The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (10 page)

“He has been studying,” said General Rocazin. “I think he is bound for his book- room; he has spent many hours there of late.”

“What can he do there?” Dinvee pursued. “He hasn’t any magic left in him, has he?” She glanced over at Yulko Bihn and offered her best vulpine smile.

“He still studies,” said General Rocazin, her mouth becoming a firm line.

“No doubt he does,” Dinvee said at her most deprecating.

Before this encounter could become any more acrimonious than it was, Erianthee rose to her feet. “Honored guests, we have entertainers to amuse and confound you. The first among an exciting diversity are a brother-and-sister, whose skills will amaze you. I direct your attention to the raised platform opposite this dais, where, as you see, the curtains are parting.” As the trumpeters sounded the call to amusements, she sat down, glad she had decided to save her Shadowshow for last; she needed time to recuperate before summoning Spirits of the Outer Air. She had almost settled back in her chair when she realized that Kloveon had risen and was going in the direction of the near-by Reception Room, as if preparing to follow Nimuar. Blinking in surprise, she went after her father as the two performers began their presentation.

“Papa! Papa!” she called to him.

“I’m in a hurry, my child,” he answered without turning as he hastened down the corridor. “Do not fear. All will be well.”

“But Papa – “ She could think of nothing more to say, so she attempted to catch up with him only to be motioned back.

”Return to our guests if you would, Erianthee. Else they will be offended that no one of the family is present.” He slowed his walk a little. “Be careful of Kloveon.”

Erianthee stopped as if transfixed by an invisible lance. “Why do you say so, Papa?”

He gave her no reply as he increased his pace again, bound for his book-room.

Erianthee watched him go, and scowled, deep in thought. If only Ninianee were here to help, she told herself, we could get through this more easily. Then she laughed. Ninianee in her Challim-doe form would complicate matters, and sunset would be upon them in less than an hour; there was no use asking her to preside, or keep watch over their father: it would not do to have the Duzna Ninianee turning into a doe before all their guests, or running loose in the Castle. Turning back to the Great Hall, she caught sight of Kloveon standing in the archway as if waiting for someone; she stepped back, hoping he had not seen her, but to her dismay, he smiled at her and offered her a respect. “Mirkal,” she said with great formality to discourage any close inquiry.

Her efforts made no impact upon him. “Is you father well?” he asked as he approached her, apparently concerned. “I know he is somewhat eccentric, and since he is under scrutiny, he must know how irregular his departure will appear.”

“I believe he does. He is a bit . . . impulsive about his studies,” she answered as she swept past him through the archway; he followed her without comment, and took his place at the High Table. Erianthee sat down next to Yulko Bihn. “Magsto,” she said, offering him a half-respect. “My father asks you to excuse him, but he is involved in research that cannot be delayed.”

“Of course,” said Bihn in a tone so condescending that she longed to slap his face.

The performers did a spectacular juggling-and-tumbling sequence, ending with the sister standing on her brother’s shoulder and tossing up and down between them great glowing hoops of iridescent metal, all done without any apparent spell; the audience applauded, making any comment of Erianthee’s inaudible. As the noise died down, she said, “I must prepare for my Shadowshow. If you will excuse me, Magsto?” She began to move away before he spoke.

Unfazed by her haste, Bihn waved a languid hand at her. “Will this one be prophetic or simply more folk-stories, as you performed last night?”

“It will be a more involved story,” she said, knowing she was avoiding an answer.

At the edge of the dais, she found Hoftstan Ruch waiting for her, his demeanor more nervous than usual. “Duzna.” He respected her.

“Is something wrong, Hoftstan?” She saw his eyes flick in Dinvee’s direction. “Has she continued her pursuit?”

“She hasn’t left me alone until we sat down to eat,” he said, sounding harried. “Even with my wife here, that woman continues to plague me.”

“She’s something of a trial, isn’t she?” Erianthee asked, accepting Hoftstan’s arm as she came down the two stairs.

