The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (33 page)

“Once or twice – he could not concentrate his talents as he could before Yulko Bihn attacked him, but he could still do a great deal.” The Castle magician shivered. “I shouldn’t say so, but it was clear that his talent had been much diminished, although it still exceeds my own.”

Ninianee heard this out with growing surprise. “When did my father resume his attempts? I don’t remember him mentioning it until five years ago.”

“Oh, it was about ten years ago. You were just thirteen and busy with your tutors, you and your sister. He didn’t want you to know what he was doing, in case he should fail, which he did.” Merinex tried to look abashed and failed. “I pledged myself to say nothing of his first attempt, since it didn’t succeed. He kept trying, and said recently – as you recall, Duzeon – that he was making progress at last.”

“I can see that you had hopes for the summoning,” said Zhanf, his face lighting up again. “It is to your credit that you supported him in his work. I would have thought since losing his conjure-duel with Bihn, Nimuar would not have had the gumption to try another summoning.”

“Summoning or not, we still don’t know what happened to him.” Ninianee got up and began to pace the room, wishing she had on boots and brikes instead of this wide-skirted gaunel.

“It is a problem,” said Zhanf, his eyes distant. “But at least you may continue your search for him. I will remain here until you return, and act as Nimuar’s deputy. I am not only Magsto Atoreon, I am Tobrine of Dozinthroee, and my rank should secure Vildecaz from any incursion during your absence, and your father’s. Not even Riast himself would be foolish enough to engage his armies against the Tobrine of Dozinthroee, not if he intends to continue trading in the Drowned World.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “If I need assistance, I can send for my sons and their men to support Vildecaz.”

“Would they get here in time, if you needed them?” Ninianee asked, startled that he had discerned her plans.

“In one form or another, yes, they would.” Zhanf gazed at the shelves of books. “They are all his books.”

“Most of them,” said Ninianee.

“He has had books brought to him from the Library of Duz Kinzyrach and of Buin Joam,” said Merinex. “He has had a great interest in those institutions for as long as I have been Castle magician here.”

“Yes. He was always delving into books. He even went to the Researchery of Cynee on Fah while he was advancing his studies. That was nine years ago, while he was working out the Fahnine treaty.” The mention of this fabled repository of books, maps, charts, pictures, songs, and fables brought a gasp of surprise from Ninianee. “You didn’t know about that? He sent request after request and was finally allowed to go there, since he would be on Fah in any case. It was an unexpected honor, since he wasn’t part of any Fahnine school. It is said that he met your mother on Fah when he went there after taking up his post as Court magician.”

As always, the mention of the mother she barely remembered brought a pang to Ninianee. She blinked to hold back tears, then coughed to loosen the sudden tightness in her throat. “Did you know her?”

“Your mother? No. I know only what your father told me when you and your sister were still infants. Your mother was gone by the time you were three and your sister two. Since there has never been a confirmation of her death, your father didn’t take a second wife.”

“He had women about him, though,” said Ninianee. “I think I liked Djora-Mai best of them. She lived here eight years, longer than the others.”

“She came from Tushan-Loz in The Tail,” said Zhanf. “She married one of the sons of the Hircar of Ayocath. It is a very good match. She’s my second cousin.”

This surprised Ninianee; she resisted the urge to ask more about Djora-Mai, deciding to ask more about her at dinner, and for the moment determined to stay on the subject of why her father was missing. “Do you think my mother is still alive? Do you think my father knows where she is. Perhaps he had remembered something from long ago, and has gone – ”

“I don’t know if she is alive,” said Zhanf. “Your father never thought she was dead, or if he did, he never admitted it to anyone.”

“But if she is alive, why would he wait so long to look for her?” Ninianee burst out. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It may not be sensible, but you may be sure he has a reason,” said Zhanf. “Your father is a man who has endured much, and as a result, he isn’t completely the man he was when your mother left. At the time, he didn’t see her departure as desertion. He told me he understood why she had to go. And the year after she left, he fought Yulko Bihn, and after that, it was years before he remembered anything about his wife except that he had had one and she was gone.”

