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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Pareo seemed completely indifferent to this suggestion. “That’s still two hours away, and we have much to do here.”

  Little as he disliked fomenting rancor, Zhanf snapped, “Not that what you do has any bearing on Vildecaz.”

  Pareo drew himself up, affronted. “I have my duty, as you have yours.”

  “So you keep telling me,” Zhanf said, all the while surprised at how abrasive he was being. He wondered if there were some magical influence working here – one he wasn’t aware of. This seemed unlikely, but, he reminded himself, he had been unable to trace Duz Nimuar since he disappeared, and that indicated strong negative magical interference on the usual finding-spells. “I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly,” he said to Pareo as Merinex closed the door.

  “No, you should not have,” said Pareo, and returned to writing his report.

  Zhanf sighed and reached for the book he’d set aside. As he found his place, he determined to make another attempt to seek out Duz Nimuar through tracking-spells and locating rituals. Some of the cloaking-spells and other misdirective devices might have dissipated by now, and that would allow him to find more about the Duz. That way, he might be able to summon Ninianee home, or provide her some idea about where her search would succeed. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was preferable to doing nothing.

  * * *

  Yulko Bihn faced Erianthee across the confines of the solarium, his paunchy body made impressive by his most formidable gaihups of deep-iris Adamine-velvet over which an elaborately embellished dogaza shone with jewels and rare, colored glass beads from Cortinaj on the distant island of Zarifaenee. Two golden Orders hung on gold chains around his neck and he had put rings on every finger. “You’ve certainly been hard to find alone.”

  “Magsto,” said Erianthee. “Should you be here?”

  “You’d like to keep me away?” He gave her an affronted stare, his breath coming harshly.

  “Yes.” She studied him. “That shouldn’t surprise you.”

  “Given what you’ve been saying about me, I suppose it shouldn’t. I want to hear no more of your suspicions, Duzna,” he declared, using her older title deliberately.

  “What are you talking about, Magsto Bihn? I’m afraid your remarks are incomprehensible to me.” Erianthee said.

  “You may stop spreading rumors based only on your dislike of me, and your suspicions about my actions. You accusations are groundless and insulting.” His face was turning red now, and his eyes were shiny with anger.

  Knowing it was folly to be talking with Yulko Bihn, Erianthee kept her tone level and polite. “What suspicions do you speak of, Magsto?” She was genuinely puzzled by his attack, and she cocked her head, waiting for his response. Belatedly she rose from her chaise and respected Bihn, this attention to good form making this gesture seem more a slight than a courtesy. “I do not bruit my dislike of you about. The Court has more than enough rumors to deal with; I will not add to them.”

  “You have been bruiting it about that I contributed to the conjure-storm,” he said in the full force of his indignation. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been informed by more than one of the Court’s magicians.”

  “I’ve said nothing of the sort to anyone. I’ve made no statements in that regard at all.” She studied her father’s old enemy, and thought back to his most recent visit to Vildecaz. “Not that I wouldn’t have reason to do so.”

  “That’s what I mean! You’re not to say such things! It’s not true, Duzna, and you know it!”

  “Duzeon,” she corrected him.

  “Oh, yes. Duzeon.” He glowered at her, his face showing more outrage. “You will have that title, although your father is only missing not dead. How like you to advance yourself over your father.” He made a gesture of rejection. “What have you done to deserve the honors given you here? The Dowager Empress has singled you out for favor, based on nothing more than your methods of story-telling – which takes many forms, as you have shown. Between your Shadowshows and your whispers, you have sought to slight me at every turn.”

  Erianthee regarded him levelly. “So you have chosen to believe the rumors that I have been spreading rumors about you? That is why you’ve sought me out?”

  “Don’t attempt to deny it,” he said angrily. “I told you I have heard it from honorable magicians in the service of the Imperial Court.”

  “And you are willing to credit them with good intentions?” she inquired.

