The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (35 page)

“At once,” Hoftstan said, respected her, then took a lantern as he left the stable.

Zhanf came up to Ninianee, an air of concern about him. “I’m uneasy about this, Ninianee. I worry that your guide might not be as much escort as you, or your father, require. There are enemies you may have to confront, and being that there are no soldiers accompanying you, I cannot rest assured that you will be safe.”

“If I take soldiers with me, I might as well announce to the world that I expect to fight in order to bring Duz Nimuar home. This way, I have a little hope of being invisible to all but the most determined scrutiny.”

Zhanf pressed his lips together thoughtfully, and when he had decided what to say, began, “I know you are committed to this search for your father, and I know you believe the Oracle can help you narrow your search, but I ask you not to venture too far from Vildecaz without sending notice back. You’re undertaking a dangerous venture and therefore a degree of anxiety attends you. It is bad enough that we have to search for your father – I would rather we not have to search for you as well.”

“I . . . I appreciate your warning, Magsto Zhanf,” she said as she clipped the lead-rope to the chin-strap of Jenshaz’s bridle. “If you will tie the mule’s lead to the cantle-ring on my saddle?”

As he complied with this request, Zhanf made one last effort. “Will you at least send word about what the Oracle says?”

“Yes,” said Ninianee. “If I am able to, I will.”

“That will have to suffice.” Whether he meant the knot he had tied or her conceding to his request was impossible to tell.

“Remember to make a regular offering to Ojenthee,” Zhanf recommended. “The goddess of autumn can ease your travels for another month at least.”

“Ojenthee and Hevomaj, the Stalwart, and Iseon,” she said. “I have salt and oil for daily offerings to them all.”

“Prudent of you, to include the gods of the Cazboarth Range and the Boarthine Peninsula,” said Zhanf, and respected her. “I wish you a safe journey, Duzeon Ninianee, and a successful conclusion to your quest.”

“That is very gracious of you, Magsto Zhanf. I thank you. And I thank you for looking after Vildecaz. I trust you will not have to keep your post too long, for all our sakes.” She reached for a lantern, then the lead-rope, and kissed to the pony and mule as she led them out of the stable, across the courtyard toward the small northern gate that opened onto the paddocks. The thrill of setting out was dampened by the gravity of her mission. She looked up at the sky, seeing the first signs of the coming day in the slight evanescing of the darkness along the rugged outline of the mountains to the east.

Back in the stable Poyneilum Zhanf stood in the open door, his arms raised in a ritual gesture, listening to the fading sound of the hooves of Jenshaz and Danliree. When he was satisfied that Ninianee was outside the main wall of the Castle, he moved farther back into the stable, to a box-stall where another pony and mule waited, saddled, loaded, and ready to leave. “You are sure you want to do this, Yaolaj?” he asked Doms Guyon.

“Yes.” He patted the shoulder of the seal-brown pony. “Womilaj here will carry me as well as Jenshaz carries her.”

“Are you sure you want to wait for her to be gone before you leave?’

“Magsto, my talent is for finding things. She cannot be lost from me unless she is cloaked in a spell – a very powerful spell.” He smiled his best wicked smile. “She isn’t going to get away from me.”

“No, nor from me,” said Zhanf.

Doms looked at him, all trace of amusement gone. “You assured her that you wouldn’t put an emergency spell on her. I heard you.”

“And I didn’t. I put one on her pony, and on her mule. As I am going to do the same with your pony and your mule,” he added with a touch of pugnacity. “You are in more danger than she is, since only I know you are going to follow her and her guide.” He pulled at Doms’ sleeve. “Will you not let me send Chormi Van with you, at least? He could be ready to leave in less than an hour.”

“Then who would drive your carriage, Magsto, or carry your books? No, keep your servant with you and leave me to manage for myself. But I welcome your emergency spells, and any other magicks you think appropriate,” said Doms, continuing with unabashed commendation, ‘You notice how sensible she is, my Ninianee? A pony and a mule, not a horse. Sturdier, hardier animals for the mountains. Supplies and rations, and weapons as well as oil and salt for the gods and goddesses.” He swung his jeneie-fur sajah over his drugh-ox wool pelgar and patted the wallet on his belt. “She’s as well-prepared as anyone can be, setting out on a mission like hers.”

