The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (29 page)

“Thank you,” she said, still mildly preoccupied. “Don’t get wet.”

He tugged on a long cloak of jeneie-fur and prepared to step out through the double-flap. “I’ll be back as quickly as possible.”

Erianthee nodded, and took a small book of spells made by the Magstee of the Agnitheon out of the chest and occupied herself in reading through a number of incantations, finally stopping at one that would summon up a local maitsee. This she studied carefully, then started gathering up the ingredients required – for local nature spirits, this was a simple list – and set about conjuring, convinced that this scale of spell was close enough to her talent for materializing Spirits of the Outer Air to guarantee useful results. She went carefully, taking the time to perform every detail of the rite, concluding with the chanting of an intricate quatrain on one specific note.

An errant breeze whipped through the interior of the tent, and a small vulpine creature appeared before her, standing on its hind legs; it offered Erianthee a respect and said, “Oh, good – a traveler.”

“On my way to Tiumboj,” said Erianthee, keeping the spell-book open before her. “At the command of Riast II.”

“What is it you want to know?” If the maitsee was impressed, it made no sign of it in its reaction.

“I want to know,” she said, taking care to enunciate clearly, “how serious this storm is, and what damage it has done around this meadow.”

The maitsee waved a paw as if to take in its area of operation. “I don’t have a very large range,” it said with a little jerk of its head, “But for a league around, with the exception of this place and the spells that protect it, the rain is heavy and the winds high and blustery. The storm extends beyond what I can perceive, but through this region the weather is hard. Even the wallow-mojes at the edge of the marsh are keeping to their dens, and no birds fly. The roads are muddy and will slow travel, as those approaching are finding out to their grief.”

“Who approaches?” Erianthee asked, trying to subdue a rush of anxiety.

“One with the arms of Udugan on soaked flags. The horses are muddy to their saddle-flaps,” said the maitsee, giving off a kind of giggle. “Their travel-wizard has done a poor job thus far.”

“Hajmindor Elet,” said Erianthee, almost certain it was he.

“He is expected,” said the maitsee. “I can feel the horses weltering toward this place. There are ten or eleven of them, and two wagons.”

“Are you certain?”

The maitsee laughed aloud. “I am sure that they are coming. I cannot see them yet to count them, but there are at least ten of them, for the disturbance they make.”

“Are they armed?” She asked this as a matter of course.

“They are official, so they are probably armed,,” the maitsee allowed. “Will that suffice?”

“Yes. Thank you,” said Erianthee, making a reverence toward the little figure.

“You honor me too much, Magstee.”

“As you honor me,” said Erianthee. “I am a Duzeon, not a Magstee.”

The maitsee shrugged and snickered. “If you tell me so.”

Although she knew it was dangerous to be fascinated by the nature spirit, Erianthee smiled. “I will not fall to your blandishments, maitsee, nor be turned from my purpose by your clever answers. You have skill, but you are still constrained by the spell I have worked.” Yet even as she spoke she could see the creature had grown. I must not give it any power, she reminded herself sharply. Maitsees were known to use such powers against the conjurer.

“Certainly not,” said the maitsee, laughing nastily.

Repeating the containing part of the conjuring spell, Erianthee did her best to return the maitsee to its original size, thinking that it was far easier to master the Spirits of the Outer Air than to deal with this one little sprite. “You are bound, maitsee.”

“Am I?” It grew larger still, to the size of a ten-year-old child. “This is my place, and in it, I have the power, not travelers like you, no matter what that spell-book says.”

Much as she wanted to make a stern reply, Erianthee would not be goaded into so impulsive an act, for that might well play into the maitsee’s scheme. She held up the vial of ympara-oil, saying, “By the power of the earth, by Tsoraj, the Enduring, and by the Word of Agnith, I command you to return to your proper manifestation.”

With an annoyed squeak, the maitsee shrank down to its original size. “You are stronger than I thought.”