  He fumed as he strove to find the right thing to say. Finally he pointed his index finger at her. “You are to stop telling the Court that I helped – “

  ”Magsto, let me reiterate: I’ve said nothing to anyone about you, beyond asking Riast to keep us apart, for reasons he doesn’t need me to explain,” she interrupted. “If someone claims I have done so, he or she is in error.”

  “You must have,” he countered. “Don’t think I’m deceived. Your mendacity is known to me.”

  “Then you’re being advised by someone deliberately set on turning you against me – not that I would have thought such an effort was necessary, for you’ve made your sentiments regarding my family known to us every year you’ve come to Vildecaz to gloat.”

  He jerked his head as if slapped. “Gloat? What do you take me for?”

  “I take you for a man who rejoices in my father’s misfortunes, for you make no attempt to hide your contempt for him, and his Duzky. In fact, given your feelings about my family, I wonder that you bother to come to Vildecaz at all. No,” she said forcefully, seeing he was about to interrupt her. “I have listened to you and now you will listen to me. Whatever my sentiments regarding your treatment of my father may be, I have no opinion about any role you may or may not have played in the destruction of so much of Tiumboj Castle. Your activities after the conjure-storm should serve to exonerate you from all suspicions. If you want my view, I would assume you would rather preserve Tiumboj than not, since you live here, but I could be mistaken.” Now that she said it, many of the half-formed thoughts that had been with her since she had sheltered in the Vault of Meilianoz and listened to the Castle breaking apart above her. “You may be a Court magician, but I wouldn’t think you were capable of causing a conjure-storm of that size and power. It was beyond the talents you possess. I know that such a storm requires the concentration of talents of many magicians, and I have said so whenever my assessment has been sought. You alone might uproot a tree or two, or break windows, or damage a portion of a roof, but smash the Castle and the whole of the city as well as most of the Porzalk Empire? You couldn’t do it – no one magician could.”

  Feeling strangely insulted, Bihn blustered, “So you say.”

  “Exactly,” said Erianthee, her temper barely under control. “Much as I may dislike you, Magsto – and never doubt that I do dislike you – I’m not inclined to credit you with more power than you actually possess. You have never been one for confrontation. Your conduct in regard to your duel with my father shows that your talents are limited, or you would have met him honorably, not blasted him before your appointed hour.” He goggled at her as she went coolly on. “You have talent for magic, but it is along traditional lines, and whoever caused that storm is far beyond such limitations.”

  Bihn stared at her, feeling at once offended and exonerated. “Well,” he said at last. “See that you don’t impugn me.”

  “Why should I? You seem able to do that without any help from me.” She smiled at him, her face alight with satisfaction. “Whom do you suspect caused the conjure-storm? Or are you afraid to say?”

  Stung, he snapped, “The Night Priests of Ayon-Tur, or some school very like them.”

  Erianthee shook her head in disbelief. “The Night Priests no longer exist.”

  “I said or some school like them,” he reminded her. “If you insist on mishearing me – ”

  “What a convenient way to avoid implicating anyone while providing an answer no one can factually oppose,” she marveled. “All you need do is evoke a dangerous school fro
m the past, and save yourself being wrong.”

  “You’re an impertinent creature, Erianthee of Vildecaz.”

  She bit back the sharp retort that sprung to her lips, and instead answered quietly, “If you think me so, what can I be but flattered?” She increased the insult by giving him a profound respect.

  This was too much for Yulko Bihn, who glared at her. “If you weren’t the favorite of Riast right now, you would grovel to me for that. Impudent girl!” He took a step back. “However, the Emperor has said that any movement against you is a movement against him, so I will withdraw before I’m driven to gain satisfaction from you.”

  “Thank you. As I’ve told you already, I’m familiar with your style of dueling,” Erianthee said sweetly.

  Bihn muttered “Gremmi bontaj,” as he beat a retreat, his face almost purple with suppressed rage. He slammed the door on the way out, and the sound of it echoed throughout the solarium.

