The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (70 page)

“That it is,” he responded, and stood next to her horse as she mounted. “We’ll be underway at once.” He put his foot in the stirrup and stepped up, setting himself without fuss. “Guards?” He half-expected that the Imperial Guards would keep them from leaving, but he did his best to keep that anxiety from his demeanor.

The leader bawled out, “Open the gate for the Emperor’s departing guests!”

The sally-port gate groaned with its weight as it swung back and the chains of the portcullis clanked as it was raised, creating a nerve-wracking counterpoint that made the horses and mules lay back their ears and sidle on close-held reins. The Guards on the battlements signaled to Kloveon to set out, while a single trumpeter sounded the Farewell to Guests. As the small party moved forward, Kloveon took his position at the head of the company, signaling to his new scout, Hoperinaz Quaenach, to take up the rear position until they were out of the battered city, lying like jetsam around the Castle. They moved slowly, for most of the streets were still lined with stacks of rubble waiting to be carted away, and the pavement was uneven or missing altogether. Half the houses stood broken or damaged, many with upper floors open to the sky, though they were still lived-in, with makeshift rooms and unreliably magical walls shored up with bits of masonry taken from the Castle. Gangs of children, some quite young, others older, roamed the wreckage and threw small stones at Kloveon’s party as they passed.

“They’re angry,” said Erianthee, riding immediately behind Kloveon. “And who can blame them?”

“They could become dangerous,” said Kloveon, his expression stoic. “Once we’re out of sight of the battlements, we’ll have to be alert to attack.”

Erianthee made a gesture and recited the spell for a protective bubble around them all. “We don’t need any more delays,” she announced.

This was so near to what Kloveon had been thinking that he swung around in the saddle to stare at her. “I know what you mean,” he said to cover his astonishment.

She chuckled without mirth. “I’ll be arriving home more than a month late. Ninianee will be frantic.”

“I can’t imagine your sister frantic,” said Kloveon, to keep their conversation going.

“You don’t know her as well as I do,” said Erianthee.

Before he could think of a rejoinder, Kloveon saw the city gates ahead, almost repaired but looking a bit flimsy, revealing that the repairs were magical. He reached into the sleeve of his dust-colored pelgar underneath his sajah to pull out the safe passage Riast had provided, holding it so the royal seal was visible. As they reached the gate, he offered it to the Captain, who studied it in skeptical silence while he waited for the signal for them to pass through the gate.

“On you go, then, Mirkal,” said the Captain as he handed back the safe passage and offered a half-hearted respect. “Four wagons and an escort.”

“Thank you,” said Kloveon, nodding slightly. He lifted his hand to signal his company to move forward, out into the rolling hills of Porcaz Province. Around them the devastation of the conjure-storm was very much apparent, with teams of workmen still clearing debris from the roadside and stacking all that was burnable for Last Night bonfires. The sound of saws and axes blended with the steady beat of mallets on new paving-stones.

“How many leagues can we make today?” Erianthee asked when the city gate was two leagues behind them, and the work crews were fewer and farther apart, shoring up the roads. “Assuming we have clear passage and no more detention of any kind?”

“I’d say we can cover six leagues, perhaps a little more. Assuming, as you said, we aren’t detained.” He paused, listening to the sound of the horses’ and mules’ hoofbeats and the groan of the wagon-wheels. “We don’t want to go too fast while we’re close to Tiumboj – it could ben seen as an attempt at escape, and that could be a problem.”

“Six leagues. That would put us near Perswipareon, wouldn’t it?” she asked, trying to picture the map they had studied two nights ago.

“More or less,” he answered. “We can make that our goal for this evening, if you like. There are three acceptable inns there, and our safe conduct should secure us some kind of accommodations, no matter how much damage the town sustained.” As he said this, he kept his reservations to himself, for he suspected many towns would not welcome anyone from Riast’s Court with kindness, not after the conjure-storm.