“For which you should be glad,” said Erianthee, surprised at how well she had handled the conjuration. “I thank you and dismiss you. A token will be left for your service when we depart, providing no mischief or harm is worked upon any of us, or on our shelter, food, and animals.” It was a standard culmination of a maitsee-summons, and Erianthee said it so automatically that she almost overlooked the final part of the rite. “Neither you nor your place ever harm me and those with me, from this time until the Great World falls.”

The maitsee flittered, paled, and vanished, leaving Erianthee feeling nervous. How could such encounters enervate her when she could manifest whole pageants of Spirits of the Outer Air? It was a question she couldn’t dwell on, for she heard Kloveon tramping back through the wet from the other pavilions. She gathered up her conjuring-tools and returned them to their place in her chest, closing its lid just as Kloveon came through the double-flap.

“There will be a meal shortly, with real food,” he announced as he pulled off his cloak and hung it, dripping, on the cloak-hook near the front flaps. “The storm is miserable. It is a good thing we aren’t on the road.”

“But others are,” she said.

He swung around toward her. “Others are what?”

“On the road,” she said.

“Who would be traveling in such weather?”

“Probably Hajmindor Elet,” she told him unenthusiastically. “I summoned up the local maitsee and it said that a band of riders carrying Uduganish flags are approaching.”

“Did it mention when they might arrive?”

“Not specifically, no, but it could see enough to know where they’re from. Their banners are Uduganish.”

“Which means they’re getting near, if a maitsee could make out so much detail,” said Kloveon heavily.

“I think they must be,” said Erianthee with a quick glance in his direction. “Should we wait for them, to include them when we dine?”

Kloveon thought about his answer. “How many are there in the party, could the maitsee tell?”

“Ten or more, I gather.” She paused. “I suppose we could augment the food we have with magical food. We would have enough then, wouldn’t we?”

He rubbed his lower lip, a sure sign of dissatisfaction, she had learned in their travels. “We may have to. I’ll have to ask your help in conjuring the food. I’d almost want to go out on a hunt instead, but in this weather, it would be useless. And Rakin Moricaz has his hands full just keeping this meadow as still as possible. Extending his talents to cover a hunt is out of the question.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest it,” said Erianthee. “We will just have to make do as best we can.”

For a long moment, Kloveon stared at her in silence. “I hate having to give you over to Elet’s escort.”

“I know. I’m not pleased, myself.” The tension went out of her, as if this admission had been enough to bring her back to a sense of her immediate situation.

“I should go with you. I don’t care about what Emperor Riast thinks is most diplomatic – I know it would be better if I could stay with you. I want to stay with you, as much for Vildecaz as for you. Once your father is safely back, it will be otherwise, but for now . . . ” He took three impulsive steps toward her. “Everyone at Court has motives of their own. You shouldn’t trust any of them.”

“I met you at Court,” Erianthee reminded him slowly.

“Ah, but I came away from Court. I sought you out, not once, or twice, but three times, in your own Duzky.” He sighed slowly. “If only you would tell me what you want me to do.”

Erianthee tried to hide her confusion. “Would it make any difference? Riast’s orders are clear and neither of us are in a position to defy him.”

“If you asked me, I would,” said Kloveon softly.

It was so tempting to succumb to his offer, thought Erianthee, but Kloveon was a courtier with his own Mirkalin to protect, as well as a family with expectations for him, and much more to lose than her affections. He might be testing her, even though he gave every appearance of sincerity. “That would put both of us at more of a disadvantage than we are now,” she said at her most reasonable, yet feeling as if she had betrayed him.

“Better to have one ally you are sure of than a dozen sycophants,” said Kloveon.

“Oh, Mirkal, you say that so readily.” She shook her head slowly.

Kloveon contemplated her for a dozen heartbeats, then looked toward the double-flap. “I suppose I had better go and warn Fithnoj to expect guests.” He reached for his cloak again. “I’ll tell him to use magical foods for condiments and sauces. That way, the meal will be fairly substantial.”

“Very good,” said Erianthee, feeling as if all the air had gone out of the tent.

