Zhanf stared at the rotating pierced sphere of refulgent gold that hung in the air just out of his reach, concentrating all his attention on its rotation. From the tone it hummed as it whirled to the angle of its spin, every nuance of its action carried some significance, and Zhanf was determined to see them all. He continued his ritual chanting, making an occasional gesture to maintain the gyration. He saw his servant, Chormi Van, enter the room from the servants’ corridor and motion to him. “Shortly,” he said, and went back to chanting.
“I apologize for this interruption, Magsto, but I fear it’s urgent. A messenger has just arrived from Tiumboj.” He waited a moment, then added, “The letter is sealed with blue wax.”
“Zlatz! And zlatz again! Blue for most urgent!” exclaimed Zhanf, hurrying to end his conjuration. “I’ll have to wait upon this messenger at once. Blue wax! and from Tiumboj! Well, there’s nothing to be done.” The pierced sphere sank onto the nearest table, its brilliance fading as it came to rest. “All right, Van, tell me. A messenger from Tiumboj – from Duzeon Erianthee?”
“No. From the Emperor himself,” said Van, doing his best not to sound impressed. “It bears the mark of Riast II – the case the messenger carries.”
“The Emperor? How very perplexing. What would he want us to know? Don’t say it can only be bad news, if you please. There’s no reason to assume the worst.” Zhanf adjusted the long, square sleeves of his gaihups. “Does Pareo know?”
“I don’t know,” said Van. “I didn’t stop to tell him. The messenger was dispatched to Duzeon Ninianee, so – “
”So you determined to come to me. What a sensible man you are, Van,” approved Zhanf. “And speaking of Pareo, where is he?”
“In his quarters, I believe. Since Hoftstan Ruch was killed, Pareo’s been hiding out, as if he’s afraid the same may happen to him. He has a high enough opinion of himself that he is convinced he is next at risk. Yesterday I found him inspecting the root cellar. To hear him speak, you’d think the Castle was a haven of the Night Priests of Ayon-Tur.”
“Why should they bother with Vildecaz – assuming they had reestablished their Order? What good would this Duzky offer them – if good is the word to choose for them – Vildecaz is nothing compared to the Porzalk Empire.” Zhanf made himself stop, knowing he had to present himself to the messenger as quickly as possible. He ceased his unanswerable questions and chose one Van could answer. “Where is this messenger?”
“In the smaller Reception Hall. General Rocazin is attending to him. She has ordered a proper meal for him. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, not with blue wax seals.”
“True enough,” said Zhanf, and smoothed the front of his clothing. “Am I suitably dressed to greet an Imperial messenger? I do wish Duzeon Ninianee were here to deal with him.”
“You’ll do it well enough, Magsto,” said Van. “And General Rocazin will show him every courtesy this Castle can extend to him.”
Zhanf was already heading out the door, motioning to Van to follow him. “Very good. Whatever message he brings, we must receive it with respect and dignity.”
“As you say.” Van trotted behind him, matching his pace to the Magsto’s long stride.
“It is a shame that Duzeon Ninianee should still be gone, but that is how it has come about.” He ducked into the stairwell and descended rapidly toward the center of the Castle, two floors below, his gaihups billowing behind him, his embroidered house-shoes tapping softly on the granite treads.
The messenger was drinking from a pot-tankard of mead when Zhanf entered the room and offered him a profound respect. Hastily he rose and did the same. “I am Imperial Messenger Gavviz Yatsoleon, come to Vildecaz with a letter for Duzeon Ninianee, penned by the hand of Riast II himself.” He paused and coughed. “I understand Duzeon Ninianee is away from Vildecaz? That you are her deputy?” he said, his manner entirely polite.
“Yes,” said Zhanf. “She has gone north.” He volunteered no more than what was generally known in the Castle.
“That makes my mission awkward. To whom should I speak in her absence? The message I carry needs immediate attention from her.”
“Unfortunately, the seneschal . . . um . . . died a few days ago, so I believe it must be my task to receive the letter. I have been serving in the Duzeons’ stead while they’re gone, and have verification on this from them both. I can produce confirmation of my claim if you – “
The messenger waved his hand. “General Rocazin has explained matters to me, and is providing me with refreshment. She said there’s more to come.”
“Always the stickler for form, is General Rocazin.” Zhanf approached Yatsoleon but stopped at an appropriate distance from him. “May I see the letter?”
“Of course you may,” he said, picking up the large, flat satchel that lay under the chair in which he’d been sitting, and held it up with a ceremonious flourish. The leather was embossed with the arms of Tiumboj and the Imperial standard, and Yatsoleon was careful to touch neither ornamentation. He flipped back the covering flap and pulled out a diamond-folded sheet of parchment, sealed in three places with blue wax in which was impressed the personal arms of the Porzalk Emperor. Zhanf set the letter on the table, then both Zhanf and Yatsoleon respected the letter, after which the messenger handed it to Zhanf. “Be sure you break the seals when opening them. We want no duplication of them.”
“I know how to break a seal,” said Zhanf, and made a show of deliberately cracking each seal in turn as he pulled back the triangular sections of parchment, opening it into a square. He looked at the elaborate, courtly hand of the salutation of the letter and recognized the work of one of the Imperial scribes, but the rest of the parchment was blank, with only a few bits of wax showing on its surface.
The Imperial messenger recited a spell and words blossomed on the square page.
To the most respected Duzeon, Ninianee of Vildecaz, the urgent greetings of the Emperor Riast II of Porzalk, Protector of the Kingdom of Waniat, co-Regent of the Kingdom of Harro-ae, and Honorary Goriach of Pirkenee:
It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your sister, the Duzeon Erianthee, has been detained in Tiumboj and will remain here indefinitely, or until such time as it is deemed safe to return her to her home. I have com
e to this decision after much cogitation and reflection, which have served to convince me that I am making a prudent decision.
By now you must know that the Empire has endured a magical attack, which has disrupted trade and travel throughout my territories. It has also devastated many regions of the Empire, causing misery and deprivation for many of my people. Daily reports bring more distressing news of unsafe conditions, and we see evidence all around us of the malign intent of the instigators of the assault. For these reasons, I have had to restrict travel in much of the Empire.
This decision to keep Duzeon Erianthee with the Court has been reached most reluctantly, but as all of Porzalk is reeling still from the conjure-storm that wreaked such destruction throughout the Empire, I cannot ensure the Duzeon’s escort, nor can I provide adequately for her protection anywhere but here in Tiumboj. As you love your sister, you must share my concerns for her safety, and support my decision. I have entrusted her to the care of my mother, to ensure her continued security while in the capital.
I am most truly apologetic to have to do this, but you must agree that it were better to keep Duzeon Erianthee safe than to expose her to the perils as they presently exist on the roads of the Empire, even if I could provide an appropriate escort. While she remains within Tiumboj Castle, I will be pleased to send regular reports regarding the Duzeon Erianthee’s situation carried by one of the Imperial messengers. Be assured that once I am persuaded that she may leave without undue risk, that she will be returned to you as rapidly as man and beast may carry her to you.
With every pledge of my sincere regard for you and the Duzky of Vildecaz, I am most devotedly
Riast II
Emperor of Porzalk, etc. etc.
“A conjure-storm – a very powerful one,” said Zhanf as he refolded the parchment.
“Yes. I witnessed it myself, in Tiumboj. Never have I seen weather shaped so ruthlessly before. Most of the Castle sustained serious damage, but all the Empire was effected. I saw damage all the way here.” Yatsoleon gave Zhanf a long, pointed look. “Such an accomplished magician as you are, you must have known what was happening.”
The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise Page 44