“Yes.” He accompanied her to the side of the performing platform. “I have the screen ready. When these two are done, Rimdoch and I will set the stage for you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Hoftstan faltered, clearly trying to make up his mind. “Is your father all right?”

“I think so,” she said, and added in a lowered voice. “I am guessing he wants to keep away from Bihn as much as he can, so he has gone to his book-room for the declared purpose of tending to urgent studies.”

“Oh,” said Hoftstan, much relieved. “I suspect you’re right.”

The applause welled once again, and the two on the platform offered their audience deep respects.

“Well,” said Erianthee. “Shall we?”

Hoftstan signaled to his son and they went to set up the screen for Erianthee.

* * *

It was easy to Change in the pasture, with only Sanma watching curiously, his big eyes showing mild alarm but no real fear. He sniffed carefully at the Challim-doe, then lowered his head to graze as Ninianee cleared the fence in a graceful bound, and hurried into the dusk, leaving her clothes behind her on the fence-rail, where she hoped they would go unnoticed; she would reclaim them for herself the next morning. The game preserve wasn’t far, and she planned to be there before the huntsmen. At least there was no rain this evening, although mist was gathering on the River Dej, far down the slope of the mountain, and would be likely to spread during the night.

Entering the forest, Ninianee headed for the high meadows, framed with shaggy pines and twisted old oaks. She passed other deer as she ran – they sensed her transformation and kept their distance – making the most of her strong legs and haunches. By the time she reached her goal, she could hear Maeshar’s Bougard hounds baying, and the sound of the huntsmen’s horns as they came crashing through the main wood. Ninianee paid close attention to the hounds, and discerned from their cries that Maeshar was after boar this night, not deer, and she warned the first sounder of boar she came across that the game preserve was unsafe that night. The boar all expressed their willingness to get out of range, and to encourage other animals to flee as well. Relieved by this intelligence, she decided to wait a while and then circle around behind the hunters to see what she might be able to discover.

Maeshar’s hunting party had enjoyed food and drink before the hunt began, and the eight men accompanying Maeshar were in rollicking humor, using the dark forest as a setting for games as much as a place to hunt wild boar. Hoots of laughter struck up as frequently as hunting horns, and the game preserve resounded with laughter and the occasional zing of a dart-hurler. Maeshar himself roistered along with his guests, shouting contradictory instructions from time to time, and bellowing risive whoops when he almost fell from the saddle while attempting to clear a low-growing tangle of berry-vines.

From her position up the hill from all this merriment, Ninianee watched, using a forester’s hut to shield herself from discovery. When the hunt moved in her direction, she retreated up the slope, picking her way with care, certain that the hunters would be more likely to follow rapid flight than deliberate movement. She was well-aware that these men were in no condition to provide concerted pursuit, but they were reckless enough to be dangerous in their impulsivity; she resolved to maintain a strict distance from the hunt, and to communicate with the hounds that they were not to pursue her while she kept a vigilant watch on the hunters.

The hunt went on for most of the night, until the men grew too tired and too drunk to continue. Finally, in the ninth hour of the night, they met in the Glade of Tsampaj, ready to return to Maeshar’s hunting lodge.

“No boar about tonight,” said one of the guests; his accent was of the Flejiraz region, on the southeast side of the Porzalk Empire.

“Just as . . . as well,” slurred another.

Ninianee was far enough away not to be noticed as she stood in a thicket of wenrir, the heady odor of the abundant berries masking her scent, but near enough to listen to what the men said.

“My cooks should have a breakfast ready by the time we reach my lodge,” Maeshar announced, sounding as if he had a head cold.

“What do you plan for the day?” a third inquired, ending on a yawn.

“Other than sleep?” added a voice roughened by fatigue.

“I plan to send my woodsmen out to find out why there were no boar to be had.” Maeshar had a peevish note to his voice. “I was told that there were three sounders of boar about. We ought to have had better sport.”