He seemed about to say something more, but changed his mind. With an engaging salute, he once again slipped out into the storm.

Morning caught Ninianee unaware. She came to herself under a joalliberry-bush, her hands scraped almost raw from a night of determined Salah-badger digging. Most of her fur was already gone and her body was completely human. Still, she sat up with care, avoiding most of the long, sharp spines that guarded the bush from being plundered of its fruit. Although it was late enough in the year that most of the berries were gone, the spines remained unrelenting. Ninianee carefully plucked one of the few remaining berries and let its tangy sweetness revive her as she renewed acquaintance with her human body. Squinting upwards, she saw a thin veil of clouds over the newly risen sun, a warning that the weather was changing, coming in from the unusual direction of southeast.

Getting to her feet, she began a rapid search for the dolaj, zenft, and brikes she had brought with her to the edge of the woods. Her clothes were where she had left them the night before, in the satchel, behind a cluster of beehives. She dressed quickly, tugged a comb through the tangle of her russet hair, and set out for the Castle, trying for as jaunty an air as she could muster. She went to the small northern gate where she hoped she would not be noticed. There she ended the night-spell on the lock, and slipped through the small door into the espaliered pear-orchard that ran along the tall stones of the south-facing inner wall to the western Guard Tower. Taking the time to inspect the nearest of the trees with the intention to order pruning, she then resumed her walk back to the Castle, passing the second wall without incident, and arriving at the inner wall just as the Guards were changing. She had reached the stable-yard gate when she was stopped by a shout.

“Duzeon! Duzeon Ninianee!” The caller was Senijer ae-Miratdien, the Captain of the Night Guard. He was looking tired now that his watch had ended, but he gave her a full respect. He had put on his broad dolamine sash as a tribute to the guests in the Castle, and it made him look more formidable than he generally did.

Ninianee stopped, shaded her eyes and looked up. “What is it, Captain ae-Miratdien?”

“The Keeper of the Mews is looking for you. He said you were not in your quarters.”

“No. I left quite early.” She lowered her eyes to avoid the dazzle of the sun. “Where is Keeper Terichovee?”

“The last I saw him, he was with Shodoch at the kennels. They’re about to take the spell-hounds out for their morning run.”

“I’ll try to catch them before they leave,” Ninianee said, and waved a dismissal to Captain ae-Miratdien. Continuing on toward the stable-yard gate, she frowned, wondering what Lomcoz Terichovee could want with her. Had he noticed her absence and been troubled by it, or was his business on some other matter? Although she knew it was useless to speculate, she could not keep from turning over a number of things in her mind, none of them pleasant. “Stop it,” she told herself firmly. “You don’t know what Terichovee wants. It’s probably nothing so dire as you fear.” This admonition eased her a little as she made her way along the long, narrow passage to the spell-hounds’ kennels.

When she reached the small kennel courtyard, she discovered that Terichovee, his assistant, and his five spell-hounds had already left. It would be some while before they returned, and waiting here would accomplish nothing. She stretched, and decided she would have a bath, change clothes, and then, if she were very lucky, find an hour or two for a nap before having to deal with any of her Duzeon duties. With a quick invocation for favor to Nyolach, the Unexpected, she went to the main courtyard and entered the Castle by the main door. Once inside, she hurried up the broad main staircase toward her own apartments, reminding herself as she went that while Nyolach could be erratic in her favors, to ignore her at this difficult time was folly – there was still one more night of the full moon to come, and the goddess of turns of fortune could preserve Ninianee from discovery.

Giuynee was waiting for the Duzeon in the dressing room of her quarters on the north side of the Castle, her ordinary face hiding a keen mind and a true devotion to Vildecaz. Her manner, as always, was impeccable, but there were questions in her eyes that she would not voice. “What do you want me to do for you, Duzeon?” she asked as she respected Ninianee. She looked over Ninianee’s shabby clothes in obvious disapproval. “That dolaj is hardly worthy of you.”