“Let’s wait until after our mid-day meal to decide,” said Erianthee, and went on as if her talent included reading his mind. “I haven’t been on the roads since we arrived, and I can’t anticipate what we’re likely to encounter. Who knows how far the conjure-storm caused ruin, and what has been done about it?” She pointed to a truncated windmill, its sails broken and hanging. “Look at that. And the orchard, just to the left of it. All the trees are torn. The barn’s roof – over there – is being rebuilt.” She pressed her lips together, her attention on the wreckage spread out around them.

“True enough,” said Kloveon, feeling very uncomfortable.

“So far all the messengers bring news of devastation, and with it, great unrest. More than property was damaged by the conjure-storm. The Emperor is deeply distressed to have so much destruction throughout the Empire,” Erianthee said as if she knew they were overheard. “The Emperor asked me if I could envision the scope of the destruction, but I can’t, and so I told him. He wasn’t much pleased.”

“Was that what your last meeting was about?” Kloveon asked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“Part of it,” said Erianthee, and went quiet for a dozen heartbeats. “There were other things the Emperor requested – visions he wanted to see – that I regretfully had to refuse to do.”

“Why?” Kloveon asked.

She shook her head and took a little time to frame her answer. “Because they are beyond the scope of my talents, and I am afraid that anything I might provide could be corrupted by spells and I’d be unaware of it. If that happened, I would be held responsible for any error – I don’t want to provide him misinformation, not in these times. It could go hard for Vildecaz.”

“That sounds ominous,” said Kloveon, making no apology for the severity of his demeanor. “Will you tell me later what it was about – all of it?”

“I’ll try to,” she answered, shading her eyes to watch the road ahead. “Those thin clouds make it hard to see — everything is glare.”

“Truly, and likely to get worse throughout the day,” said Kloveon, then shouted to the scout, still at the rear of the company, “Quaenach! Take up the advance, but stay within sight.”

“Mirkal!” Quaenach shouted back in acknowledgment of his order. He clapped his heels to his horse’s sides, cantering along the line of escort, saluting as he passed Kloveon, and continued on ahead for a third of a league, where he slowed to a jog-trot like the rest of the company.

They went along in silence, then Erianthee gestured toward Quaenach. “What do you know of him? Do you trust him?”

“I want to trust him,” said Kloveon, “but I’ve only just met him, and that worries me. I’d like to think he has dedication to me, but I’m not sure of it. Why should he? He has come from Riast’s own Company of Scouts, and that means he’s the Emperor’s man. Quaenach won’t forget that.”

“That’s troubling,” she allowed. “Considering he’ll report to Riast when he returns from Vildecaz.”

“That’s what the Emperor wants, more than our safe passage. Why else would Riast send him with us? I have scouts of my own, and if it comes to that, I could hire one.” Kloveon shrugged. “If Riast is determined to send one of his men with us, why should I protest? At least Quaenach is useful.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Enough to send him out ahead of us,” Kloveon said with a single chuckle. “They say there are many robbers about – men whose homes were ruined but who still have families to feed.”

“Small wonder that they take to robbery,” said Erianthee. “But I would prefer not to be robbed, myself.”

“That’s why we need this scout,” Kloveon pointed out.

“Might he be a tool in Riast’s hand – a means of keeping us from a quick journey?” Erianthee felt a fist clench inside her at the very thought. “He’ll put Riast’s instructions first.”

“I’m certain he knows the best way – I talked to him about the roads: which were in the best repair, which were safest, so far as is known. We can rely on him,” Kloveon said as if to convince himself.

“So you don’t entirely trust him?” She stared ahead to the man ahead of them on the gently curving road.

“I don’t distrust him,” Kloveon hedged.

“And that,” Erianthee told him, “is not an answer.”

* * *

Above the canyon, the sky was beginning to lighten, turning the river slatey and sinister. “We’ll have to put in at the next good harbor,” Onpoleneraz said from his place in the stern of the barge. “We all need rest, and we have to obtain reports from down-river.”