“I have to find him,” said Ninianee, decision reflected in her straight back and lifted jaw. “Day after tomorrow, I will set out.”

“Duzeon!” Merinex exclaimed.

“Have you any notion where you will go?” Zhanf asked calmly. “Theninzalk is a vast world, and the port of Valdihovee bristles with ships from all of the Six Worlds and the Drowned World. He might be anywhere in the Great World.”

“So he might.” Ninianee was undaunted.

“And you are but one person,” Merinex cautioned her. “If you are gone and he sends word, how are we to reach you? Mightn’t it be better if you remain here and wait?”

“I am tired of waiting,” said Ninianee. “I must do something or I will become desperate. Don’t try to dissuade me,” she warned Merinex.

“But Vildecaz will be leaderless.” Merinex held up his hands in consternation.

“Hardly that,” said Zhanf.

Emboldened, Ninianee went on, “I will seek guidance first from the Golozath Oracle. My sister and I are agreed on that. When I have learned as much as I may, I will send word of where I will journey, so that you may dispatch messengers to me along the way. If there is anything that requires my immediate attention, I will have a scanning-ball with me, and I will use it to communicate with the two of you. Every day at high noon I will inspect the scanning-ball. If you have sent me word through the scanning spell, I will answer before sundown through the scanning-ball.” She saw the disapproving scowl on Merinex’s face. “Why don’t you like the idea?”

“It could help your enemies to track you,” said Zhanf.

“And if a spell should send a false message, or your scanning-ball should be cloaked as your father is, what then?” Merinex seemed more worried than ever.

“Very well, I won’t take it,” she said, making light of it, although she was troubled. She coughed softly. “Vildecaz will not be rudderless. As long as I am gone Magsto Atoreon Zhanf will have my authority, and that authority will last until Erianthee returns from Tiumboj and takes up our duties.” Saying this, Ninianee went to the door and flung it open, expecting Doms Guyon to be on the other side.

“Duzeon Ninianee,” said Rai Pareo with an insultingly profound respect.

“Secretary Pareo,” she responded, trying to conceal her disquiet at his presence.

“You mustn’t wonder that I should be here,” he said smoothly. “Someone has to guard your door from eavesdroppers.”

Ninianee wanted to shout her indignation at the man, but stifled the words. It would shortly be time to dine, and she decided she wanted to watch him more closely, to see what he might do or say that would give himself away. “It isn’t necessary. These magicians have spells on the room that protect from such intrusion,” she said, and passed by him.

Merinex was not so accommodating. “Officious popinjay.”

Pareo looked shocked as he stepped back. “Is this how you reward my diligence?”

“Did you expect a reward?” Ninianee asked over her shoulder. “I am afraid you should apply elsewhere for it.” It was all the sarcasm she would permit herself, and she relished it. But as she descended the stairs, she began to worry that the momentary satisfaction of a sharp retort could create an implacable enemy in Pareo. With that repugnant thought, she steeled herself for the splendid dinner Cook-Major Ver Mindicaz was just putting the finishing touches on, four floors below.

For three days Hajmindor Elet set a furious pace, doing his utmost to cover as much ground as possible before the next rainstorm struck and to make up for time already lost, pulling his company along with him by dint of authority and harangues that left him hoarse at the end of the day. The roads were muddy but not yet quagmires, and though the going was hard, the party struggled onward, pausing only to change horses and mules at the various streams and rivers along their route. In spite of mud and sharp winds, the escort moved deeper into Udugan on their way to Tiumboj, in the Imperial Province of Porcaz. On the fourth night, they camped on the crest of the foothills of the Warinach Mountains, on an exposed plateau that gave an excellent view of the valley below, filled with time-blasted ruins from before the Cataclysm.