“She has good sense, Yaolaj, but – and you will pardon me for asking – are you sure she’s yours? Mightn’t she prefer another?”

Doms shook his head. “Oh, she’s mine, all right, just as I’m hers. If she weren’t, she wouldn’t spend so much time denying it, she’d simply forget me, find a suitor to her liking and make him official. But she can’t, and she won’t. Little as she wants to admit it, we are bound together.” He rubbed the pony’s forehead below the brow-band of the bridle. “She’s keeping some kind of secret, and that worries me. I can see it troubles her. I assume it is connected with the three nights of the full moon, but that’s all I’ve been able to discern.”

“She may not want you to know. Secrets tend to be like that,” said Zhanf with a droll expression.

“I know that, but I don’t care what the secret is – it makes no difference to me.”

‘That may be a bit hasty,” Zhanf warned him, all amusement gone.

“No secret would change my feeling for her, no matter what it is. I would rather she tell me what it is of her own inclination, but if she won’t, then I’ll find it out for myself.” He pulled his slouch-brimmed hat down over his eyes and prepared to lead his pony and mule out of the stable.

“You’ll need this,” offered Zhanf, holding up a lantern.

“Not necessary, thank you,” said Doms. “One of the side-benefits of my talent is that I can find my way in the dark. I don’t need to see. It is as if what I follow has left a trail of burning coals.” He offered Zhanf a respect. “Take good care of Vildecaz, Magsto.”

“That is my intention,” said Zhanf, returning the respect before he stepped aside, giving Doms a chance to begin his tracking of Ninianee as birds announced the coming of dawn.

* * *

Erianthee awoke late in Janailee, when the sun was half-way up the morning sky. She lay in the finest bed The Omen-Falcon had to offer, and she luxuriated in the soft sheets of jaem-cotton, soft as petals, or clouds. The comforter was filled with the down of Jaloin-geese, warm as fur but so light that it seemed hardly more than wisp-cotton. In spite of all the comfort she relished, she was uneasy – she had dreamed something dreadful the night before, something that seemed important, but whatever it was, it unraveled as she wakened, leaving her with a faint sense of foreboding, but no obvious reason for her anxiety. She stretched at last, and prepared to sit up.

There was a fire in the fireplace, and Rygnee, in her second-best gaunel, was heating water in a small cauldron over it. “Good morning, Duzeon,” she said brightly. “I’m glad you’re rested. I’m about to prepare an infusion of pourri-flowers. Are you ready for a cup?”

“Certainly,” said Erianthee automatically. She yawned, rubbed her eyes, and pulled the comforter up to her shoulders as she looked toward the shuttered window. “What kind of day is it?” She could see brightness beyond the shutters, and in spite of the remnants of malaise from her dream, she smiled.

“There are high clouds and a stiff breeze, and the weather-witch of the town says rain will begin tomorrow, or very late tonight.” said Rygnee. After a moment, she added, “Elet and his men are off to the market-square to buy more provisions. No doubt they will find ways to amuse themselves once they have made their purchases.”

“Did Fithnoj go with them?” Erianthee asked, thinking it unlikely.

“He set out with them, but said he will return at mid-afternoon, when he has replenished our stores.” She paused, deciding how best to tell her about Elet and his men. “The others said they wouldn’t be back until sundown, or later. Not too late, as we must travel tomorrow, rain or no.”

“Meaning they may go to the pleasure-house,” she said, resigned to that happening. She went on wistfully, “I’d like to spend a day there myself, but the Emperor would not approve.”

“How can you know?” asked Rygnee.

“Because he gave me specific orders the first time I traveled to Court, to avoid all such places. He says that there are those who watch the pleasure houses, to see whom they may suborn or exploit. I have complied.”

“Why is that? What does it matter to Riast if you amuse yourself for an afternoon?” Rygnee was obviously puzzled. “We’re hardly at Court yet. What could happen at a pleasure-house in Janailee that would harm the Emperor in Tiumboj?”