  Erianthee sat down on the chaise, trying to calm herself with staring out the high windows at the clear winter sky, seeing nothing of its luminous blue. She decided she wouldn’t allow images or thoughts of Yulko Bihn enter her mind, but she discovered that in spite of her intentions to the contrary, she continued to fret over his accusations. As warm and pleasant as the solarium could be, her serenity of mind was gone, and for all her determination to be shut of Bihn, she couldn’t banish him entirely, so she paced the small, sunny room, trying to shake off the choler Bihn had roused in her, willing her irritation to dissipate, all to no avail. After half an hour, she gave up and left the solarium, finding her way through the rebuilding chaos of the Castle to her own quarters, where she found Kloveon of Fauthsku setting new windows in place with the help of two workmen.

  “Duzeon,” said Kloveon as Erianthee came through the door. He offered her an abbreviated respect so he could hold onto the new frame while the workmen screwed it into place.

  “Mirkal,” she responded with a respect, aware that the workmen were watching them.

  Kloveon stared at her. “Erianthee, what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Not anything important.”

  “Your pardon, but I doubt that.” He motioned to the workmen to take over, and set down the level he had been using. “You’re upset.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said more firmly. “Or it ought to be.”

  “Tell me – in private, of course,” he said, and drew her into the bedchamber, away from the curious workmen. “What happened?”

  She sighed in aggravation. “It really is nothing important. That’s what’s so infuriating. It’s really minor. But I’m so . . . annoyed!”

  “Then it isn’t nothing,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and drawing her close to him. “You’re not a woman to magnify nothing into something dreadful.”

  “He was so . . . so supercilious and rancorous. The gall of him! I knew him to be proud and ungracious, but this was much more. He was intent upon injuring me with his accusation.” She looked up at Kloveon. “I don’t like him. I can’t like him.”

  “Who is this unfortunate?” he asked.

  “Yulko Bihn. The one who deceived my father in a spell-duel twenty years ago, making his attack in advance of the agreed hour, winning by treachery, as everyone knows, though almost no one says it aloud. He is a loathsome worm and a dishonorable one at that. But I haven’t gone about saying he caused the conjure-storm. I don’t think he had anything to do with it. He hasn’t the talent for it, and he isn’t allied with anyone who might have such concerted power,” she said slowly. “So why would he accuse me as he did unless someone has said that I’ve blamed him, at least in part, for the conjure-storm?”

  “Why would anyone say that?” Kloveon wondered. “You’ve been very careful to cast no aspersions on anyone at Court.”

  “I know. That’s what perturbs me the most.” She tapped her fingers together. “The conjure-storm has vexed us all. It’s like fighting with a Fahnine veari – changing shape constantly so no firm purchase may be had.”

  “A veari – I agree. And it means you can’t be sure of any identification you may make of those involved.”

  “That’s the worst part of it,” said Erianthee.

  “Do you think this is . . . “ He paused to consider how to express himself best. “Do you think Bihn is attempting to distract you? – to goad you into directing your attention on him and not on those who were part of the storm? That would be like him, from what you’ve said. Do you think you may be getting close to discovering who controlled the magic behind the storm?”

  “It’s possible that I am closer to something that I know, though I have no sense of what I can be. But why would Bihn be party to it? It would be foolish, and Bihn is a coward and a cheat, but he’s no fool.” Erianthee was perplexed. She caught her lower lip in her teeth while she pondered, then said, “He’s a Court magician – an Imperial Magician, if you want to be specific. He’s been a fixture here ever since he usurped my father’s position, and he has gloried in it, and in his so-called triumph over him. The Court is his life. I can’t imagine he’d ally himself with any group seeking to damage the Empire, for he would only harm himself in doing so. No matter what else he may be, he is a loyal subject of Riast and the Porzalk Empire.” This concession troubled her, but she had at least been fair to him now, which was more than he had been to her.

  “But you’re worried,” he observed. “About Bihn.”