“Oh, we had plenty of sport,” the third man said, chuckling. “It just didn’t include hunting any boar.”

The laughter that answered that witticism was disproportionate to its humor, which led Ninianee to suspect that the man who made the remark was of considerable importance. She wished she knew the identities of Maeshar’s guests.

“Have the houndsmen round up the dogs. They can follow us back to your lodge, Otsinmohr,” said another voice Ninianee did not recognize; this man seemed to be completely sober and reasonably awake. His speech was that of Riast’s Court, very cultured and precise.

“Of course, Mirkal,” said Maeshar promptly. “I shall do this at once, of course; the houndsmen are as tired as we are.”

“Very good, Goriach Maeshar,” approved the Mirkal.

It startled Ninianee to hear Maeshar’s title used: in Vildecaz, he was called simply Otsinmohr, a kind of reminder that Vildecaz had not been absorbed into the Porzalk Empire yet.

“Then follow me,” called out Maeshar, and sounded his horn to summon all the houndsmen. He and his guests were already in motion when the chief of the houndsmen caught up to them. “Round up the dogs and bring them to the hunting lodge and feed them. They’ve earned some rest, too. We’re done with the hunt for now. I will expect you back by dawn.”

“That’s not far off,” warned the chief houndsman.

“No; I should be about your task if I were you,” said Maeshar, his voice growing faint as he and his guests continued on their way.

The houndsman waited until Maeshar was out of earshot to say, “Bontaj!” before he used his whistle to summon his three assistants. “We must bring the hounds back to the Goriach’s hunting lodge before dawn. So hasten. This is going to be a hard search.”

Ninianee retreated from the Glade of Tsampaj as quickly as she dared, making for the forester’s cottage, and hoping it was unoccupied. Already the sky was beginning to lighten, and the first birds were announcing the new day from the trees. Just as she reached the hut, her hooves resolved themselves into hands and feet, and she shivered as she forced the door open.

The hut was unoccupied, and it had the slightly stale smell that indicated it was not often used. Ninianee sat on the single chair and rubbed her face. “One more night,” she said aloud, and began to consider her immediate situation: what was she going to do now? How would she get home? She got up and began to rummage through the hut, looking for any garments that could be found, for she was not about to leave the hut naked.

On the straw-filled mattress that served for a bed, Ninianee found a barlo-cloak rolled up to serve as a pillow. The fabric was coarse and heavy, but the barlo-cloak was ample and in spite of the moth-holes, it served to engulf her. Reluctantly she left the hut, the barlo-cloak gathered close about her. As she stepped onto the path, she winced as her bare feet touched the rock-strewn pathway: suddenly Vildecaz Castle seemed far away. “Eri and Papa need you,” she told herself sternly, gritting her teeth as she began gingerly to walk toward the edge of the game preserve, and as she walked, she began to concoct a story that would account for her presence and condition, should anyone come across her before she reached her goal.

General Rocazin awakened Erianthee shortly after dawn. “I am sorry to disturb you, Duzna, but I was certain you would want to know.”

Erianthee rubbed her eyes and stretched as if to draw wakedness into her body. “What is it, General?”

“I’ve searched the castle thoroughly, and I had Heijot Merinex perform a simple occupants’ spell . . . ” She bit her lower lip, and tightened her hands together in uncharacteristic reticence. “I’m afraid that neither your father nor your sister is in the Castle this morning.”

Erianthee took a long moment to digest this, then sat up straight in bed. “How do you mean, not in the Castle?”

“I mean,” said General Rocazin, “that they are not in their apartments, nor in any other part of the Castle I can find.”

Frowning now, Erianthee swung her legs out from under the covers; she did her best to conceal her growing anxiety with an ordinary request. “Have Ver make me some hot milk-and-shandoz-berries, if you would, please. I will be with you directly.” She got to her feet. “In the meantime, make sure none of this information is communicated to our guests. You may not be able to stop all speculation, but you can quash any you come upon.”