“That we do,” Ferzal seconded before Doms or Ninianee could speak. “We’ve seen two landslides since we passed through the Locks of the Farmentij Rapids, and that increases our danger.”

“There’s a small fishing village ahead. I’ve stopped there before. We should be there by an hour after mid-afternoon. They’ll let us tie up for the night. You can let your animals graze – they’ll be glad of the exercise, and you’ll be able to get some rest without having to be up with them half the night. You know yourselves how restive they’ve become.” Onpoleneraz rubbed his stubbled chin. “And I could use a bath and a night in a bed, not a hammock.”

“You know this place well?” Ninianee asked, wary of such a pat opportunity.

“As well as my hand,” answered Onpoleneraz.

“I’ve been there, as well,” said Ferzal, not quite as heartily as Onpoleneraz.

“It’s a short way up a secondary canyon on the south side,” said Onpoleneraz. “You can’t stumble upon it by accident.”

That description alarmed Ninianee, and she saw a similar wariness in Doms’ light-blue eyes. “They’re hidden?” she asked.

“Unless you know where they are, you can’t find them,” said Ferzal. “They’re one of the few places where you don’t have to worry about river-pirates.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good place,” said Doms, his expression guarded. Hidden places worried him, and none more than this remote village.

“I wouldn’t tell you about it if I thought it would bring trouble,” Onpoleneraz grumbled. “They’re your animals, and it’s your property. I wouldn’t take a chance with them, but if you decide to move on without giving them a rest, it’s your choice to make. You’re paying.”

Ninianee could see Doms bristle, and she intervened. “You wouldn’t think much of us if we didn’t question you on such a point, would you? You’d think we were inexperienced travelers, and gullible.”

Onpoleneraz harrumphed. “Nothing like that: it sounds as if you don’t think I know my business.”

“That’s hardly the point,” said Doms. “I want to be sure of our situation, and what we may have to deal with.”

“You’ll have to deal with a small village of fisherfolk. They live in fourteen houses and they have thirty-eight boats. There are nine large families in all, and about one hundred-twenty people all told. They’ve been there for many generations, and are content to have it so.” Onpoleneraz reported this with an air of undisguised umbrage that bordered on resentment. “There isn’t much else on this stretch of the river.”

“What is this place called?” Ninianee asked.

“Xerizan,” said Ferzal. “It’s my home.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Ninianee said, “It would be an honor to visit your home.” She rounded on Doms. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” he responded neutrally.

“Then it’s settled,” said Onpoleneraz.

* * *

Shortly before mid-afternoon the river began to look like the scales of a gigantic snake twisting along the bottom of the canyon, almost iridescent. There was growing power in its every move, and a reminder that it would take little for this serpent to crush them. Onpoleneraz frowned and spoke to Ferzal in the baffling dialect of the river-men. “That’s smaik, that is.”

Ferzal nodded. “And turning nodi.”

“I wish I understood what they’re saying,” Ninianee said to Doms as quietly as the river’s clamor would allow. They were finishing removing the nose-bags from the ponies and mules. “Jenshaz is off his feed.”

“But they don’t want you to understand. That’s why they speak it,” Doms explained. “Is Jenshaz ill?”

“I don’t think so – it’s the river. This kind of travel is hard on them – having to stand all day and half the night on a surface that is never steady underfoot,” said Ninianee, giving the two ponies and two mules a thorough perusal.

“They’re none of them eating right. You’re right. It’s the long hours on the barge,” said Doms.

“Ganprit pari,” Onpoleneraz called out emphatically, making no apology for using the jargon of the river-men.

“Aporit,” Ferzal agreed.

Onpoleneraz looked over at Doms. “I’m going to steer toward the center of the river – the current is rising and we could be dashed on the rocks if I don’t put some distance between us and the banks. There is half a league of this ahead. It will mean a harder passage and possible trouble, but it’s safer than taking a chance of breaking up on the rock. We’ll pick up speed at mid-stream, but that could be advantageous, from your point of view. We’ll cover more distance.”