  “I am. There is something . . . askew about him. I can’t define it more than that, but it’s . . . just under the surface with him. I think he’s afraid of something, but I can’t tell what.”

  “Discovery of some sort, perhaps?” Rygnee suggested.

  “Probably, but I can’t determine what manner of discovery he’s afraid of.”

  “Do you suppose his fear really might be connected to the conjure-storm? Might he know more than he’s telling about it?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “Do you think he knows something about your father, then?” He posed the question carefully, his face turning emotionless.

  “I didn’t think so, but I wouldn’t say it’s impossible – I’d have difficulty discerning such fears, having so many of my own to contend with,” she said, speaking very slowly. “But why would he do this? Why is he risking so much? What does he hope to gain?”

  “Would you like me to ask him for you?” Kloveon offered.

  “I don’t think so,” she said as she considered the offer, adding, “Not yet, in any case.”

  “Then you would like to find out something,” Kloveon said.

  “Yes. I would.” She moved away from him toward the bed. “I need to have a better sense of what I want to know. It really is a veari, and I’m tired of wrestling with it.” She offered him a wobbly smile. “I apologize for being weary, but I fear I am. I need a nap.”

  “Then rest. You always view matters more clearly when you’ve slept.” He stepped up to the bed, blowing her a kiss as he reached for her hand. “I’ll see to it you’re not disturbed.” His smile brought out the deep crinkles around his eyes, and the admiration in his gaze.

  “Yes, I want to lie down, if you don’t mind. If I nap, I may come upon something useful. I hope Analahor, the Inspirational, will visit my dreams and show me what I seek, or provide insight, so that I can at last come at the problem with an uncluttered mind.” She watched him for a long moment. “You’re good to me, Kloveon. You don’t ask me to explain what I can’t explain.”

  “I’m pleased you are cognizant of it.” He nodded at once. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

  “Helping to put in the new windows,” she said, relishing the idea. “Unlikely work for a Mirkal.”

  He laughed. “My father thought that any leader must know how to do the work of his men – without magic. So I can pitch a tent, hunt and gut game, cut trees, build a cabin or a bridge, repair a wall or a window, cook a meal, smelt metals, and shoe horses. Not that I do
them as well as those whose work it is, but I’m not an entire incompetent, either.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, and was about to stretch out on the bed when another thought struck her. “Your weather-witch – “

  ”Rakin Moricaz, you mean?”

  “That’s the one,” she said. “What does he think about the conjure-storm?”

  “He said only that he had only a very short period of anticipation before it struck. Usually he can sense storms at least a day ahead of their arrival, but this one he became aware of only an hour before it struck.”

  “Then I wonder if its coming had been cloaked in some way. It would take a number of talented conjurers to hide such a storm, but the storm itself was the work of many. The Court magicians haven’t agreed about it, some saying it was cloaked and took days to summon up, and others saying it was a shared, sudden effort that brought it on so abruptly. What they disagree about the most is who did the spells for it, and why. Because that could mean that we can’t discern what should be obvious because our thoughts are muddied by spells.” She felt something twist within her, a unsavory echo of the visceral response her Shadowshows often gave her. “If we can’t discover the instigators of the storm directly, then we must do it indirectly.”

  “I don’t know why you should bother to do it at all. It clearly wears on you,” said Kloveon.

  “Because until I have some kind of answer for him, the Emperor won’t let me go home,” she said, a desolate note in her tone.

  “Then I’ll talk to Moricaz this evening,” he promised as he closed the door and left her to her nap.

  * * *

  The clamor from Worjinranth Falls behind them was loud enough to make it necessary for Ninianee to shout in order to be heard. “Is it always this bad?” She wiped away the fine mist that clung to her skin, clear and cold. Around them the steep walls of the canyon stretched up to the luminous afternoon sky, its shadows all the deeper for the brilliance above them. After the long climb down from the rim, the darkness at the foot of the falls was as engulfing as the roar of the water.