“He fears I might reveal something, through one of my Shadowshows, that would cause him embarrassment. I have told him I am most unlikely to perform Shadowshows with traveling, since it is too exhausting, but he remains adamant, and will not give up his dread of exposure.” She shoved a pillow behind her. “At least, that’s what his mother has explained to me. The Dowager Empress Godrienee has told me that Riast is very sensitive on such matters.”

“But why would you go to a pleasure-house and exhaust yourself with a Shadowshow when you could have a much more enjoyable time taking advantages of the company and entertainment?”

“I don’t know,” said Erianthee. “Riast has his own reasons to think as he does, and who will gainsay the Emperor? Not I. He fears enemies and spies, as a man in his position must. All men in his position have enemies, some of them disguised as friends, and he would be a fool to ignore them. So long as we are within the borders of the Porzalk Empire, I’ll do my best to abide by the Riast’s wishes.” She looked about for her jalai.

Rygnee saw this and asked, “What do you want?”

“Is my jalai unpacked? I’m not warm enough to dress yet.”

“It is on the hook over there,” said Rygnee, pointing. “I put it out as soon as I rose.”

“That was some while ago, by the look of you,” said Erianthee, feeling a little embarrassed that she had slept so long. She managed to snag the jalai and pull it over her head and down over her larnija, wriggling to get it into place before she left the warmth of the bed. As her bare feet touched the floor, she said, “May we build up the fire a bit? The room is really quite chilly.”

“The innkeeper said we may when I went down to the kitchen before you wakened. There are cut logs for that purpose in the kitchen, and some will be carried up here whenever we request them.”

“That’s very obliging of him,” said Erianthee.

“He’s not likely to refuse more fires for Elet, or you, in any case. He wants Imperial favor, and who can blame him?” Rygnee ladled out a measure of the pourri-flower infusion and handed the steaming cup to Erianthee. “Here. This will warm your hands, and your innards.”

Erianthee settled the cup gingerly into her hands. “The smell is almost better than the taste,” she said, inhaling the fragrant steam.

“So many have claimed,” said Rygnee. “I prefer quaenaz-leaves, myself.”

“Ymiljesin, of course,” said Erianthee. “I agree it is a most wonderful drink.”

“But you like pourri-flowers better,” said Rygnee.

“Yes. I do.” Erianthee held off taking her first sip, for she could tell the infusion could easily scald her lips. “Speaking of things from Ymiljesai, is there any chance of getting Ysmili-fruit, or it is too late in the year?”

“Only conjured ones, I regret to say,” Rygnee told her. “And I know you would prefer not to eat magical food.”

“What else do they have? I want something to eat before we dine this evening. Nothing too heavy, but enough to hold me until dinner.”

“They have honey-cheese and tube-bread with raisins, and they have joalliberries preserved in Harro-aen brandy. Elet’s men ate up all the lantern-fruit and the Byton-fowl eggs already. Before you decide, keep in mind they’re serving goose, salted rock-fish, and venison this evening, and one of those everything soups – you know, some of everything in the kitchen goes into it? I watched them assemble it – nothing in it will disagree with you.” Rygnee hitched up her shoulders. “It smelled good as it was heating. I should think it would be tasty. The cooks are making extra bread for tonight, as well.”

“I’ll have the honey-cheese and tube-bred,” said Erinanthee, anticipating dinner. “Although the joalliberries sound very good.”

Rygnee got to her feet. “I’ll let the innkeeper know.” She left the room quickly, taking care to close the door behind her before Erianthee could remind her about needing more logs for the fire.

Erianthee set her cup aside and rose, looking for which of her gaunels Rygnee had chosen for this day. It was the terra-cotta one of Adamine-velvet, with the high, embroidered neck and box-sleeves for cool weather. The guin with it was simple jaem-cotton, chosen for warmth more than elegance. “This will do nicely,” said Erianthee to herself. “The innkeeper will like it – not gaudy but clearly aristocratic.” She giggled as she went back to the fireplace and sat down again, basking in the warmth from the hearth, wondering when Elet and his men would return, and guiltily hoping it wouldn’t be until after she dined.