Goriach Elet ordered a handsome meal prepared for Erianthee and the rest of the company in reward for the day of hard-traveling, saying as their meal drew to a close, “It’s a good thing we don’t have to camp in the old city. The place is filled with ghosts.”

“Does that surprise you?” Erianthee asked, making the most of this attempt at conversation.

“No. Ruins always are.” He looked around him, nodding his satisfaction. “Better up here. We have the stream for good water and nothing can approach us that we will not see it.”

Although Erianthee doubted this, she said, “Then this is the better place.”

Elet nodded. “It is.” He ate in silence for a bit, then remarked, “Tomorrow we should arrive at Janailee. We will rest for two days there, then continue on.”

“At The Omen-Falcon, no doubt,” said Erianthee as she cut more of the Nach-boar from the large carcase turning on the spit over the main campfire.

“Yes,” Elet scowled. “At The Omen-Falcon. You’ve made the journey before. They must know you there.”

“I would suppose so,” said Erianthee, trying not to miss Kloveon as she looked at her rough-faced companion.

“That cook of yours has a way with boar,” Elet said as he cut another slice.

“This is better than what I usually get on the road.”

“I will tell him you said so,” Erianthee responded, thinking that this journey seemed remarkably long. Had it only been four days since they left Kloveon and most of her Vildecazin escort to continue toward the Porzalk Empire capital with Hajmindor Elet and his men? It felt as if it had been so much longer than that. “I estimate we are six or seven days away from Tiumboj. We will miss the first ceremonies of the Zunah, I fear.”

“If the weather holds, we will be there in seven days.” He poured more of the dark-pink wine from Udugan into his large cup and offered some to Erianthee. “Duzeon? More to drink?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ve had two cups and that is enough.” She did not mention that her cup was half the size of his.

“As you wish,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll see what your guide has to say about travel tomorrow. You were right – he is pretty reliable. No wonder you kept him with you.”

“Do you want me to call him?” Erianthee asked courteously.

“I’ll talk to him later,” Elet said, as harsh as she was polite.

Erianthee did her best to ignore this slight, more angry because she knew it wasn’t deliberate than if Elet had intended to be insulting. To think that she would have to endure his company all the way to Tiumboj – the prospect made her feel slightly ill. She hoped she could remain civil all the rest of the way, but admitted it would require an effort on her part. As she often did when making this journey, she wished travel-spells were more reliable, less subject to magical manipulation than they were, for it would eliminate the need for this long trek to Tiumboj. One small ritual, one recitation of a spell, and poof! she would arrive at her destination in the blink of an eye. But travel-spells were notoriously untrustworthy, and so she resigned herself to the long journey on the road. “I will retire early tonight. No doubt you will want to leave at first light.”

“True enough.” He drank deeply and took another large bite of the Nach-boar on his wooden trencher. “The men are tired. We’ll make an early night of it.”

Erianthee thought of Fithnoj, her travel-cook, who slept in the second partition of her tent, and of Rygnee Tsandej, her travel-maid, who slept with him. She sensed that the two would need to be alert tonight, and much as she wanted to dismiss her uneasiness, she couldn’t manage to do it. Had Kloveon still been her escort, she would have mentioned something to him, but she was sure it would be unwise to bring up any misgivings to Hajmindor Elet. She noticed her brikes were spotted with mud again, as were her boots, and resolved to ask Rygnee to clean them before morning. Little as she wanted to admit it, she was growing tired of men’s clothing and was longing for an occasion to wear a gaunel and guin instead of brikes and dolaj. Perhaps at The Omen-Falcon she could spend a day in women’s clothes and wear her hair unclubbed, she told herself, and reached for the last of the puff-bread. “Is there any more soft cheese, Goriach?”

“Soft cheese?” He checked the small tub. “No. Would you like me to ask your cook to find another tub for you?”

Erianthee shook her head. “It’s hardly worth it. I’ll use the boar-fat on my trencher for a spread.” She broke the puff-bread in half and demonstrated with the smaller portion. “This suits me very well.”